One Stubborn Texan

by Kara Lennox

  “Well, if you think of anyone, would you let me know? And maybe you could ask members of your family if they know. I’ll be staying at the Periwinkle Bed & Breakfast.”

  “You’re staying here?” he asked, surprised.

  “I’m going to spend some time going over documents in your courthouse—birth and death certificates, property records, that sort of thing. Not all records are available online. I’m also going to be tracking down a few more Kleins in neighboring towns.”

  “You could still do with lunch.”

  She couldn’t deny that the offer tempted her. But she was on a tight schedule. She couldn’t leave her father alone for more than a couple of days, not when he was in such a fragile mental state. Although his depression had lifted somewhat, he still had bad days when he needed her close by.

  “I appreciate the offer,” she said. “Maybe another time.”

  She stood and picked up her things, keeping an eye on the dog, who was still watching her with unnerving intensity. She thanked Russ Klein for his time and headed for the door, deciding quickly on a new strategy. “Oh, Mr. Klein?”

  “You can call me Russ.”

  “Russ, then. This sum of money we’re talking about. It might interest you to know that it runs into eight figures.”

  Russ Klein’s jaw dropped and his eyebrows rose so high they almost met his hairline. Finally she’d gotten a reaction out of him.

  “That’s ten million,” she supplied.

  “I can count the zeroes. Ten million? Dollars? That’s what you call a small sum of money?”

  “Call me if you have any ideas.” She hurried out of the store, resisting the temptation to stay and press the matter. Let him sit on that information and see how long he claimed he didn’t want or need more money. Maybe he wasn’t the Oberlin heir. But she had this nagging sensation he knew something and just wasn’t telling her.

  Chapter Two

  Russ blinked a couple of times as he tried to wrap his mind around ten million dollars. This had to be a mistake. Only one person ever in his life had that kind of money and there was no way…

  When his vision cleared, Sydney was gone. The jingling of the bell on the door announced her departure. He resisted the urge to chase after her and demand to know more. That was exactly what she wanted and he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, he moved to the window to watch her walk to her car.

  She had quite a nice hitch in her git-along, as Bert would say. As she started to climb into her car, a gust of wind caught her hat and snatched it off her head. She pirouetted gracefully, managing to catch the beret with both hands just before it sailed out of reach. At the same time her eyes caught his and she tossed him a wave and a mischievous smile.

  How had Sydney tracked him down? When Sammy had sent him and his mom away, he’d done everything possible to erase every trace of their presence in his life.

  A whine and the clicking of toenails on the wood floor brought Russ’s attention back to Nero. The dog was on his feet, sniffing furiously around the legs of the chair that had been Sydney’s, then on the floor where her purse and briefcase had been.

  “Don’t worry, Nero, she’s gone,” Russ said in a soothing voice.

  The dog hardly looked relieved. He pressed his nose against the wood floor and traced an invisible trail that meandered toward the door, his floppy jowls puffing out with each breath. Then he stopped, sniffed mightily into the air and gave a sharp bark.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Russ wondered aloud. The city girl had certainly played havoc with his own senses. Maybe her intriguing perfume, which lingered in the air, had upset Nero’s equilibrium, as well.

  After a few more anxious sniffs, however, Nero padded to his spot by the stove, plunked himself down and promptly went to sleep.

  Bert emerged from the storage room, frowning. “Why did you lie to that girl?”

  “Why did you eavesdrop on my private conversation?” Russ shot back, though he’d known that was exactly what Bert would do. As dear as he was, Bert was insatiably curious and a terrible gossip.

  “I didn’t listen on purpose, just picked up a word now and then. And the issue is you’re lying. Thought you knew better.”

  “I didn’t lie. My mother’s name is Vera. Vera Edwina.” But mostly known as Winnie.

  “You’re splittin’ hairs. We both know the girl was talking about Winnie. She probably just assumed Winnie was short for Winifred. Which means she was looking for you.”

  “I don’t want to be found,” Russ said flatly. Not even by a gorgeous city woman with big brown eyes.

