Small Treasures (24 page)

"And/' Alonzo said a little louder, with a pointed look at Buck, "if some folks would hush, I'd do just that." He turned his gaze on Samuel and lowered his voice slightly. "The thing is, Sam, folks was mighty impressed with how you handled yourself during that little set-to at the barn raisin'."

Samuel nodded and fought down the urge to get up and leave.

"Well, thing of it is," Alonzo went on, "our sheriff, Pete James? Well, he ain't never been much of a lawman —" He broke off and waited for Samuel's reaction. There wasn't one. "And ever since that little fracas down to the Coleses' place, well, folks've been talkin' your name up some to be the new sheriff." Now that he was finished, Alonzo's breath rushed out, and he grabbed up his beer and drank it down.

Samuel's jaw dropped open, and he quickly snapped it shut. He sat silently, watching the other two men. Whatever he'd been expecting, it hadn't been this. Deliberately he kept his expression blank. He needed time to think.

Both men were watching him with anticipation. He had to say something. Anything.

"Uh," he began, surprised to find that his voice worked, "I don't know about this. I'd have to think on it some."

"Hell, 'course you do." Alonzo smiled and pushed himself to his feet. "We wasn't ex-pectin' you to just jump at the job." He tugged at Buck's jacket, urging him to stand. "In fact, I already told most of the folks that I reckon you're not gonna want to give up your mountain to move down into town."

Buck stood and added, "But J said that any man'd rather have a job with ready money instead of livin' hand to mouth trappin' and such."

Samuel didn't say a word. After another long moment of silence, Buck and Alonzo started backing away from the table, hesitant smiles on their faces.

"Well, now," Alonzo said, "you just take your time, Sam. The sheriff ain't much, but he ain't doin' any harm, neither. So there's no rush, y'understand."

"We'll leave you be now, Sam," Buck in toned and slapped at Alonzo's shoulder to get the man moving a little faster.

"Uh, right." Alonzo moved for the door.

Minerva'll be gettin' a little fractious by now. If she don't get to order me about some every now and then, she gets ornery."

The creaking saloon doors swung wildly with the men's departure, letting sunlight flash and dim like the sun was winking.

Sheriff. Samuel lifted his beer and took a long drink. Sheriff? Who would've thought it? Of course, he told himself silently, he wouldn't take the job… and yet… He smiled and rubbed his hand across his freshly shaven jaw. A small seed of pleasure rested deep within him.

For the first time in his life Samuel knew what it felt like to be wanted. No, he corrected. Not just wanted. Needed. He knew all about Sheriff James. A good enough man, he supposed, but not one on close terms with hard work. Why, now that he thought on it, Samuel couldn't remember a time when he'd seen the sheriff outside his office.

He chuckled softly as he thought that the man's boots must last forever. They almost never hit the ground. As far as Samuel knew, they never got farther than bein' propped up on the big desk at the jailhouse.

Imagine that, he told himself. Folks want Samuel Hart to be sheriff. Samuel smiled behind his hand and looked quickly around the nearly empty saloon. Didn't want anyone to see him sittin' by himself grinnin' at nothin'.

With the fingers of his right hand, Samuel absently drew patterns in the water rings left by the beer mugs. Just two months ago, if someone had told him that he'd be offered such a job, he'd have thought the person completely mad. His brows quirked as he realized that two months ago, no one would have told him anything, 'cause nobody talked to him.

Not until Abby.

He sighed and leaned back. Closing his eyes, he willed her image up before him. Samuel could hardly credit the changes that one little woman had made in his life. Not only did he have a real home… even down to a child… but for the first time ever, he had friends. People who were actually glad to see him. Folks wantin' to chew the fat with him. A whole town wantin' to trust their safety to him.

Samuel opened his eyes and stared down at the scratched tabletop. If not for Abby, he'd be what he'd always been. A man alone. No, he amended silently. A lonely man. There was a difference.

He couldn't let her leave.

Chapter Sixteen

"Samuel Hart?"

He glanced up at the owner of the husky, whisper-soft voice, then hurriedly clambered to his feet.

Sarah Dumont smiled at his obvious discomfort. Clearly, she told herself, he was a man not used to being around women much. As he straightened up and righted the glass of beer he'd spilled in his hurry, Sarah took pity on him and gave him a friendly grin.

