One Stubborn Texan

by Kara Lennox

  “And here I thought I would be your fondest memory.”

  She looked up at him to find his eyes dancing with laughter and she felt an inexplicable urge to kiss him. A heartbeat later his expression fell serious and she realized he must have somehow read her mind, or she’d read his, because he was leaning in. She closed her eyes and let it happen. What was the harm?

  As his mouth captured hers, a feeling of warmth stole across her senses and she ceased to notice the chilly cabin. The blanket she’d wrapped around her shoulders dropped and her arms went around his neck.

  The kiss felt familiar, as if she’d dreamed it many times, and her dream lover had suddenly become flesh and blood, known to her in some instinctual way.

  Russ moved his hand up the back of her flannel shirt, his touch sending tremors of desire shooting through her. Suddenly she ached for his touch everywhere and probably wouldn’t have objected if he’d taken the kiss further. But too soon, he pulled back, placing one final, light kiss on her forehead and then just holding her.

  “I have a confession,” he said. “Last night, when I carried you out from the bedroom, I kissed you.”

  She pulled back and looked up at him, not sure she believed him. How could she sleep through a kiss from this man? “You kissed a defenseless, sleeping woman?”

  “You were only sort of asleep. You, um, must have thought I was someone else.”

  Her face warmed as she wondered what, exactly, she’d said or done. She’d been told that she talked in her sleep. She decided not to press him for details—too embarrassing. “You didn’t have to tell. You could’ve gotten away with it,” she said as they made their way back to the sofa. Standing on one leg was tiring, even when she was getting the stuffing kissed out of her.

  “I’m compulsively honest. As I made painfully clear last night, I suck at lying. When I was a teenager, if I came in past curfew, I always woke up my mom and confessed. I never should have tried to mislead you. I’m not good at that sort of thing.”

  “Don’t apologize for being too honest. Honesty is an admirable quality,” Sydney said, meaning it. Not that there would be much work for a private investigator if people always told the truth.

  “I thought you didn’t have ice and snow this far south,” Sydney said, still gazing at the icy panorama from her spot on the sofa.

  “It’s rare, but not unheard of. We get an ice storm or a dusting of snow every few years.”

  “We won’t be hiking back today,” she said glumly, though surprisingly the idea didn’t alarm her as much as it would have yesterday. This cabin was far more appealing now that she had decent food, running water and a source of heat.

  “I’m glad to hear you say that. If you’d held firm on your threat to make it back to town today, I’d have felt compelled to hike after you and probably would have ended up carrying you back here again.”

  His razzing almost made her want to give it a try. There were worse things in this world than riding Russ Klein.

  WINNIE STOOD at the window of her beauty salon, looking out onto Main Street. They’d hardly had any customers today because of the weather. Quite a few had canceled, and others simply hadn’t shown up.

  The ice was starting to melt now, so the street was passable. The afternoon would probably pick up, she told herself, not that business was ever a problem at the Cut ’n’ Curl. She was the best hairdresser in town. Well, okay, she owned the only salon in town unless you counted Wick’s Barber Shop. The lack of business wasn’t what troubled her. It was the fact that Russ hadn’t come home yesterday from wherever he’d gone so suddenly.

  He’d gone for a hike—that’s what he’d told Bert. And he simply hadn’t come back.

  “No sign of Russ yet, huh?” asked Betty, Winnie’s best friend since kindergarten. The two had lost touch during Winnie’s Las Vegas years, but when Winnie moved back to her hometown to live with her mother—after she’d blown most of her money—she and Betty had taken up like there’d never been a lapse. It was Betty who’d suggested Winnie ought to buy the Cut ’n’ Curl and get her cosmetology license.

  “No, haven’t seen him yet,” Winnie said.

  “I’m sure he’s fine, hon. You know Russ, he goes his own way.”