  “She’s gonna figure it out,” Bert said. “All she has to do is ask the right person. Ten minutes in this town and she’ll find out your mother goes by Winnie.”

  “I didn’t think she’d be staying around long enough to ask,” Russ said. He realized now that his strategy of misleading Sydney Baines would only delay the inevitable. “I definitely didn’t know she was staying at the Periwinkle.” Fortunately, the two elderly maiden sisters who ran the B and B in their Victorian home were certifiably dotty. They could cook up a wonderful breakfast, but they lived a good deal in the past and nothing they said made much sense.

  “I’ll just have to keep an eye on her,” Russ said. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t talk to anyone who knows Mom.”

  “I don’t get it,” Bert said. “Didn’t that purty gal say she wanted to give you money?”

  Apparently Bert hadn’t heard Sydney reveal the exact amount. Thank God for small favors. If Bert knew Russ was turning his back on ten million dollars, he would call the men in white coats. And maybe he was crazy. But he had his reasons. “Money doesn’t solve all problems,” he said. “And for some people, it just creates more.”

  “Ah,” Bert said, nodding, finally getting it. “You’re right about that. If you want to stop that gal from finding out the truth, you better get over to the Periwinkle and keep a watch on her.”

  Russ nodded. “You’ll mind the store for me?”

  Bert shrugged. “Like I got anything else to do?”

  “And you won’t say anything to Mom, right?”

  “Mum’s the word.”

  Russ wished he could take more comfort in Bert’s promise to keep quiet. But Bert kept his cell phone charged and ready, just in case he had a juicy tidbit to pass along. He had little else to do but watch who came and went on Main Street.

  As Russ walked the five blocks to the Periwinkle B and B, he formulated a strategy for dealing with Sydney Baines. If she wanted to bury her nose in the courthouse records, there was no harm in that, he supposed, since the records were in such a jumbled mess she probably wouldn’t be able to find anything. But he ought to take some precautions, just in case.

  Maybe he’d volunteer to help her look.

  The prospect of spending more time with Sydney wasn’t at all unpleasant. She was the brightest thing to enter his store all winter. Maybe that single dark curl of hair would escape and fall across her cheek again. And maybe next time he saw it there, he would give in to temptation and smooth it back.

  “IS EVERYTHING SATISFACTORY?” asked Miss Gail Milhaus, one of the owners of the Periwinkle Bed & Breakfast. Or maybe it was Miss Gretchen. Sydney had a hard time telling the septuagenarians apart. They were identical twins who dressed in identical vintage outfits, complete with matching barrettes in their long, silver hair. They also had a pair of identical cats that liked to wrap themselves around first one set of ankles, then the other.

  “It’s a lovely room,” Sydney assured her hostess, reaching down to pet one of the cats. She didn’t trust dogs, but cats were okay.

  The misses Milhaus had made her feel very welcome. Since it was the off-season she was the only one staying at the B and B. She’d also gotten a very good room rate, almost as low as if she’d stayed out at the motel on the highway. But here she got to sleep in a soft bed with a feather comforter, take a bubble bath in a huge, claw-foot tub and enjoy a gourmet breakfast in the mornin
g.

  Sydney wasn’t really much for fussy Victorian decor. She didn’t like clutter and bric-a-brac, and her apartment back in Brooklyn could be described as minimalist. But her room in the B and B, painted shell-pink and featuring an abundance of cabbage roses, had a certain charm and, thanks to a crystal bowl of potpourri, it smelled wonderful.

  “You look so like Miss Moony,” said Gail—or Gretchen. “Are you here for the boat races?”

  Boat races? This time of year? “I’m doing some research,” she said. “Actually, I’m looking for a man.”

  The elderly lady clicked her tongue. “They’re a waste of time, you ask me. Gretchen and I have lots of boyfriends, but it never works out in the long run. We’ve always been so close and men don’t like that.”

  “Well, I agree, men are a lot of trouble,” Sydney said with a smile. “But I’m not looking for a boyfriend. I’m trying to locate a man who has come into an inheritance. His name is Russell Klein.”

