Pamela Browning - The Treasure Man

The worst kind, he could have added, but didn’t. It was a nightmare that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Chloe lay awake long after Ben had gone back to sleep. Not for the first time, she sensed that he had deeper, sadder memories than he wanted to reveal.

To be honest, she was glad he hadn’t told her about them. Once he let her in on what was bothering him, she’d feel duty-bound to make things right. And at this point in her life, that wasn’t supposed to be an option. She was trying her hardest to focus on herself, never mind that she’d taken on the responsibility for her niece. That was turning out to be easier than she’d expected.

Ben was another story. She was planning to stay uninvolved in his problems, whatever they were, and no matter how sympathetic she might be.

That didn’t mean she didn’t care—far from it. Ben was far more important to her now than she could have thought possible when she’d first arrived at the Frangipani Inn.

The key was to keep things in perspective. Wasn’t it?

Dear Reader,

This is Chloe’s book.

Chloe Timberlake appeared briefly as my heroine’s best friend in my last book, Breakfast with Santa. I didn’t intend for her to remain in my consciousness after I finished writing the book. After all, she was a minor character, named after one of my favorite cats.

But sometimes writers create characters who just won’t let go. Chloe was at a juncture in her life; she was on the brink of leaving her hometown of Farish, Texas, to strike out on a new venture. I kept wondering what would happen to her. And besides, she was alone, and she seemed too nice not to have someone special in her life.

Fortunately, I found exactly the right guy for her. Ben Derrick is someone she knew long ago—a man who, as it turns out, appreciates Chloe’s quirky qualities. He’s suffered great tragedy in the past and has finally managed to start putting his life back together. Enter (ta-dah!) Chloe.

Their love story illustrates that sometimes you have to wait a long time to find true love, but that the greatest riches of all are the treasures of the heart. Enjoy!

Love,

Pamela Browning

P.S. Please visit my Web site at www.pamelabrowning.com.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For the Florida hurricane victims of 2004, and for those who came to the rescue…thank you.

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

854—BABY CHRISTMAS

874—COWBOY WITH A SECRET

907—PREGNANT AND INCOGNITO

922—RANCHER'S DOUBLE DILEMMA

982—COWBOY ENCHANTMENT

994—BABY ENCHANTMENT

1039—HEARD IT THROUGH THE GRAPEVINE

1070—THE MOMMY WISH

1091—BREAKFAST WITH SANTA

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Afterward, Ben couldn’t recall when he first smelled smoke. He had a vague memory of a whiff of it as he left Ashley in her seat at the front of the auditorium, but it was intermission at the Chico Chico concert, and a lot of people had gone out for a cigarette. If he’d noticed it then, he would have thought it was people smoking.

A long line of concertgoers wended their way through the lobby to the refreshment stand, and he hoped there would be some root beer left by the time he reached the counter. Root beer was his thirteen-year-old daughter’s favorite drink, and since it was her birthday, he didn’t want to substitute cola or 7-Up or whatever else might be left. Still, he hung back, figuring it was more important for the kids attending the show to buy their drinks and hurry back to their seats; he could always slip into place beside Ashley after the performance resumed.

And then he saw it—a huge black billow of smoke rushing toward him down the aisle. Simultaneously, someone in the theater yelled, “Fire!” A woman screamed over the cacophony of voices, and people started to pour into the lobby.

Ben knew this was bad trouble. With the acrid odor of smoke stinging his nostrils, the crackle of flames in his ears, he fought his way past the first wave of panic-stricken concertgoers.

“Daddy! Daddy! Help!”

It was his daughter’s voice. He’d recognize it anywhere. People pushed past him, running, screaming, crying. He tried to forge a path through the crowd, but there was no space. He noted with alarm that flames were now licking at the stage curtains, and the ceiling was ablaze.

Someone struck Ben a glancing blow on his forehead, but he kept pushing. It was like swimming against a fierce current, something he’d done many times in his work as a diver. Despite his anguish, he was driven away from Ashley, not toward her.

Desperately, he shouted her name, choking on the smoke. “Ashley! Daddy’s coming!”

He fell to his knees, struggled and stood, was bowled over again.

“Out of the way, man! The place is burning!” A man tried to help him to his feet but was swept into the melee.

Ben accidentally tripped a woman, but together they managed to regain their footing. Her progress toward the door left a small hole in the sea of people, and he pressed toward Ashley. He had to make sure she was safe, had to reach his daughter.

The heat of the blaze scorched his face, seared his lungs. Glowing sparks swirled in the air above his head—a surreal dance performed amid chaos and destruction. An usher’s shirt was on fire, and he screamed as he tore at the blackened fabric. Through a gap in the crowd, Ben saw that the seats where he had left Ashley only minutes ago were engulfed in flames.

Eyes streaming with tears, he crawled over several fallen bodies and managed to grab on to a theater seat so that he wouldn’t be carried backward. Now the smoke was so thick that he could see nothing through the tunnel of fire ahead, and it hurt too much to breathe. He went down again but clung to the seat to pull himself to his feet. His gut wrenched with the certain knowledge that he was losing strength.

A father’s main job was to protect his child, and he hadn’t been able to do that. As the blackness all around began to blot out his consciousness, Ben prayed that Ashley had found a way out of the building. They had been sitting near an emergency exit, so perhaps she had kept her head and escaped. He held that hope in his heart as he slid slowly to the floor, the roar of the flames echoing inside his head until he heard…nothing.

Chloe Timberlake knew that she had truly reached the end of her long journey to Sanluca, Florida, when the earthy scent of the Everglades muck gave way to the fragrance of the Atlantic Ocean wafting on the breeze. She leaned her head out the car window and let go an exuberant whoop that was heard by no one except perhaps a few tree frogs chirring in the scrub oaks overarching the road. And her cat, of course.

“Come on out, Butch,” she said. “We’re a long way from Farish, Texas. The Frangipani Inn is straight ahead.” She nudged open the tattered carpetbag where the big orange tomcat liked to sleep when traveling.

Butch poked his head out and twitched his whiskers. No litter box for him; Butch was toilet trained and hadn’t forgiven her for that last grungy rest stop on the Glades Highway. He looked down his nose at her before indulging in an indolent stretch, then sniffed appreciatively at the brine and seaweed.