One Stubborn Texan

by Kara Lennox

  “Oh. Ohhhh. That makes more sense. I should have asked her more about her work.” Winnie’s heart hammered inside her chest. Had someone left Russ some money?

  She knew of only one person connected to Russ who’d died with any money to speak of. When news of Sammy’s death had reached her a few years ago, Winnie hadn’t spent much time mourning the bastard. She had sent some flowers and a generic note of sympathy for Paula, because they’d once been friends even if the witch had stolen her husband, but then she’d promptly forgotten about it.

  Could Sammy have left Russ some money? It seemed unlikely. He’d never once treated Russ as anything but an inconvenience and an embarrassment. And wouldn’t Paula have gotten in touch to let her know? Granted, they hadn’t parted on the best of terms, but still.

  “Betty, you’re better at computers than I am. Would you help me look up some stuff?”

  Fifteen minutes later, crowded into her tiny office, Winnie and Betty stared at the computer screen in shock.

  “Ten million dollars. Sammy left Russ ten million dollars. My God. I’m going to be rich!”

  “Uh, Winnie, honey, before you get carried away, the money is Russ’s, not yours.”

  “He’s my son, my only child,” Winnie argued. “Of course he’ll share with me.” She closed her eyes, thinking of what all she could do with that kind of money. She’d buy the mink coat she’d always wanted, to replace the one she’d sold. And a brand-new Cadillac, the expensive kind, too, not a cheap one. Maybe a vacation to Paris. “I could have my own apartment in Paris!”

  “Winnie, you’re getting ahead of yourself.”

  “I have to call Eleanor. She’s always rubbed it in that she doesn’t have to work because her husband’s so stinking rich. This’ll shut her up. And Lisa Gerber, too. She practically laughed at me when I wanted to run for garden-club treasurer. Well, we’ll see about that.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sydney drove her own car to Russ’s house, following his Bronco. The road leading up to it was almost as bad as the one they’d taken into the woods before their hike, but that didn’t surprise her. She couldn’t see him living in some suburban subdivision. They were near a lake, she knew that, because she’d caught glimpses of the setting sun glistening on rippling water whenever there was a break in the trees.

  But nothing prepared her for his house. It was fantastic—a redwood cabin on steroids. His property was right on the water, and she could just make out a private dock and a boathouse maybe a hundred steps from his front door. He opened the two-car garage and then pulled to the side, motioning with one hand that she should park the BMW there.

  She slid the window open and he did the same. “I don’t want to take your parking place,” she said. Because the rest of the garage was filled with bicycles and kayaks and other sports paraphernalia, there was room for only one car.

  “You’re the one who has to get up early. It’s supposed to rain in the morning and I want you to be warm and dry for your trip.”

  That was really sweet of him. Since she’d had enough of cold and wet for this century, she accepted his offer.

  She opened her door to find Nero right there, waiting excitedly for her to exit the car. The dog did seem to like her, though she couldn’t imagine why. She hadn’t given him one bit of encouragement.

  “Nero,” Russ said sternly, “back off and let the lady move.”

  Sydney looked into the hound’s sad, bloodshot eyes and she saw something there she’d never seen before. Nero suddenly had an identity, a personality. He was no longer merely a dog, to be lumped generically with all dogs. He was Nero, Russ’s dog, the first dog to ever like her.

  She reached out one tentative hand and patted the top of his head. His fur was warm and soft. He seemed to enjoy the attention.

  “I guess he’s not such a bad dog,” Sydney said.

  Russ looked as pleased as she’d ever seen him, which was saying a lot.

  His house was no less impressive on the inside. The focal point was a great room with a fireplace in the center that heated both a den area and a dining room. A large kitchen opened out to both areas. A wall of glass looked out onto the deck and ultimately out to the lake. Everywhere were the earthy tones of wood and stone—the floors, the high-beamed cathedral ceiling, the walls. It was almost as if the house had spring directly from the earth without human intervention.