  “An inheritance? How exciting. And my goodness, there’s that nice Mr. Klein who runs the general store and rents out the canoes and such. Could he be the one?”

  “Unfortunately, I’ve already talked to that Russell. I don’t believe he’s the man I’m looking for. The one I want has a mother named—”

  The sound of the door chime interrupted her. Gail stepped out of the room and looked down the stairs. “Gretchen, are you getting that?” When her sister didn’t respond, she said, “Excuse me, I’ll have to get the door. Perhaps it’s one of our suitors.”

  Sydney smiled after the woman turned away. They were such nice Southern ladies—but a bit unhinged. She doubted they would have any useful information for her.

  She unpacked her small suitcase. She hadn’t brought a lot of clothes with her, only enough for a couple of days. If she didn’t find Sammy Oberlin’s heir in that amount of time, she would have to admit defeat and return to New York.

  What a picnic that would be, breaking the news to her father that he was going to have to declare bankruptcy.

  When she was unpacked, she opened her briefcase, tucked her small suede clutch inside and headed downstairs. She wanted to get to the courthouse right away. When she’d talked to a county official on the phone yesterday, he’d admitted that their records were a terrible mess and that only the last five years’ worth had been put on computer. That meant hours of digging. Actually, she didn’t mind that type of work. She was fascinated by the details of people’s lives, the births, the deaths, the weddings. Old photos and diaries always sparked her imagination, causing her to speculate what people’s lives had really been like.

  At the bottom of the ornate, carved-oak staircase, Sydney skidded to a stop. Russ Klein was standing in the entryway, chatting amiably with Miss Gail.

  “Oh, there you are,” he said, flashing a dazzling smile at Sydney. “I thought since you were new in town, you might like a tour.” Apparently the lure of ten million dollars had changed his tune.

  She might have overplayed her hand, revealing to Mr. Klein—Russ—the amount of money involved. But she’d needed to shake him out of his complacency. And given his sudden appearance, maybe she’d done just that.

  Even if he wasn’t the right Russell, if he did help her locate the heir, she’d be happy to donate a portion of her commission as a finder’s fee. He was probably counting on that.

  Miss Gretchen joined her sister. “Oh, it’s Mr. Jones, the man from the post office. How nice to see you.”

  Miss Gail turned to Sydney. “You won’t get a better tour guide than Mr. Jones here.” Miss Gail said. “Excuse us, will you? Sister, we’d better see to the horses.”

  “Oh, yes, indeed,” Miss Gretchen agreed, and they bustled off, arm in arm.

  “The horses?” Sydney asked. “What century are they in? And why does she call you Mr. Jones?”

  Russ shrugged. “Last week I was Curtis. Don’t worry, they’re harmless. So how about the tour?”

  “That’s very generous of you, but I really don’t have time to be a tourist,” she explained. “I only have a couple of days to spend in Linhart and I need to get to the courthouse this afternoon.”

  “I’ll walk you there, then,” Russ offered. “Gil Saunders, the county records clerk, is a good friend of mine. We go rock climbing together. I’ll make sure he gives you the access you need.”

  Rock climbing? Yeah, she could see that. Russ Klein in shorts and a T-shirt, clinging to the side of a cliff, muscles bulging as he—

  Get a grip, Sydney. “I’d appreciate your help, thanks.” Sometimes government officials could be difficult, so if Russ was willing to grease the wheels for her, she’d let him. “Let’s go.”

  Sydney headed for her car, but Russ merely stared in amazement. “You’re going to drive to the courthouse? It’s only a few blocks.”

  Sydney considered her high-heeled boots. They weren’t the best for walking and she was just getting used to the luxury of driving everywhere in a place where parking was plentiful and free. But she could survive a few blocks and the drizzle was giving way to sunshine. She put her keys back in her briefcase.

  “Lead the way.”

  As they headed down the brick walkway toward Gibson Street, Sydney couldn’t help but smile. “Those Milhaus sisters are a couple of characters,” she said to Russ. “Imagine, living in that great big house your whole life, never marrying, never going out on your own.”

