Small Treasures (11 page)

The morning air held a chill that warned of the quickly approaching winter, and Samuel knew that snow could arrive that high up mighty early. If he was going to do this, he'd better get at it, he told himself testily.

"I best get goin'," he said under his breath and walked past Abby toward the barn.

Less than an hour later he stood awkwardly beside the wagon and looked down at Abby. "I should be back by day after tomorrow. You, uh, you bolt the door at night, Abby." He rubbed his bearded jaw. Despite the need to be away by himself for a while, he suddenly felt bad about leavin' her alone. "Nothin'll happen most likely," he added, "but why take chances?"

She nodded.

"And stay the hell away from the animals." He tried to glare at her in warning, but those eyes of hers kept on shinin' at him. "I fed 'em good this morning. They'll be fine till I get back."

"All right, Samuel."

She just stood there, lookin' up at him, and Samuel felt his insides go all which ways. God help him, if he didn't find some peace soon, he'd never last out the six weeks until the judge got to Rock Creek. Why in hell did she have to be so beautiful? He shifted slightly, and Abby leaned closer.

"What is it, Abby?" He ground his teeth together in frustration. She smelled of coffee and bacon and a touch of vanilla. The morning sun danced in her hair, and she was so close he could count the few freckles across her nose.

Nothing," she said softly, her eyes never leaving his. "I just thought…" Her gaze lowered slightly.

"Thought what?" His voice sounded rough even to himself. She looked up again, and he was lost in the golden splendor of her eyes.

"I thought you were going to… "

"What?" he forced out.

"Kiss me." The words came out softly on a sigh as she leaned closer to him.

God! The fire in his blood that he'd worked so hard to tamp down now flared up again and raged through him. She wanted him to kiss her? His chest heaved. He was sure his heart had stopped. His palms itched to hold her, his gaze locked on her mouth, he could almost taste her already. But did he dare?

Would he be able to stop with one kiss? Then he realized that it didn't matter. Nothing mattered beyond the miracle that Abby wanted his kiss.

Slowly, carefully, he bent lower. His eyes wide open, he saw hers close just before their lips met. Samuel's mouth touched hers gingerly, and he felt an unfamiliar weakness wash over him at the unbelievable softness of her.

Though his body yearned to grab her and hold her close, he kept his arms at his side and began to pull away after that briefest of kisses.

Then Abby's eyes opened, and she looked deeply into his. Incredibly, he saw desire there. Desire for him. A soft smile curved her lips as she raised her arms to encircle his neck. Of their own accord, it seemed, Samuel's strong arms wrapped around her and lifted her slight weight from the ground.

He felt her hands smooth away his too long hair, and then he dipped his head to hers and claimed her mouth with a kiss he'd been dreaming of since the first time he'd seen her.

The soft warmth of her filled him, and he groaned when she parted her lips for him. His tongue swept inside and caressed hers. His body tightened reflexively as Abby's open palms against his back held him closer, tighter. A soft moan came from her throat just before her tongue moved to stroke the inside of his mouth.

Samuel's heart pounded in his ears, and he pulled away slightly to gasp for the breath he was almost willing to do without. He saw her mouth, swollen from his kiss, saw the glaze of passion cover her eyes, and watched with hunger the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. It was all he could do to keep from tearing her blouse open and burying himself in her soft curves.

But years of control gave him the strength to set her down on her own feet. She staggered slightly and gripped his forearms for balance. He had to stop now. Before he reached a point when he would never stop.

"Samuel," she breathed raggedly, "I &mdash"

"I have to go now, Abby." He turned away, then quickly turned back and grabbed her to him. He simply couldn't help himself. One last time he pressed his lips to hers in a searing kiss that left both of them breathless. Then he turned again and quickly climbed up to the wagon seat. "I gotta go."

"Be careful, Samuel."

He waved but didn't look back as the horses leaned into their traces and the wagon began its roll down the mountain.

Abby took two shaky steps and raised her hand to her mouth. Rubbing her bruised lips, she whispered urgently, "Hurry back."

# # #

Abby stepped back and took a long look at her handiwork. Smiling, she put her palms against the small of her back and stretched. Her back hurt like the very devil, but it would be worth it to see Samuel's face when he got home.

