by Deb Stover
"What?" She tilted her head to one side and stared at him through those expressive eyes of hers. "You aren't going to try anything, are you?"
Cole blinked and narrowed his gaze until realization sliced through him. "Ma'am, I could've done that a long time ago if I'd been so inclined." He cleared his throat, trying not to remember just how inclined he'd felt with her softness filling his hand. Instead, he reached for the buttons of his shirt and released them one at a time, tugging the tail out until it flapped in the breeze.
She arched a brow. "Then why are you taking off your clothes, cowboy?"
He shoved his hat farther back on his head. "First, I'm not a cowboy, at least not yet." He held up two fingers. "Second, I'm trying to do the gentlemanly thing here and give you the shirt off my back."
"Oh." A smile curved her lips as he slipped his hands around her tiny waist and lowered her to the ground, her feather-covered bosom coming dangerously close to his bare chest.
A knot formed in his throat at the transformation in her appearance when she smiled. Miss Lolita was...well... beautiful. He held his breath and released her to remove his shirt, wincing at the stabbing pain in his shoulder, then offered her the garment.
"Thanks." She smiled again.
"You're welcome." He stood there like a roped steer, sliding his suspenders back over his bare shoulders.
"You have a bruise." She bit her lower lip and caressed his wounded shoulder with her now tender gaze.
"It's nothing." He held his breath, reining in his rampant urges.
"I'm sorry I went crazy, but I didn't know what to do." She sighed and met his gaze again. "I didn't mean for you or Ruth to get hurt."
He couldn't believe this was the same woman who'd screamed loud enough to send his mare into hysteria earlier. He stared long and hard at Miss Lolita, then gave a curt nod, reminding himself he couldn't really be sure she wouldn't go crazy again. "It's all right now."
"Thanks." She made a twirling motion with her finger. "Uh, do you mind?"
"Oh, of course, ma'am." He half-turned, then shot a look back over his shoulder. "You aren't going to try anything, are you?"
"Huh. Where would I go?" She rolled her eyes heavenward. "Getting lost in the frigging mountains is what got me in this mess in the first place."
She made less sense than that snake oil salesman who came through town every spring and fall. "Good enough." He turned his back and folded his arms over his bare abdomen. A man could get mighty cold at night in these mountains without a shirt. He'd have to ask Merriweather for one. Now that was a name Cole wished he'd never heard....
"All right, you can turn around now."
He pivoted and almost laughed at the ridiculous sight. His shirt engulfed her, hanging nearly to her knees and gaping open at the neckline where he'd lost a button last summer and never bothered to replace it. She rolled the sleeves up just above her slender wrists, then put her hands on her hips.
"There, how do I look?"
Cole laughed. "Like a little boy wearing his pa's clothes."
"You know damn well I'm not a little boy," she said in a sultry tone, then bent down to retrieve the ostrich feathers at her feet. "Would you like to try wearing these itchy things for a while, Mr. Morrison?"
The reminder of his earlier indiscretion regarding her anatomy sent a flash of quicksilver between his legs. To make matters worse, her gaze raked his nakedness, and if he wasn't mistaken, she liked what she saw. Damnation.
"No," he whispered, his voice gruff and thick, "you definitely are not a boy." He took the feathers and draped them around a tree branch. "We'd better go on into town so I can get home before dark."
"Mmm, you do have a fine set of pecs, Mr. Morrison." She winked, then turned and put the wrong foot in the stirrup. After a few seconds of staring at her misplaced foot, she seemed to realize her error and switched. "I'm a quick study."
"Yeah, I can see that." Chuckling, he swung himself up behind the saddle and gathered the reins, then turned Ruth toward Lost Creek and the Silver Spur. "Uh, mind if I ask a question?"
"Go for it, big guy."
"What are pecs?"
Chapter 5
Jackie grew far too aware of Cole's shirtless state as they rode into the minuscule town of Lost Creek. The heat of his body seeped toward her, closing the short distance between her back and his impressive chest. His bare arms at her sides didn't help any either.
