Читать книгу The Inherited Twins - Cathy Thacker Gillen - Страница 6

Heath had just driven up and parked when Claire came out of the ranch office late that afternoon. She walked straight toward him. “I had a call from someone named Wiley Higgins today. He wants to see me about a business matter and he used you and the bank as a reference.”

It was all Heath could do not to grimace. “I didn’t know he intended to phone you today.”

Claire’s eyes narrowed. “What does this guy want? Aside from a cottage to rent from now until after Thanksgiving?”

Heath nodded at the dusty truck making its way up the lane. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

As Wiley parked his pickup, then climbed down, Claire eyed the name and logo painted on the side: Higgins Oil Exploration.

She tensed, just as Heath figured she would.

The young wildcatter wore a turquoise Western shirt, mud-stained jeans and expensive alligator boots. He swept off his black Resistol, held it against his chest and extended his other hand. “Claire Olander?”

She shook hands with him, her reluctance to have anything to do with oil companies reflected in her wary expression. “Mr. Higgins, I presume,” she murmured dryly.

“You said on the phone you had a cottage I could rent.”

She nodded. “And you said you had a business proposition you wanted to discuss with me.”

“If it’s all the same to you, ma’am—” Wiley shoved his cowboy hat back on top of his tangled, dishwater-blond hair “—I’d rather do that over dinner this evening. Soon as I have a chance to get cleaned up. Maybe the two of us could go back into town?”

A wave of unexpected jealousy flowed through Heath. He frowned.

Claire shook her head. “That’s not going to be possible. I have two little ones to feed.”

As if on cue, Henry and Heidi walked out of the ranch office. “We’re hungry, Aunt Claire!” her nephew announced.

“We’re going to have dinner as soon as I take care of Mr. Higgins and show him where he is going to be staying.”

Undeterred, Wiley suggested, “I could join the three of you.”

Why couldn’t the oilman get the message to back off? Heath wondered. He turned toward the interloper, his shoulder brushing Claire’s in the process. “The ranch doesn’t serve dinner,” he interjected mildly.

“I’d be happy to pay extra,” Wiley declared.

So would Heath, as it happened. And not just because it would be convenient.

Claire looked at him. He shrugged and said, “Serving dinner would be a way to increase income for the ranch on a daily basis. I’d be in.”

“We’ll make it worth your while,” Wiley offered. “Twenty-five dollars for each of us. You can’t say no to an extra fifty bucks.”

Claire looked as if she just might. “You don’t even know what we’re having for dinner tonight,” she protested.

The wildcatter straightened the brim of his hat. “Doesn’t matter, so long as it’s hot and home cooked.”

Heath hadn’t had a home-cooked meal since he’d moved from Fort Stockton and lost access to a full kitchen. “Got to agree with him there,” he said.

“Fine. But just so you fellas know, it’s a one-time-only proposition,” Claire said. She handed Wiley the paperwork for his cabin and a key. “I’ll meet you in the ranch house kitchen at six-thirty. Henry, Heidi, come on, we’ve got work to do.”

HEATH HAD JUST FINISHED shaving and brushing his teeth when the cottage phone rang.

Claire was on the other end of the line. “Would you mind coming over about ten minutes early? I’ve got something I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Be right there.” Whistling, Heath crossed the yard. Thanks to the recent switch from daylight saving time, it was already dark. The lights of the sprawling ranch house shone warm and welcoming. The smells coming from the kitchen were even better.

The twins were seated at the kitchen table, busy with coloring books and crayons. They each had a small bowl of dry cereal and a glass of milk nearby—probably to take the edge off their hunger while they waited for whatever it was that smelled so good to finish cooking.

“Hi, kids.” Heath took in their angelic faces and thought about the lack of family in his life, how much he wanted to have a wife and kids of his own and a home just like this to come to every night…He’d had his chance, of course, but it hadn’t worked out. Now all he had were his regrets.

“Hi, Mr. Fearsome.” It was Heidi who spoke, but both twins beamed.

“McPherson,” Claire corrected.

“Mr. Fearsome,” the little girl repeated, enunciating carefully.

Heath grinned. “Close enough. Need a hand?” he asked Claire.

“What I need to know…” she paused to taste the applesauce simmering on the stove “…is what’s going on between you and Wiley Higgins.”

