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The Inherited Twins
Cathy Gillen Thacker


The Inherited Twins
Cathy Gilen Thacker

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Table of Contents
Cover (#u76803bfb-23d0-5726-b035-d37364e80c0d)
Title Page (#ua16bbd6a-0479-5aec-9d97-114c4bb1275a)
About the Author (#uabfcf225-d41f-5437-9baa-e5d98d61b627)
Chapter One (#u35b569e8-aa61-5606-ac19-0c575d14fac7)
Chapter Two (#uaba46e92-4977-5d3f-9626-a8801f4f3df2)
Chapter Three (#ua3d12c48-0121-5d60-bc36-240b207b02ae)
Chapter Four (#u29b12d60-205b-5290-b5fd-c1ae369555af)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Cathy Gillen Thacker is married and a mother of three. She and her husband spent eighteen years in Texas, and now reside in North Carolina. Her mysteries, romantic comedies and heartwarming family stories have made numerous appearances on bestseller lists, but her best reward, she says, is knowing one of her books made someone’s day a little brighter. A popular author for many years, she loves telling passionate stories with happy endings, and thinks nothing beats a good romance and a hot cup of tea! You can visit Cathy’s website at www.cathygillenthacker.com for more information on her upcoming and previously published books, recipes and a list of her favourite things.

Chapter One
In most situations, twenty-nine-year-old Claire Olander had no problem standing her ground.
The only two Texans who could weaken her resolve ambled to a halt in front of her. In perfect synchronization, the “negotiators” turned their faces upward.
Her niece, Heidi, pushed the halo of short, baby-fine blond curls from her face and tucked her favorite baby doll under her arm, football-style, so the head faced front. “How come we have to clean up our toys now, Aunt Claire?” the preschooler demanded.
Her twin brother, Henry, adjusted his plastic yellow hard hat with one hand, then gave the small wooden bench he was “fixing” another twist with his toy wrench. His amber eyes darkened in protest as he pointed out with customary logic, “It’s not dinnertime!”
Claire wished it was. Then the business meeting she had been dreading ever since the bank auditors left to tally their results, six weeks ago, would be history. Aware there was no use worrying her nearly four-year-old charges, she smiled and tidied the stacks of papers on her desk one last time.
Everything was going to be all right. She had to keep remembering that. Just like her late sister, Liz-Beth, she was more than capable of mothering the twins and managing the family business they’d started. “We are cleaning up early, kiddos, because we have company coming this afternoon,” she announced cheerfully. In fact, the Big Bad Wolf should be here at two o’clock.
Heidi sat down cross-legged on the floor, placed her doll, Sissy, carefully across her lap, and began stuffing building blocks ever so slowly into a plastic storage bin. “Who?”
Claire knelt down next to her, and began to help, albeit at a much quicker pace. “A man from the bank.”
“Can he hammer stuff?” Henry demanded.
Claire surveyed the two children who were now hers to bring up, and shrugged. “I have no idea.”
Heidi paused. “What can he do?” she asked, curiously.
“Manage a trust.” Destroy my hopes and dreams…
Henry carefully fitted his wrench in the tool belt snapped around his waist, and sat down beside Heidi. “What’s a trust?”
“The fund that’s going to pay for your college education one day.”
“Oh.” He looked disappointed that it wasn’t something he could “repair” with his tools.
“Is he our friend?” Heidi asked.
Claire fastened the lid on the building blocks bin, and put it on the shelf in her office reserved for the twins’ playthings. “I’ve never met him, honey. He just moved here a couple of weeks ago.” She’d heard a lot about him, though. The newest member of the Summit, Texas, business community was supposed to be thirty-three years old, to-die-for handsome and single, a fact that had the marriage-minded females in the community buzzing. Fortunately for Claire, she was not one of the group jockeying for attention. She had her hands full with her fledgling business and the twins she had inherited from her late sister and brother-in-law.
“Is he going to have good manners?” Henry, who’d lately become obsessed with what to do and what not to do, inquired.
“I’m sure Mr. H. R. McPherson is very polite,” Claire said. Most bankers were.
Heidi put Sissy on her shoulder and gently patted her back, as if burping her. Her brow furrowed. “What’s H. R. McDonald’s?”
“H. R. McPherson, honey, and those are initials that stand for his first and middle names.” Claire could not blame him for using them on business correspondence, even if it did make him sound a little like a human-resources department. “Although,” she observed wryly, shelving the last of the toy train cars scattered about, “who would name their son Heathcliff and Rhett in this day and age, I don’t know.”
“As it happens,” a low male voice drawled from the open doorway behind her, “the hopeless romantic who came up with that idea was my mother.”
As the sexy voice filled the room, it was all Claire could do to suppress her embarrassment. Talk about bad timing! She’d just mouthed off about the man she could least afford to insult.
Slowly, she turned to face the interloper.
The ladies in town were right, she noted with an inward sigh. Tall, dark and handsome did not begin to do this man justice. He had to be at least six foot four inches tall, and buff the way guys who worked out regularly were. Nicely dressed, too, in a striking charcoal-gray business suit, navy-and-gray-striped shirt and sophisticated tie.
His midnight-blue eyes glimmering with amusement, he waited for her to say something.
Flushing, Claire flashed a smile. “This is awkward,” she said.
“No kidding.”
She took in the chiseled features beneath the thick black hair, the straight nose, the eminently kissable lips. “And you’re early.”
He shrugged and stepped closer, inundating her with the compelling mixture of soap, man and sun-drenched November air. “I wasn’t sure how long it would take me to find the ranch.” He extended his hand for the obligatory greeting, then assisted her to her feet. A tingle of awareness swept through her.
“I didn’t think you’d mind,” he added cordially.
