Stella Bagwell - Millionaire on Her Doorstep

“Mother, I’m not being childish. The woman... well, we just rub each other the wrong way. Believe me, you don’t want that much friction in the house.”

She studied him thoughtfully, and just when Adam was certain she was going to accuse him of behaving boorishly, she surprised him by saying, “All right, Adam, I’m sure your dad will agree that we don’t want to force the woman down your throat. If that’s the way you feel, we’ll let her stay in a motel and the company can reimburse her for her expenses.”

“It’s the way I feel,” he clipped.

Chloe and Wyatt rose to their feet, thanked him for the meal and bade him good-night. By the time they started to walk away from the table, Adam felt as if he’d shrunk to the height of two inches.

“Wait a minute,” he called out to them.

Both his parents paused and glanced back at him. “Was there something else you wanted to say about Ms. York?” Wyatt asked with an innocence that irked Adam.

“Hell, yes! I’ll invite her out to the ranch myself! But don’t be surprised if she refuses to come. I think the woman would take particular pleasure in killing me.”

Chloe smiled sweetly at her son. “Well, darling, I’m sure she’s not the first woman who’s wanted to kill you.”

Maureen hated motel rooms. In the past nine or ten years, she’d spent many nights in the dreaded places. Some had been luxurious, others cheap. But no matter the price or how many of her personal things she had lying about, it was still a sterile room. Just a place to sleep, shower and dress.

She snorted inwardly. Since when had her apartment in Houston ever been more than just a place to hang her clothes and lay her head? And what made her think things would be any different here in New Mexico?

From the middle of the queen-size bed, Maureen aimed the remote at the television and smashed the Off button. For the past hour and a half, she’d been staring at the flickering screen, yet she didn’t have a clue as to what she’d been watching. Her mind had been on the place she’d left, this place she’d come to. And the man she was going to have to face in the morning.

Adam Murdock Sanders. Who’d have ever thought she’d run into him again? That morning down in South America, she’d met him quite by chance. He’d been having coffee in the hotel restaurant with a tool pusher who worked for the same company as Maureen. He’d introduced her to Adam, and while the three of them had coffee, she’d learned his rented vehicle had quit and he needed to be at a rig site before noon.

The town they’d been staying in was too small for a car rental agency or a mechanic who wasn’t already busy. Knowing all this, the tool pusher had urged Maureen into being a Good Samaritan and offering Adam a lift. Everything afterward had gone from bad to worse.

Adam had refused to wear his seat belt, complained about her fast, reckless driving, then went on to imply she’d be doing the world a much bigger favor if she would stay home to raise her “kids” rather than traipse around with a bunch of foul-mouthed oilmen.

Well, he’d had the mouth for the business, all right. And she’d wanted to knock his head off his shoulders. But she’d truly never meant to hurt him. The dog had run into the narrow, graveled road without any warning, and Maureen had instinctively jerked the wheel to miss it. Adam had gone flying out the open door, landing on the shoulder of the road before rolling to the bottom of a steep bar ditch.

At first, she’d been terrified she’d killed him. But to her amazement he’d managed, with her help, to make it up the embankment and into the Jeep. Maureen had driven him to the nearest hospital more than fifty miles away, then waited until a nurse had come to assure her he was fine and the doctor had already plastered his broken ankle.

Maureen had asked to see him, but the nurse informed her he’d been sedated and was expected to sleep for several hours. She’d had no choice but to leave. The next day she’d been driving back to the hospital to see him when her boss from Houston had called and ordered her home immediately.

Back in Texas, she’d reported the accident to her company so Adam’s medical bills would be rightly taken care of by insurance, then she’d tried to put the whole incident out of her mind. But forgetting the young company man hadn’t been that easy. She’d thought about him most every day since. Maybe that was one of the reasons she’d been so shocked this morning when he’d walked into Wyatt Sanders’s office.

With a troubled sigh, she left the bed, grabbed her keys from the built-in dresser and walked out the door. With no thought to the lateness of the hour, she climbed into her pickup truck and headed toward the main highway. For several minutes, she traveled west, up into the mountains, before eventually pulling onto a graveled road.

The real-estate sign at the edge of the highway was already marked Sold. Maureen had only given the agent a verbal “I’ll take it,” but the flimsy commitment was enough to make her wonder if she was being a mite hasty. Or, even worse, going crazy.

A mite hasty! Whom was she kidding? A normal person didn’t go out and buy the first house they looked at! And as for her going crazy, she had to be cracking up to think she could ever have a real home here in southern New Mexico or anywhere. When her husband had walked out on her, she’d seen the last of her hopes and dreams vanish. Since then, she’d finally come to the conclusion that it was foolish of her to ever plan on having a real home with a family.

The long, graveled lane curved, then made one last switch back before the house came into view. The split-level structure had been built on a rough ledge of the mountain. There was hardly a yard to speak of. Unless you counted the rocks and clumps of sage clinging tenaciously to the ground sloping down to the driveway.

Tall pine and aspen dappled the pink stucco walls and red tiled roof with gently moving shadows. The prickly beauty of blooming cholla cactus guarded the front entrance.

Maureen parked the pickup on the graveled circle driveway and slipped quietly to the ground. The mountain air had already grown incredibly cool for midsummer and she wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill as she climbed a set of simple rock stepping stones up the sloping yard.

This wasn’t Houston by any means. From now on she would have to remember she was seven thousand feet or more above sea level and needed to keep a jacket with her after dark. And compared to the busy, humid city, the quietness here on the mountaintop was nearly deafening. Other than the wind whispering through the pine boughs and rattling the aspen leaves, there were no other sounds.

She smiled to herself as she imagined what her friends back in Houston would think about her buying such a secluded home. Probably that she was asking for trouble. And she doubted any of her female friends would have driven up here alone at this late hour. But Maureen wasn’t afraid.

For nearly ten years she’d been on her own. Alone. Facing the world without her husband or her child. She couldn’t possibly be hurt any worse than when they’d gone out of her life.

Maureen wandered around the house, studying its strong walls and gracefully arched windows trimmed with dark wood. It was a lovely structure, but the house or even the wild, beautiful tangle of forest growing around it was not the thing that had called to her when she’d first seen the place. Job or not. Family or not. She’d simply felt a deep intuition that here in New Mexico was where she belonged. And in spite of Adam Sanders, this was where she was going to stay.

The next morning, Maureen was already at work when Adam arrived at Sanders Gas and Exploration. He found her in the small lab behind his office. She was standing at a cabinet counter, the sleeves of her blue striped shirt rolled above her elbows, a pair of gold-framed glasses on her nose. Once again her brown hair was braided. The single rope reached the waistband at the back of her jeans. He wondered how long her hair would be if she let it loose, or if she ever did.