"Slow down, Mr. Hart. I'm not known for bein' a deadly foe. Dangerous maybe. But not deadly."

Samuel shifted from foot to foot uneasily. "Sorry about that mess, ma'am. Don't know when I been that clumsy."

She waved his apology aside. "It's not the first beer spilled in here, and it for sure won't be the last." Sarah turned and called to her bartender, "Dave, bring us a couple of beers and a towel for the table."

That done, she looked up at Samuel again. "Mind if I sit down for a while?"

His gaze shot to hers, then quickly turned away. Pulling a chair out from the table, he said gruffly, "Pleasure, Ma'am. A pleasure."

She sat down, smoothed her skirts, then leaned her elbows on the table, neatly avoiding the spilled beer. Samuel still stood uncertainly. Glancing up at him, she shook her head slightly. "You gonna stand all day, or are you goin' to join me?"

"Sorry, ma'am." He sat down before the only dry spot, in the chair right beside Sarah. Stiff as a board, Samuel curled his fingers over the ends of the armrests.

Sarah noticed and rolled her eyes. She must be gettin' old, she told herself. Time was when men fought each other to sit by her side. And she never remembered a time when a man was this jumpy just sittin'.

Dave brought a fresh round of drinks and wiped the table clean without a word spoken. As soon as he was gone, Sarah lifted her glass and admired the bright golden yellow liquid for a moment before taking a sip. She noticed Samuel watching her and explained, "I don't like to be rushed, Mr. Hart. I do enjoy takin' the time to fully enjoy all life's little pleasures."

Samuel looked down, and if she hadn't known better, Sarah would have sworn he was blushing. But she knew that was impossible. Grown men didn't blush. She waited for him to swallow his gulp of beer, then she said what she'd come to say.

"I saw how you handled yourself at the barn raisin'".

"Made the rest of the men around here look like boys in a schoolyard brawl." "Well, uh… " Sarah lifted one hand to shush him. "But that ain't what I wanted to talk to you about." She smiled at his obvious surprise. "Oh, I know about how the town's wantin' you to be sheriff… prob'ly a good idea. But that's their business."

Puzzled, Samuel stared at her.

"I stick to runnin' my own business." Then she chuckled softly. "Guess that ain't all the time true, or I wouldn't be sittin' here with you." Sarah shot him a quick look. "I don't mean nothin' by that, you understand… but I don't go up and talk to just anybody anymore. Don't have to. I own this place."

"Yes, ma'am."

Her lips quirked. "You think you could call me Sarah instead of ma'am? I'm commencin' to feel like a homely schoolmarm at a box social!"

Samuel smiled and nodded.

Sarah's breath caught, and for just a moment she found herself wishing that she was a schoolmarm and that his lady friend didn't exist. The big ol' mountain man had cleaned up into something special. But, she reminded herself firmly, the time for changin' her ways was long past, and not many men were willin' to overlook a little thing like bein' a madam.

"Anyhow," she went on, "like I was sayin'. Most times I mind my own business. Better that way. For everybody." Sarah looked up and met his gaze. "But this time… well hell, I may be wrong about this, too."

"What?"

She had his complete attention now. "You recall those two cowboys who started the ruckus at the barn raisin'?"

Samuel nodded.

"Well, they were in here later that night. The two of 'em so drunk it wasn't safe to strike a match." She reached up and smoothed the sides of her hair back. "They were doin' a lot of talkin', too. Mostly about you. And your lady friend."

His brows drew together over suddenly narrowed eyes. "What'd they say?"

"Only that they were real mad with you. And that they were still set on havin' a dance with your woman."

He relaxed a little. "That don't sound too bad. Could be it was just the whiskey talkin'."

"Could be." Sarah pushed away from the table and stood up. She ran her hands over her hips, smoothing the fall of her bright green, knee-length satin skirt. "Either way, I figured you ought to know."

He nodded and stood up. " 'Predate it."

Sarah followed him to the door and stepped out onto the porch with him. "You know, them two ain't really so bad as they think they are."

"Yeah." Samuel adjusted the brim of his hat and squinted out into the sunlit street. "I know." Most of the men he'd had trouble with in his life weren't really bad men. And these two cowhands were probably no more than young and stupid. But that didn't make them any less dangerous.