Claire probably wouldn’t have, had she not been down on the floor with the kids, speculating inappropriately about his lineage, at the exact moment he’d walked in.
Ever so slowly, he released her hand, and she felt her palm slide across the callused warmth of his. She stepped back, aware she was tingling all over from the press of skin to skin.
“You can call me Heath,” he told her.
She swallowed nervously. “I’m Claire.” Aware of the little ones taking refuge at her sides, she cupped her hands around their shoulders and drew them closer, conveying that they would always be safe with her. “And this is Heidi and Henry, the beneficiaries of the trust.”
Heath shook their hands solemnly. “Pleased to meet you, Heidi. Henry, nice to meet you also.”
“Pleased ta meet you!” the twins echoed, on cue.
Claire grinned, happy her lessons on manners were sinking in.
“So when do you want to get started?” Heath asked in a more businesslike tone.
“Just as soon as their sitter arrives,” Claire declared, glad he was putting them on more solid ground.
FORTUNATELY FOR HEATH, that wasn’t long in coming. A pickup truck parked in front of the office and a petite woman, with cropped salt-and-pepper hair, got out. Claire introduced Mae Lefman, who, with a warm smile, led the children out of the office.
Through the double hung windows that fronted the ranch office, Heath watched them go. “Nice place you’ve got here,” he remarked.
He knew, of course, that the Red Sage Guest Ranch and Retreat had been in the Olander family for several generations, and that oil had been drawn from the ground, until the wells all went dry.
Claire’s dad had dabbled in ranching and worked to restore the property to its natural state. Claire and her late sister and brother-in-law had figured out yet another way to earn a living from the twenty-nine-thousand-acre spread.
Which was why he was here.
Heath braced himself for what could be a very unpleasant meeting. Tensing visibly, Claire Olander gathered the flowing folds of her chiffon skirt close to her slender legs and sat down behind her desk. She wore a dark-green turtleneck sweater, the same hue as the floral pattern in her skirt, and a charcoal-gray corduroy blazer. Soft leather boots peeked out from beneath the hem of her skirt.
Her hair was the same wildly curly honey-blond as her niece’s and nephew’s, the shoulder-length strands pulled back from her face in a clip on the back of her head. Silver feather earrings adorned her ears.
She was a fair bit shorter than he was, even with the three-inch heels on the boots—maybe five foot seven. Slender. Feminine. Sexy in an innocent, angelic way. She was also stubborn. He could see it in the feisty set of her chin and the determined look in her long-lashed amber eyes.
Claire Olander was used to having things her own way.
And that, Heath knew, could be a problem.
He sank into a chair opposite her. “As you know, I’ve been recently assigned by the bank to administer the trust your sister and her husband left for the twins.”
“Right. The banker who was doing it retired from First Star Bank of Texas a few weeks ago.”
Heath nodded. “As trustee, my duty is to protect the financial interests of the kids. I’m concerned. The results of the audit were not good.”
This was, Heath noted, no surprise to Claire Olander. She held up a slender hand. “I’m aware the health of the business could be better, but I’ve only had the guest cottages up and running for the past eight months.”
He had noted how shiny and new everything looked when he drove in. “Orrin Webb, my boss at the bank, told me you opened after the death of Liz-Beth and Sven.”
With sadness flooding her face, Claire turned her attention to the scenery outside the window. “This was our dream. Neither of us wanted to sell the ranch. Nor were we interested in trying to run cattle here, the way our dad did.”
“It’s my understanding that you inherited all the surface improvements on the property—meaning the ranch house and the barn—and your sister was bequeathed the mineral rights.”
“The latter of which are worth nothing, since the wells here were pumped dry forty years ago.”
“The land is owned jointly and can only be sold in one piece, if all parties agree.”
“That’s correct.”
Heath consulted his notes. “You and your sister had equal shares in the guest-ranch business.”
Again Claire nodded.
“Heidi and Henry received all their parents’ assets upon their death, all of which remain in trust.”
“That’s correct.”
Heath looked up again, as determined to do his job as she was to do hers. “Wherein lies the problem. The trust needs to be generating—not losing—income.The results of the annual audit in September show that the business is in the red.”
“Some months it’s in the red, others it’s in the black. For instance, we were fully booked most of June, July and half of August.”
Heath had known she was going to be difficult. “What about now?” he pressed.
Her shoulders stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“How many of the twelve guest cottages are rented?”
Claire flushed. “Thanksgiving is two weeks away.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
She let out an aggravated breath and shot him a challenging look that in no way detracted from her femininity. “Right now, we have three of the cottages rented. Mr. and Mrs. Finglestein from upstate New York are here for two weeks. They’re avid birders. Ginger Haedrick is here until the house she is building is ready to move into—that may not be until Thanksgiving week, though she’d like to get in sooner and is pushing the builder along. It might work—Ginger is one of the real estate brokers in the area.”
“I’ve met her.” She seemed ambitious, almost ruthlessly so. “She came by the bank to give me her business card, and offered to find me a place to live as soon as my town home in Fort Stockton sells.”
“And then we have T. S. Sturgeon, the mystery writer, who’s here on deadline, trying to finish a book. I think she’ll be at least a few more weeks, but again, it all depends.”
“Which means you have a quarter of the cottages rented,” he stated.
“It’s off-season.”
“How are the bookings for the holidays?”
Claire Olander pursed her incredibly soft-looking lips. “Does it matter? It seems you’ve already made up your mind that the Red Sage Guest Ranch and Retreat is a failure.”
“I didn’t say that.”
Eyes flashing, she took a deep, bolstering breath. “Your questions implied it.”
Silence thrummed between them.
