One Stubborn Texan

“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 morning.

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.

Sydney finished her sausage and her bottled water, cleaned her hands with a moist towelette and reapplied her lipstick. Russ watched this process with undisguised interest—and perhaps a little amusement.

He threw their trash away in a nearby litter bin. “Ready?”

She nodded, feeling the first curls of temptation in the pit of her stomach. She could hook up with Russ. What harm would it do? She’d had virtually no social life since her mother died; even most of her girlfriends had quit calling because they’d become tired of her turning down their invitations to dinner, movies and parties.

Though she spent a lot of time with her father, she was lonely. She and Russ were both consenting adults.

He raised one eyebrow in a look that told her he was reading her thoughts. And that was enough to bring her back to her senses. She had work to do, a last chance to save her father from himself. Besides, she really wasn’t the kind of woman who slept with strangers. As soon as she got back home, she would call some of her friends and initiate a few outings, maybe have dinner with the downstairs neighbor who’d invited her out a couple of times. Otherwise she would have to get a cat and start going by “Miss Sydney.”

Chapter Three

Russ couldn’t believe the mess the county records were in. There’d been a flood a few years ago and volunteers had carried the files out of the basement willy-nilly in boxes and stacks so they wouldn’t be destroyed. They’d returned the records to the basement after the flood, but nobody had bothered unpacking the boxes or refiling the records.

Gil Saunders, the county records clerk and a good friend, had shown Russ and Sydney to the basement. “Sometimes I can find things, if you know exactly what you’re looking for,” Gil told Sydney. “I’ve got some high-school kids lined up to help me get this mess organized, but they won’t start till next month.”

“I wish I could tell you exactly what I’m looking for. But I’m not sure. I just need to browse.”

“Have at it, then.”

When Sydney had gone to the ladies’ room, Russ had taken Gil aside and explained to him that it was important Sydney never locate any records having to do with him or his mother.

Gil, a real friend, didn’t even ask why. He quickly gathered up the few things he could lay his hands on—Russ’s mom’s business license and the deed to her little house—then took them to his office and hid them in a drawer. Unfortunately, that was all he could do. He couldn’t guarantee Sydney wouldn’t come across something in the old records, but the chances of her finding what she was looking for in this mess were minuscule.

Sydney, on the other hand, saw the basement as a personal challenge. “Just stand back and watch,” she said with a grin. “If there are pertinent records to be found in here, I’ll find them.”

She actually seemed to like groping around in the mildewed boxes and dusty drawers, and she did seem to have a knack for knowing which piles of records would yield Kleins.

Still, after almost four solid hours of this tedious, grimy work, broken only by frequent trips upstairs to check her cell phone, which didn’t get a signal in the basement, she’d found absolutely nothing that pointed to the Russ Klein she was looking for. Thank God.

She was clearly disappointed and Russ felt bad for her. Of course she would be disappointed, getting so close to a million-dollar commission she was unable to collect. He didn’t feel bad enough, however, to help her out.

In fact, he was probably doing her a favor. Everyone thought being an instant millionaire would give them a dream life. Russ had the personal experience to know it could just as easily ruin a life.

The sun was already setting as they exited the courthouse. “So what are your plans for tomorrow?” Russ asked as they headed back toward the bed-and-breakfast.

“I’m going to track down every Klein family in this area and talk to them personally,” she said. “Someone, somewhere, must have heard of this Winnie Klein.”

Russ cringed. Any person passing on the street had probably heard of Winnie. He needed to get Sydney Baines out of this town, somehow. Which gave him an idea.

“You know, I’ve been thinking. I have a little cabin not far from here. It’s just a hunting cabin in the woods, but there are a whole bunch of family papers stored there—boxes and boxes of photo albums and letters and I don’t know what all. You’re welcome to look through those. It’s possible the people you’re looking for moved out of the area. Or this Winifred person could have gotten married out of state, changed her name. Maybe you could uncover some clue.”

He could see that the idea appealed to her. But she hesitated. “I should talk to your mother. She might remember—”

“No, I wouldn’t waste your time there,” he said firmly. “Mom knows nothing about her family history. My grandparents were divorced and she never really knew anyone on the Klein side of the family.” All of which was true.

“Then who does this cabin belong to?”

“A cousin on my grandfather’s side.” Bert actually was a very distant cousin, if you went back about six generations. “I got to know him pretty well, and he gave me a key to the cabin.”

“You’re kind to offer to let me look, but I have some appointments tomorrow morning in Longbow and Conklin. More Russell Kleins. They’re all too old to be the heir I’m looking for, but they might have relations the right age. But if I still have no information by tomorrow afternoon, I’ll give your cabin a try.”

Good. Longbow and Conklin were nearby, but not close enough that the residents would know Winnie, not unless he was truly unlucky.

“I’ll be at the store whenever you’re ready to go.”

“If nothing turns up, I’ll come by around one o’clock.”

“And what about tonight? Any plans?”

“I’m going to wash all this grime off me, then I’m going to do some reading.”

That wasn’t the answer he wanted. If she spent the entire evening at home with the Milhaus sisters, Winnie’s name might easily come up.