  Russ took her on a brief tour while Nero followed them around, his toenails clicking against the wood floors.

  “This is amazing.”

  “Thanks. I built a lot of it myself, though I had an architect friend refine my plans. Bert and a couple of the guys from town helped with some of the major stuff.”

  Sydney turned slowly, taking it all in. The furniture had a slightly worn, comfortable look, as did the rugs. The place didn’t have the appearance of a professional decorator, but it all worked.

  “Why don’t you sit down and put your feet up?” Russ suggested. “I’ll get us some wine and a snack. Our reservation isn’t until eight-thirty, so we have time.”

  How civilized. A late dinner. So not everyone in Linhart opted for the early-bird special and went to bed with the chickens.

  Russ showed Sydney to the most comfortable-looking chair in the den. She sat down with a sigh and put her feet on the footstool. Ah, heaven. She hadn’t realized how much her ankle had been hurting until she got off it.

  It took only a moment for Russ to get a fire going, with the help of a gas starter.

  “Now, that’s my kind of fireplace,” Sydney said. “I think even I could start this fire. No kindling, no newspaper, no using a zillion matches.”

  “It’s nice,” Russ agreed. “It rarely gets cold enough down here that a fire makes sense. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  She heard him going into the kitchen and rustling around. It sounded like maybe he was giving Nero food and water. Then she heard the unmistakable sound of a wine bottle being uncorked. He returned with two glasses filled with white wine and handed her one.

  “Authentic Texas wine,” he announced.

  She eyed it dubiously. “No kidding?” It looked like normal wine. “What shall we toast to?”

  Russ raised his glass. “To…civilization. Much as I love roughing it in the woods, I don’t mind creature comforts, either.”

  “To civilization,” Sydney agreed. They touched glasses and each took a sip of the wine. It was cold and dry and exactly what she needed. “Mmm, not half bad.”

  Russ sat on one end of the sofa. “I happened to look out the window at the store earlier and saw you coming out of Rose’s dress shop. What did you think?”

  Had he just “happened” to be looking? Or had he been watching for her? It pleased her enormously to think he’d been anxious for her to return.

  “It’s a very nice shop,” she said. “Rose is a lovely lady and she helped me pick out the perfect dress for tonight, on sale.”

  “It must have taken you quite a while to find what you wanted,” Russ said. “Either that, or it took you forever to get packed up and check out of the Periwinkle. I was starting to think you’d driven back to Austin after all.”

  “Oh, I didn’t spend all that time shopping. I had my nails done.” She wiggled her red nails at him.

  Russ went very still. “You did?”

  “Yes, and don’t look like a scared rabbit. I met your mother and she’s absolutely delightful. I did not breathe a word about money or Sammy Oberlin or anything like that. I’m afraid she got it into her head that I’m your new girlfriend and I didn’t disabuse her of the notion. I thought it would be simpler for her to believe that. And it’s a little bit true. I mean, we are going out on a date.”

  Russ relaxed. “So what did you talk about?”

  “About the latest hairstyles and fashion and what it was like living in New York and the fact that she’d like grandbabies.”

  Russ pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re kidding.”

  “Has she not m
entioned that to you?” Sydney asked innocently.

  “Actually, no, she hasn’t. I had no idea she’d ever be interested in being a grandmother. I thought the idea would horrify her if it ever happened.”

  “Oh, I expect it’ll happen,” Sydney said. “Some lucky girl will snag you and fill this house with little boys and girls. You can take them camping and teach them how to fish and canoe and survive on nothing but acorns and a book of matches.”

  Russ laughed.

  Sydney wanted to cry.

  The picture she’d painted was more than slightly appealing. She could easily see Russ with a little boy, one with his same gold-streaked hair, their heads bent over a fishing line as Russ taught his son how to bait a hook. What really hurt was imagining a little girl with her own features—something she knew could never be.