“Here’s the bottom line.” Heath tried again. “If nine months pass and the trust is not productive—not turning a profit—something must be done. The mineral rights could be sold, for example.”
“No!” She cut him off, her voice unexpectedly sharp.
“Or a portion of the business.”
“Absolutely not!” She vaulted to her feet.
Heath stood, too. He put his notes away. “Look, I’m aware this is a lot to digest. You’ve got two weeks to think about it. In any case, on December first, the Tuesday after Thanksgiving, I am going to have to make some changes.”
“What if I can get the bookings up and demonstrate that the business will start turning a profit immediately? Would that change things?”
Heath nodded. “Definitely. The trust doesn’t have to be making a large profit, Claire. Particularly if there is potential for a lot of growth in the long run. There just has to be some.”
She shrugged and planted both hands on her slim hips. “Well, then, I’ll make it happen.”
Trying hard not to notice how the preemptive action had drawn her sweater and blazer against her breasts, Heath said, “Speaking of vacancies…What would you think about me renting one of the cabins for the next few weeks?”
Claire froze, regarding him suspiciously. “The ranch is a twenty-five-minute drive from town.”
Heath told himself he was not doing this to help her out financially. Nor was he doing it because she was treating him in a way that young and beautiful women never did. “I don’t mind the commute,” he told her with a challenging grin. And he liked the peace and quiet of the ranch. Liked the backdrop of rough granite and wild meadows, the mountainous backpacking terrain. This, he thought, was southwest Texas at its best.
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.”

Chapter Two
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.”
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 shook his head, she popped two slices of whole wheat bread into the toaster and got out a jar of peanut butter.
Heidi explained solemnly, “Henry only eats peanut butter toast for dinner.”
“Really?” Wiley said. “This food looks awfully good.”
“I’ll eat it,” Heidi interjected proudly. “I like everything. But Henry doesn’t.”
Her brother glanced at Heath. Claire, too, was curious to see the man’s reaction.
“I’m glad you know what works for you,” he said. “It’s important for a fellow to know his own mind.”
Henry’s eyes widened appreciatively. That was not the reaction he usually got.
Claire flashed Heath a grateful smile, then sat down at the table. While they helped themselves, family-style, to the food, she cut straight to the chase with Wiley. “So what was this business you wanted to discuss with me?”
“I’m in Summit County to look for oil.”
She lifted her palm. “The wells on the Red Sage went dry forty years ago.”
That information didn’t deter Wiley. “Conventional extraction yields only thirty percent. The rest of the oil squeezes into tiny cracks in a reservoir and clings to the underground rocks. There’s a process now that wasn’t available at the time your wells were capped, called water-flooding.”
“I know all about injection wells,” Claire said. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Heath accept a bite of Heidi’s green beans with great relish. Suppressing an amused smile, she continued, “The oil companies push water into the ground and try to wash out the remaining oil.”
Wiley nodded, as Henry offered Heath a bite of peanut butter toast. “That’ll get out a portion, but not all. Adding surfactant could get out even more.”
Claire shook her head, as Heath offered Henry a bite of his meat, which he refused. “I don’t want chemicals on my land,” she said.
Ignoring the increased restlessness of the kids, Wiley pushed on. “We could also inject steam or carbon dioxide into the wells.”
Henry offered Heath another bite of peanut butter toast, which was wordlessly accepted. Not to be outdone, Heidi gave him another green bean.
With effort, Claire pushed aside thoughts of how comfortable he was with the kids and what a great dad Heath would be, and brought her mind back to the business at hand. “Injecting steam requires putting in huge pressure vessels to heat the water. I don’t want anything that dangerous or noisy or intrusive on the ranch,” she stated decisively. “The same goes for carbon dioxide.”
“How about putting microbes into the wells then?”
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?”
“Wouldn’t hurt to open the door to the possibility,” he told her wryly.
Aware that her pulse had picked up, Claire conceded, “Maybe in five, ten, fifteen years, when they go off to college. Until then, I’m on my own and staying that way.”
“Sure about that?” he murmured.
Claire straightened with as much dignity as she could manage. “Quite sure.”
He smiled. Their gazes meshed and the seconds ticked by. His head bent, and hers tilted upward. Their lips drew ever closer. He was going to kiss her, Claire realized suddenly, and she was going to let him!
Or at least he would have kissed her just then, had it not been for the pitter-patter of little feet just outside the kitchen door.
The adults turned in unison as Heidi and Henry entered the room. As always, they looked adorable in their pajamas, their blond curls askew.
Heidi had her favorite doll baby, Sissy, tucked beneath her arm again. “Aunt Claire?” she asked, her expression absolutely intent.
Claire’s heartbeat quickened even more. “Yes, honey?”
“When are Mommy and Daddy coming home?”

Chapter Three
Claire breathed in sharply, clearly thrown off guard by the twins’ innocent query. Briefly, a mixture of grief and shock crossed her face.
Just as quickly, she pulled herself together and approached the twins. Kneeling down in front of them, she wrapped her arms about their waists, and pulled them toward her. “Mommy and Daddy are in heaven,” she said very gently. “Remember? We talked about this.”
“Yeah,” Heidi said, pointing upward as if to demonstrate her comprehension. “But heaven’s up there in the sky.”
“And birds are, too,” Henry concurred.
“But birds come down. On the ground. So when are Mommy and Daddy going to come down on the ground, too, and come see us again?” Heidi asked plaintively.
“We miss ’em,” Henry said sadly.
“I know you do,” Claire said, her own voice thick with unshed tears. “I miss them, too. But they can’t come back and be with us, as much as we want them to.”
Heidi and Henry fell silent, their expressions both stoic and perplexed. Claire gave them another hug. “What do you say we go upstairs and I read you another story?”