She'd never imagined a man wearing suspenders without a shirt would look so good. Oh, my. And they were red suspenders, too.
You're in big trouble, Clarke, and you can't keep your mind off this man. Self-disgust oozed through her and she resisted the urge to scratch her rash. When she'd removed the boa to put on the shirt, she noticed angry red welts covering her chest and shoulders. Her back felt even worse. Of course, those welts would have to grow a lot before she'd live up to the real Lolita's legendary bustline.
Despite her situation, a grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. Under other circumstances, she would've found this entire adventure utterly hilarious. If it were happening to someone else...
A few moments later, Cole brought the horse to a stop in front of a garish building painted fiery red with canary yellow trim. A sign arched over the swinging doors, telling her they'd reached their destination.
The Silver Spur seemed far too extravagant for such a small town, but it was just one more in a long series of the oxymorons she'd encountered. It wouldn't be the last, either.
"Why such a big saloon for such a small town?" she asked as Cole dismounted and looped the horse's reins over a hitching post.
"Competition's fierce." He chuckled quietly. "The miners live in shacks and cabins all over these hills, and all the towns are part of the Devil's Gulch Mining District."
His cock-eyed grin gave him a rakish charm that nearly made her fall off the horse. "So the miners visit the various saloons in the area for, uh, relaxation and refreshment?" She hoped her voice didn't reveal her attraction to her own abductor.
"And entertainment." His expression grew solemn as he held his hands up to assist her. "In this case, you. The saloon-keepers all believe you're the key to success–that every miner in the area will spend his paycheck in the establishment where you're singing."
"Oh, yeah." She swallowed the lump in her throat as Cole gripped her waist to ease her descent. She had way too many problems now to think about how good it felt to have him so close. Focus, Clarke.
"Ouch." She rubbed her backside as her feet met the ground. "My God, is that saddle made of concrete?"
"Just leather, ma'am."
At least the pain might keep her mind off his pecs. She directed a sideways glance. Doubtful.
Besides her aching butt and stiff legs, the main problem now was that she'd be expected to perform. How was she going to manage that? When Aunt Pearl had insisted she try out for the church choir during high school, she'd been asked–politely, of course–not to come back. The preacher's nasty daughter had muttered something about a dying cat.
Jackie hadn't been offended, because it was true. She couldn't sing. Period. In a word, she sucked. Except in the privacy of her own shower, she never sang, though she knew the words and tunes to almost every Broadway musical ever produced.
And now she had to hop up on the stage and entertain a bunch of drunken miners. At least, she hoped they would be drunk, because that was the only way they might be able to endure her singing.
"Well, here we are," he said, stopping suddenly to face her. "I just want to thank you for being so...understanding about this. Eventually." He grinned again.
A lump lodged in her throat and Jackie managed a quick nod before he led her toward a pair of swinging doors. She should hate Cole Morrison, but she couldn't. It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize he'd never done anything dishonest before in his life. No way. Obviously, he needed the money pretty badly and had his own reasons for taking the job. It didn't really matter, as long as she found her way back to Loli
ta's portrait–and her own time–sooner or later. Preferably sooner.
Holding her breath, Jackie followed Cole into the saloon. Tobacco smoke flavored by the stench of beer and whiskey struck her immediately. The Silver Spur wasn't nearly as large as the Gold Mine Saloon, but it was more extravagantly decorated. The now familiar spittoons occupied every available corner, and several crystal chandeliers illuminated the gaudy interior; ornate carving adorned the bar and the stage.
The stage.
Jackie's blood turned to ice as she stared at the stage. Highly polished and elevated, it gleamed beneath the largest chandelier. Silver ropes held red velvet drapes to each side, and heavy fringe cascaded in a waterfall from the curtain's edges.
"Hey, is that her?" someone yelled.
Jackie looked around the saloon and found several intense gazes boring into her. A tremor skittered through her and she felt Cole's hand press more firmly against the small of her back. Was he trying to comfort her or steer her toward destiny? Jackie sighed and tried not to think about the fact that he'd soon be leaving her here among strangers. At least at the Gold Mine Saloon she'd had Dottie to keep her company, and that wasn't saying much. Looking around the Silver Spur, she didn't see any other women.