  “I’m sure he’s fine, too.” But the thing that really bothered Winnie was that white car parked smack in front of the general store. Winnie suspected Russ and the city girl were together somewhere. And that troubled her. Especially since Russ had been so obviously secretive about why the woman had come to Linhart. He’d been hiding something from her—she was sure of it.

  Winnie knew of one person who probably had the answer. Bert Klausen was a dear friend, the father and grandfather Russ had never had. If Russ had turned out well, Winnie knew it wasn’t due to her influence. She’d been a careless mother, not exactly neglectful, just consumed with her own problems and dramas. Russ had always been so good, so well behaved, that she hadn’t given him a whole lot of extended, concentrated thought and attention in his early years.

  Bert was the one who’d taken the boy fishing, shown him how to do all that wilderness stuff, even how to do his income taxes, and Russ had eaten it up with a spoon. Bert had always been there for them. He was widowed, his children grown and moved away, so the Kleins and Bert had been a good fit.

  “Betty, hold the fort for a little while, will you? I’m going to run over to the store and pick up a couple of things for dinner.”

  Winnie put on her good winter coat, which she’d happily dug out from the back of the closet that morning. Not much call for a heavy coat here, but hers was nice, a real camel hair with classic styling that Russ had given her for Christmas a few years back. She slipped it on, pulled on a pair of gloves and stepped out into the chilly air.

  Her high heels were useless for winter weather, but some thoughtful soul had sanded the sidewalks and street, so Winnie was able to mince her way carefully down one block and across the street to the general store. The bell over the door rang as she entered, and Bert, sitting in his usual place reading his newspaper, looked up with a smile.

  “Well, hello, there, Winnie,” he said. “Cold enough for you?”

  “Oh, I love the cold weather, even if it is bad for business,” she said. “It’s such a rarity. Wish we’d have a real snow, though, instead of this ice.”

  “Got snow up in Dallas,” he said. Bert loved talking about the weather.

  “I just need to pick up a couple of cans of chicken stock,” she said. “Oh, by the way, you haven’t heard from Russ, have you?”

  “Not a peep,” Bert said as he pushed himself out of his rocking chair and walked over to the shelves where he kept the canned goods. “But don’t you worry, Russ can take care of himself. He’s probably holed up at the cabin.”

  “What about the woman with the white car?” Winnie asked as casually as she could. “I think her name is Sydney. Any sign of her?”

  “What woman?” Bert said with obviously feigned ignorance.

  “Bert, I just told you what woman. The one with the white beemer that’s parked right in front of the store.”

  “Oh, that woman. Nope, nope, haven’t seen her.”

  “Okay, Bert, what do you know that I don’t know? Is she Russ’s new girlfriend?” Russ’s story that Sydney was some kind of stalker had sounded fishy to her. Normally Russ didn’t lie to her, but he would if he thought he needed to protect her somehow.

  It wouldn’t surprise her if Sydney had caught Russ’s eye. He had a habit of taking up with beautiful, sophisticated women, and in theory Winnie had no trouble with that. But they never worked out in the long run. They were always nice enough girls. Winnie was even a little jealous of them sometimes, with their designer clothes and their exciting city jobs. But she knew enough about Russ that that sort of girl wouldn’t make a good wife for him.

  “I never heard him speak of her before,” Bert said.

  “But you know something about her I don’t,” Winnie said.

  �
�Now, what would I know? I just sit here minding my own business—”

  “Don’t give me that, Bert Klausen. You’re almost as bad a liar as Russ. Now, you better tell me, ’cause I’ll find out sooner or later.”

  “Oh, all right,” he said, “I’ll tell you what I know. But don’t you let on to Russ that I blabbed. He’d be plenty put out with me.”

  “I won’t say anything.” She eagerly pulled a chair closer to the stove and sat.

  “Her name’s Sydney Baines and she’s a private investigator. She came here asking Russ a whole lot of questions about his parentage. Wanted to know if he had a mother named Winifred. He said no, but didn’t volunteer any further information. Fact is, he knew he was the one she was lookin’ for, but he tried to convince her otherwise.”

