Kara Lennox - One Stubborn Texan

Damn him and his big mouth. Although, he had to say, he felt better now that the lie was off his chest.

He dragged the sofa closer to the stove. If Sydney was determined to start for town tomorrow morning-and he didn’t doubt for a minute that she was-he was at least going to ensure she got a good night’s sleep.

SYDNEY AWOKE, disoriented at first by her lumpy bed and the smell of wood smoke. But then she saw the glow of the dying fire and she realized the cold had awakened her.

How had she gotten to the sofa?

Russ, of course. He’d carried her out here to be closer to the fire. She didn’t know whether to be miffed that he’d violated her privacy or grateful he’d been worried about her comfort.

Gratitude won out.

Maybe she should put another log on the fire. Her walking stick was still in the bedroom, but she could hop that far.

She flung off her blankets, bracing herself for the cold air, glad she’d taken the time to change into a pair of sweatpants and another flannel shirt. They might not be flattering, but they were warm.

She pushed up on her good leg and steadied herself, took one hop and promptly tripped over something.

“What the hell!”

“Ow!”

Sydney caught herself and rolled to the side, preventing yet another calamitous injury. “Russ, is that you?”

“Who else would it be?”

“I’m so sorry,” she said automatically. “I never saw you there. Did I hurt you?”

He sat up. “No, you just scared the bejeezus out of me.” She knew he was lying, though, because he was rubbing his head.

“What are you doing sleeping on the floor?”

“Staying warm. What are you doing wandering around in a dark room?”

“I was going to put another log on the fire.”

“Let me do it.” He helped her back to the sofa, where she gladly climbed back under her layer of blankets-four of them, she realized.

“You carried me in here?”

“It’s in the twenties outside. You were going to freeze in the bedroom.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said gruffly.

“Listen, about how I acted earlier-I’m really sorry. You have every right to refuse your inheritance. I was just frustrated, that’s all. Locating the Oberlin heir-it’s like the holy grail for someone in the heir-finding business. We’ve all taken a crack at it. There’s a whole Web site dedicated to you, did you know that?”

He poked at the fire. “I had no idea. What will they do with the money if the heir can’t be found?”

“There’s no statute of limitations. You or your heirs can claim it at any time.”

“I guess that kind of money does draw public attention. You could retire on the commission alone.”

“Some people could.”

Russ gave the fire a few more pokes, leaving the grate open so the room would warm up faster. Then he crawled back under his own blankets. He’d made a pallet on the floor next to the couch. Good thing this place had plenty of blankets.

“How much money would you need to retire?” he asked. “Or would no amount be enough?”

“Number one, I’m not interested in retiring. I love my work. Number two, if I earned a million-dollar commission, I would put it to use, never fear.”

“Doing what? Buying clothes?”

“Yeah. Clothes, jewelry, trips to Paris,” she said flippantly. “That’s all women are interested in, right?”

She turned over, facing the back of the sofa, indicating the conversation was closed. Damn it, she’d been prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt. But when he blithely assumed she wanted the commission simply because she was greedy, she could have smacked him and enjoyed it. Her plans for that money were none of his business. Just like his reasons for refusing the inheritance were none of hers.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “That was rude. I don’t know enough about you to make assumptions about your motives.”

She would have continued the argument, but her throat was closed up, her eyes burning and she didn’t want him to know how close to the breaking point she was. But Baines & Baines was on the brink of financial collapse, and the strain of juggling bills and making excuses to bill collectors had taken its toll on her. Unless her father performed some major financial miracle, Sydney was going to have to look into Chapter 11 as soon as she returned to New York. She’d taken a gamble, spending the last of her ready funds to follow a hunch on this disaster of a business trip, and she’d lost. Her hunch had been right and still she’d lost.

She felt a hand on her shoulder.

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Yeah, I got that.” They seemed to be spending a lot of their time being rude and then apologizing to each other.

“I have a question. Did Sammy Oberlin actually name me, specifically, in his will?”

“Yes, he did. ‘My son, Russell.’ Unfortunately, he neglected to mention your last name.”

“And Paula, his wife, got the other half.”

“Yes.”

