One Stubborn Texan

Chapter Seven

By early afternoon of the next day, Sydney was ready to gnaw her own arm off to escape from the cabin in the woods.

She’d nearly frozen to death last night, despite the fact she’d rolled herself up in feather comforters like a caterpillar in a cocoon. The sink in the kitchen would have featured running water if she could have figured out how to make the pump work, which she couldn’t.

Last night for dinner she’d eaten all the granola bars and finished almost all the bottled water from the two backpacks. At a little after six the sun had gone down and the cabin had become pitch black-no electricity. Though Russ had started up the generator, it had conked out less than an hour after his departure.

Now, grimy from not bathing and grumpy from lack of sleep, she was resorting to the canned food she’d found in the cabinets-none of which had labels. The Texas heat had apparently melted all the glue that adhered the labels to the cans and they’d fallen off, perhaps years ago.

This morning she’d had cold barbecued beans and succotash for breakfast. For lunch she’d had a real treat-cold split pea soup and unsweetened cherries. She’d have opened more cans and hoped for something better, but with the crummy little crank can opener, the task of opening had taken her fifteen minutes per can and her hand was killing her.

She was back to wanting to kill Russ. She would wait until he’d led her out of this godforsaken wilderness. Then she would conk him on the head, steal his car and drive herself straight to the Austin airport.

She couldn’t believe she’d let herself get talked into this-and all because a studly guy had flexed his muscles and batted his blue, blue eyes at her.

Yeah, killing him would be something of a waste. Maybe she’d have sex with him first.

Oh, God, what was wrong with her? She hadn’t had any coffee this morning, for one thing. She’d found some coffee and an ancient percolator. But the percolator didn’t have a plug, even if there’d been anything to plug it into, which there wasn’t. Apparently it required a heat source and Sydney could not for the life of her figure out how to light the antique woodstove. She had wood and she had matches, but throwing matches onto the wood hadn’t accomplished anything. After using up almost an entire box of matches, she’d given up.

Maybe she should have joined the Girl Guides when she had the opportunity, but the prospect had horrified her and she’d sworn she would run away from home if she had to wear one of those uniforms.

Okay, so she couldn’t kill Russ, and sex was out of the question. When he finally arrived to take her back to civilization, she wasn’t going to speak to him. That’s what she’d do. Give him the silent treatment.

Unfortunately, when he finally did arrive some time in the early afternoon, he found her sitting cross-legged on a sunny spot on the porch, fast asleep. She was warm for the first time since the previous day and her stomach was full. Since she was completely sleep deprived, she’d succumbed to fatigue. She’d planned on greeting him with an icy stare and a haughty sneer-not rubbing her eyes and struggling to wake up like a child awakened too soon from her nap.

“Sydney.” He gently shook her shoulder. “Hey, Sydney, you okay?”

“No, I am not okay,” she managed, but her voice sounded all bedroom muzzy instead of royally ticked off.

“Did you find the bathroom?”

“If you’re referring to the world-class facilities over there,” she said, pointing to the outhouse, “yes, I did.”

“I’m so sorry. There’s a bathroom inside, but I forgot to show you where it is.”

“There is no bathroom in that cabin,” she argued. “I checked every single door.”

But when he led her back inside, he walked over to a wood-paneled wall under the stairs. All you had to do was press on it. A previously well-hidden door sprang open.

“You mean, there was a bathroom here the whole time?” She could not believe this. She’d endured that disgusting outhouse for nothing!

Sure enough, the tiny bathroom featured all the amenities-well, the bare minimum, but it looked like heaven to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’ve never brought guests here before. I forgot the door was hidden.”

“Yeah, well, you neglected to mention a few other things-like the fact I’d have to build a fire if I wanted to heat food or avoid freezing to death, or the fact I needed to know how to repair a generator.”

“Something’s wrong with the generator? I thought you’d turned it off.”

“It quit working right after you left. And you could have warned me that sleeping would be impossible. I don’t know what kinds of creatures live out here, but they were having a party and I think a bear was trying to get into the cabin. At one point I actually got up and locked myself in the closet. And they say the city is noisy.”

“No bears here,” he assured her.

“Then what was it?”

“Raccoon, probably, or maybe a skunk. They’re always looking for a handout.”

“Just get me out of here, okay?” So much for the silent treatment.

“Okay. Did you find anything in those boxes?”