Reluctantly, Heath moved his gaze from her soft, kissable lips to the fire in her eyes. “What do you mean?”

She added another sprinkle of cinnamon and a pinch of nutmeg to the aromatic compote. Deliberately, she set the spoon on its rest, wiped her hands on a tea towel. “I saw the two of you exchanging words in the yard before you entered your cottages.”

Heath waited.

She propped her hands on her slender waist. “I have the feeling I’m at the center of the disagreement.”

Hoping to spare the twins any unnecessary worry or alarm, Heath kept his gaze on Claire’s and inched closer. “Then you would be right.”

Her eyes darkened. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Wiley Higgins can be dogged in his quest for something.”

“So in other words, you feel you need to protect me from his single-mindedness.”

Unused to being penalized for taking charge of a business situation, Heath said, “Not protect.” If ever a woman seemed capable of standing on her own, it was Claire Olander.

“Then what would you call it?” she asked.

He gestured enigmatically. “Doing things in an orderly fashion.”

She’d taken off the blazer she had been wearing earlier. Now she pushed the sleeves of her sweater to her elbows. “And how would we do that?”

Heath tried not to notice the smooth, pale skin of her forearms as he braced one hip against the counter. “We’d start by sitting down together and taking a detailed look at ways to improve your guest-ranch business.”

She turned so that one of her hips was resting against the edge of the counter, too. “I’ve already done that,” she snapped.

He maintained an even tone as he replied, “You haven’t shared any of the ideas with me.”

“Fine.” Claire released an exasperated breath that lifted the swell of her breasts beneath the soft fabric of her sweater. “When did you want to do this?”

He shifted restlessly, to ease the building tension behind his fly. “As soon as possible.” He wanted time to implement changes.

As Claire considered her options, she gave the simmering applesauce another stir. “The car pool picks the twins up at eight-thirty tomorrow morning. I can do it any time after that.”

“Eight-thirty it is, then,” Heath agreed promptly.

Wiley Higgins swaggered in just then, freshly showered and shaved. He looked from Claire to Heath and back again, then he smiled like a detective who had just found an interesting clue. “What’d I miss?”

CLAIRE WASN’T SURE whether she resented or welcomed the interruption. All she knew for certain was that Heath McPherson had the ability to get under her skin with surprising speed.

Working around him was not going to be easy. Either in this kitchen, where his imposing frame took up way too much space, or in business, when it came to satisfying the fiscal requirements of the trust. But she would manage—she had no choice.

“Have a seat, fellas.” Claire took the roasting pan from the oven. She moved the already sliced pork tenderloin to a platter, and spooned roasted potatoes, green beans and applesauce into serving dishes. After placing them on the table, she brought out a tossed green salad from the fridge.

“Henry, do you want to try the pork tonight?” she asked.

When he shook his head, she popped two slices of whole wheat bread into the toaster and got out a jar of peanut butter.

Heidi explained solemnly, “Henry only eats peanut butter toast for dinner.”

“Really?” Wiley said. “This food looks awfully good.”

“I’ll eat it,” Heidi interjected proudly. “I like everything. But Henry doesn’t.”

Her brother glanced at Heath. Claire, too, was curious to see the man’s reaction.

“I’m glad you know what works for you,” he said. “It’s important for a fellow to know his own mind.”

Henry’s eyes widened appreciatively. That was not the reaction he usually got.

Claire flashed Heath a grateful smile, then sat down at the table. While they helped themselves, family-style, to the food, she cut straight to the chase with Wiley. “So what was this business you wanted to discuss with me?”

“I’m in Summit County to look for oil.”

She lifted her palm. “The wells on the Red Sage went dry forty years ago.”

That information didn’t deter Wiley. “Conventional extraction yields only thirty percent. The rest of the oil squeezes into tiny cracks in a reservoir and clings to the underground rocks. There’s a process now that wasn’t available at the time your wells were capped, called water-flooding.”

“I know all about injection wells,” Claire said. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Heath accept a bite of Heidi’s green beans with great relish. Suppressing an amused smile, she continued, “The oil companies push water into the ground and try to wash out the remaining oil.”