“Can he come, too?” Henry pointed at Heath.
“Yeah. I bet he likes stories,” Heidi declared.
“We can’t ask Mr. McPherson to do that,” Claire said softly.
The twins both looked as if they were about to pitch a fit.
Figuring a change of mood was in order, Heath interjected, “Sure, I can. In fact, I’ve got to tell you, I am one fine story-reader. I can even do voices.”
Claire sent Heath a grateful look, making him glad he had intervened.
Heidi’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean, you do voices?”
“Ah!” Heath held out a hand to Henry, who looked the most ready to revolt. “I guess I’ll have to show you. What stories do you like best?”
“Ones about Bob the Builder,” Henry said, thrusting out his bottom lip.
“Ones about dolls,” Heidi declared. “And Sissy likes them, too.”
Together, they all headed through the hallway, past the formal rooms, reserved for ranch guests, and up the wide front staircase. Claire looked over their heads and mouthed, “Thank you,” to Heath.
He whispered back, “You’re welcome.”
Twenty minutes and four stories later, the twins were finally drowsy. “It’s bedtime now, for real,” Claire said. “You have preschool tomorrow morning, and you don’t want to be too tired to enjoy it.”
“Okay.” Henry stifled a yawn, holding out his arms for a hug. Claire obliged. When she released him, Henry turned to Heath, and held out his arms again.
Ignoring the sudden lump in his throat, Heath hugged the little boy. At times like this, he wished he had made better choices. If he had, he might have married a woman who wanted children as much as he did. Instead, he was still searching for a woman who wanted the same things out of life. A woman who yearned for more than a successful husband and a growing bank account.A woman who would put family first. A woman like Claire.And kids like the twins.
Heidi hugged both of them, too, then smothered a yawn with the back of her hand, too. Clasping her doll Sissy, she snuggled down into the covers. “Night,” she said, already closing her eyes.
Heath’s heart filled with tenderness.
“I’ll see you in the morning.” Claire backed out of the room, Heath following suit. Soundlessly, the two of them crept down the stairs.
They walked back to the kitchen. “Do you want some coffee? I can’t drink regular this late in the evening, but I can handle decaf,” she told him.
“Sounds fine. Thanks.”
Claire released a breath. “You were great just now.”
Seeing how upset she still was, wanting to help in whatever way he could, Heath leaned in the doorway. “Does that happen often?”
“Once every couple of weeks now. Initially, it was all the time.” Claire’s hands trembled as she tried to fit the paper filter into the coffee maker. Eyes focused on her task, she continued, “The psychologist our pediatrician referred us to said that children under age eight don’t really grasp the concept of death. They don’t understand the finality of it. So it takes them a long time to really accept and adjust to the fact that their loved ones aren’t coming back, that they won’t see them again on this earth.” Claire raked her teeth across her lower lip, shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “I’ve tried to explain about heaven, about how one day we’ll all be together again, but I don’t think they get that, either.”
Without warning, the tears she had been holding back splashed down her cheeks.
Heath didn’t have to think; he knew what he had to do. He crossed the kitchen in two long strides and took her into his arms. No sooner had he pulled her against his chest than the dam broke. Claire’s whole body shook with silent sobs. His shirt soaked up her tears, and still she cried, her face pressed against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms closer around her, not sure what to say, only knowing that she needed to be held as much as he needed to hold her. Finally, the shuddering stopped.
Claire wiped the heel of her hand beneath her eyes, then drew back. “I’m sorry,” she sniffed.
“Don’t be.”
She shook her head, looking aggrieved. “I shouldn’t be behaving this way. Especially not with you…”
Heath stroked a hand through her hair. “You’ve got every right to be sad,” he soothed. But even as he spoke, he could see she didn’t want to feel that way. She wanted the mourning to be over. She wanted to be able to move on.
And he wanted to help her do that.
CLAIRE SAW THE KISS coming. Realized she could stop it. All it would take was a look, a sigh, a shake of her head. Instead, she lifted her face to his and stepped back into his embrace. Her lips parted as his touched hers, and then everything in her life that was painful and wrong, everything that should never have happened, faded away.
She reveled in the taste and smell of him, in the tenderness of his touch and the reckless abandon of his kiss. He held her as if she were the most fragile possession on earth. He kissed her as if she were the strongest. And in truth she felt both.
Like she could handle anything.
She just didn’t want to handle it alone.
Not anymore.
And that, more than anything, was why she broke off the kiss and stepped back.
They faced each other, their breathing erratic.
But the apology she half expected from Heath never came.
And it was easy to see why.
Judging from his expression, he wasn’t sorry he kissed her. Any more than she was that he had. And what was up with that? She knew better than to mix business with pleasure, to get involved with a paying guest. And she especially shouldn’t be kissing the man in charge of the twins’ trust fund. Which was why she had to get him out of here before they got any closer.
She flashed an officious smile and glided away from him. “Let me get you a cup of coffee for the walk back to your cottage.”
“Thanks.”
She filled a mug, turned and handed it to him. Their hands brushed once again as the transfer was made, and Claire felt another whisper of desire float through her, stronger than before.
Until now, she hadn’t realized how lonely she was.
Now, she knew.
And so did he.
“See you in the morning,” he said.
“Eight-thirty,” she confirmed, her heart still pounding, all her senses in overdrive.
But, as it happened, she saw him sooner than that. Heath was in the front parlor, helping himself at the breakfast buffet, when she shepherded the kids toward the front door, to wait for their preschool car pool. He was clad in a navy and—white pin-striped shirt and navy suit that made the most of his tall, muscled frame and brought out the blue of his eyes. One look at his ruggedly handsome face and enticing smile and she knew he was thinking about the kiss they’d shared, as much as she was.