“Oh, yeah, I found loads of stuff-about Bert Klausen’s family. Certainly nothing about yours.”

At least Russ looked a bit guilty.

“Bert’s no more your cousin than he is mine. Admit it. You dragged me here to get rid of me. You’re hiding something.”

“Bert is a cousin.” He didn’t bother denying the rest of her accusations. Which only made her feel worse. He really had wanted to get rid of her. She knew she could be annoyingly persistent when she was trying to find answers while working a case, but she’d walked away from him and he’d insisted on coming after her. He’d been the one who’d invited her to go dancing. He’d pushed the idea of the cabin. Did he dislike her that much? Was he secretly contemptuous of her New York accent and city ways? Had taking her out to dinner, dancing and being nice been some sort of setup?

“We’d better start back,” Russ said. “There’s a blue norther’ headed this way and it’s gonna get cold. Might even have some ice.”

“I just need to change clothes and I’ll be ready to leave,” she said stiffly.

“You might want to keep those clothes for the hike. Pretty as you look in a short skirt and slinky blouse, flannel and cotton are a lot more practical.”

“Wear these clothes in public?” No way. This trip to Texas had been a disaster from start to finish; she wasn’t about to add fashion crime to her list of faulty decisions. And if he thought flirting with her and calling her pretty would offset her anger, he was sadly mistaken.

“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug.

She quickly changed back into her skirt, blouse and jacket, immediately feeling more like herself even though she’d had to trash her stockings. She stuffed the old jeans and flannel shirt into her backpack-there was plenty of room now that she’d eaten all the granola bars and drunk all the water. She would launder the clothing and return it to Russ, showing him that she had manners even if he didn’t.

She waited on the front porch while Russ closed up the cabin. The weather was still pleasant. It was hard to believe that anywhere in January could be so mild, harder still to believe a cold front would hit in a few hours. She hoped the weather didn’t delay her flight. She was booked on a red-eye leaving at ten tonight. She’d be home by morning.

“Ready?” Russ asked, suddenly appearing on the porch beside her.

She nodded. She was beyond ready to get back to civilization and was feeling grateful she’d not been born a hundred and fifty years ago to a pioneer family.

It felt good to stretch her muscles after crawling around for hours the previous day digging through those boxes. And the hike was much more pleasant now that she didn’t have to worry about the dog. At least Russ had left the beast at home this time. Now the only distraction was Russ himself, hiking a few feet in front of her. She wished he didn’t have to be so darn good-looking. What was it about soft, faded denim over a man’s posterior that was so appealing?

She stumbled and almost fell.

Russ halted and looked over his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yes, fine,” she said quickly, reminding herself she needed to keep an eye on the path ahead rather than her guide’s backside.

“Looks like we had some rain last night. Just enough to make things slippery, so watch your step.”

His warning came about a second too late. One moment she was contemplating what Russ might look like naked, the next, something gave way beneath her foot. With the backpack throwing off her balance just enough, she couldn’t catch herself. She let out a scream as she found herself falling down a hillside, hitting trees like a pinball on the way down.

She did a neat somersault and wound up on her butt in a pile of wet, rotting leaves.

For a few moments she was so stunned she couldn’t move, couldn’t say anything. Then she was vaguely aware of Russ calling her name as he scuttled down the hill after her with amazing speed. He was at her side almost instantly.

“Sydney, don’t try to get up.”

Which was exactly what she was doing. The damp leaves were soaking through her skirt and she didn’t want to finish the hike with a wet behind. But then the pain hit. Her left ankle and her tailbone, mostly, but she’d bumped and scraped herself in a number of places on the way down.

“Are you hurt?” he asked. “Did you hit your head?”

“My ankle,” she finally said, barely managing to get the words out. It felt like someone was hitting her foot with a sledgehammer. “I think I broke it.”

HELL. This was exactly the kind of thing he was always cautioning his hikers to watch out for. You had to pay attention on these trails, which weren’t intended for casual strolls. He should have warned Sydney to be more careful from the beginning. He probably should have checked to see that her boots were properly laced, to give her ankles the support they needed.

Getting her off the mountain and to medical help was going to be a trick, assuming he could even get them out of this gully. Doing it before the blue norther’ hit would be damn near impossible. He could already feel a chill in the air. Dense, blue clouds were rolling in from the north. The temperature would drop twenty degrees in the next hour or two and they were probably close to three hours from the car.