  “Interesting,” Winnie said, somewhat relieved to know that Russ’s story wasn’t entirely manufactured. Apparently she was stalking him, sort of. “What do you suppose it all means?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” Bert said, “but if I had to guess, I’d say it had something to do with your life back in Vegas. Which probably means Russ did the right thing, scaring her off.”

  “Well, maybe so,” Winnie said. If any of her old so-called friends were trying to track her down, looking for a handout, they were out of luck. She didn’t have much money to give out anymore. She’d foolishly squandered much of the settlement Sammy had given her.

  But her shop was bought and paid for, as was her little house. She did okay. Years ago she’d never have guessed she could be happy living such a normal, small-town life. But she’d found the contentment here in Linhart that had eluded her in Vegas and Dallas, despite the diamonds, parties and fancy clothes.

  “I think Russ didn’t scare her off, though,” Winnie said. “They’re both missing, so I think they must be together.”

  “It’s none of our business,” Bert said, which was so out-of-character for Bert to say. She knew he knew something more, something he didn’t want her to know.

  “Of course it’s our business. This is Russ we’re talking about. Will you let me know the moment you hear anything, about either of them?”

  “’Course I will, Winnie.”

  “Thanks.” Winnie looked around the store, trying to come up with a believable excuse for going into Russ’s office to snoop. “Long as I’m here, I think I’ll use Russ’s computer and catch up on my e-mail.”

  “Don’t you have a computer?” Bert asked suspiciously.

  “The cold weather has frozen up the phone lines or something. My Internet has been out all day.”

  “Russ’s computer is still turned on from yesterday. I don’t touch them evil machines.”

  Winnie had to smile. Bert had embraced the cell phone, because it allowed him to gossip more efficiently, but he didn’t trust computers.

  She went to the office and Nero followed her, probably sensing she was up to no good. The dog’s instincts were incredible. As she sat at Russ’s desk, Nero sat beside her, watching her vigilantly. She reached down and scratched him on his neck.

  “Now, Nero, I’m not doing anything that would hurt your master. You know I’d never do that. I’m just gonna Google this Sydney Baines and make sure she’s not some criminal out to fleece us down to our underwear.”

  She got a lot of hits on Sydney Baines, the most intriguing of which was a Web site for Baines & Baines, a company that described itself as being in the “heir-finding” business. Hmm. She’d never heard of such a thing, but it sounded like maybe Sydney reunited family members. Could she be one of those people who tracked down children who’d been put up for adoption and matched them up with their natural mothers? She’d seen a show about that on the Discovery Channel.

  She was about to investigate further when Bert appeared at the office door. “Betty just called and said you have a customer.”

  “Oh, shoot.” She quickly closed down the browser so Bert couldn’t see what she was doing. Winnie refused to turn down business, not on a day like today. She’d have to continue looking into this matter another time.

  But maybe Betty would know something about heir-finding. Or she could ask her son, who was an attorney in Houston.

  THE DAY PASSED TOLERABLY WELL, Sydney thought as she mixed up some instant grits for dinner, following Russ’s instructions. She’d never imagined she would like something called grits, but with enough gravy and salt they weren’t bad. Russ was an imaginative cook and he managed to turn out some pretty decent meals from the meager supply of cans and boxes in the kitchen cabinets. Certainly better than she could do.

  Besides the time-consuming task of tending the fire and meal preparation, she and Russ had played Monopoly, put together a jigsaw puzzle and talked about everything and nothing. He was far more intelligent and well-read than she’d first thought, judging from just his job and his clothes. Although he hadn’t graduated from college, he obviously read voraciously and was curious about everything. He’d read more of the classics than she had, that was for sure.

  He loved history and wars and generals and naval battles, which she supposed was a guy thing, because her dad liked the same sort of stuff. He could name dates and places better than any history teacher she’d ever had.

