Millionaire on Her Doorstep. Stella Bagwell
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her glasses from her face, she placed them gently atop the charts. “Your father tells me several more seismograph holes are going to be shot this week on the Oklahoma land. He wants me to read those before we fly back there for a look.”
“We” more than likely meant Adam and Maureen. He didn’t know how he was going to manage traveling with her. But he had to. It was a big part of their job going from one potential well site to the next. Hopefully, the strong reactions he had to her now would quickly fade. Maybe tomorrow or the next day, he’d be able to look at her and not wonder what it would be like to have her in his arms.
“It’ll be rough, mountainous terrain. Have you been there before?”
With a shake of her head, she moved away from him. “I’ve been mostly doing overseas or offshore work.”
Adam watched her walk over to a long table and pick up a paper cup filled with coffee. From a paper sack on the counter, she pulled out a raspberry Danish.
“There’s a doughnut left in the sack if you want it,” she offered as she took a seat on a folding metal chair.
“Thanks, but I’ve already had breakfast.”
No doubt, Maureen thought. He’d probably had a regular meal sitting in a kitchen or dining room. “I suppose you wouldn’t stoop to putting something like this in your system,” she said.
A faint smile tilting his lips, he shook his head. “Not near enough grease to suit me. Give me chorizo or bacon and eggs.”
“Surely you know that isn’t good for you,” she said, her gaze following him as he went over to the small coffeepot sitting on the cabinet counter. He was dressed not as a businessman who worked in oil, but as a rancher, in black boots and faded blue jeans that hugged his hips and thighs. A denim shirt of deep green covered his muscular torso. The rugged clothing emphasized his fitness and mocked the fact he didn’t eat health food. It also mocked Maureen’s vow never to look at another man in a purely physical way.
“My mom tells me that very thing every morning,” Adam said, “but she cooks the stuff for me anyway.”
The cup in her hand stopped midway to her lips. “You still live at home?”
He grimaced as he poured himself a cup of the strong brew. “You make it sound like a crime.”
She didn’t know where the defensive tone in his voice was coming from. She hadn’t accused him of being a pup still latched onto his mother’s teat.
“Not at all.” She studied him carefully as he took a seat across from her. “I just thought...well, you seem like a man who wouldn’t want to be hampered by having...his parents around.”
The idea that she thought he was a playboy who needed his privacy was more than amusing and took the sting out of the first impression he’d taken from her question.
“Actually, I don’t normally live with my parents. I have a place of my own in the Hondo Valley. But at the moment, I’m having some remodeling done to the house. Mom and Dad’s ranch house is huge, so they urged me to stay with them until the work is finished. And it’s nice to spend a little time at home.”
“I’m sure,” she murmured, then wondered if Adam knew what a precious thing a home really was. Had he ever known what it was like to be well and truly alone in the world? No. She didn’t think so. She figured the most Adam Sanders ever had to worry about was where to get his expensive shirts laundered or the color to choose for his next new vehicle.
Not that Maureen resented the man’s wealth. Since she’d acquired her master’s degree in geology, she’d made a powerful salary. She could buy herself most anything she wanted. Yet she couldn’t buy what Adam had. No one could.
“Do you have siblings?” she asked him.
He nodded. “I have a twin sister, Anna. She got married a few weeks ago to the foreman on our ranch. She and Miguel live on the property, too. Then we have a younger sister, Ivy. She’s currently in medical school at the University of New Mexico.” He sipped his coffee, then casually studied her over the rim of the takeout cup. “What about you, Ms. York? Do you have parents or siblings?”
Maureen’s gaze dropped to the half-eaten Danish in her hand. She’d been asked this question many times in the past. Normally, it never bothered her to answer. But this morning with Adam’s green eyes waiting, she’d rather have her hand chopped off.
“First of all, I told you not to call me Ms. York.”
The tips of his fingers unconsciously tapped the tabletop. The movement drew Maureen’s gaze to his hands. They were strong and square shaped, the backs sprinkled with dark hair. Faint scratch marks marred three of his knuckles, and from what she could see of his fingers, they were padded with calluses. He was a man who worked with his brain, but he obviously wasn’t afraid to use his hands, too. She liked that about him. Liked it too much.
“All right Maureen. Tell me about your family.”
“I have no family,” she said bluntly, then took a bite of the Danish as if that was all there was to say.
His brows arched upward in a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding expression. “Surely you have an aunt or uncle or something somewhere. What happened to your parents?”
Still avoiding his eyes, she said, “They were killed in a storm. We lived in a rural area of Texas where the nearest clinic was thirty miles away. My mother was expecting another baby any day, and thinking she’d gone into labor they decided they had no choice but to go to a doctor. The rain was blinding and part of the highway was flooded. Unseeing, they drove into the water and the swift current carried them away. I was four at the time.”
She recited the story in a flat, factual voice as though she was talking about someone she hadn’t known. But then it quickly struck Adam that she’d been little more than a baby when her parents had died. She hadn’t known them in the sense he or any average person would know their parents.
“You were their only child?”
She nodded. “I went to live with my maternal grandmother after that. She was the only relative around who was willing to take me in. But she was elderly and she died by the time I was eight.”
“What happened then?”
She looked at him, her lips compressed to a thin, mocking line. “Foster homes.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, the shock of her story robbing him of a better response.
“Don’t be. I managed to grow up in spite of it all.” She rose to her feet and crossed the room to a small trash can. After tossing in the half-eaten Danish and last dregs of her coffee, she turned back to him. “Well, I don’t know what you plan to do with the rest of your day, but I’m going to get to work on these charts.”
She’d lost her family, and if she had any distant relatives left, they obviously weren’t the kind you counted, he mused. It was difficult to imagine what growing up in that sort of environment had been like for her. He’d had two loving parents, aunts and uncles who adored him and two sisters who’d always put him up on a pedestal. He couldn’t imagine his life without any of them. And though she was trying to give him the impression that none of it had affected her that much, he knew better.
“I have plenty to do,” he said, then rose to his feet and followed her back over to the cabinet where she picked up the stack of seismographic charts. “But there is something I wanted to discuss with you before I go back to my office.”
In an effort to still the trembling in her hands, she gripped the graphed papers with their squiggly lines. She didn’t know why it had shaken her to speak to Adam about her past. After all, lots of people had lost their parents when they were young. Lots of people had grown up in foster homes. It wasn’t anything unusual or something to be ashamed of. But for some reason there was a lump as big as a fist in her throat.
“What did you want to speak to me about?” She forced