Small Treasures (4 page)
But, she smiled. She was here now. And she'd soon have the cabin in order. She looked out the still-open door and stared in the direction the big man had gone. Though she couldn't see him anymore, her thoughts continued to center on him.
Sighing, she poured another cup of coffee. Glancing down at the empty dishes, she smiled to realize that whether he wanted her there or not, it was obvious that he approved of her cooking. She'd never seen a man eat so much. But then, she'd never seen a man as big as Samuel Hart, either.
Abby sipped at her coffee and tried to straighten out her thoughts. So far, nothing had gone as she'd planned. All the way from Maryland, she'd nurtured the dream of having her own little home high on a mountain where she could look out any window and see forever. She gave a quick glance at the three windows and sighed again. All you could see there was dirt.
She'd imagined that she would finally have room to be herself. Plenty of space that she could fill any way she wanted to. After years of living in other people's homes and taking up as little room as possible, she'd been looking forward to spreading her wings a little. She turned her gaze on the floors and shelves of the cabin and shuddered. Every square inch of space was covered by guns, furs, supplies, dirty clothes and old, half-eaten food. It seemed that there was no room for her here, either.
She flicked a quick glance at the huge bed in the corner. Even there she hadn't found any peace. She'd hardly slept a wink all night. Knowing that Samuel lay only a few short feet from her had kept her from resting. Though she'd been fairly sure that he wouldn't bother her, there was still the fact that she didn't even know the man to consider.
She smiled to herself then as she realized that she'd been right to trust the big man. True to his word, he'd slept on the floor. She remembered clearly the soft murmurings he'd made in his sleep. He didn't snore, and for that, she was grateful, but he also didn't rest easy. Perhaps, though, her presence had made him as restless as she'd been.
Outside, the tall pines dropped long shadows in the softly growing sunlight. Birds called out in the stillness, and once again, the rooster crowed.
Abby stood up suddenly and walked to the door. Inhaling deeply, she drew in the clean scent of the pines and exhaled on a smile. She loved this place. She loved the quiet, the beauty, the miles of emptiness around the tiny cabin.
She'd finally come home. And no matter what, she wasn't leaving. There was no place left to go.
Oh, she wasn't foolish enough to believe that her claim to the land could stand up against Samuel's. After all, he wasn't really simpleminded. He knew this place was legally his. But surely, the judge would see fit to give her some claim to the property. After all, she'd come such a long way in good faith.
Abby let her gaze wander around the cluttered yard of the cabin for a moment. Her eyes gleamed with determination. Maybe if she made herself indispensable, Samuel would at least be willing to share his mountain.
Spinning around, she looked at the cabin with a wicked light in her eyes. Pushing up the sleeves of her simple blue dress, Abby stepped into the middle of the mess, determined to put her own stamp on the place before Samuel returned.
Chapter Three
Samuel stopped at the edge of the clearing. With one shrug of his broad shoulders, the dead deer dropped to the ground behind him. Maverick and Harry moved anxiously around his legs, urging him forward, wondering why he'd stopped. So was he.
His eyes narrowed and he squinted at the familiar but now different cabin. Walking alone through the woods all day, he'd almost managed to convince himself that Abby really didn't exist. That she was nothing more than a dream created by a man who'd been too long alone. He'd told himself over and over that by the time he got home, the cabin would be empty. As it was supposed to be.
Now that he'd returned, he realized that it wouldn't be that easy.
In the forest, surrounded by the pine and spruce trees, Samuel had clung to the silence. He'd wrapped it around him like an old, comfortable blanket. He hadn't even spoken to the dogs. He'd wanted nothing to disturb the untroubled comfort of the quiet.
How many times in his life had he retreated to the high mountains to find peace? To escape from the people who stared at him as if he were a monster ready to destroy them? To wander freely without worrying about losing his temper or frightening someone else simply because of his size? And no matter how often he went, the woods and the animals that lived there welcomed him.