Wiley nodded, as Henry offered Heath a bite of peanut butter toast. “That’ll get out a portion, but not all. Adding surfactant could get out even more.”

Claire shook her head, as Heath offered Henry a bite of his meat, which he refused. “I don’t want chemicals on my land,” she said.

Ignoring the increased restlessness of the kids, Wiley pushed on. “We could also inject steam or carbon dioxide into the wells.”

Henry offered Heath another bite of peanut butter toast, which was wordlessly accepted. Not to be outdone, Heidi gave him another green bean.

With effort, Claire pushed aside thoughts of how comfortable he was with the kids and what a great dad Heath would be, and brought her mind back to the business at hand. “Injecting steam requires putting in huge pressure vessels to heat the water. I don’t want anything that dangerous or noisy or intrusive on the ranch,” she stated decisively. “The same goes for carbon dioxide.”

“How about putting microbes into the wells then?”

It was all she could do not to roll her eyes. “Microbes produce large amounts of gas and pressure underground.”

“Properly handled,” Wiley countered, with the smoothness of a snake oil salesman, “that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Claire disagreed. “It’s bacteria. We have well water out here. I’m not taking any chances that our drinking water might be contaminated, now or in the future.”

Heath gave her an admiring glance. “You know a lot about this.”

Glad for the interruption, she nodded. She wanted him to understand her position. “A couple years before my dad died, after he had stopped running cattle out here, an oilman came by and tried to convince him to reopen the wells. Dad said it took him forty years to get the land back to its natural state. No way was he letting heavy trucks and machinery tear up the place, after all his hard work.”

Wiley cleaned his plate. “There could be a lot of money involved here, Claire.”

About that, she noted in disappointment, Heath did not disagree. But then, what had she expected? He was a banker—a bottom-line guy.

“And it could be,” she countered, “that the process of getting to whatever oil is left in there—if there is any in the ground on this ranch—is not going to be economically viable for you or any other wildcatter.”

Wiley frowned. “Don’t you want to find out?”

She scowled right back. “Nope.”

And then and there, the twins’ patience—what was left of it—ended.

Henry tipped his milk glass over. Heidi did the same. The liquid fromHenry’s flowed into Wiley’s lap, that from Heidi’s splashed onto Claire’s. Both victims sucked in a distressed breath as Heath, who’d been unscathed, grabbed for napkins.

“Oh my goodness!” Claire jumped up to get clean dish towels to mop them up.

Wiley grimaced as the liquid soaked into his pants. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt. “No problem,” he drawled. “Accidents happen.”

Only, Claire thought, it hadn’t been an accident.

“EVERYTHING OKAY?” Heath asked twenty minutes later, when Claire finally came back downstairs, this time without her two young charges.

“The twins are fine.” She sighed, feeling a lot more comfortable now in faded jeans and a loose-fitting shirt. “Just overtired.” She’d scolded them gently for their end-of-dinner behavior, then helped them brush their teeth and change, and finally tucked them into bed.

The effort left her feeling the way she did every night around this time—like she had just run a marathon.

Claire paused to look around. “What happened to Wiley?”

“He took his pecan pie à la mode and went back to his cottage to change and check his messages.”

Before sprinting up the stairs with the twins, Claire had told the guys to help themselves to dessert and coffee. Heath had apparently not yet done so, in favor of cleaning up the table and scrubbing the pots and pans. She studied his rolled-up shirtsleeves, and the damp towel thrown across one broad shoulder. He looked as at home in her kitchen as she was. She wouldn’t have expected that of a man in his line of work.

She watched the play of muscles in his brawny forearms as he scrubbed down the table and counters with an enticing combination of strength and finesse. She edged closer, taking in the brisk woodsy fragrance of his cologne. “You didn’t have to stay.” But she was suddenly glad he had. It was nice having company—attractive male company—after hours.

Finished with the cleanup, he let the sudsy water out of the farmhouse-style sink. “I felt I owed you after such a delicious meal.”

Claire reminded herself Heath was a paying guest. And as such, not a target for lusty fantasies.

Pushing away the image of those same nimble fingers on her bare skin, she quipped, “And a rather inglorious end.”

He chuckled. “Tip things over accidentally-on-purpose often, do they?”

“No.” Thank heavens.