Sydney unlaced her boot. Her face was tight with pain, her breath ragged. He eased the boot off her foot as gently as he could, but he could tell he was hurting her. When her foot was free, he peeled off the sock. Her ankle was swelling up fast, but at least there were no obvious bones sticking out.

“If we’re lucky it’s just a bad sprain,” Russ said. “Have you ever broken anything before?”

“No. But this h-hurts bad.”

“Put the sock back on for now. We need ice.”

“Where can we find ice up here?” she asked as she gingerly pulled the sock over her swollen foot. “For that matter, how do we get back to the trail?”

He had ideas for both of those dilemmas. He helped her to stand, letting her lean on him as she balanced on one foot and brushed the leaves off her skirt. She was bleeding from a scrape on one knee, and the sleeve of her fake zebra jacket was torn almost all the way off, revealing a shredded silk blouse and another scrape on her shoulder.

He took off his backpack, stuffed her discarded boot inside and tossed the pack up the hill as far as he could. Then he stooped down, bracing his hands on his bent knees. “Climb aboard.”

“What?”

“You’re gonna ride piggyback. It’s the only way I can think of to get you back to the trail. Hop on.”

She was in no shape to argue. She did as he asked.

He wished she were pressing her body against him for some other reason. He was acutely aware of the feel of her bare thighs around his waist. Her tight skirt was probably hiked up as high as it would go. Her breasts were pressed against his back, her slender arms wrapped around his neck and her head was ear to ear with his. She’d lost her hat during her tumble down the hill, but he didn’t remind her of it. The thing would just get in the way and he suspected it would be no use against freezing rain.

Climbing the steep hill with an extra hundred or so pounds on his back was no picnic, but he managed it, pulling himself up using saplings as handholds, being careful not to jar Sydney’s injured foot in the process. Occasionally she made a quiet little gasp, and he knew the pain must be intense. But he had to hand it to her, she was pretty stoic. She ought to be cussing him up one side and down the other for getting her into this predicament.

This was what he got for trying to deceive her. He should have known better. Hell, he didn’t want his old man’s money because he hated the deceit and shallowness Sammy Oberlin represented. His money and his lifestyle had nearly ruined his and his mother’s lives. When they’d moved to Linhart, they’d turned over a new leaf and started fresh, their lives based on honesty and integrity, the value of working for an honest living, being part of a community.

Yet he’d deceived Sydney in a big way. So much for honesty and integrity.

When he reached his backpack, he tossed it all the way up to the trail. A couple of minutes later he and Sydney made it safely to the trails themselves. He set Sydney down and caught his breath.

“How you doing?” he asked.

She shrugged, which probably meant not too well. Her ankle was the size of a softball inside her sock.

“Is there any way you can walk? Leaning on me for support and with a walking stick, maybe?”

She held on to his arm and tried to put weight on the foot. But there was no way. After three tiny steps she was in tears and her face was a stark white.

“Just leave me here to die,” she said pathetically. “Save yourself.”

“C’mon, gimpy. I can carry you.” But her injury meant they wouldn’t be returning to Linhart today, possibly not tomorrow, either. He could carry her three miles with no trouble-he often carried nearly that weight on long hiking trips. But he would have to move slowly on the rough trail to avoid another tumble, and they were running out of time. They’d spent too much time already. On the northern horizon, a wall of gray announced that the front was moving in-and it looked like a monster.

At least the cabin was stocked with plenty of provisions. Not gourmet fare, but they wouldn’t starve.

Once she was securely on his back again, he started back up the trail.

“You’re going the wrong way.”

“We’re going back to the cabin. It’s too far to the car, and it’s too dangerous trying to go downhill with you on my back.”

“No, no, no, we have to get to town somehow. I need to get back home, I have work to do.”

“Your work will have to wait.”

“You don’t understand. My aunt and my father will be worried about me.”

“You’re not exactly a kid,” he pointed out. “I talked to your aunt yesterday and she didn’t seem worried at all. Said she didn’t need the car and to take your time, she would see you when she saw you.”

“But my father…okay, maybe it’s not that he’s worried about me, it’s the other way around. He’s ill and I don’t like leaving him alone.”

“Ill?” Russ hadn’t realized that. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He had some health problems before my mother died, and then he went into something of a downward spiral, culminating in stomach surgery. Honestly, I thought he was going to starve himself to death. He’s improving now, but he’s a long way from self-sufficient.”