Deliberately, Claire turned away. “Now, remember,” she told the twins, as she stopped at the front hall closet and took a gift-wrapped package off the shelf. “You’re going to a birthday party this afternoon. Buddy Nesbitt’s mommy and daddy are going to drive everybody to Buddy’s house, and you’re going to have pizza and birthday cake, and play games. And then when the party is over, I’m going to come and get you and drive you home.”
“Are they going to have candles?” Henry asked, standing patiently as Claire helped him into his light jacket.
“Yes. I’m sure they’ll have candles on Buddy’s cake.”
“Is he going to do that wish thing and blow them out?” Heidi asked.
“Yes, he gets to make a wish, and then he blows the candles out.”
“But he can’t tell anybody or it won’t come true,” Heidi recollected solemnly.
“Right. Birthday wishes are secret,” Claire said.
“I want a birthday,” Henry declared.
“Your birthdays are coming up next week.”
Heidi perked up. “Do we get a party?”
“You do,” Claire said. “It’s going to be at the park and you can invite all your friends. It should be a lot of fun.”
“Yes!” Henry clapped his hands together.
Hearing a car rumbling up the drive, Claire opened the door and herded the kids out to the nine-passenger vehicle. She handed the present to the mom driving the car, for safekeeping, made sure the twins were both buckled in, then stood waving as the van disappeared again.
Heath came out to stand beside her. “The twins seem okay this morning,” he noted.
Remembering how much help he had been to her the night before, she turned to him with a wry smile. “That’s the way it is. One minute they’re confused and grieving, the next it’s like nothing ever happened.”
Heath searched her eyes. “I gather you have a harder time bouncing back?”
“Unfortunately, I understand the finality of our loss.” As an image of her late sister came to mind, Claire swallowed. She focused her attention on the horizon as she confessed, “I think the holidays are going to be tough.”
Sympathy radiated in his low voice. “Your first…”
She nodded. “Without Liz-Beth and Sven, yes.” She swallowed again, then knotted her hands into determined fists at her sides. “But we’ll get through it, because we still have a lot to be thankful for.” She paused, drew a bolstering breath. “Speaking of which, you ready to go over to the ranch office and talk about how we can make the numbers work?”
He nodded, all business once again. “Lead the way.”
HEATH SETTLED IN A CHAIR on the other side of Claire’s desk, aware this wasn’t an ordinary business meeting, any more than the kiss they’d shared the night before had been ordinary. What happened in the next few weeks would either make or break Claire’s dreams for the Red Sage, while simultaneously securing the twins’ inheritance.
Heath did not want to be in the position to make that kind of impact on her hopes for the future. But it was his job. And he always did his job.
Claire folded her hands together and consulted the handwritten notes in front of her. “You said the other day that as long as the business demonstrated the potential for growth, as long as the guest ranch could turn a small profit, you wouldn’t have to sell anything.”
Trying not to notice how pretty she looked in a dark-gold sweater and brown-and-gold paisley skirt, Heath nodded. “The problem is, according to the rates you’ve set for the rooms, that’s not going to happen, with the kind of occupancy you’ve got right now.”
She leaned back in her swivel chair. “We were at capacity for seven weeks this summer.”
Heath kept his eyes locked on hers. “And not even half occupied since September.”
A delicate flush highlighted her cheeks. “I put up a Web site, and that’s bringing in some business. But obviously I’ve got to do more, which is why I’ve written to every newspaper and magazine editor in the state and let them know we’re open for quiet R & R, family reunions, business retreats.”
“When did you do that?”
Resentment colored her tone. “I started sending out letters the end of August, the beginning of September, when things slowed down.”
A good move, but possibly not enough. “What’s the response been?” Heath asked.
The evasive look was back in her eyes. She started to rise. “Can I get you some coffee?”
He respected her too much to be anything less than forthright. He shook his head in answer to her question and said, “It’s not enough just to send out brochures.”
She sank back in her desk chair and rocked back and forth impatiently. “I’ve made phone calls, too.”
“Any results?”
She hedged. “All it would take is one good review in Southwestern Living magazine, or the travel section of a Houston or Dallas paper travel section, and I’d be fully booked in no time.”
“Even if you were to get good press right now, I’m afraid it might be too little too late.”
Claire massaged the back of her neck with both hands. “If we could just hang on until next spring, and be patient…”
Heath pretended not to notice the way her posture drew his attention to her curves. “Right now the ranch is operating anywhere from five hundred dollars a month in the black to five thousand dollars in the red.”
“I know.” Claire dropped her hands. A pleading note came into her voice. “But if you average those numbers over the nine months we’ve been open, I’m only short a thousand a month.”
He wished he could cut her a break. “What about the winter months coming up?” he inquired matter-of-factly. “Do you have bookings?”
Again she looked regretful. “Some.”
“How many?”
Claire sighed. “Not enough.”
Not nearly enough, he thought in disappointment, when she reluctantly showed him her list of reservations. “Is there any other way you can bring in money?”
She tilted her head and the subtle movement brought him the lavender scent of her perfume. “We had plans to turn the barn into a party facility, use it for wedding receptions and big parties, but Sven and Liz-Beth died before we could get started on that.”
It was a good idea. Unfortunately, it couldn’t happen fast enough. “You could charge for breakfast.”
Claire disagreed. “All the big hotel chains offer free breakfast with an overnight stay now. To stay competitive, I have to do that, too.”
Silence fell as they both stared at the numbers on the pages in front of them. “Is there any equipment you could sell—like a tractor or something—to temporarily add to the profits?”
