Cathy Thacker - The Inherited Twins

He’d only been out here half an hour and he could see why she was so determined to hang on to her inheritance.

She studied him impassively. “When did you want to move in?”

“Tonight.”

To her credit, she didn’t so much as blink. Rather, she reached into her desk and removed a rental contract, plucked a pen from the holder on her desk and pushed both toward him. “How long do you want to stay?”

“Until my place in Fort Stockton sells and I find one here.”

This time, he noted, she did blink. “So we’re talking…”

“Weeks. Possibly months.”

She paused. Whether she was happy about his request or wary, he couldn’t tell. “I assume we’re talking about a one bedroom cottage?” she said finally.

He matched her pragmatic tone. “Yes.”

Claire told him what the rate would be.

“Sounds fine.”

After she made a copy of his credit card, she took a map of the ranch and a thick ring of keys from her desk. “You can have Cabin 1, which is closest to the ranch house, or Cabin 8.”

“I’ll take the closest one to the ranch house,” Heath said without hesitation.

Claire led the way out of the office. Together, they walked across the gravel parking area, past a big red barn, to the path that led to the dozen cottages. The rustically designed structures were spaced well apart and attractively landscaped with native grasses and shrubs. The November air was brisk and clean, the red sage the guest ranch was named after in full bloom.

Claire stopped at the first homestead-style cottage. The one-story building had white clapboard sides, red shutters and door, and a sloping slate-gray roof. She unlocked the door and gestured him to enter. “As you can see, the unit has a small sitting room and a galley kitchen. The bedroom has a queen size bed. Thermostat is here.” She pointed to the wall, then the closet. “Extra linens are there. Cabins are made up once a week, unless you want to pay for daily maid service.”

“Once a week is fine.”

“There is a complimentary breakfast buffet every morning in the front parlor of the ranch house.” Claire pressed the key into his hand and glided toward the front door.

Heath followed, surprised how sorry he was to see her go. “Dinner—?”

She flashed a regretful smile. “—is not currently offered.”

“HOW DID IT GO?” Orrin Webb asked.

Heath bypassed his own office, heading for the branch manager’s. Orrin was very old-school, from his salt-and-pepper crew cut, to the horn-rimmed glasses he wore. He exuded a by-the-book attitude, mirrored by his starched white, button-down shirt and dark suit.

Shrugging, Heath sank into a chair opposite his boss’s desk. “About as well as could be expected, given the news I had to deliver.”

Orrin rocked back in his chair and propped his fingertips together. “I take it she’s resisting any easy fixes?”

“Like selling off part of the business? Yeah.”

“You don’t need her permission to do anything in regard to the trust,” Orrin reminded him.

“The success of the bank depends on the continued goodwill of people in the community. If they think we’re steamrolling over her and the kids, just to increase the bottom line, they won’t be bringing their property to us to put in trust. They’ll let someone else see to the fiscal welfare of their heirs.”

The other banker smiled. “And here I thought you might have trouble getting the hang of life in a smaller town.”

“Summit may only have five hundred people but there are ten thousand more in the surrounding county. I want all their business coming here.”

“My thoughts exactly. So what are your plans?”

“First, get to know Claire Olander and acquaint myself with the guest-ranch business she and my clients own. See if it really has the potential for growth that she thinks it does.” Because if it didn’t, Heath knew, he was going to have to sell the twins’ share, even if he had to do it over her objections.

“How are you going to do that?”

“By staying at the Red Sage until my place in Fort Stockton sells.”

“She agreed to let you?” his boss asked.

“She needs the cottages rented. At the moment, the majority of them are vacant.”

“Did you talk to her about Wiley Higgins?”

“She wasn’t in a frame of mind to hear it.”

“He’s not going to wait long before he pursues his goal,” Orrin warned.

“Well, he better wait a while. ‘Cause I’m telling you, if he goes in there too soon, his chances of success are nil.”

Orrin paused. “What do you think your chances are of getting Claire Olander to see things your way?”

That his intervention could, Heath thought, be the answer to all her prayers? “At the moment? Slim to none.”

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.”