by Kara Lennox
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.
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.
Chapter Ten
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?”
“I am now.” Gradually she dragged herself out of the sensual haze as she remembered where she was and with whom.
Oh, dear. Somehow Russ had made her feel all sexy and he hadn’t even been trying. He’d probably just wanted her to wake up.
She rolled over, finding his face too close to hers for comfort. “Is something wrong?” But she could tell just by looking at his face that nothing was wrong. He wore the expression of a kid on Christmas morning.
“No, nothing’s wrong. And I’m sorry for waking you. But yesterday you asked me how anyone could stand to live in the middle of nowhere—”
“I
think I referred to it as the godforsaken boonies,” she corrected him.
“Well, I have an answer for you. But you have to get up to see it.”
“See what?”
He all but dragged her to her feet, or rather foot, because she still couldn’t put weight on her left ankle.
“Where’s my walking stick?”
“Never mind, just lean on me. You’re gonna miss it.”
“Miss what?”
He didn’t answer. He just led her toward the big picture window that looked out onto the woods, a window she truthfully hadn’t paid much attention to before because the novelty of staring at winter-dead trees had worn off. But when she looked out, her breath caught in her throat.
The scene before her was a fairyland of glistening, sparkling ice, all tinted the most incredible shade of pink as the sun struggled to mount the horizon. Each branch, each leaf, each blade of grass was encased in a thin sheet of ice.
Into the midst of this wonderland, two deer calmly pawed at the ground and nibbled blades of winter grass uncovered by their sharp hooves. They were so close, Sydney could see the individual hairs that made up their coats.
“Oh!” was all she could think to say. She was literally struck dumb by the sheer beauty and she felt a ridiculous urge to cry. She’d never before truly understood the meaning of awe inspiring.
“This is why I come up here,” Russ said softly. She was still leaning on him to steady herself and it seemed perfectly natural when he slipped an arm around her shoulders.
Something startled the deer and they bounded off into the woods, white tails flashing. But Russ and Sydney continued to watch in companionable silence as the panorama changed with the rising sun, pink and orange gradually giving way to the bright sun and a flawless blue sky. An owl floated by on its way home from a long night of foraging and a couple of squirrels poked their heads out of one of the trees after it had passed.
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” Sydney said. “It’ll be my fondest memory of my visit to the Hill Country.”
