The Inherited Twins

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.”