  Russ was passionate about his outdoor pastimes and he’d entertained her with stories of bears and coyotes, white-water mishaps, camping nightmares, encounters with all kinds of weather including tornadoes, which sounded terrifying. She’d found herself actually wishing she was a little more outdoorsy-adventuresome. She normally thought of herself as brave and daring, but with the exception of the chow, she’d never faced down any critter more threatening than a philandering husband.

  Russ asked her about her work as a private investigator and she regaled him with some of her more memorable cases, like the time a cheating husband had caught her with a camera in the bushes behind his house and she’d wound up in jail, or the time she’d been investigating a routine workman’s-comp-fraud case and found herself uncovering a major drug-smuggling operation.

  So, yes, the day had gone far better than she’d expected. But there’d been no repeat of the kiss and no mention made of it.

  Sydney was beginning to think she’d imagined the attraction between them, except that every once in a while she caught Russ looking at her with so much heat in his gaze that they didn’t need a woodstove.

  In truth, she’d spent quite a bit of her own time watching him covertly, imagining him naked. Imagining what it would feel like to touch him bare skin to bare skin rather than bundled in all these winter clothes.

  She knew it was ridiculous. She and Russ were polar opposites and the only reason their worlds had intersected at all was because he happened to be the unwilling center of a case she’d been desperate to solve. Now that he’d refused to take the money, their business was concluded. She would go back to her life in New York and their paths would never cross again.

  Any liaisons they made would, by necessity, be temporary and she’d already decided she didn’t want a one-night stand. Still, that didn’t mean she couldn’t think about it. Which she did—a lot.

  “I have a favor to ask,” Russ began suddenly just as they sat down to dinner. “I know you don’t owe me, but I have to ask anyway.” He was unusually intense, and she got the feeling he’d been thinking about this favor for a while, and that it was important to him.

  “Ask away. I’m not vindictive and if I can help, I will. What is it?”

  “I’d like you to keep my identity confidential. If word got around that Sammy Oberlin’s heir had refused ten million dollars, it would create all kinds of problems.”

  Sydney gave herself a moment to think about it. If she talked about this case to anyone, the news would spread like wildfire among private investigators. Every heir-finder in the country would camp out on Russ’s doorstep, waving a contract in his face and begging him to sign. Reporters, too. The story was too irresistible to ignore.

  The fact was, she hadn’t planned on t
elling anyone. Why advertise her failure to bring the case to a satisfactory conclusion? But mostly, she didn’t want her father to know. Lowell might be proud of Sydney for solving the case, but he would be crushed that she came so close to saving Baines & Baines, yet ultimately failed.

  “I won’t say a word,” she said, “on one condition.”

  Wariness flashed across his face. “What?”

  “Could you just tell me why you don’t want the money? The real reason? I promise I won’t try to change your mind. But I know you haven’t told me the whole story.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Russ put down his fork and sighed. “It’s because of my mother.”

  Sydney waited for him to continue.

  “Winnie was a showgirl. She was beautiful—still is, but back then she was spectacular. She landed a job at the Clover—Sammy’s casino, the Four-Leaf Clover—when she was twenty, but she had only one goal in mind. She intended to catch the eye of a millionaire and marry him. When Sammy Oberlin himself started paying attention to her, she thought she’d died and gone to heaven. She didn’t care that he was twenty years older than her or that he treated her like a possession. She wanted the ring on her finger and an end to all her money problems.”

  Sydney knew the type. She’d gone to college with more than one girl whose only aim was to nab a Harvard Law School student so she could live in a big house, drive a Mercedes and never have to work again.

  She wondered if Russ thought she was that type. And come to think of it, she’d been acting like money was the solution to all problems, when she well knew it wasn’t.

  “Sammy put her up in a nice apartment, but he wouldn’t move her into his house. And he wouldn’t marry her, not even when she deliberately got herself pregnant with me. But he paid her well. She had the clothes, the car, the jewelry. She also had a cocaine habit, a gambling addiction and a lot of shallow friends who used her because she could buy them booze and drugs and they could hang out at her place.