Sydney closed her eyes, thinking the conversation was over. But just as she was about to drift off, Russ spoke again. “I still can’t believe he did that. He was a rotten father. I saw him when he would pick up my mother to take her to a party or whatever, but he wanted nothing to do with me. Sometimes he bought me elaborate presents for birthdays and Christmas, but that was mostly to keep my mother happy.”

“Maybe he just didn’t know how to relate to kids,” Sydney said, drawn into the conversation despite her intention to never speak to Russ again. “Some people are afraid of kids. And it might appear they don’t like children, but it might be they just don’t know how to behave around them.”

Russ actually chuckled. “Kind of like you and dogs.”

“I’m not afraid of dogs,” came her instant denial.

“Uh-huh. So you think my old man left me ten million bucks because that was the only way he knew how to relate to me? Through money?”

“It seems a logical explanation to me. You said he bought you expensive presents when you were a child.”

“He paid my mother off to be rid of us. He wanted to marry Paula, but she wouldn’t tie the knot unless Winnie and I were out of his life forever. She didn’t want the possibility of a pretty, pseudo-ex-wife turning Sammy’s head and she sure didn’t want any of his time or attention diverted by a kid that wasn’t hers. So Sammy paid off my mom to legally sever his parental ties to me and move out of state. Those aren’t the actions of someone who gives a damn.”

“Hormones will make a man do crazy things,” Sydney pointed out. “Men do all kinds of insane things in the name of love. Women, too.”

“I’m not buying it. You know what I think?”

“No, but you’re going to tell me.”

“It’s like I said before-I think he did it out of spite. He probably found out after a while that marriage to Paula wasn’t all sweetness and light. Hell, I could have told him that. And he knew leaving money to me would make her crazy. She knew exactly who I was, but she never mentioned it, did she?”

“No. She claimed she didn’t know he had a son.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.”

“So you know Paula?”

“She was another showgirl, like my mom. She was actually a friend of Mom’s. Supposedly. But anyone with half a brain could see Paula was after Sammy from the very beginning. Mom refused to believe it. She was incredibly naive. Still is.”

Sydney turned to face him, giving up on the notion of sleep. She found Russ lying on his back close to the sofa, his hands clasped behind his head, the fire illuminating his strong profile and making his sun-bleached highlights glow. Her heart stumbled just looking at him, his face so unguarded as he stared up at the ceiling, lost in memory.

“Well,” she said, “we may never know Sammy’s motives. So that’s why you won’t take the money? To spite your father? Trust me, he won’t know the difference.”

“No, that’s not why I don’t want the money.” He rolled over to his side, his back to her. Apparently the subject was closed. Again.

Fine. She flopped over onto her stomach and let out a sharp yelp when she jostled her ankle, having forgotten about it.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “I bumped my foot. Go to sleep.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The cabin was quiet-unnaturally so. The wind had died down and, unlike the previous night, no animals shrieked or croaked or rustled or scratched. They’d all burrowed somewhere warm for the night, no doubt. All Sydney could hear was the occasional crackle of the fire, the whisper of the ashes shifting and Russ’s soft breathing.

She couldn’t sleep. It was so still it was creepy. How did anyone sleep without the comforting noise of traffic, sirens and the pounding of a base beat every few minutes as a car with a killer stereo drove past the building?

Then she noticed a different noise, and this one she did know-a clicking patter against the window.

Freezing rain. Falling ice. Whatever you wanted to call it, it wasn’t supposed to fall in central Texas, not even in January.

She cursed her luck. Hopping down the mountain she could have managed; ice she could have dealt with. But not both at the same time. She wasn’t going to make it out of these woods tomorrow.

Sydney must have fallen back to sleep, because the next thing she was aware of, the light of dawn poured through the windows bathing everything in an orange-pink glow and Russ was shaking her shoulder.

Well, not shaking, exactly. He was rubbing her arm lightly, his touch warm and sensuous. Her body tingled all over and in the fuzzy world between waking and sleeping, Sydney’s natural guard was down. She snuggled deeper under the down quilt and enjoyed the purely physical sensations.

“Sydney?”

“Hmm?”

“You awake?”