He'd be surprised, she knew. But she owed him a surprise. If she lived to be a hundred, she'd never forget the looks on the other ladies' faces when Samuel stormed into the cabin, ax raised. His fierce expression, his wild hair and beard, and his immense size had given him the look of an ancient warrior that she'd read about once as a girl.

Chuckling softly, she remembered, too, how stunned he'd been to discover that his only opponents were five women having coffee and cookies!

Abby sniffed, then sneezed violently. There was something about the smell of fresh paint that had always made her sneeze. But it was worth it. The new coat of paint looked wonderful!

Picking up her paintbrush once more, she crossed the room and carefully filled in a small space that she'd missed somehow. Abby smiled and turned in a slow circle, getting the full effect of the cabin's new look. For the life of her, she couldn't understand why Minerva had been so stunned when Abby'd picked up the paint that morning at the store. Why, the color was even lovelier than she'd imagined!

Abby frowned momentarily as she wondered what Samuel would think of the cabin walls being such a bright shade of pink. Then she laughed shortly. If he was like most men, he probably wouldn't even notice, she told herself. But then, she thought dreamily as she stared out the side window, Samuel wasn't like most men.

A curl of excitement started in the pit of her stomach and spread quickly to her arms and legs. She could still feel his lips on hers. His arms wrapped around her, snuggling her in a warm, protective circle. Abby had never known that a kiss could be so much more than a touch.

If she'd known what it would be like, she'd have asked him to kiss her days ago!

Maverick whined and butted against the back of her knees, making her grab at a nearby chair. She looked down at the dog and laughed out loud.

"You're right, Maverick. Enough of this standing around. Let's get this job finished, shall we?"

She set her paintbrush down and walked to the table where two more cans of paint stood waiting for her. Wasn't it lucky, she asked herself, that she'd found the paint in the back of Minerva's store practically hidden under some discarded feed sacks?

Pink was such a nice, cheerful color! It made her think of sunsets and sunrises. Thoughtfully she tapped her index finger against her chin, oblivious to the splotch of pink she left there. Perhaps tomorrow she would take the buggy into Rock Creek again and get enough paint to do the trim in a different color. Abby smiled. Maybe Minerva had a bright, sunny yellow tucked away somewhere…

A raucous screeching and cackling burst into the stillness. Harry leapt nimbly down from the big bed and raced to the door. His tongue hanging out, one remaining ear pricked, he turned to look at Abby impatiently. Maverick moved more slowly to join his companion.

Abby glanced uneasily at the closed door. "What is it, boys?"

The hens' wild cackling crept up in volume, and now Abby heard a loud crashing sound to accompany it. Oh, heavens, some animal has gotten in with Samuel's chickens, she thought frantically. She had to do something! But what? She turned around, her eyes scanning the cabin quickly. She didn't have the slightest notion of how to shoot a gun. And if she tried, she'd probably shoot herself rather than the predator out there making a meal of the hens! But there had to be something… Her gaze fell on the iron skillet. She snatched it up.

Hurrying now, she moved across the room and opened the door slightly. Before she could stop him, Harry had squeezed through and was racing across the yard. Maverick, though, was stopped by Abby's leg. Awkwardly, she managed to get outside and still keep the bigger dog caged in the house.

Harry's frantic barking was now added to the unbelievable racket coming from the chicken coop. Blast it, she thought as she crouched and sprinted toward the low building, if Harry didn't stop, she would lose all chance of surprising whatever was bothering the hens.

She reached the small outbuilding in seconds and flattened herself against the side wall. Shuffling slowly along the rough planed wood, Abby moved along until she could see the front of the coop. The door was standing open.

Abby gulped and leaned back against the wall. Holding the skillet to her chest, she tried to make her heart stop racing. The open door meant one thing: Whatever was in there wasn't an animal. Animals can't open closed doors.

A handful of feathers shot out the window over her head, and Abby watched as they floated slowly to the ground. She cringed a little as the hens' agitated screeches got even louder. Another crash from inside and Abby squared her shoulders. It was up to her. This was her home now, too. Not just Samuel's. And it was up to her to defend it. She only hoped desperately that she wouldn't be facing a gun with an iron skillet.