He looked down when Sarah's hand touched his arm. She was staring thoughtfully up at him.

"This ain't any of my business, either," she said softly, "but if that lady friend of yours ever ups and leaves… you come see me, Samuel Hart." A slow smile curved her lips as her hand slid up the length of his arm to the back of his neck. "I do believe you and me'd get along just fine."

Samuel backed away and went down the steps to the street. Once at a safe distance, he said, "Yes, ma'am. Thank you."

Sarah leaned against the porch post and watched the big man walk away. Her eyes skimmed over his muscled body and long-legged, light-footed stride. She gave a long sigh of regret, then turned around and went back where she belonged. Her saloon.

Minerva stood beside Abby, giving her last-minute instructions on the dress she would be making.

"Now, remember, Abby," she said with just a touch of panic in her voice, "no fancy froo-froos. Just a good old-fashioned Sunday church dress."

"I understand, Minerva." Abby ran her hand over the plain navy blue wool fabric. "But I still think a few yellow rosettes would look stunning. We could line them along the edges of the bodice and —"

"Abby —“

She frowned. "All right. No rosettes.

Minerva breathed a sigh of relief. Although she wouldn't be able to rest completely until she had the finished gown in her possession and was sure that it would be fit to wear. Heaven knew it had taken every ounce of her stubbornness to talk Abby out of using orange satin for a church dress!

Shielding her eyes from the sun, Minerva saw Samuel hurrying down the street toward them. Looking just past him, she spied Sarah Dumont standing on the porch of her place. As Samuel came closer, Minerva shook her head. Yep. Just as she'd thought. Samuel Hart had the same look every other man carried on his face after he'd spent a little time with Sarah. Like he'd been poleaxed. Minerva nudged Abby and pointed toward Samuel.

"Looka there. Don't know what it is that woman's got," Minerva said with reluctant admiration, "but durned if she don't turn every man she talks to into a red-faced, withering idiot."

Abby followed her friend's gaze. She noted Samuel's agitated appearance, then looked on down the road and saw Sarah turn and go back into the saloon. What in heaven was going on? Samuel looked worried.

For two days Samuel had hardly stirred from the cabin. He kept thinking about Sarah Dumont's warning. It was prob'ly nothing, he knew. But still, he didn't want to take any chances with Abby's safety. Course, he didn't want to tell her any of this. He knew what her reaction would be. She would brush aside any concerns he had and insist that the two cowhands were perfectly harmless.

Besides, he told himself, he kind of enjoyed having her so curious about his visit with Sarah Dumont. Samuel chuckled, jabbed the pitchfork into the pile of hay, and tossed a forkful down to the barn floor below. He could see it in her eyes every time she talked to him. It was killin' Abby not to ask what he and Sarah had talked about. And the suspicion that Abby was just a little bit jealous was just too good a feeling to let go of so soon… so Samuel hadn't said a word.

And Lord knew that there was plenty for him to do around the cabin to keep him busy. He'd spent most of the last two days finishing up Abby's room. Tonight would be her first night in there, and Samuel sincerely hoped she'd be wanting him to join her.

It seemed like a hundred years since he'd touched her last.

He paused in his work, bent down, and looked out the second-story barn window toward the cabin. The fresh coat of white paint really made a difference in how the place looked. The cabin appeared almost proud of itself, settin' there all nice and shiny, surrounded by dark green pines and autumn gold aspens. Samuel sighed and told himself that it would have looked even better if he hadn't let Abby talk him into painting the trim such a bright pink! But, he thought with a smile, better on the outside of the place than the inside!

His gaze shifted slightly to the cabin yard. Abby had set up a chair and table in the bright sunshine and was working on that dress for Minerva. From what he could tell, she hadn't been exaggerating her abilities with a needle and thread. And she was almighty fast, too. The dress was near completed.

Samuel watched as Abby set the dress in her lap and raised her arms high over her head to stretch her muscles. Slowly, languidly, she moved her arms and rolled her head from side to side. Samuel gripped the handle of the pitchfork tightly and tried to breathe evenly as the fabric of her simple gown pulled across her breasts. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be soaking in the sunlight. Her deep chestnut hair shone with flashes of red and fell almost to the ground as she leaned back in her chair, a soft smile on her face.