Kara Lennox - One Stubborn Texan

Most of the reporters had gone away by nine o’clock, when Russ was ready to leave his house, but one enterprising young man remained. Russ stopped at the end of his driveway and rolled down the window, reassured by the fact that no cameras were visible.

“Mr. Klein? I’m Dewey Thompson from the Austin -”

“Just hold your horses,” Russ interrupted him. “I’m saying one thing and one thing only to the press, so get it right, okay?”

“Um, okay,” the reporter said uncertainly.

“I am not a millionaire and I have no intention of becoming one.”

“But…but, Mr. Klein-”

Russ rolled up his window and headed into town. He parked down the street from the general store, then turned the collar up on his jacket and pulled down his hat as he made his way down the alley to the store’s back door.

Bert met him almost before he got the door open. “What in tarnation is going on? I got reporters settin’ on the sidewalk out front just lickin’ their lips waiting for nine-thirty so I’ll open the doors. I told ’em you weren’t here, but they don’t care. Apparently they want to come in and take pictures of your store, with or without you. Is it true? Did you really inherit ten million dollars?”

This was nuts. He wouldn’t have been surprised if one or two reporters had been interested in interviewing him. It’s not every day a long-lost heir finds out his estranged father left him ten million dollars and Sammy Oberlin had been a minor celebrity, at least in certain circles. But the media attention was way out of proportion, the type of frenzy reserved for rock stars, NFL quarterbacks and Tom Cruise.

“I could inherit the money,” Russ said as he closed and locked the back door behind him, “but I’m choosing not to. I don’t want to be rich.”

“Boy, are you touched in the head?”

“I got my reasons.”

“This has something to do with the city girl, I’ll bet. I knew she was trouble the minute I laid eyes on her.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Thinking about Sydney made his heart ache, and he couldn’t escape the suspicion that things weren’t exactly as they seemed.

What was he going to do? He couldn’t conduct business with reporters camped out on the sidewalk or prowling his store. Telling them they were mistaken would just fuel the fire. They could do their own research and verify he was Sammy Oberlin’s son. If he told them he wasn’t accepting the money, it would become an even bigger story.

And Winnie. Dear God, he had to talk to his mother before she saw all the cameras. Staying concealed in the back storage room, Russ took out his cell phone to call his mother. Maybe he could arrange to meet her someplace away from prying eyes, where he could break the news to her gently.

He already had three messages. He ran through them quickly, praying one would be from Sydney, but all three were from Winnie, wanting to know why he wouldn’t answer his phone. He started to call her back when he heard the front door open.

Winnie. It had to be. She was the only other person who had a key besides Bert and Russ himself.

“Russ? Yoo-hoo, sweetie, are you here? I saw your car parked down the street.”

Russ emerged from the storeroom and Winnie trotted across the wood floor in her high heels, her arms outstretched. “I can’t believe you kept this all a secret from me!”

Russ allowed himself to be swallowed by his mother’s exuberant hug. He hugged her back; this might be the last time she hugged him for a while. Winnie was generous with her affection, but she had a powerful temper and when she was mad at him she would sometimes refuse to talk to him for days.

“This just blows my mind,” Winnie said as she released him. “Sammy hardly ever even looked at you. He must have found a conscience in his old age, ’cause he sure as heck didn’t have one when I knew him.”

“Mom, we have to talk.”

“We will, honey, we will. But those reporters are the ones you ought to talk to right now. You’ve got to get used to being in the public eye, ’cause you’re going to be an important man.” She giggled like a schoolgirl. “My son, the multimillionaire.”

“No, Mom, you don’t have all the-”

“You’ll look handsome on TV.” She straightened his collar and then spit on her hand to smooth down his hair like she’d done when he was a little boy.

“I’m not talking to the reporters and that’s final. And you shouldn’t talk to them, either.”

“Why in heaven’s name not? They seem like nice enough fellas.” Winnie strolled to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup. As usual, when she had an idea in her head, she didn’t listen to anyone. “The first thing I’m going to buy is a new coat. I know it’s hardly ever cold enough down here to wear fur, but I sure could have used one these last few days. Which do you think is better, mink or chinchilla? Or maybe fox?”

“None of the above. Mom-”

“Oh, that’s right, you like all the furry little critters. And what do men know about fur coats, anyway? Oh, gosh, I’m just so excited I can’t hardly think straight. I don’t know how I’m going to fix people’s hair today without making everybody turn out like Ozzy Osbourne. Do you think I should keep working? I love the Cut ’n’ Curl, but it does tie me down and I’ve always wanted to travel. Where’s the first place we should go? Paris? Or maybe Rio.”

Russ was worn out just listening to her. He shook his head and got his own coffee. Maybe she’d wind down in a few minutes and let him get a word in edgewise. Until then, it was useless to try to interrupt.

“Where’s Sydney, anyway?” she asked abruptly.

He waited to see if Winnie would pause long enough to allow him to answer. She took a long sip of her coffee, frowning at him over the rim of her cup.

“She went back to New York,” he said, amazed Winnie had let him finish a sentence.

“I like her. I wasn’t sure if she would even be nice to me after you said she was a stalker. But when she came into the Cut ’n’ Curl dressed down in jeans and a flannel shirt-well, she looked like she belonged in Linhart and she was nice as pie.”

Russ turned away. He didn’t want to think about Sydney, dressed in his old clothes a mile too big for her and still looking sexy as hell.

“And she was so easy to talk to. I hope she lets me do her hair some time. She’s got gorgeous hair. Did you say she went back to New York?”

Russ nodded.

“But she’s coming back here, right? To settle everything. How long will it take, do you think, before they give you the money? I’m sure there are all kinds of legal requirements and, of course, Uncle Sam has to take his cut, but that still leaves an awful lot.”

“I’m not accepting the money.”

Winnie laughed. “Russ, don’t be silly. You do love to tease your mama.” She shook her head, still chuckling. “Not accepting the money, that’s a good one.”

“I’m not teasing,” he said. “I don’t want the money.”

But she didn’t seem to hear him. “I have to go open up the salon, I’ve got an appointment first thing with Eleanor Ivans. She’s the one, you know, who always wants to compare the size of her diamonds with other people’s. I can’t wait to buy something that’ll make her faint dead away! Oh, and Russ, think about talking to the reporters,” she said with a pout. “They’ll just keep pestering you until you give them what they want.”

She drained her coffee cup and set it down. “Thanks for the coffee, sweetie. I’ll see you later-we have to do something special to celebrate. Bert, you can come with us!”

Bert mumbled something about watching the Titanic sink and made his way to his rocking chair by the stove. Nero followed him, keeping a wary eye on Winnie, who was heading for the door, still talking. She exited with the same drama as she entered, in a cloud of perfume.