“We liquefied everything we could when we were building the cottages. What little lawn we have mowed now, that isn’t xeriscaped or returned to the wild, is done by a rancher in the area.” Claire leaned forward, and Heath sensed it was all she could do not to grip his hands. “If I can get good press, more exposure, I can turn this around.”
Heath figured he could ask around at the bank, see if anyone at the other branches had any ideas, or was in a position to call in a favor. In the meantime, he would be straight with her. “You’ve got a little less than two weeks.”
Claire was unable to mask her disappointment. “And if I can’t manage to turn things around by then?” she asked warily.
He exhaled, hating to be the bearer of bad news to such a sweet woman. “Then we’re going to have to look at doing one of two things. Lease or sell at least part of the mineral rights to the ranch. Or sell off part—or all—of the twins’ share of the business.”
If he had to do either, Heath knew, she would end up resenting the heck out of him.
There’d be no more kisses.
No more confidences.
Not even the possibility of romance.
And that really stunk.
IT WAS NEARLY EIGHT in the evening by the time Heath left the bank, grabbed a bite to eat and got back to the Red Sage. As he pulled into the parking lot, real-estate broker Ginger Haedrick drew up beside him. They got out of their vehicles at the same time.
Ginger gestured toward the office, where lights were blazing. “What’s going on?”
Through the windows, Heath could see most of the other Red Sage guests milling around Claire. “I don’t know. Let’s find out.”
The two of them went over to the office.
When they walked in, Heidi and Henry looked up from the toy corner. They had obviously already had their baths, and were in their pajamas.
“Hey!” Henry’s face lit up. He elbowed his sister. “Look! It’s Mr. Fearsome.”
Heidi grinned, too. She plucked a picture book off the shelf and ran over to him. “Can you read us another story with voices?”
“We went to a party today,” Henry declared, ignoring his twin. “They had cake and everything.”
“Yeah.” Heidi clutched her storybook to her chest, and peered up at Heath. “We helped Buddy blow out the candles because he couldn’t do it all by himself.”
“That’s great.” Heath smiled.
Ginger looked over at the banquet table in the corner. It was covered with a gingham tablecloth as well as boxes of pizza, paper plates and napkins. An ice-filled washtub holding canned sodas sat on the floor next to it. “Y’all having a party?” she asked, in a tone that indicated if it were true, it wasn’t much of a celebration.
“We’re helping Claire make a sales video for the ranch,” Mr. Finglestein said. He and his wife were dressed identically in khaki trousers, plaid shirts and multi-pocketed canvas vests. Both had binoculars slung around their necks. The excitement in their eyes made them look younger than their fifty-something years.
Mrs. Finglestein nodded and indicated the jumble of cameras, cables and laptops connected to Claire’s computer. “We’re letting Claire use some of the footage we’ve shot while we’ve been birding.”
T. S. Sturgeon, the mystery writer on deadline, looked up from the yellow legal pad she was scribbling on. “I’m writing the copy.” She paused and considered Heath. “You have a nice voice. Deep. Resonant. Quietly authoritative. Maybe you should do some of the voice-overs.”
Mrs. Finglestein nodded. “It would be worth your while. If you help, you get a free night’s stay.”
Claire avoided Heath’s eyes. With good reason, he thought. Making the sales video was a good idea, but reducing her profits for the month even further by giving away free lodging was not.
“Ginger could give it a try, too,” T.S. said. “Maybe have both a man and a woman speaking.”
Mrs. Finglestein nodded. “Might broaden the appeal.”
The twins tugged on Heath’s pant legs, soundlessly pleading for him to pick them up. Aware they were a little old for that, but also probably a little overwhelmed by the chaotic activity, he scooped one up in each arm.
“Read to us!” Heidi tried to give him the book, and ended up thunking him in the chin.
Claire sent them a distressed look. “Kids…!”
The door to the office opened. Mae Lefman, babysitter and part-time ranch employee, walked in.
Claire’s spine relaxed in relief.
“I got here as soon as I could,” Mae said, with a smile.
“They’re all ready for bed,” Claire told her. She crossed over to the children, and one by one, removed them from Heath’s arms, kissing and hugging them before setting them down next to Mae.
“I have work to do.” Claire knelt and faced Heidi and Henry, meeting them on their level. “SoMrs. Lefman is going to put you to bed and stay there with you until I’m finished.”
“Can Mr. Fearsome read us a story with voices?”
“No, honey, not tonight.But Mrs. Lefman will read to you.”
“How about Curious George books?” Mae suggested, holding out a hand to each twin. “They’re lots of fun.”
Wistfully, Heath watched the children walk across the yard to the ranch house. It shouldn’t matter to him who read the kids a bedtime story. But somehow it did…
Which probably meant he was getting way too involved.
“So how about it?” T.S. asked, drawing Heath back to the present. “Either of you interested in doing the voice-overs?”
“Thanks for the invitation, but Heath and I already have plans,” Ginger interjected. “I promised to show him some real-estate listings this evening so we can start looking at properties tomorrow. Maybe we can help some other time?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Claire looked at Ginger with the patience of a saint, given the agent’s rather snotty attitude. “But thank you for the offer.”
“If you need a voice-over,” Heath interjected, “or any other help, count me in. I don’t know a lot about putting together a video, but I’m a quick study.”
“Thanks. But I think we’ve got it covered. Y’all should stick to your original plans.”
She was jealous, Heath realized with surprise. And there was no reason for her to be. Now was not the time to clear that up, however. That was a discussion best had without an audience. “Well, if you think of anything I can do, let me know,” he volunteered. “I’ll be back later.”
Claire nodded and turned back to the computer screen in front of her.