Harry jumped against his legs, and Samuel bent down, smiling, to pat the homely creature gently. Maverick added a loving lick and a hungry whine, hoping to get his master moving again.
Samuel sighed and squinted again at the cabin. No sense putting it off, he knew. Abby would be inside, probably ready to talk his head off. He couldn't imagine the woman keeping quiet for longer than two minutes at a stretch. Just then a lamp appeared in the front window. He stared at the soft light, spilling freely through the now cleaned and shining pane of glass.
"Dammit to hell and back again," he muttered fiercely. Who the hell did she think she was, cleaning and working over his house? By God, if he wanted his place covered in dirt — that was his business!
Samuel squatted, grabbed the deer's antlers, and swung the dead weight over his shoulders. The two dogs ran ahead of him toward the cabin and the circle of light.
As he drew nearer to the house, he heard her singing. It didn't sound like anything he'd ever heard before. More like she was making it up as she went along. Reluctantly Samuel admitted to himself that her voice was pleas ant. Almost soothing in its softness. He glanced at the shining window again and frowned. Nice voice or not … she didn't belong there.
He dropped his burden to the ground with a heavy thump. The singing inside stopped. Samuel looked with disgust at the two dogs, their tails wagging and their tongues hanging out, staring at the closed door. No sense of loyalty at all.
Immediately he flung the door wide, and the animals raced in. Right behind them, Samuel stopped dead on the threshold.
The stocks of his guns had been polished, his food supplies were now neatly stacked on a lower shelf, and the cooking pans were hanging on nails pounded into the wall. Even his bed had been covered by a wild-looking flowered quilt.
He couldn't believe it! He'd only been gone one day! And where the hell had she got all the damn stuff?
Maverick and Harry were wandering around the cabin as though they were afraid to lie down. Samuel knew just how they felt.
Finally his gaze fell to Abby. She looked so damned pleased with herself, there was only one thing he could say.
"GODDAMMIT!"
Abby's eyes widened and she had the urge to plug her ears. Good heavens, the man's voice was as big as the rest of him. She saw the dogs duck for cover under the table, and though she'd have liked nothing better than to join them, she forced herself to stay put.
Dropping her gaze to the pile of dirty clothes on her lap, she calmly went back to what she was doing before he'd walked in. She couldn't help but hear his heavy footsteps as he walked toward her. Abby had already noticed, more than once, just how quietly he moved, despite his size. So she knew instinctively that he was stomping across the floor in an effort to intimidate her. Well. It wouldn't work.
"Abby?" He hadn't lowered his voice any, either, she told herself. "Yes, Samuel?" Her eyes never left the material she was examining.
"What the hell did you do in here?"
Honestly. That voice kept getting louder. Did he think she was deaf? "As I told you last night, Samuel. I hear very well. There is no need to shout. Or to curse."
He took a deep breath. Abby heard the air rushing into his lungs and knew without looking that his chest was growing to an incredible size.
"Sorry," he said gruffly.
He didn't sound the least bit sorry to Abby.
"Why didyou— ?"
"Clean, Samuel?" She finally raised her gaze to meet his. "Because my cabin was a disgrace!"
"My cabin!"
She shook her head, unmoved by his shout or by his fists, tightly clenched at his sides. "That hasn't been decided yet. And until it is, I don't have the slightest intention of living in a pigsty."
"Living here?"
"Of course." Abby dropped her hands to her lap, tilted her head to one side, and looked at him.
"You can't live here, Abby. With me."
"Why not?"
"Why not?" He looked around the room desperately, as if looking for help. "Because you can't is all. It ain't done."
She smiled. "Why, Samuel, are you concerned for my reputation?"
"Somebody should be!" He shoved his big hands through his hair.
Abby faltered for a moment. Of course, she'd considered what her living arrangements might look like to an outsider. But there really was no help for it. She simply didn't have the money to stay anywhere else. And besides, the cabin was as much hers as his. At least for now. Why should she have to leave? Her mind raced with that thought, and before she could think better of it, she blurted out, "If you really think it isn't proper, Samuel, you could go stay in town until we settle this matter."