  She felt an unexpected ache in her chest, which surprised her. She’d never felt a particular affinity for children and figured she simply wasn’t born with a lot of maternal instincts. But for the first time in her life she knew she wanted to have children someday. She wanted to share that bond of parenthood with a good man, someone who would provide the nurturing and companionship that Russ himself had lacked as a child.

  “Oh, I have some cheese and crackers to tide us over,” Russ said suddenly. He set his wine down and jumped up, as if someone had lit his fuse. She wondered if the talk of children had made him feel any disquieting thoughts. He seemed the type of guy who would like kids, but maybe he wasn’t.

  She heard more rustling in the kitchen, but this time when he came back to the den he had a cutting board loaded up with some squares of cheddar cheese, a pile of wheat crackers and an apple sliced into thin wedges.

  Sydney’s stomach grumbled. The improvised lunch they’d shared on the trail—a couple of hastily chewed granola bars and some nuts and raisins—had been many hours ago, and she’d expended a lot of calories since then. She tried not to fall on the snack like a ravenous wolf.

  “Be sure and save room for dinner,” Rush cautioned her.

  “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll find room for a good steak. Three days of camping food and I’m ready to go out and rustle up my own cow and eat it whole.”

  Sydney was feeling marginally human again. Her foot had stopped throbbing, too. But if they had dinner reservations at eight-thirty, she should get moving; she had some work ahead of her to get presentable.

  Russ showed her to the master suite. The bath was five times the size of the tiny bathroom at the cabin. It was all done in navy blue tile with chrome accents, and the shower was definitely big enough for two. She thought briefly of inviting Russ to join her, but if she did they’d never make it to dinner. Maybe later.

  Later? She was running out of later. She could spend many more days exploring Russ Klein, his body, his mind, his soul. A few hours weren’t going to do it.

  “You don’t by any chance have a blow-dryer, do you?” she asked, looking at her bird’s nest of a hairdo in the mirror. If she didn’t make a concerted effort to straighten it, it went into a wild array of out-of-control curls.

  “Actually, I do.” He opened several drawers in the vanity until he came up with it.

  “Hmm, what girlfriend left that behind?”

  “How do you know it’s not mine?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Come on. You’re just not the blow-dryed type.”

  “Actually, her name was Deirdre. But she left it at my old place—she never stayed here. She was long gone by the time I moved in here.”

  Sydney felt a surge of jealousy that some other woman had enjoyed sleepovers with Russ. He’d been right, he was painfully honest. Most men wouldn’t willingly reveal information about an old girlfriend.

  But that unwelcome and inappropriate feeling quickly dissipated. That woman wasn’t here now. She was. And she wasn’t going to let her few remaining hours with Russ be wasted with petty jealousy.

  Once she had the bathroom to herself, she washed the trail grime from her body, scrubbing until she was pink. She shampooed her hair again, even though it had been washed just that morning.

  Thank God for Deirdre, Syndey thought with a smile as she dried her hair until it was smooth and almost straight.

  She primped as much as she could with her travel makeup case from her purse. She slipped into the new dress and put on some understated gold jewelry. New stockings and her comfortable brown pumps completed her outfit. With one light spritz of perfume, she exited the bedroom suite and went looking for her man. Hers for the evening, anyway.

  Sydney found Russ in the den, fiddling with the fire. And for a moment she just stopped and stared. He wore a charcoal gray wool suit that fit him perfectly, accentuating his height and his wide shoulders. The suit looked as nice as any she’d ever seen, as did the silk tie in muted blues and grays. His hair, still slightly damp from his shower, had been neatly combed. When she came closer, she saw that he’d shaved. A tiny nick along his jaw gave him away.

  He straightened and held out his arms. “What do you think? Do I pass muster?”

  “Oh, you pass, all right.”

  She wondered who picked out his clothes. The mysterious Deirdre?

  She clenched her jaw. She was walking away and there would be other Deirdres. She didn’t need to know, didn’t want to think about them or about the man she’d always think of as the one who got away.

  “You clean up good, too,” Russ said, “but I already knew that.” He held up his hand. “No, wait, let me state that more emphatically. You look fantastic and I will be sure to tell Rose she advised you well.”