Clearly resenting anything that got in the way of her making a sale, Ginger touched Heath’s elbow and escorted him toward the door. “The house I want to show you hasn’t come on the market just yet,” she said, loudly enough for everyone else to hear. “But it’s renovated and move-in ready. If you like it, we can make a preemptive bid,” she added, ignoring the fact he’d told her he did not want to purchase anything until his old home had sold. “You could be moved into your new place before the Thanksgiving holiday…”
And not so coincidentally, Heath thought, off the Red Sage. Away from Claire and the kids…
“PUSHY, ISN’T SHE?” T.S. murmured, after the two had left.
Struggling not to feel resentful, Claire shrugged, “Ginger’s just doing her job.”
“She’s after Heath,” Mrs. Finglestein stated.
So what if she was? It wasn’t Claire’s business. One kiss did not make her and Heath a couple, or anywhere close to it. They hadn’t even gone on a date. Nor were they likely to, given their complicated business relationship. “He’s single,” she said stiffly.
Mr. Finglestein studied her. “You should make a play for him,” he announced.
Claire flushed. Deep down, she’d had much the same thought. “Why do you say that?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Because you’d make a cute couple!” his wife exclaimed.
“Not everyone needs to be married.” T.S. turned to Claire with a wink. “But a little romance is always nice.”
Claire’s face was now fire-engine red. “He’s a guest!” she declared, as if that settled it.
“And you’re a woman and he’s a man,” Mrs. Finglestein quipped. “Seriously. You’re both available. We all saw the way Heath was looking at you just now. You should think about pursuing the attraction.”
“What’s the harm in generating a few sparks?” T.S. teased.
None, Claire thought. Unless her plan to make the guest ranch a success sputtered and failed, and Heath was forced—by virtue of his own responsibilities—to end her family’s dreams.

Chapter Four
Figuring he should take advantage of the trails everyone had been raving about, Heath set his alarm, grabbed a flashlight and went for a predawn run. The morning was crisp and clear and the air felt good in his lungs. Coming back to the ranch house afterward, he noticed that the lights were on.
Through the windows, Heath could see Claire moving around the kitchen.
He wondered if she was still ticked off at him, and even more curious as to why it mattered so much. After all, the two of them had just met.
He exhaled.
It all came down to the kiss they’d shared. His response to her, hers to him. There was definitely something there. Some special chemistry he could not ignore. He paused to stretch out his muscles, drew a few more deep, cooling breaths, then sauntered in.
Claire took a pan of freshly baked cinnamon rolls from the oven and set them on the counter to cool.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
She gave the pot of oatmeal a stir. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
Damn, but she looked gorgeous in a long denim skirt, a chestnut-hued sweater and the stack-heeled boots she wore around the ranch. Her honey-blond curls had a mussed, casual look that suited her perfectly. Heath edged closer. “You were up awfully late last night.”
Bypassing the coffee simmering on the warmer, she poured him a tall glass of ice water from the pitcher on the counter. “How do you know?”
Heath chugged the liquid gratefully. “I saw the lights.”
Her expression closed, she didn’t comment.
Okay, so she was ticked off at him. “Did you get your video finished?” he pressed.
“Yes.” Seeing he’d finished his water, she poured him some coffee with the impersonal politeness of a restaurant hostess.
Heath studied the pink color in her cheeks. “What’s the plan?”
Claire avoided his eyes as she mixed confectioner’s sugar, vanilla and milk. “Why are you asking?”
He matched her contentious tone. “Why don’t you want to tell me?”
She raised her chin, resentment simmering in her amber eyes. “Perhaps because you don’t approve and you don’t even know what I’m doing,” she blurted.
Heath took a sip of coffee, finding it as delicious as everything else she cooked, which somehow rankled even more. “I didn’t say that,” he stated evenly.
She released a short, bitter laugh. “Didn’t have to. I could see the little cash register in your brain going when you heard I bartered a night’s rent in exchange for help making the video.”
Heath exhaled. “You have to admit that’s not going to improve your cash flow.”
“We’ll see,” she said shortly.
He finished his coffee in silence and set his mug down on the counter. “You don’t want to tell me anything more about it?”
She reached for the decanter and refilled his mug. “Nope.”
Another silence fell, until Heath finally cleared his throat. “About Ginger…”
Claire tasted the frosting she was making and added a bit more vanilla. She hit the switch on the mixer, keeping her eyes on the concoction swirling around in the bowl. “I really don’t want to talk about Ginger, either,” she said tightly.
Resisting the urge to forgo all conversation and simply pull her close and kiss her again, he said, “I know how she made it sound last night.”
“Really.” Claire turned off the mixer and planted a hand on her hip. “And how was that?”
“Like she and I are getting closer than we are.”
Claire’s brow lifted. “Shouldn’t you be having this conversation with her?”
“I don’t have to—Ginger knows where she and I stand. Ours is a business relationship, period.”
“Yeah, well—” Claire’s lower lip shot out “—so is ours, and you kissed me.”
Heath tore his gaze from her mouth. “That kiss had nothing to do with business,” he told her gruffly.
“I agree.” Her eyes glimmered with emotion. “Which is why it shouldn’t happen again, given the fact that you and I have a business relationship.”
“Actually, we don’t have a business relationship,” Heath corrected, aware that, ethically, there was a fine line, and he was walking it. “My business arrangement is with your niece and nephew.”
Claire began icing the rolls. “You represent the fiduciary interests of the kids. And I’m their guardian.”
“Which puts us on the same team, because you want what is best for them, too.”
The buzzer went off. She slipped on heat-proof gloves and removed a casserole from the oven. “I’m just not sure we agree what that is going to be.”
Heath wasn’t, either. “I want you to succeed,” he said finally.