  “I don’t think either of them could bear to leave that house. Their great-grandfather built it and it’s been in the family ever since.”

  The Periwinkle wasn’t the only Victorian on Gibson Street. The wide avenue was lined with grand homes, all of them painted in vibrant colors and many of them with signs out front indicating they were also bed-and-breakfasts.

  Russ pointed out some of the more historically notable homes and who lived there now.

  “It seems strange to me,” Sydney said, “knowing so much about your neighbors. I barely know the names of the people who live right next door to me in New York.”

  “One reason I would never live in a big city,” Russ said.

  “So you’re here to stay?”

  “You couldn’t pry me away from this town. I go to Austin or San Antonio out of sheer necessity sometimes, but other than that, everything I need is right here.”

  Sydney nodded in reply. Russ did seem to belong here, despite the fact he didn’t talk with the native twang most of the other residents had.

  “Did you go away to college?”

  “Nope. I took some classes at the Boone County Community College, but I figured I didn’t need a degree to do what I wanted to do, so I never got around to graduating.”

  “So you’ve always worked at the general store, doing the wilderness-outfitter stuff?”

  “Worked at the store since I was fifteen. I started out just renting a couple of canoes and serving as a guide, and it grew from there. I bought the store from Bert about six years ago so he could spend his retirement fishing. But he can’t stay away from the place—I think he gets a kick out of telling me how to do things.”

  Sydney couldn’t imagine living that kind of life. It was so different from everything she knew. Yet part of her found it appealing. Her life was so hectic, so overscheduled. The closest she ever got to the wilderness was sitting on a park bench and feeding the crumbs of her cream-cheese bagel to the pigeons.

  The Boone County Courthouse sat in the center of a small town square. Constructed of limestone, it was three stories tall, with a clock tower as a fourth level. Sydney consulted her slim gold watch. “The clock keeps good time.”

  As if on cue, the clock chimed the hour. It was one, and Sydney hadn’t had lunch. But she was used to skipping meals. She was usually just too busy to eat.

  “I’m turned around,” Sydney confessed. “Where’s Main Street?”

  “The north side of the square. The general store is on Main about three blocks east. Sure you don’t want some lunch before you get to work?”


  There were several cute little restaurants with colorful awnings lining the square. Somewhere, someone was grilling meat and it smelled like heaven.

  “Maybe something quick,” she said.

  “How about a sausage on a stick? Best German sausage you’ll ever eat.”

  “Okay.”

  Russ led them to a little German deli, where he ordered two sausages to go. They took them to a bench on the square and sat. Sydney was glad Russ had brought lots of napkins. But despite the mess, she found it quite pleasant, sitting with the sun warming her face, sharing conversation with her host. He’d certainly thawed out. He hadn’t scowled at her once since he’d arrived at the B and B. Maybe his initial coolness was just a small-towner’s natural caution with strangers from the city.

  She again wondered why he was going to the trouble of helping her out. Surely he wasn’t this accommodating to every stranger who arrived in Linhart.

  It had to be the money. In her experience, money was the prime motivating factor in most people’s lives. Well, that and sex. And Russ…hmm. Was it possible he found her attractive? He’d certainly been watching her attentively. She’d made it clear she was leaving in a couple of days, but maybe he thought she would be up for some easy, no-strings sex. Living in a small town, it was probably impossible to have any kind of sexual liaison with another local, at least not without long-lasting repercussions.

  Not that she ran around having casual sex right and left, but she did like the anonymity of the city. She certainly never ran into any of her ex-boyfriends—the city was just too damn big.

  Well, just because she was from the city didn’t mean she was easy. If Russ had a quick roll in the hay in mind, he would be disappointed. Not that the idea was without merit. And not that she’d mind the flirtation while she was here.

  “Linhart is really a very nice town,” she said.

  “You sound surprised.”

  “It’s a lot prettier than some of the other towns I’ve seen, that’s all.” Not that she’d seen all that many. She’d been to her father’s hometown south of Austin only once, but that was more than enough. Talk about depressing.