by Kara Lennox
“Excuse me?”
“Just a word to the wise. I’ve seen the city girls come and I’ve seen ’em go. He might look like a good catch, but unless you like fishing and camping, you’re not likely to see much of him. And if you have any notions about dragging him to the city and putting him in a suit, you might as well give up right now.”
Sydney resisted the urge to laugh, because Bert was obviously sincere. He was trying to protect his friend from what he saw as a predatory female, an evil city woman.
“My dealings with Russ this afternoon are strictly business,” she said.
“That’s not what I hear.”
Oh, dear. She hadn’t meant to become the center of gossip. Another reason she liked the big city. No one cared whom she dated; no one paid attention to what time she came home or even if she came home. Not unless she counted her father, who’d developed an unnatural dependence on her lately. He’d already called her twice this morning with problems at the office he wanted her to solve. He’d made it clear he wanted her home—yesterday.
Bert returned to his newspaper, but Sydney could tell he was still watching her suspiciously. She made her way across the wood floor, around the counter and into the storage area, feeling Bert’s gaze burn between her shoulder blades the whole way.
The large storeroom was lined with all manner of products, from canned peas to laundry detergent to cat food. Stacks of camping gear—tents, sleeping bags, lanterns, cooking utensils—covered the floor. Big canoes hung from hooks in the ceiling. A thick steel door to the outside was unlatched and only slightly open.
Sydney peered through the crack, catching sight of Russ before he saw her and pausing a moment to savor the sight. She had to admit, he was one of the most attractive men she’d ever come across. His image had remained firmly implanted in her mind long after he’d dropped her off last night—hair with streaks of burnished brass and eyes the same color as a clear winter sky. He again wore faded jeans and much-laundered flannel shirt that revealed firm muscles every place she looked.
That rugged, outdoorsman look fit him as gracefully as the tailored-suit look fit some other men she knew.
As he leaned over to drop an armload of gear onto a blue tarp, his shirt stretched invitingly across wide, powerful shoulders. Sydney could easily guess what that soft flannel would feel like, how the firm body beneath the fabric would react to her touch.
She’d been thinking about it—had thought of little else, really, even when she’d been tracking down long-shot leads. She’d pretty much decided they’d done the right thing last night. One or two nights with this man would never be enough, yet anything more permanent was out of the question for her right now with her home in New York and her father depending on her. She couldn’t possibly maintain a relationship with a man who lived half a country away from her.
Russ turned to pick up a cooler and caught sight of Sydney. Immediately his chiseled features rearranged themselves into a smile. As he came closer, she caught a hint of his intriguingly masculine scent.
“Any luck with the other Russells?” he asked.
“Nothing but dead ends. Your cabin full of papers and photos is sounding better and better. Have I come at a bad time?”
“I have to get all the supplies ready for a camping party that’s set to show up any minute.”
“Need some help?” she asked. “I can tote and lift.”
He gave her a skeptical look. “I can handle it, if you don’t mind waiting a few minutes.”
“Please, go ahead. I noticed a historical museum on the next block. That looks interesting. The curators at small museums are often a wealth of information. Maybe I’ll just run over there—”
“No.” He said it, so emphatically she jumped. “I mean, the guy who takes care of the museum will talk your ear off about everything you don’t want to know about and it’s hard to get away from him. If you’ll just wait a few minutes, I’ll be done here and I can devote my full attention to you.”
“Well, okay.” But she still thought the museum sounded interesting. And talkative people were lifeblood for a private investigator like herself. She’d never had any problems with people who talked too much, only with people, like Russ, who kept their mouths shut. Fortunately, there were a lot more talkers in the world than silent types.
She found a perch on the edge of a concrete planter and watched him work.
He disappeared into the storeroom and returned with a tent, a lantern and some other items Sydney didn’t recognize.
After his third trip, a battered pickup truck bearing four boisterous college kids whipped into the parking lot.
Sydney waited patiently while Russ dealt with them, answering yet another call from her father, who couldn’t resist checking up on her every few hours. Ever since her mother’s death, her father relied on daily pep talks from Sydney to keep him going.
“I wish you’d tell me what you’re up to down there,” he huffed.
“I told you, I’m following a lead. It could mean a good commission. I’ll tell you more about it when I know more.” Lowell would freak out if he knew she had a lead on the Oberlin case. It might be just the thing to blast him out of his depression, but her likely failure might make things worse. “Aunt Carol is doing well.”
“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Lowell Baines concluded.
Darn it, even in his depressed state, his instincts were sharp. It was almost impossible to fool him. “I have to go, Dad. I’ll be home soon. Love you.”
“But, Sydney—”
She disconnected. Otherwise he would keep her on the phone forever, pestering her.
Russ was piling gear into the bed of the pickup and answering questions about terrain and the weather forecast, which was apparently of some concern. Although the sun was shining now, rain was due to move into the area that evening and Russ gave careful instructions for preventing the tents from washing away.
During one of his trips between the storeroom and truck, a sleeping bag toppled from his arms. She retrieved it for him and carried it to the pickup while the college boys eyed her breasts. Russ shot them a look that ended the ogling.