Russ never would have done this to Sydney if he’d realized she had a father back home who needed her. If anything happened to the man, it would be on Russ’s conscience.

“I’m sorry, Sydney, really. But there’s no way we can get back to town today. Unless…I could hike back alone and call in a medevac helicopter to fly you to a hospital. But the clearing at the cabin isn’t big enough for a landing. We’d have to lower a line with a harness and raise you-”

“Stop, stop, you’re making me dizzy. I don’t like helicopters or hospitals and I definitely don’t like the idea of dangling in the air. Besides, the way this wind is whipping up, I’m not sure a helicopter would work.”

Russ had been thinking the same thing, but he’d been willing to try it if that was what she wanted.

“Your aunt promised she would call your father,” he said, wanting to make her feel better about the situation. “She’ll make sure he’s okay.”

Sydney grumbled a bit more, but there wasn’t anything she could do.

When he reached the creek, he followed the steep trail down to the water’s edge using a tree branch for support, then found a nice flat rock near where the water jumped over a little fall.

“How are we going to get across the creek?” Sydney asked as he eased her to the ground.

“One problem at a time. First, we’re going to do the next best thing to icing up that ankle. This creek is spring-fed and it’s freezing, even in summer.”

Sydney folded her arms stubbornly even while balancing improbably on one foot. “I’m not sticking my foot in a freezing creek. It hurts badly enough as it is.”

“Might take down the swelling, which would speed up your recovery,” Russ pointed out. “The sooner your ankle’s better, the sooner we can go home.” He sat down on the rock, pulled out his pocketknife and started trimming his nails as if he had all the time in the world. He did it only because it was such a country-bumpkin thing to do that he knew it would infuriate her.

With a huff she leaned on his shoulder and maneuvered herself into a seated position next to him on the rock. She peeled off the sock. “Eww.”

Her foot was turning blue. Not the best sign.

“How long do I have to leave it in the water?”

“About ten minutes should do it.”

With another huff she plunged her foot into the water. “Yowwwww! Holy mackerel, son of a pigeon-toed sailor, that hurts!”

Russ winced. “Want me to tell you a story to take your mind off the pain?”

“No. I want you to reassure me I’m not going to lose all my toes to frostbite.”

“Frostbite’s not a threat in these temperatures,” he said, though the cold north wind reminded him that hypothermia was. That lightweight jacket she had on was totally inadequate in anything below fifty degrees, and that temperature was rapidly approaching.

While she soaked her foot and called him bad names, Russ scouted along the creek until he found a better place to cross, rather than the log bridge they’d used before. He didn’t want to try walking across the narrow log carrying Sydney on his back. But a little ways upstream the water was shallower and he could simply wade across. His boots would get wet, but they were only a few minutes from the cabin.

“It’s been ten minutes,” Sydney informed him when he returned. She already had her foot out of the water and was drying it off using her sock. She put the damp sock back on. “Can we go now?”

Even more colors were coming up on her ankle now: purple, red, green, black. They would be lucky if she could walk on it the next day. If not, he was going to have to hike out alone and bring help to transport Sydney off the mountain. He hoped the ice storm the weatherman had been talking about was only idle speculation. Those alarmist forecasts seldom came true.

With Sydney once again riding him like a horse, he started off to cover the last quarter-mile of the trail. “Does it feel any better?”

“It’s cold,” she groused.

When they reached the clearing and the cabin came into view, Sydney didn’t try to disguise her sigh of relief. “And here I thought I never wanted to see this place again.”

“Was it really that bad?”

“I had cold split-pea soup and sour canned cherries for lunch and I haven’t bathed since yesterday morning. Yeah, it was bad.”

“So you didn’t know how to light the stove?” he asked.

“Maybe you grew up knowing how to start a fire with flint and corncobs, but I haven’t a clue.”

The poor thing. He’d meant to get her out of the way, not torture her.

Oh, what a tangled web we weave… He should have known better than to try to deceive anyone. It never worked. Even if he succeeded in sending Sydney back to New York ignorant of the fact he was Sammy Oberlin’s son, what was to stop some other enterprising heir-finder from tracking him down the way Sydney had?

He should suck it up and tell her the truth. She was already mad at him. He would just have to make sure there were no knives or heavy, throwable objects within her reach when he told her he was going to refuse the inheritance.