  “Thank you.” Sydney appreciated the compliment. She did feel pretty tonight and the fire in his eyes told her all she needed to know about how well her efforts had paid off.

  “Ready to go?” he said.

  “Absolutely. I’m not going to last long in these heels, so the sooner we can get to a table, the better.”

  The Lake Linhart Country Club wasn’t actually in Linhart. It was across the lake from Russ’s house. He showed Sydney the lights visible from his back door, but it was about a fifteen-minute drive to get there.

  The club reeked of old money. Russ told her that a group of oil barons of another era had built this place as a private playground, but during the oil bust of the 1980s it had been sold and converted to a country club with membership open to anyone willing to pay the modest dues. It didn’t feature the latest, most chic decor, but everywhere Sydney looked she saw quality, from the parquet floor to the wall sconces to the maître d’s tuxedo.

  “Mr. Klein, how nice to see you again so soon,” the maître d’ said. “Your table is ready.”

  “You must be a good customer.”

  “Actually, I do a lot of work for the club, organizing wilderness adventures for the members. I even teach kayaking and windsurfing. So they know me.”

  The dining room was small but elegantly appointed. They were led to a table right by a wall of windows, where they could look out onto the lake. The sky shimmered with stars. Sydney had never seen so many.

  The evening was as perfect as any dinner date could be. The filet Sydney ordered was grilled to perfection; the red wine was hearty and seeped into Sydney’s exhausted bones, relaxing her. Even the background music set just the right tone of intimacy.

  They talked of anything and everything, carefully avoiding any mention of the future they wouldn’t be sharing. They lingered over coffee late into the evening as their conversation dwindled to comfortable silence and they stared into each other’s eyes.

  Sydney tried to find hidden depths in Russ’s eyes, answers to questions she hadn’t yet asked. He reached across the table and took her hand, lightly kissing the knuckles. “Let’s go home.”

  Oh, yeah. She couldn’t stand up fast enough.

  Once they were back inside the warm haven of Russ’s home, they took off their coats and then simply didn’t stop undressing. Their discarded clothing left a trail from the front door to the bedroom as they kissed thei
r way through the house.

  A night-light softly illuminated their love nest, where the king-sized bed awaited. They hardly spoke a word; no words were necessary. They were so attuned to each other that Russ knew exactly where she wanted to be touched, how fast, how slow. In turn, her instincts guided her eager, hungry hands and mouth as she charted a body that was already becoming familiar to her. Thoughts of him would haunt her for a long time to come, she was sure.

  When they came together it was like coming home, a place she’d been in her mind many times but hadn’t even known she’d missed until now.

  Their lovemaking seemed to go on in a timeless alternate universe and for a while Sydney forgot about deadlines and airports and bankruptcies and depressed fathers and sprained ankles. She forgot everything except loving this man in this time and this place.

  Much later, as they lay entwined in the big bed, twisted sheets and blankets and pillows around them, Sydney realized with sudden clarity that she’d fallen in love. As preposterous as it seemed, she’d fallen in love with this exasperating, stubborn Texan with whom she outwardly had nothing in common.

  She glanced at the illuminated dial on Russ’s watch. She had to get up in three hours. Get up, throw on her clothes and drive away, probably never to see Russ again. How was she going to do it? Did she really have to?

  If not for her father, she could choose to stay and explore this miraculous thing that had come into her life so unexpectedly. But Lowell—she couldn’t leave Lowell to fend for himself. It was unthinkable.

  At the thought of her father, she remembered she hadn’t called to let him know she wasn’t coming home tonight. Russ was asleep, snoring softly. She slipped out of his grasp, which was tenacious even in sleep. The room was cold and she had no nightgown or robe. So she improvised by locating Russ’s discarded dress shirt and wrapping it around her. She hugged herself and inhaled deeply. The shirt smelled of him. Maybe she could steal it, take it home with her, put it in her bed so she could inhale of him at will.