She was it.
"Oh, my God," she whispered.
"Here comes the owner now," Cole said, his hand still pressed against her back.
"You mean your employer?" She avoided Cole's gaze, but felt him wince. Her comment had found its mark, but for some reason that knowledge gave her no satisfaction. It should have, though, and that worried her.
Shifting her attention from her own inconsistent thoughts about her abductor, she spotted a rotund man dressed in a suit with a red and silver brocade vest and string tie emerge from the far side of the stage. The guy looked like a pale Sumo wrestler. Only bigger. And dressed.
"Well, well, it took you long enough to get here, Morrison," the man said, his gaze riveted to Jackie as he spoke.
"We're here now."
"So you are, though I'm sure wondering why you gave away your shirt." The huge man inclined his head toward Jackie, his meaty jowls jiggling with the effort. "I'm Elwood Merriweather. You must be the famous Miss Lolita Belle." He took her hand, then bent over and planted a sloppy kiss on it.
Yuck.
As he straightened, he brought his gaze level to her chest and his brows arched in surprise. After a moment, his face flushed crimson, and by the time he was upright, he appeared outright skeptical.
"You are Miss Belle, aren't you?" He shot Cole an accusing glare even as he spoke to Jackie.
"She's the woman Goodfellow said was Lolita," Cole said. "He was even having her portrait painted."
"Not exactly what I expected." Merriweather sighed and gave her a sheepish grin. "I realize you don't have your trunk, considering the, uh, circumstances, but I've arranged for a wardrobe. I hope you'll be pleased." His florid coloring intensified again. "Though I daresay the garments will require some alteration."
"Yeah, I'll bet." Jackie pressed her lips into a thin line and vowed to say as little as possible. She had to do this until she returned to Devil's Gulch and Lolita's portrait.
The man faced Cole again, his brow furrowed. "Morrison, if you've brought me a ringer, I swear..."
"He hasn't." Jackie bit the inside of her cheek. Why the devil had she said that?
Merriweather lifted his chin a notch and folded his arms across his rotund abdomen. "Then perhaps you won't mind giving us a little demonstration, Miss Belle."
Several of the miners seated close enough to overhear echoed Merriweather's request.
"Now?" Jackie gave a nervous laugh and patted her hair. "I'm hardly dressed to entertain, sir. Surely you could allow me to freshen up." She batted her lashes at lightspeed and held her breath.
Merriweather stared at her for several moments. "No, I think not," he finally said. "Forgive me, ma'am, but I need to know that you're the real Lolita." He shot Cole a sidelong glance. "Before I fork over the gold."
"Just hop up there and sing something," her abductor urged, nudging her. "If you sing real pretty, maybe old Merriweather will loan me a shirt."
Jackie scowled at the humorous glint in Cole's eyes. He was laughing at her again. Damn him.
"We're waiting, Miss Belle," Merriweather said, his beady little eyes darkening.
Jackie's knees quaked as she climbed the steps at the side of the stage. How the hell was she going to manage this? Once they realized she was a fraud, she'd be out the door on her butt with nowhere to go. God, please let them all be tone deaf.
The only songs she knew were from Broadway musicals that wouldn't be written for decades, and some old Peter, Paul, and Mary tunes her mother used to sing as lullabies.
With a sigh, Jackie perused the crowd of grubby, eager miners. They'd never grasp "Puff the Magic Dragon." The show tunes were a better bet.
Okay, Clarke. Maybe singing loud and smiling while she batted her lashes would help. After all, these men didn't have any other females to drool over. Sheesh.
She drew a deep breath and belted out the first verse and chorus of "I Could've Danced All Night" from My Fair Lady.
Dead silence filled the saloon, and Jackie's heart thundered in her head. Her moment of truth had arrived.
"Let's have another one," a scruffy man in the front row called, then blew her a kiss.
"Yeah, that was great," another miner said, moving closer to the stage. "More, Miss Lolita." He started clapping and the others joined in.