His display of primitive protectiveness made Sydney’s blood sing through her veins. She was looking forward to getting his “full attention.”
Chapter Four
Russ hurried to get the college kids on their way. So far he’d lucked out. The Milhaus sisters hadn’t revealed anything pertinent. But he had trouble on another front. His mother had heard about his date with Sydney last night, not to mention that several people had seen them yesterday around the square.
“If she’s your new girlfriend, I want to meet her!” Winnie had insisted when she’d called that morning. He probably should have seen this one coming.
“She’s not a girlfriend,” Russ had assured his mom. “She stopped by the store and we struck up a conversation. It’s just a casual thing and she’s leaving in a day or two. I’ll probably never see her again. You wouldn’t like her, anyway.” Which was blatantly untrue. His mother liked everybody. She’d always gotten on well with Russ’s girlfriends.
But in this case, the ends justified the means. Winnie had wasted too much of her life focused on money, had practically ruined her life in the pursuit of it. The one time she’d had money of her own, after Sammy paid her off to disappear, she’d blown it all on every unhealthy pursuit imaginable.
She was happy now, doing a job she loved and living close to people who cared about her. But that would change, he knew, if she saw a chance to get her hands on more of Sammy’s cash. The mere whisper of millions of dollars would send her into a tailspin he didn’t care to witness or deal with.
He glanced at Sydney; she was sitting on the edge of a planter with her face to the sun, enjoying the gorgeous afternoon. What had started out as a simple decision on his part to refuse an inheritance had turned into a big pile of deceit, and he didn’t like that, or himself for that matter, one bit.
S
till, he only had to keep the two women apart for another day or so and his problems would be over.
He approached Sydney, who had her eyes closed. “Hello?”
She jumped. “Oh. Sorry. I was about to doze off. I’m afraid I didn’t sleep too well last night.”
He hadn’t, either. He kept thinking about Sydney in his arms, how she’d felt, how she’d smelled, and he’d lain awake for hours. He wondered if her sleeplessness had a similar source and couldn’t help hoping so. “Was there a problem?”
“It was too quiet,” she admitted. “I’m used to traffic noises at night and all I could hear were my own ears ringing from the loud music at the club.”
So much for his fantasy that she’d been desperate for his touch.
“You actually like the city noise? I guess you can get used to anything.” He remembered what it was like to sleep in their Vegas apartment. Though he and his mother had lived in a pricey complex, the walls were paper thin. All night long, he’d hear people coming and going, cars and sirens, drunk pedestrians outside and his mother’s partying friends inside. He couldn’t imagine how anyone found that preferable to peace and quiet.
He looked down at Sydney’s feet. “We’ll have to do something about your shoes.”
“Why?” She looked down at her black, pointy-toed heels. “I won’t actually have to hike into the woods, will I? I have a policy never to walk on dirt.” She laughed, but Russ didn’t join her. They would, in fact, have to hike to get to the cabin, but he didn’t want to scare her off.
“What size do you wear?” he asked.
“Six-and-a-half,” she answered. “But—”
He went inside and Sydney followed, looking troubled. He scanned the shelves of shoeboxes until he found what he wanted, then grabbed a pair of socks. “Try these on.”
With a shrug, she slipped out of her heels and put the socks and hiking boots over her stockings.
Russ watched, appreciating the curve of her calf and her dainty ankles. She must really want to get at those papers, because she wasn’t built for outdoor adventures.
Nor did she dress for them. Today’s hat was some high-fashion take on a pith helmet. But as he watched her stretching to lace the hiking boots, he had to revise his initial impression. Beneath the olive skirt and zebra jacket she was no city-girl softie. He saw muscles in those legs.
Forcing himself to look elsewhere, he grabbed a couple of backpacks from the storeroom and quickly filled them with a couple of days’ food—easy stuff that wouldn’t require a lot of preparation. The cabin had a pantry full of canned and dry goods, so she wouldn’t starve. He included some bottled water.
While he worked, Sydney tried out the shoes in the main area of the store, pacing along one aisle and down another, her hips swaying gently with each step. Not that he was watching.
“These are really comfortable,” she said when she returned to the storeroom. “I’ll take them.”
“Consider them a gift,” he said. A guilty gift. Not that an expensive pair of hiking boots would make up for the hoax he was about to perpetrate. “Are you ready?”
She grabbed her purse and briefcase. “Sure.” He didn’t deserve the warm smile she gave him.
Bert agreed to watch the store the rest of the day, though grudgingly. He probably thought Russ had fallen for the bird of paradise, and it wouldn’t be the first time.
His last three girlfriends had all been city girls, two from Austin and one from San Antonio. None of them had been compatible in the long run, though for a while he’d thought Deirdre was the one. They’d been unofficially engaged and he’d designed his house with her in mind—someplace spacious and comfortable where she could feel at home. But before he’d laid the foundation, she confessed that she couldn’t survive in a small town, that she would go crazy with boredom. She’d been certain she could persuade him to move to the city.
That’s what happened with all of them. As soon as the novelty of tiny Linhart wore off, they couldn’t return to the bright lights fast enough. They couldn’t believe that he stayed in Linhart out of preference. It was as if deep down they believed he was just sitting there, waiting for the right woman to come along and save him from this small town.