Heath hung up the dish towel and lounged against the counter again, one palm flattened on the gleaming top. “I get why they did that to Wiley. He’s a bit of a blowhard. But why they doused you—now that’s a mystery.”

Claire shook her head ruefully. “I think they were trying to tell me I should have paid more attention to them during the meal. Suppertime is their time. They get my undivided attention. I should have known better than to turn it into a business meeting and a chance to pick up some extra cash, by charging you two for the meal.”

Heath’s blue eyes narrowed. “Why did you?” he asked with curiosity.

She sighed. “I knew I had to hear Wiley out sometime, or risk him pestering me to death. I figured the twins’ brief attention span would keep his sales pitch short, and I would have skated by, without offending a paying guest. Which, you may have noticed,” she intoned dryly, “I need.”

“And me?”

Easy, Claire thought, cutting them each a slice of pie. “I wanted you to know my opinion on what he is trying to do, and it was easier to have you hear it firsthand than for me to repeat it.”

“Ah.” Heath watched her scoop out the vanilla ice cream.

Their hands brushed as she handed him a plate and fork. “So now that you do—”

“That’s it?” Heath interrupted, taking a seat at the kitchen table again. “I don’t get a chance to weigh in? As trustee?”

Claire sat opposite him. “Not tonight.” She marveled at how much this was beginning to feel like a date.

He shrugged, even as he savored his first bite of pecan pie. “Fair enough.”

That, Claire thought, was a surprise. She had expected him to be just as pushy as Wiley Higgins, when it came to business. Yet he was giving her a pass, at least for now. To get on her good side? “So back to the dishes. Thank you for doing them.”

“No problem.”

“But in the future, it’s not necessary.” Claire resisted the intimacy his actions engendered. “You’re a guest here. Not the help.”

A brooding look came into his eyes. He spoke in a kind, matter-of-fact voice. “I was raised by a single mom. I remember how tired she was at the end of every day. So I helped then. And I help now, whenever I see a woman in need of assistance.”

A poignant silence fell between them. Was that how he saw her? Claire wondered. She deflected the rawness of the moment with a joke. “Date a lot of single moms, do you?”

“Not so far.” Heath regarded Claire steadily. “What about you? Dating anybody?”

She flushed. “No. Not for the past couple of years.”

Appearing just as distracted as she was, Heath let his gaze rove over her hair, face and lips before returning with laser accuracy to her eyes. “Why not?”

“I’m running a struggling business meant for three all by myself,” Claire reminded him. “I’m bringing up the twins on my own, and in case you haven’t noticed, they’re a handful.”

His expressive lips tilted up in a playful half smile. “A cute handful.” He stood and carried his empty plate to the dishwasher.

Claire did the same. “They take every ounce of emotional energy I have, and then some.”

“They have to sleep sometime.”

“And generally, when they do, I do. Seriously, I was never so tired before I became their mom. My sister always made it look so easy.” Claire sighed, wishing Heath didn’t have a good eight or nine inches on her in height. The disparity in their bodies made him seem all that more overwhelming.

He clamped a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It probably was, comparatively, if there were two parents handling things.”

Tingling beneath his grip, Claire stepped back. “So what are you saying?” she demanded, raising her hands in a mock gesture of helplessness. “I should get married? Go husband hunting?”

“Wouldn’t hurt to open the door to the possibility,” he told her wryly.

Aware that her pulse had picked up, Claire conceded, “Maybe in five, ten, fifteen years, when they go off to college. Until then, I’m on my own and staying that way.”

“Sure about that?” he murmured.

Claire straightened with as much dignity as she could manage. “Quite sure.”

He smiled. Their gazes meshed and the seconds ticked by. His head bent, and hers tilted upward. Their lips drew ever closer. He was going to kiss her, Claire realized suddenly, and she was going to let him!

Or at least he would have kissed her just then, had it not been for the pitter-patter of little feet just outside the kitchen door.

The adults turned in unison as Heidi and Henry entered the room. As always, they looked adorable in their pajamas, their blond curls askew.

Heidi had her favorite doll baby, Sissy, tucked beneath her arm again. “Aunt Claire?” she asked, her expression absolutely intent.

Claire’s heartbeat quickened even more. “Yes, honey?”

“When are Mommy and Daddy coming home?”