Small Treasures

Small Treasures

by Maureen Child
(Originally published under the name Kathleen Kane and released by Berkley)

Copyright 1993 by Maureen Child

About the Author

USA TODAY
bestselling author
Maureen Child
has been nominated for six prestigious RITA Awards from the Romance Writers of America for her sexy, heartwarming romance novels. She also writes dark paranormal romances under the name Regan Hastings.

Visit Maureen online at
MaureenChild.com
and
Facebook.com/MaureenChild
.

Chapter One

A naked giant stood in the open doorway, a rifle held in one of his huge hands.

Abby Sutton stopped short on the thresh old of the tiny cabin and stared unblinkingly up at the man. He was several inches over six feet tall and the breadth of him was just as intimidating. His too-long blond hair hung to his incredibly wide shoulders, and the lower half of his face was covered by a full reddish-blond beard. He had a straight, almost elegant nose, and his pale green eyes sparkled with surprise and what she guessed to be a slowly simmering anger.

Almost before she saw him move, he reached behind him to the rumpled bed, grabbed a threadbare-looking quilt, and tossed it over his shoulders. The material draped across the front of his body, successfully hiding his nudity.

"Who the hell are you?"

His voice was every bit as deep as she'd expected it to be. She watched as his gaze moved over her and waited until his eyes had lifted to hers again before answering.

"I am Abby Sutton," she said simply, "and you are trespassing."

"What?"

Really, she told herself. Perhaps that wasn't surprise she'd read in his eyes. Perhaps he was simpleminded. If so, she wanted to re assure him quickly.

"Please don't worry, though," she said, smiling. "There is no need to involve the local sheriff. I really don't mind at all, your 'borrowing' my house for a while." She inclined her head and added gently, "Though, of course, now that I'm here, you'll have to leave."

The giant's mouth dropped open, and he lost his grip on the quilt. He let the rifle fall to the floor and made a desperate grab at his only covering.

"Trespassing? Me? I'll have to leave?"

Abby shook her head slowly. Yes. Simpleminded. What a shame. Looking past the giant into the cabin, Abby spied a dented coffeepot. Suddenly the last few hours of travel caught up with her. All she could think of was having a nice hot cup of coffee and getting right to sleep. She glanced back at the man still blocking her way.

"Would you mind terribly if we continued our little talk over a cup of coffee?"

His bushy blond brows drew together in confusion. "Lady," he finally said, "who the hell are you?"

She smiled and gently shook her head again. Poor man. It must be such a trial going through life with the mind of a half-wit. In sympathy, she spoke quietly and carefully. "Oh, dear, you don't remember. I've already told you, you know. I'm Abby Sutton and this is my home."

The giant inhaled slowly. She watched awestruck as, under the quilt, his chest filled out to amazing proportions. Finally, when it seemed that he would explode, he countered, "I'm Samuel Hart. And this is my cabin."

Perhaps, she told herself, the giant was too thickheaded to understand even simple English! But she'd keep trying.

"There must be some mistake." She chuckled.

"Uh-huh. That's the first thing you've said that's made sense."

Abby's eyebrows shot up. Deliberately she bent down to pick up her bulging carpetbag, brushed past the big man, and plopped her burden down in the center of the floor. "Mr.… Hart, is it?"

He nodded.

"I think we should talk this over."

Samuel looked down at the tiny woman, and his grip tightened on the old quilt. He felt ridiculous, standing there naked as the day he was born, the only thing between him and complete humiliation, a blanket.

"All right," he said quietly. "We'll talk. But first, you go on outside for a bit so's I can get some clothes on."

"It's really very cold outside, you know. Wouldn't it be acceptable if I simply turned my back?"

He felt his jaw drop again. Snapping it shut, he managed to say, "No. I ain't dropping this quilt till you're outside that door and it's closed."

She sighed, and Samuel thought for a moment that she was going to fight him on it. Didn't being in the same room with him… naked… bother her at all?

Frustration and the first stirrings of anger were beginning to boil together in the pit of his stomach. He had to get her out of that cabin! Frantically he began murmuring softly to himself.

"Very well." She walked back to the door and grasped the latch. "But please hurry, Mr. Hart. I'm very tired, and I'd like to get to bed."

For a long minute Samuel simply stood, staring at the closed door in open-mouthed astonishment. Get to bed?

Abby took a deep breath of the cool mountain air and seated herself uneasily on the tree stump just a few paces from the cabin. The sun was almost completely gone now, leaving the clearing and the surrounding pines in a soft twilight.

She heard Samuel Hart's hurried movements inside the cabin and frowned uncertainly. Abby had heard his odd muttering just before she stepped outside. Yes, she told herself solemnly. Just like Mr. Hufhagel.

Poor Mr. Hufnagel. Sixty-five years old and not a wit in his head. Abby sighed and let her mind create an image of the little town in Maryland she'd left what seemed years ago. Not big enough to be called a town rightly, it was more like a few dozen souls clustered for company around a winding road that led, eventually, to Baltimore. And every night at suppertime poor Mr. Hufhagel would wander into whichever house he chose for that evening's meal. No one ever knew where he would show up next, and no one had the heart to deny him.

Abby smiled softly. It was a sad thing of course for anyone to be so sorely lacking… but for Samuel Hart, it just didn't seem fair at all. Not when the good Lord had been so generous with everything else! As long as she lived, Abby would never forget the sight of him brazenly blocking the doorway with his massive frame.