He kept telling himself that a plain, uncomplicated, salt-of-the-earth farm girl would be his ideal mate—someone with old-fashioned values who appreciated the things he did. Problem was, he had yet to meet one around here who stirred up even a single hormone.
By contrast, Sydney stirred up a whole flock of hormones. Could he help it if he was a man who appreciated beauty in its more exotic forms?
Out behind the store, Russ opened the passenger door of his Bronco. He honestly tried not to watch as Sydney vaulted gracefully aboard, but he couldn’t miss the glimpse he got of the top of one stocking.
The woman wore real stockings, with a garter belt. That brief glimpse was going to haunt his dreams for a long time.
By the time he slid behind the wheel, Sydney was already sifting through his CDs, which was just as well. He wouldn’t have wanted her to notice that he moved a bit, well, stiffly. He set two bottles of water in the cup holders and revved up the Bronco’s engine.
“You’ve got some great stuff here,” Sydney said, selecting an early Lyle Lovett album. “You and my dad should compare notes some time.”
He doubted he would ever meet Sydney’s father. But he was probably an interesting man, given how his daughter had turned out.
Russ pulled out of the parking lot and down the alley, checking the clock. They had plenty of time. They would arrive at the cabin well before dark, provided Sydney took to hiking.
They cruised down Main Street. Russ took the scenic route, making a few extra turns. He felt a weird compulsion to show off his adopted hometown. He pointed out a few of the sites she’d missed yesterday, like the Linhart Winery.
“Do they import wine?” she wanted to know.
“Of course not. We grow the grapes not far from here. Every bottle of wine they sell is one-hundred-percent Texas.”
“Texas wine, huh?”
She sounded dubious, but it was no use arguing. “You’ll have to taste it some time. It’s good.” Finally he headed for the highway out of town. “If your father is a Texan, how’d you end up in New York?” He was genuinely curious why anyone would leave the Lone Star State for noisy, smelly New York. This place, with its ever-changing landscape of hills and forest, canyons and rivers, vast fields of wildflowers and winding, scenic drives, was paradise on earth as far as he was concerned. It had always felt more like home to him than Vegas.
“My father’s the one who left, not me,” Sydney explained. “He fell in love with New York and moved there before I was born, thank God.”
“Why, thank God?”
She laughed. “Can you imagine me with a Texas accent?”
“So you must really love New York.” He had no reason to feel disappointed, but he did.
“Oh, I do. Theater, museums, subways and taxis, Central Park, the Statue of Liberty. In New York, every day’s an adventure.”
“You can find adventure here,” he said, not sure why he was trying to convince her. It was her business if she wanted to breathe pollution every day and fall asleep to the sound of sirens and horns at night. But it was best to keep her talking about her family and off the subject of his. “So where’s your mother from?”
Sydney blinked rapidly and for about half a second her face reflected a brand of deep grief Russ was pretty sure he’d never felt. He’d obviously stuck his foot in it and was searching for something to say when she spoke.
“My mother was pure Manhattan,” she said, her voice cracking. “She died a few months ago—almost a year, now. She was my father’s business partner. They formed Baines & Baines together when they were hardly more than kids.”
“Baines & Baines,” Russ murmured. “I thought you were one of the Baineses.”
“Not officially. I started out working for the family business, but then I
branched out on my own. Heir-finding is fun, but it’s mostly research and phone calls. I wanted to get out in the field a bit more, so I started handling other kinds of cases and eventually set up my own office in the spare bedroom of my apartment.”
“But now you’re heir-finding again?”
“Temporarily. I’m helping out my father. Mom had the business head in the family and I’m afraid Dad has made rather a mess of things. I’m trying to get everything sorted out and keep the business on an even keel until he’s ready to take the helm again.” The note of cheerfulness she’d injected into her voice rang false.
“I’m sorry about your mom.” That wasn’t anywhere near adequate, he knew, but he wasn’t good with words or warm fuzzies. He spent too much time alone with his hound dog and with gruff Bert for company.
“No, I’m sorry,” Sydney said with a self-conscious hand to her forehead. “I didn’t mean to get sidetracked into my problems.”
“What type of cases do you handle when you’re not helping your dad?”
“A lot of security-consulting work. I have all kinds of clients—everything from mom-and-pop grocery stores to casinos. I do some insurance fraud, your garden-variety background checks on prospective employees, the occasional cheating spouse.”
“Sounds like your dad is lucky he has you to step in when he needs help.”
Sydney huffed. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you? But for Dad, I’ll always be a little girl. He checks up on me every five minutes.”
And solving this case—finding the long-lost Sammy Oberlin heir—would impress the hell out of her old man. Russ could read between the lines. That was why she was pursuing the case. Well, that and the million-dollar commission.
“Why does the conversation keep turning back to me?” she asked, sounding put out. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be asking the questions. What can you tell me about this cousin of yours?”
If he kept changing the subject, she would get suspicious. So he gave her some of the truth. “He’s an older man. A widower. Has some kids and grandkids. His family goes back at least four generations in the Linhart area.”