"No."
One word. No explanation. No argument. Just one word. Abby watched as his hands dropped lifelessly to his sides, and if she hadn't known better, she would have said that he was the very image of a man defeated.
"But, Samuel &mdash"
"I said no, Abby."
She didn't understand any of this. Why, she'd worked like a demon all day, bringing order to his months of chaos. Scrubbing the soot off the walls alone had taken hours. She'd cleaned and dusted and polished. She'd opened her trunk and used the few things she'd been able to bring with her to try to brighten up the tiny cabin. All of that work, to be treated like this.
He might at least have said thank you.
Her fingers clenched tightly around the fabric she held in her lap.
"Fine, Samuel. We'll do it my way, then." She dropped her gaze and went on with her work.
After a long moment's silence, broken only by the now familiar sound of Samuel's muttering, he spoke to her.
"What are you doin'? Are those my clothes?"
She didn't look up. "Yes. I'm checking them to see what can be mended and what cannot."
"Leave my things alone, Abby."
"What?" Her fingers stopped. "Why, Samuel?"
He bent down and pulled his torn shirt from her. "Just leave 'em be. Abby. I take care of myself. Been doin' it for years."
"I didn't mean to—"
"Don't matter." Samuel tossed the shirt onto a nearby pile. "Just leave 'em be. Leave me be."
Abby saw his features tighten and watched silently as his eyes shuttered against her. She wanted to say something. Anything to make him see that she was only trying to help. That she was trying to earn her keep.
But before she could, he turned on his heel and slammed out the door.
Samuel's razor-sharp knife sliced into the shank of venison, carving off strips of meat to be hung and dried for winter. Occasionally he tossed scraps of meat at the dogs but didn't stop to watch them wrestle for them, as he usually did.
Instead, he saw over and over again the look on her face when he'd told her to leave him alone. Couldn't she see that what she was doing was destroying the life he'd made for himself? Dammit, he didn't want to hurt her… he just wanted her to go away.
No.
He wanted for her to never have come.
Samuel had spent years getting used to being alone. At first he'd hungered for the sound of another voice besides his own. He'd yearned to have even one friend. But finally, on his thirtieth birthday five years ago, he'd come to accept that it would never be. That he was slated to go through life alone.
He'd stopped craving the things other men took for granted. Long ago he'd given up any dream of having a woman of his own. A wife. Children. And with that acceptance, he'd found peace.
Until now.
Until her.
Stopping his work momentarily, Samuel let his head drop back on his neck. He stared unblinkingly up at the sky through the slatted roof over his workbench. He couldn't let this happen. Abby was bringing long-dead dreams to life. She made him want the impossible. In the short time she'd been on the mountain, she'd awakened hungers he'd spent years learning how to ignore.
He shook his head and bent back to his task. In less than twenty-four hours one tiny woman had turned everything he'd ever known around. She didn't look at him with fear. She didn't slink away when he was angry. Instead, she smiled at him. Talked to him. And stood up to him with anger enough to match his own.
He found that he liked the sound of her voice. Her singing, her smile, even her addlepated logic.
His mind wandering from his task, the knife he held slid across his middle finger, slicing deep. Samuel dropped the knife, grabbed at a nearby rag, and wound it tightly around his finger. The throbbing pain seemed to underscore what he already knew. He had to make her leave quickly. Before he became too used to having her near. Otherwise, when she finally left, as he knew she would, it would kill him.
He stepped inside and looked expectantly at Abby. After how he'd treated her, he wouldn't blame her if she threw something at him. Though he'd lived alone for years, his mother hadn't raised him without teaching him manners. And she'd be right ashamed of him today. He'd not said one kind word to Abby about all the work she'd done. Hell, he hadn't even thanked her for breakfast that morning. And he hadn't eaten that good in years.
"Supper's ready," she said softly.
He wanted to kick himself good and proper. All the joy had left her face. Samuel felt like he'd stomped a puppy.