He braced himself for Sydney’s explosion. Whatever she threw at him, he deserved it. If he ended up without the chili pot over his head, he’d be lucky.

But the explosion never came. She was studying him as if he were some new species of insect she’d never seen before.

“I really don’t understand. I’ve seen people lie, cheat and steal to try to inherit money that didn’t belong to them. But I’ve never seen anyone work this hard not to inherit money.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Enlighten me.”

“I don’t want to be rich. I’ve seen what extreme wealth can do to people. How much do you know about my father?”

“Sammy? Not a whole lot, other than that he owned a very profitable casino and had ties to organized crime. That part isn’t my business. His will is my business. He left you half of his estate-he must have loved you a great deal.”

Russ laughed. “You gotta be kidding.”

“Well, something caused him to write his will that way.”

“Maybe he wanted to get revenge on his wife by cutting her out of her inheritance.”

“She received more than ten million, as well, so it wasn’t that.”

“Then the gesture was born out of pure guilt.” That was the only thing Russ could figure.

“Who cares why he did it? He did-it’s ten million dollars. You can’t just pretend it doesn’t exist.”

“That’s exactly what I have in mind. The poor bastard thought anything could be bought or sold with cold hard cash. Well, not me. He can’t buy my forgiveness for what he did, not with any amount.”

Sydney was silent for a while. She ate some of the potatoes, chewing thoughtfully. “What did he do that was so horrible? Did he abuse you?”

“Maybe I could have dealt with that. What he did was almost worse. To Sammy Oberlin, I was invisible. I didn’t exist. He wanted my mother in his bed, but he certainly didn’t want to marry her or take any responsibility for the consequences.”

“He didn’t pay child support?”

“He always handed my mother money for whatever she claimed she needed, but there were never any formal payments.”

“So this whole thing is a gesture of defiance,” Sydney concluded. “A grudge match between you and your deceased father. Who do you think is winning?”

When she put it like that, it sounded ridiculous. “There’s more to it.”

“So keep explaining.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation. My reasons are my own. Let’s just leave it at that.”

She sat there silently for a while, pondering. “All right,” she finally said. “If you’ll help me carry the dishes to the sink, I’ll wash them.”

“You don’t have to-”

“You cooked, it’s only fair I clean.”

He had to give her credit, she was trying to honor his wishes. But try as she might, it was clear she was confused and upset by his decision. He supposed he couldn’t blame her. No one liked being duped. “I’m sorry I can’t be more accommodating.”

She shrugged. “It’s just a million-dollar commission. Easy come, easy go. You brought me up to this cabin under false pretenses. I almost froze to death, I had to use that disgusting outhouse because you neglected to tell me there was a marginally adequate bathroom, I ate the grossest meals imaginable because you didn’t tell me the can labels were on the bottom, but, hey, you don’t owe me anything. And I’m not the kind of person to carry a grudge.” She managed to get herself upright and hobble to the kitchen sink without his assistance. “Just bring me the dishes, okay? I can lean against the counter. It’s probably best if we don’t talk about this anymore.”

She was probably afraid she’d do him violence if they talked any more. They were stuck with each other and isolated from any witnesses.

Russ decided he better do as she asked and consider himself lucky she wasn’t throwing dishes instead of washing them.

He carried their dishes to the sink and saw that Sydney was staring at the pump, mystified. Good gravy, she didn’t know how to work a pump, either?

“If the bathroom has running water,” she asked, “why doesn’t the kitchen?”

“Because Bert did exactly what was needed to put in a bathroom. No more, no less. The pump worked fine, so why replace it?”

“So idiots like me can wash dishes?”

Russ put a large pot in the sink. She stood aside and let him pump away, and after thirty or so seconds, a stream of cold water started to fill the pot. “I’ll have to heat some water on the stove. You might want to take a seat.”

Sydney scraped their plates into the trash, then hopped back to the table and sat with her chin propped on one hand while Russ heated the water. He tried to think of something to say, some avenue of conversation that wouldn’t start them arguing. But he couldn’t think of anything.