He feigned shock. “What? You’re only here for a couple of days and you’re going to spend the evening reading?”

“What can I say? I don’t lead a very exciting life.”

“I could change that. Do you like to dance?”

“I’m not a good dancer,” she said warily.

He didn’t blame her for being cautious. His actions this afternoon could be interpreted as merely friendly. He’d done nothing to indicate he was romantically interested in her. But now he was veering into boy-girl territory. He’d asked her out on a date.

As pretty as she was, she probably got hit on constantly.

“You don’t have to be a good dancer to have fun, especially country-dancing,” he said. “There’s a club over on Highway 350 that has a pretty good band on Thursday nights.”

He could see she was tempted.

“We could have some Mexican food beforehand,” he added. “I’ll take you to a place where they have the best tamales in the whole state. Bet that’s one thing you can’t get in New York.”

Finally she smiled. “Okay, you got me. How can I resist the best tamales in Texas? But, Russ, if you have any plans for us…You know the kind of plans I mean?”

Oh, yeah. “A guy always has plans. Do you have a boyfriend back home?” Or even a husband. She didn’t wear a wedding ring, but these days that was no guarantee.

“No, but…I just want to keep things light.”

“No problem, Sydney. I’m pleased just to have your company for the evening, no expectations.”

“Okay, then. Pick me up in an hour. What should I wear?”

“Jeans. Comfortable shoes.”

“I didn’t bring either.”

He shrugged. “Improvise. This club doesn’t exactly have a dress code.”

RUSS KLEIN was a gentleman, Sydney would give him that. He arrived exactly on time, and though he eyed her skirt and blouse dubiously, he said nothing. At least she’d worn her lowest pair of heels, in case she actually got up the nerve to dance.

She was almost disappointed Russ didn’t drive a pickup. She thought every good Texas boy drove a truck. Instead, his vehicle of choice was a Bronco. It was shiny and clean and smelled nice. Even better, though, was the music: he was playing Stevie Ray Vaughan on the stereo.

“You like Stevie?” she asked.

“I’m surprised you even know who Stevie is.”

“My father is from Texas. He made sure to teach me all about the Texas blues.”

“You might actually like this band tonight, then. It’s not the usual twangy country stuff, though that’s good, too.”

Tia Juana’s Tamale Factory was a hole-in-the-wall in a strip shopping mall. But the parking lot was packed and when Russ opened the door the smell that greeted Sydney made her mouth water. They found a table and Russ went up to the counter to order for both of them.

The other patrons who crowded into the place were a real cross section. Sydney saw working men in their overalls, young couples all dressed up for a night on the town and senior citizens. As in New York, multiple cultures and languages mingled easily, sharing a common love for good food. She was used to thinking of Texas as almost another world and was surprised at the reminder that people were the same everywhere.

“Popular place,” Sydney observed when Russ returned.

“You’ll know why when you taste the food. It’s also cheap. Uh, which is not to say I wouldn’t have spent more on you.”

“Oh, so you’re a smooth talker.” She suspected he was putting on a bit of an act for her, but she responded to it anyway.

When they called Russ’s name and he went to collect their food, he returned with a tray loaded with a mountain of Tex-Mex.

“Oh, my gosh. Where do you start?” she asked.

“Anywhere you want. Just dig in. I got lots of everything, so there’s bound to be something you like.”

After sampling the guacamole, the crunchy beef tacos and the shredded chicken tamales, Sydney declared that she liked it all. “I’m not going to fit into my clothes if I keep eating like this.”

“We’ll work it off dancing,” he said.

If the restaurant wasn’t exactly classy, the club was downright questionable. Russ pulled up to a barn-sized corrugated tin building with a flickering neon sign that read Kick ’em Up Club. The dirt parking lot was filled with beat-up trucks and motorcycles. If the handful of kids smoking near their bikes was any example, Russ in clean jeans and shirt was on the elegant end of the dress scale.

A three-dollar cover charge got them inside. Sydney almost laughed: if you wanted to hear live music in New York, you had to pay at least ten.

The inside of the club was like a big cave. Tables and chairs were arranged haphazardly around the dance floor and a bar lined one long wall. Onstage, the band was just getting set up, but a jukebox pumped country twang into the beer-rich air.

“We better grab a table fast,” Russ said. “This place gets packed when the Jimmy LaBarba Band plays.”

“Hey, Russ, over here!” A couple of guys were waving to Russ from a table already crowded with beer bottles.

“Do you mind sitting with some friends?” Russ asked. “We can get our own table if you want.”

“No, let’s sit with a group.” That way, it would seem less like a date.

The group consisted of two couples who were kayaking buddies. It seemed whatever the outdoor activity, Russ was involved. Cycling, hiking, swimming, windsurfing—he did it all. The other couples were friendly to Sydney and she made herself relax and go with the flow. It had been so long since she’d socialized with people her own age and it felt really good just to kick back and enjoy herself.

Russ hadn’t exaggerated—the band was good. Sydney was familiar with most of the songs, covers of her dad’s favorite artists like Lyle Lovett, Delbert McClinton and Omar and the Howlers. But they also played a few original songs and Sydney was impressed enough that she bought their CD as a present for her dad.