Noting him eyeing the egg, sausage, cheese and potatoe medley, she went ahead and cut him a square. It was piping hot and delicious, and only helped make her case that she knew what she was doing here…
“Then do whatever you have to with the bank and the trust to give me more time,” she pleaded, in a way that made it very hard to resist.
Heath reminded himself to stay in business mode. “I’d like to help you in any way I can.”
“But you’re not going to, right?” Claire twisted her lips as the phone rang, then reached over and picked it up. “Red Sage Guest Ranch, Claire Olander speaking…Your parents and their friends stayed at the ranch last summer? I’m sorry. I don’t remember, but we were…I don’t normally rent to anyone under twenty-one. I see.” She paused. “You understand it’s a dry county and we don’t allow drinking on the ranch?”
Heath cleaned his plate as the phone conversation continued. Claire gestured for him to help himself to more. She grabbed a piece of paper and pen and began jotting down names and numbers.
“Right now, we have seven cabins available. Three are two bedroom, with a sofa bed in the living room, so they can sleep a maximum of six adults. If you want to do that, I’m going to have to charge you per adult. Tonight? Sure. I can have everything ready by seven-thirty. Cash is fine. Thank you. Yes. See you then.”
Heath lifted a brow. It was easy to see something good had happened, from the excited gleam in her eyes.
“We’ve got twenty-eight college kids checking in tonight,” she reported.
The number sounded good. The type of guest did not. “There goes the peace and quiet.”
Heath expected her to be insulted. Instead she laughed and went back to icing rolls. “You are old.”
Heath could not understand why she wasn’t concerned. “They’ll be up all night,” he predicted. Not to mention the damage to the property that might be done.
Claire regarded him confidently. “I don’t think so.”
He blew out a frustrated breath. “Then you’re naive.”
She continued to smile as if she’d won the million-dollar lottery. “Are we done calling names here?”
“Who’s calling names?” Ginger breezed in the back door. “Any chance I can grab a roll and a cup of coffee for the road?”
“Help yourself.”
The real-estate agent plucked one of the unfrosted rolls off the tray, then smiled at Heath. “I’ll pick you up at the bank at five tonight?”
“Make it six,” he said, wishing she hadn’t chosen this moment to remind Claire they were going out to look at property.
Ginger smiled. “Six it is, then.” Breakfast in hand, she sashayed toward the door. Reaching it, she turned back and said with deliberate cheer, “Have a great day, y’all.”
Claire gave Heath a look that said he had just lost every bit of ground he had gained with her, and then some.
“Oh, I plan to,” she said.
CLAIRE MANAGED TO AVOID any direct personal contact with Heath for the next two days. She was busy with the influx of guests, and he was rarely around, despite the fact it was a weekend. Claire told herself she was happy he wasn’t there. One less thing to worry about. Obsess over. Yet on Sunday afternoon, as she was stripping cabins of their linens and towels after the group checked out, and she heard Heidi say, “There he is!” her spirits inexplicably rose.
She knew who the twins were talking about even before she turned around.
Looking innocent as could be, Heath sauntered toward them, stopping when the twins barreled into his legs.The two giggled in delight as he swooped them up in his arms simultaneously.
No one had done that since Sven died.
Claire felt tears well up inside her, but she pushed them away. She was not going to cry right now…She took a deep, bolstering breath.
“Did you see all the bi’cles?” Henry asked Heath.
He spared her a quick, assessing glance before turning back to the little boy. “I sure did.”
“There were lots and lots of them,” Heidi exclaimed.
“We’re too little to ride bi’cles,” Henry announced.
“Yeah. If we want to ride something, we have to ride our trikes!” Heidi said.
“Want to see us ride our trikes?” Henry asked.
“After we’re done,” Claire interjected, before they could jump out of Heath’s arms and run off to get them. “We’re in the process of taking out all the trash and collecting the linens. Remember? Say goodbye to Mr. McPherson, kids, so we can get back to our chores.”
Their expressions altered instantly. “Do we hafta?” Henry asked sadly.
Heidi’s lower lip shot out petulantly.
Their disappointment affected Heath. “Actually, I’m not doing anything. I could push the cart, too.”
“But you’re a guest.” Claire protested.
Gently, Heath set the twins back down on the ground in front of Cottage 2. He challenged her with a steady. “You accepted help from other guests.”
As if it were already settled, Henry walked up to the hotel laundry cart. “We’ll show you how to do it. First I gotta fix it with my wrench.” He got the plastic tool out of the carpenter’s belt around his waist and twisted and tightened the handle. Finished, he stepped back to admire his handiwork, the way he had seen his dad do.
Claire’s heart ached for him.
Heidi hugged Sissy close to her chest. Twisting a curly lock of her blond hair around her fingertip, she stared up at Heath as if he were the answer to her prayers.
Deciding it was easier to accept Heath’s assistance than explain to the twins why she couldn’t, Claire walked back inside the cottage, picked up the bundle of bed and bath linens and dumped them into the cart. The plastic bag of trash went into a second wheeled container.
With Heath “helping,” the twins wheeled the cart to the next cottage in need of cleaning.
Claire unlocked the door and ushered the kids inside. “Come in while I collect the linens,” she said.
Heath followed. “You were right, and I was wrong,” he told her.
She went to one side of the bed, he went to the other. Together, they made short work of stripping off the sheets. Somehow, the action was as intimate as sleeping together. Maybe because of all the forbidden images being in a bedroom with this gorgeous man conjured up…
Sensing Heath was not a man who apologized often, she took the bait. “Wrong how?”
“About the college kids. I’ve never seen hotel guests that quiet, never mind at that age.” He shook his head in wonderment. “How’d you do it?”
Claire smiled smugly. “I promised them ten percent off their tabs if no noise complaints were registered.”
“Still, it was a risk…”

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