Treasure

Excerpt

Nina sat at the foot of her bed dressed in her chemise. Slowly, she ran her hairbrush through her dark waist-length hair--ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred times--before laying down the brush and braiding the thick mass in preparation for bed. It was night. The lights were all out, and the fire was banked, washing the room in the soft amber glow of the still bright coals, which provided just enough warmth from the coastal chill.

She was about to settle into bed with her diary when she heard a noise beneath the floorboards. Nina leaned over the side of the bed and looked down at the cracks and a few holes where the knots had fallen out. She listened carefully, and after a minute heard the sound again. A slight clinking of two glass jars knocking together, and the faintest rustling of her pantry shelves being raided in the root cellar below the house.

Her mouth firmed into a disgruntled line. Raccoons.

She got up and grabbed her night wrap. Bare feet padding whisper soft across the wood floor, she picked up her hearth broom and ever so quietly crept out the door.

It was a comfortable night outside, a bit breezy, but that wasn't unexpected being as she lived on a coastal cliff side. Her little, one-room home overlooked the small fishing town of Newport, but even halfway up to the nesting grounds of the albatrosses she observed, there was no escaping the sea spray, which carried on the wind and kept the grass beneath her feet perpetually damp.

She crept past the begonia beds and around the rhododendron that dotted the corner of the house. Peeking through the bushes, she glimpsed the root cellar doors, which were closed, although obviously not latched.

Her hands tightened around the handle of her broom. "Miserable creature," she muttered under her breath. "It best not be having babies in the rafters again!"

Her mouth set in a determined frown, she tiptoed her way to the root cellar. It wasn't until she got the doors open, however, that she realized the raccoon somehow had a source of light with it. The cellar was by far too bright for what little illumination spilled down through the cracks and holes.

Nina felt a little flicker of nervousness in her breast; her first thought being that her pantry was being raided by Indians. But, she tightened her hands around the handle of her broom and cautiously crept down the steps to stand on the cool dirt of the cellar floor.

* * * *
Although the house itself was relatively new, the cellar had once been part of a trading post that had stood here for almost fifty years until a fire had demolished the structure. In the very back of the cellar still stood the mouth of the same, deep, fresh water well that the trading post operator had dug who knows how long ago now. When Nina had first taken possession of the house, she had boarded up the gaping stone maw and blocked off access to the dangerous well by building her pantry shelves all around it.

But now, Nina's eyes grew large even as they grew accustomed to the dark. Because there, across the room, squatting down in front of the shelves with a jar of peaches held loosely in one hand, staring boldly right back at her, was a man. His black pants and vest contrasted the white of his shirt, open at the throat. His dark hair was long, tied back at his nape in a neat ponytail, and there were two pistols tucked into the waist of his pants. His handsome face was clean and even clean-shaven, except for a thin black mustache.

"You're no raccoon!" she blurted.

In the dim light that filtered down through the cracks above, she saw his mouth spread into a slow and, her belly warmed unnervingly, rather seductive smile.

"You're no threat to my life or my freedom," he countered, his voice as smooth as silk and as pleasant to her ears as the rest of him was to her eyes.

Nina suddenly remembered she was standing, nearly naked, in front of a strange man with nothing but her nightgown and her wrap to cover her. Even worse, she had nothing to protect herself. Except the broom.

As if suddenly snapping awake after an unexpected nap, she jumped and brandished the long handle of her hearth broom in front of her. "Don't come any closer!"

He ignored her for a moment while he opened the jar of peaches. "Mm," he said, breathing in the scent of the sweet preserves. "Are these from the labors of your own hands?"

His rakish eyes glittered almost black in hue in the shadows of the cellar. He dug into the jar with his fingers and removed the first slice. Smiling at her, he ate it. "The taste is as close to heaven as mortal man can get, while still on earth. And yet, it doesn't sate the appetite, does it?"

Nina felt herself blush all the way to her toes, as he slowly stood up. He took a single step towards her, still smiling, both threatening and not all at the same time.

"Touch me, and I'll scream," she said, hating the way her voice quavered.

His own, in striking contrast, was as smooth as any lovers as he said, "That's the thing about living so far out of the safety of town. I don't think anyone would be able to hear you."

"I haven't anything worth stealing," she said.

He lifted another peach slice from the jar and dangled it into his mouth. He even licked the juice off his fingertips, loudly smacking his lips. "Mm. You've got more than you know."

She flushed even more brightly, and was suddenly very grateful that it was night and dark enough to hide her discomfit.

"Keep your filthy hands out of that!"

"You would begrudge a hungry man food?" he countered.

"I'd begrudge you, you thief!"

His eyebrows arched in mock surprise. "Thief, am I? You hardly know me well enough to slander my character with such vehemence."

"Why else would you be in my root cellar helping yourself to my preserves? In the middle of the night, too, and without so much as a by your leave? I--Who are you, anyway?"

The man executed a neat bow. "Anthony Chance St. Claire. Chance, to my friends and colleagues." He winked at her. "Named for an unsuccessful one my mother once took. Alas, I was the result. However, I am now at your service." He smiled, giving her an offhanded shrug as he added, "So long as said service does not go too far out of my way."

Nina caught her breath, and for a moment she stared at him completely speechless. "Y-you're a pirate, aren't you? You're from that ship I saw earlier. The one the British Navy was chasing."

"Pirate has such ugly connotations to it." His smile was wholly unrepentant. "I prefer governmentally sanctioned entrepreneur."

"You could prefer potato in a sack, it wouldn't change the fact that you are, indeed, sir, a pirate!" Nina glared at him when he threw back his head and laughed at her.

"And, what is it that you do, my sweet?"

She drew herself up stiffly. "I count albatrosses. And, unlike you, my job truly is governmentally sanctioned."

His look turned thoughtful. "The government pays you to count birds?"

"They are almost extinct. As far as anyone knows, all that's left of their species is up on that cliff, and they barely number a hundred."

"Really?" He cocked his head to one side, his eyes narrowing as he asked, "Is there a lot of money in that?"

She brandished the broom at him again. "Not enough to hold me for ransom."

"Perish the thought," he said, but from the speculative glitter in his eyes, she could tell that that's exactly where his thoughts were taking him. His dark eyes raked her from head to toe and back again, and his smile widened again. "Well, I suppose you have caught me, Mistress...?"

"Miss Turner."

"Mistress Turner." He spread his hands in an all-encompassing shrug. "I am, therefore, at your mercy. Whatever shall you do with me?" Wholly unconcerned, he picked up the peaches again and dipped his fingers back in the jar for another sweet, soft slice.

"Hey," she exclaimed crossly. "Put that down, you ... you ... you pirate!"

She jabbed at him with the handle of the broom, and just that quickly his hand abandoned the peaches, dropping the jar which shattered on the cobblestone floor. He grabbed the end of her broom, and one quick yank disarmed her completely.