When the water was warm enough, he dumped it into a dishpan with some dish soap and Sydney began washing the dishes without a word, handing them to him when they were clean. He rinsed in cold, then dried and stacked. The silence was anything but companionable.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I told you it was complicated.”

“You could do a lot of good things with that money,” she said, not sounding quite as tense as before. Maybe the act of washing dishes had soothed her-the warm water, the scent of the lemon dish soap. He’d never minded washing dishes for that reason.

“So instead of the rich guy, I’d be the idiot who gave away ten million dollars. The press would love that.” Not to mention his mother would never speak to him again.

“You could start a charitable foundation,” she tried again.

“That’s a nice thought, but there’s no way. Admit it. If I accepted that money, my life would be changed forever. I happen to like my life just as it is.”

“I think that’s selfish.”

“What? I’m selfish because I won’t accept ten million dollars?”

“How do you know being rich would change your life for the worse? Have you ever been rich before?”

“In a matter of speaking, yes. When my mother was Sammy Oberlin’s common-law wife, we had everything money could buy and it was the most miserable existence you can imagine. Throwing money at people doesn’t solve problems, it creates them.”

“Speak for yourself,” she said curtly. Then she sighed. “I told you we shouldn’t talk about this anymore. I’m tired and cranky and my ankle hurts, so I’m going to bed. By tomorrow I’m sure my ankle will feel better. I want to get up first thing in the morning and start back. I don’t care if I have to hop all the way or crawl. I’ll get there somehow.” With that she dumped the dirty dishwater down the sink, grabbed her walking stick and limped toward the bedroom.

She closed the door with a firm, decisive snick, which was a pretty good indication that she didn’t want his company, not that that was even a remote possibility.

It was way too early to go to bed. Russ added another log to the fire, noticing for the first time that the cabin was getting colder despite the fact the stove had been burning hot for several hours. He checked the thermometer that hung just outside one of the windows, shining a flashlight on it from inside.

Holy cow, it was already below freezing. He knew one thing, the bedroom would be the coldest room in the house. If Sydney insisted on keeping that door closed, she might be nothing more than a Sydney-cicle by morning.

Knowing the reception wouldn’t be too welcoming, he went to the bedroom and tapped on the door. When he got no answer, he tapped a little harder.

“Sydney? I know you don’t want to speak to me ever again and I don’t blame you, but you’re going to freeze if you don’t open the door to let some warm air in.”

No answer.

He opened the door a crack and peered in. Sydney was asleep in the exact middle of the old iron-framed double bed, rolled up in a little ball with the quilt wrapped around her. Only her nose and a bit of her hair were visible.

Poor thing, she was probably already blue from the cold. The wind outside was howling and the log cabin was designed for Texas summers, not frozen winters. He could actually feel cold air gusting through the single-pane windows.

He did the only charitable thing. He walked to the bed, scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the main room.

She stirred as he laid her on the couch. “What are you doing?” she asked muzzily, not quite awake.

“I’m putting you near the fire to warm you up.”

She surprised him by throwing her arms around his neck. “Mmm, I could think of better ways to warm me up.”

Whoa. She had to be asleep-probably thought he was some other guy, some lover she had back in New York. But that didn’t stop his body from responding. He was instantly hard, and the idea of sliding in beside her on the couch and bundling up with her under a mound of blankets got stuck in his mind and wouldn’t leave.

But he’d abused the poor woman enough. He wouldn’t add seducing her when she was asleep to his list of sins. He gently disentangled her arms from his neck.

“Not tonight, sleepyhead.”

She was already in dreamland, probably unaware of his words.

Unable to resist, he touched his lips to hers.

She might be sleeping, but she still responded and he allowed it for three glorious seconds before he made himself pull away.

The woman was a bundle of contradictions. She represented all the things he’d left behind in Las Vegas-a slick city woman with an unhealthy fascination with other people’s money. If anything, she was an even worse match for him than Deirdre or Melanie or the others. At least they’d lived within driving distance.

But she loved her father, that much was certain. She’d put her own career on hold to help him out after her mother’s death. And she’d been a pretty good sport about getting stuck out here in the boonies-well, until he’d gone and blurted out the whole story.