She sought out Cole Morrison, who had a look of utter bewilderment on his handsome face, as did Mr. Merriweather. Obviously, they weren't as tone deaf as the others. Thank heavens the miners were the ones she needed to impress.
She smiled and blew the men kisses, then bellowed her way through songs from The Music Man, Carousel, and The Sound of Music.
Breathless, she stood staring at the small crowd's adoration. They cheered, applauded, whistled, and a few men even shouted marriage proposals.
Amazed and feeling more than a little smug, Jackie made her way through her audience and winked at Merriweather. "It looks like I've got what it takes, after all."
Cole chuckled and shook his head. "Definitely a crowd pleaser."
She warmed beneath his praise, though she knew he didn't really like her singing. What reasonably intelligent, hearing person would? Unless they were starved for the sight and sound of any woman. That was all that had saved her. She wasn't foolish enough to believe anything else.
"All right, you're Lolita Belle," Merriweather said, scratching his bald head. "You'll start tonight."
"Nope." Jackie folded her arms and tilted her head to one side, praying her bravado would hit its mark. "It's not quite that simple, Mr. Merriweather."
"Oh, hell," Cole muttered under his breath and rolled his eyes upward.
When he looked at Jackie again, she gave him a conspiratorial wink. Kidnapper or not, she liked the guy, and he was drop-dead gorgeous. Besides, she needed someone to take her back to Devil's Gulch when the time came. In short, she needed a friend.
"When can you start then, Miss Belle?" Merriweather pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped perspiration from his bald head. "Tomorrow? The next day? When?"
Jackie drew a deep breath, praying she could pull this off and buy herself enough time to return to the correct century before she ever had to appear as Lolita in an official capacity. "I'll need three weeks to rest from my ordeal." She directed an accusing glare in Cole's direction. "Being kidnapped takes its toll on a girl, Mr. Merriweather." She gave a dramatic sigh and batted her lashes again. The man was a sucker for that, thank goodness.
"Three...weeks?" Merriweather mopped his brow and the back of his neck. "Three?"
"At least," Jackie said, sighing again. "Furthermore, I want you to guarantee a full house, and we'll need to agree on my cut of the take."
"Cut?" Merriweather looked upward and shook his head. "Twenty percent."
"Fifty," Jackie said without hesitating. She met Cole's gaze and he returned her earlier wink, turning her insides to something warm and mushy. "Fifty percent, Mr. Merriweather. That's only fair, considering how you hired someone to kidnap me and haul me across the wilderness without my clothes."
"I suppose that will give us time to have your clothes altered," Merriweather finally said, resignation sounding almost like defeat in his tone. He looked over his shoulder. "Tom, run fetch the tailor."
"Tailor?" Jackie echoed.
"We don't have a seamstress in Lost Creek, Miss Belle. I ordered your wardrobe from Denver." He loosened his tie and faced Cole. "We got us another problem, though."
"What's that?" Cole's eyes narrowed as he stared at Merriweather.
"Goodfellow will try to get her back."
"Yeah, I reckon he will at that." Cole stroked his chin with his thumb and forefinger. "That's your problem, Merriweather. I'll just collect my wages and be on my way."
Jackie closed her eyes, wishing there were some way to keep him here, though heaven knew what she'd do with him if she kept him. She opened her eyes and admired the dark hair curling on his broad expanse of chest. Well, she did know what she could do with him, but that was just the sort of behavior that had landed her in this trouble. Besides, she was looking for love and sex–not just sex.
Don't go there, Clarke.
"No, wait, Morrison," Merriweather said.
"Start counting my gold," Cole said, obviously avoiding Jackie's gaze.
He feels guilty. Good.
Merriweather surveyed the crowd, openly pleased with his customers' reaction to Jackie's performance. "How would you like to earn triple what I offered you to bring Miss Belle here?"
Surprise flickered across Cole's face. "You mean triple the double offer?"
"Yes, exactly." Merriweather lifted his chin and stared at Cole. "Triple. What do you say?"
