be over.
He approached Sydney, who had her eyes closed. “Hello?”
She jumped. “Oh. Sorry. I was about to doze off. I’m afraid I didn’t sleep too well last night.”
He hadn’t, either. He kept thinking about Sydney in his arms, how she’d felt, how she’d smelled, and he’d lain awake for hours. He wondered if her sleeplessness had a similar source and couldn’t help hoping so. “Was there a problem?”
“It was too quiet,” she admitted. “I’m used to traffic noises at night and all I could hear were my own ears ringing from the loud music at the club.”
So much for his fantasy that she’d been desperate for his touch.
“You actually like the city noise? I guess you can get used to anything.” He remembered what it was like to sleep in their Vegas apartment. Though he and his mother had lived in a pricey complex, the walls were paper thin. All night long, he’d hear people coming and going, cars and sirens, drunk pedestrians outside and his mother’s partying friends inside. He couldn’t imagine how anyone found that preferable to peace and quiet.
He looked down at Sydney’s feet. “We’ll have to do something about your shoes.”
“Why?” She looked down at her black, pointy-toed heels. “I won’t actually have to hike into the woods, will I? I have a policy never to walk on dirt.” She laughed, but Russ didn’t join her. They would, in fact, have to hike to get to the cabin, but he didn’t want to scare her off.
“What size do you wear?” he asked.
“Six-and-a-half,” she answered. “But—”
He went inside and Sydney followed, looking troubled. He scanned the shelves of shoeboxes until he found what he wanted, then grabbed a pair of socks. “Try these on.”
With a shrug, she slipped out of her heels and put the socks and hiking boots over her stockings.
Russ watched, appreciating the curve of her calf and her dainty ankles. She must really want to get at those papers, because she wasn’t built for outdoor adventures.
Nor did she dress for them. Today’s hat was some high-fashion take on a pith helmet. But as he watched her stretching to lace the hiking boots, he had to revise his initial impression. Beneath the olive skirt and zebra jacket she was no city-girl softie. He saw muscles in those legs.
Forcing himself to look elsewhere, he grabbed a couple of backpacks from the storeroom and quickly filled them with a couple of days’ food—easy stuff that wouldn’t require a lot of preparation. The cabin had a pantry full of canned and dry goods, so she wouldn’t starve. He included some bottled water.
While he worked, Sydney tried out the shoes in the main area of the store, pacing along one aisle and down another, her hips swaying gently with each step. Not that he was watching.
“These are really comfortable,” she said when she returned to the storeroom. “I’ll take them.”
“Consider them a gift,” he said. A guilty gift. Not that an expensive pair of hiking boots would make up for the hoax he was about to perpetrate. “Are you ready?”
She grabbed her purse and briefcase. “Sure.” He didn’t deserve the warm smile she gave him.
Bert agreed to watch the store the rest of the day, though grudgingly. He probably thought Russ had fallen for the bird of paradise, and it wouldn’t be the first time.
His last three girlfriends had all been city girls, two from Austin and one from San Antonio. None of them had been compatible in the long run, though for a while he’d thought Deirdre was the one. They’d been unofficially engaged and he’d designed his house with her in mind—someplace spacious and comfortable where she could feel at home. But before he’d laid the foundation, she confessed that she couldn’t survive in a small town, that she would go crazy with boredom. She’d been certain she could persuade him to move to the city.
That’s what happened with all of them. As soon as the novelty of tiny Linhart wore off, they couldn’t return to the bright lights fast enough. They couldn’t believe that he stayed in Linhart out of preference. It was as if deep down they believed he was just sitting there, waiting for the right woman to come along and save him from this small town.
He kept telling himself that a plain, uncomplicated, salt-of-the-earth farm girl would be his ideal mate—someone with old-fashioned values who appreciated the things he did. Problem was, he had yet to meet one around here who stirred up even a single hormone.
By contrast, Sydney stirred up a whole flock of hormones. Could he help it if he was a man who appreciated beauty in its more exotic forms?
Out behind the store, Russ opened the passenger door of his Bronco. He honestly tried not to watch as Sydney vaulted gracefully aboard, but he couldn’t miss the glimpse he got of the top of one stocking.
The woman wore real stockings, with a garter belt. That brief glimpse was going to haunt his dreams for a long time.
By the time he slid behind the wheel, Sydney was already sifting through his CDs, which was just as well. He wouldn’t have wanted her to notice that he moved a bit, well, stiffly. He set two bottles of water in the cup holders and revved up the Bronco’s engine.
“You’ve got some great stuff here,” Sydney said, selecting an early Lyle Lovett album. “You and my dad should compare notes some time.”
He doubted he would ever meet Sydney’s father. But he was probably an interesting man, given how his daughter had turned out.
Russ pulled out of the parking lot and down the alley, checking the clock. They had plenty of time. They would arrive at the cabin well before dark, provided Sydney took to hiking.
They cruised down Main Street. Russ took the scenic route, making a few extra turns. He felt a weird compulsion to show off his adopted hometown. He pointed out a few of the sites she’d missed yesterday, like the Linhart Winery.
“Do they import wine?” she wanted to know.
“Of course not. We grow the grapes not far from here. Every bottle of wine they sell is one-hundred-percent Texas.”
“Texas wine, huh?”
She sounded dubious, but it was no use arguing. “You’ll have to taste it some time. It’s good.” Finally he headed for the highway out of town. “If your father is a Texan, how’d you end up in New York?” He was genuinely curious why anyone would leave the Lone Star State for noisy, smelly New York. This place, with its ever-changing landscape of hills and forest, canyons and rivers, vast fields of wildflowers and winding, scenic drives, was paradise on earth as far as he was concerned. It had always felt more like home to him than Vegas.
“My father’s the one who left, not me,” Sydney explained. “He fell in love with New York and moved there before I was born, thank God.”
“Why, thank God?”
She laughed. “Can you imagine me with a Texas accent?”
“So you must really love New York.” He had no reason to feel disappointed, but he did.
“Oh, I do. Theater, museums, subways and taxis, Central Park, the Statue of Liberty. In New York, every day’s an adventure.”
“You can find adventure here,” he said, not sure why he was trying to convince her. It was her business if she wanted to breathe pollution every day and fall asleep to the sound of sirens and horns at night. But it was best to keep her talking about her family and off the subject of his. “So where’s your mother from?”
Sydney blinked rapidly and for about half a second her face reflected a brand of deep grief Russ was pretty sure he’d never felt. He’d obviously stuck his foot in it and was searching for something to say when she spoke.
“My mother was pure Manhattan,” she said, her voice cracking. “She