Just as she reached the coop's open door, a hen with wings flapping wildly raced out. Abby's feet moved quickly, trying to sidestep the little animal, but no matter where she stepped, the hen was just underfoot, tangling itself in Abby's skirts. The crazy bird shot free as Abby toppled over and landed on her stomach.

Gasping for the wind that had been knocked out of her by the fall, Abby called out from the ground, "Who is it? Who's in there?"

Another hen raced through the door, skittering over Abby's back on its way out the gate.

Abby got her hands under her and pushed herself to her knees. Over the screeching, she called again, "I know you're in there. You may as well come out. Now."

After a long few minutes, through the cloud of flying chicken feathers, a small figure stepped into the light. Abby squinted and staggered to her feet. Still clutching the skillet in her right hand, she pushed her tangled, paint-streaked, feather-bedecked hair out of her eyes and waited.

It was a child.

Relief swept through Abby as she realized that the boy couldn't be more than ten years old. In the length of time it took him to cross the few feet of space separating him from her, Abby studied him carefully.

Unbelievably dirty, the boy also looked as if he hadn't eaten in days. His torn clothes were threadbare, and his bare feet were purple with cold. As he got closer, Abby noticed the clear, mountain-lake blue of his eyes, his stubborn chin, and his night-black hair, which stood on end in dirty little tufts all over his head. His mouth was set in an unrepentant line, and his thin shoulders were stiff as a board. In one grubby little fist the child held two eggs. This, then, was the reason for the hens' indignation.

Abby looked down at him and tried a smile. No response. Finally she asked, "Would you like some bacon and hot biscuits to go with those eggs?"

The boy's eyes shot up to her face, and he stared at her unbelievingly. After a long, silent moment he said, "Yes'm. I shore would."

# # #

Samuel stretched out on his bedroll and poked another branch into the fire. Flames licked at the fresh wood, hit a patch of pine tar, and spat and hissed angrily.

Folding one arm beneath his head, Samuel stared up at the night sky. Pine and fir trees reached out with their branches, etching shad owed silhouettes against the flickering stars and the pale glow of a half-moon. Somewhere in the distance a wolf’s howl echoed eerily.

Samuel pulled his blanket up and moved his rifle closer. He could have gone on into Wolf River but had decided instead to spend the night in the wide open. Soon it would be winter and there wouldn't be another chance for lying out under the stars for months. He closed his eyes and breathed quietly, listening for the night sounds.

A scrabble of small feet in the bushes, a tree branch shaken, the crackle of the fire, and from the nearby creek a bullfrog croaking out an invitation to love.

This is what he'd needed, Samuel told himself. Time alone again. Away from everyone. Away from Abby. He couldn't think clearly when she was around.

Hell, he couldn't remember having one clear thought since the night she'd strolled into his home and taken over his life.

He had no time to himself anymore. He had no silence anymore… even when Abby wasn't talkin', she was singin'. And people! He rubbed at his eyes with his fingertips. Hell, in the last few years, he hadn't talked to more than maybe one or two folks. And in the last two days he'd seen twice that number. In his own house!

Sleepin' with a board in his bed… curtains at the windows, flowers on the shelf… his belongings moved every which way. He snorted into the darkness. He didn't know where half his things were &mdash she was so busy fixin' and straightenin' his "messes."

And now she'd managed to rope him into goin' to a barn raisin'. Likely the whole damn town would be there. And they'd all be starin' at him. Waitin' for him to do &mdash something. Well, they wouldn't be alone, he told himself.

How much longer could he last? Every time he felt his temper rise, he worried. Seemed like even the alphabet wasn't helpin' like it used to. And what if he got mad at that get-together at the Coles' place? What if he got into a fight and hurt somebody bad? Then what?

Samuel sat up and tossed another branch into the already raging campfire. He knew what would happen. Those decent citizens would run him off the mountain and out of the territory. Hell, he'd be lucky if they didn't try to tar and feather him.

Well, he wouldn't let that happen. No. He'd made his choice when he'd bought the cabin from Silas. He liked the mountain. Liked the loneliness. Liked the emptiness. He was used to it. It was familiar.