He was really a magnificent man! Blood rushed to her cheeks, and she fanned herself frantically with her hand, trying to cool the rush of excitement the memory had stirred.

No stranger to the sight of naked flesh, Abby had been helping the local doctor since she was a child. Why, she'd probably seen more folks in the altogether than most big-city doctors.

But she'd never seen anyone like Samuel Hart before. He was just as she'd always imagined Thor, the god of thunder, would look.

A loud bang from inside the cabin caught her attention, and Abby shook her head to dislodge the silly notions her tired brain was creating.

Instead, she looked around her at her land. True, she couldn't see much of it in the fading light, but she'd seen enough on the climb up the mountain road to know that she'd finally come home. She glanced up at the deep blue sky and sent a prayer of thanks to her uncle Silas. If not for him she'd still be moving from house to house in Maryland, living mostly on the charity of others.

A frown crossed her features for a moment as she remembered the long years since her parents' death in a carriage accident. With no family to care for her, Abby had been deemed the responsibility of the entire town. And so she'd lived first with one family, then another. Moving every couple of months to avoid being too much a burden on any one family, Abby had belonged nowhere.

Until now. She looked over her shoulder at the cabin. And no one was going to make her leave.

# # #

Samuel snatched at his pants and pulled them on, hopping from foot to foot. He set the coffeepot on the stove and fed some kindling into the banked fire, then buttoned up his pants. Grumbling, he then reached for a shirt and drew it over his head.

What in the hell did he ever do to anybody that he deserved this? All he'd asked for was privacy. Solitude. That was the reason he'd bought the little cabin in the first place. High on the mountain, it was far enough away from the town of Rock Creek to discourage visitors and close enough to get supplies easily.

He pushed at the stove door to close it and burned his fingers. Shoving them into his mouth, he shot a murderous glare at the closed door, thinking of the woman beyond. What did she mean, this was her home? And what did she say her name was? Abby Sutton. That was it. Sutton? As in Silas Sutton? The old drunk who'd sold him the cabin?

That curl of anger was coming back, and immediately Samuel began the familiar pattern to regain control. Slowly, calmly, he forced himself to say the alphabet. He could still hear his mother's warnings. "Samuel," she'd say, "you're just too big to allow yourself to get angry like any other man. Why, one hit from a hand the size of yours would kill a man! You just got to keep a tight rein on that temper of yours." And so she'd taught him to say his ABCs whenever his temper started to rise.

Usually, by the time he reached K or L, he was feeling better. Tonight he'd had to go all the way through to Z. Twice. And it wasn't just temper riding him tonight. It was something else as well. Something he couldn't put a name to, but it scared the hell out of him.

Samuel shook his bushy head. He had to admit, though, that this little woman was really something. She hadn't been afraid of him at all.

What was wrong with her, anyway? Didn't she have the sense God gave a beaver? Didn't she know that everyone was afraid of him?

Why, the last time a woman was left alone with him, she'd swooned dead away. Frightened just by his size. And he'd been dressed then.

He shoved the coffeepot closer to the heat, then glanced down at the bulging carpetbag the woman had left behind. Curious, he bent down and lifted the bag, balancing the weight of it on his hand. It had to weigh twenty or thirty pounds, at least.

Samuel felt a grudging admiration for the woman. She had to have carried the damn thing all the way up the mountain. He knew damn well none of the townsfolk would have brought her to the cabin. They were too afraid. Of him.

The door opened and Abby turned. Samuel Hart stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the lamplight within. Even dressed, he was an imposing figure. Abby frowned slightly and gave herself a silent but strong lecture. It simply wasn't proper to continue thinking about how he'd looked the first time she'd seen him.

"Coffee's ready," he said gruffly.

"Wonderful." Abby pushed herself off the stump. "Now, if you'll just help me for one minute… "

"Help you what?"

She pointed off toward the road that led from the isolated cabin to the small town at the foot of the mountain. "My trunk."

He took a step into the yard and looked where she pointed. A trunk?

"I'm afraid I had to leave it behind." She smiled, then started walking, clearly expecting him to follow. "I had planned on fetching it in the morning… but, since you're here to help… "

Grudgingly Samuel fell in behind her, letting her chatter fall around him like autumn leaves.

"I simply couldn't drag it one more step," she admitted reluctantly.

Samuel saw it then. A trunk, just like she'd said. A big one, with securing ropes tied around its sides. She stopped beside it and looked up at him, smiling. He shook his head, reached down, and grabbed the leather handle. As he lifted the trunk clear of the ground and hoisted it over his shoulders, Samuel couldn't help giving the little woman beside him an unbelieving stare.

She'd actually dragged this thing up the mountain? he asked himself. Why, between that damned carpetbag of hers and the clumsy trunk, she must've been dealing with well over sixty pounds. Or more.

"Isn't that wonderful?" Abby said with appreciation. "It must be so handy to be strong. You've simply no idea what I went through, trying to move that trunk."

He grunted and started walking toward the cabin. She kept pace with him, though her continuous prattling ran far ahead.

"I couldn't drag it more than a few feet at a time, then I'd have to drop it and rest. Honestly, I didn't think I'd ever reach the top of this mountain."