The Inherited Twins. Cathy Thacker Gillen
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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