The Inherited Twins

“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.