Cathy Thacker - The Inherited Twins

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?”