by Deb Stover
Cole sighed and shifted his weight to his other foot, then raked his fingers through his dark hair. He gripped his hat in his free hand. "This sticks in my craw, Merriweather," he said. "I don't like being on the wrong side of the law."
"Triple, Morrison, and who says you broke any laws?" Merriweather looked like a used car salesman moving in for the kill. "Think of that ranch you and your wife always wanted."
Wife? Is that why he needs the money?
"Let's leave my wife out of this. Let her rest in peace. I swear, if I ever lay eyes on that preacher again..." Cole rubbed the back of his neck, his muscles flexing and rippling in his arm and shoulder. "Exactly what do you expect me to do for that much money, Merriweather?"
Oh, nuts. He was available. Now she'd have even more trouble keeping her feelings under control where this man was concerned. Jackie chewed the inside of her lower lip as she waited for this latest development in her adventure through another dimension.
"Nothing dishonest," Merriweather said. "All you gotta do is keep Miss Belle hidden until her opening night."
Jackie's brows shot upward and she tried to meet Cole's gaze, but he quickly looked away. Did Merriweather's plan mean she'd remain in close proximity to this walking, living, breathing, unmarried George Clooney for three full weeks?
If so, she was in big trouble.
"How the devil am I supposed to keep her hidden for three weeks?"
"Shh, keep your voice down," Merriweather said, looking around the room nervously. Seeming convinced that no one was eavesdropping, he leaned closer. "Just take her to your place and keep her there until opening night. Nobody'll ever guess."
"My...place?" The words sounded like a curse from Cole's lips.
"Of course. You see anybody in here you know?"
Cole looked around and shook his head. "Nope."
"Then no one will ever suspect straight arrow Cole Morrison," Merriweather continued, his eyes glowing with blatant avarice. "And, by damn, that preacher gets a lifetime of free drinks."
"I dunno." Cole slapped his hat against his thigh and his cheeks colored.
My God, he's blushing. There was something incredibly sexy about a man who blushed. Damn. She was pitiful. They were talking about her life, and all she could do was stare at Cole's chest and shoulders. Had her staring made him blush?
But what choice did she have but to play along? Besides, three weeks might be enough time to convince Cole to return her to Devil's Gulch. This really was her only hope.
"Triple the money, Morrison." Merriweather held up three beefy fingers. "Triple. In gold."
Cole met Jackie's gaze for the first time in several minutes and she shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant about the whole thing. "All right." He sighed. "I don't like it, but I'll do it on one condition."
"Fine, fine, as soon as the tailor is finished taking a few measurements for the alterations, you two can be on your way." Merriweather faced Jackie again. "Three weeks from tonight, a full house, and fifty percent of the take. Deal, Miss Belle?"
Jackie drew a deep breath and nodded. "Deal."
"I said there's one condition," Cole said, his voice tinged with impatience.
"Yes, of course. One condition. What?" Merriweather waited, but Cole's glare was for Jackie.
"What?" she echoed, wondering why he thought she had any control over anything in this mess.
He moved so close she could smell him. Feel him. Almost taste him. Jackie's breath froze even as her body warmed. It took every ounce of self-restraint she could muster to keep from leaning into all that bare chest. His eyes darkened and his nostrils flared slightly.
What a man.
He shook his finger in her face. "You can only stay at my place if you make a solemn vow."
"What?" she repeated. "Do you think I'm going to compromise your virtue or something?"
Merriweather guffawed.
Cole leaned even closer, his eyes glittering dangerously. "No singing."
Jackie couldn't prevent her laughter, but Cole was the only one wearing a deadly serious expression. "Okay, no singing." She held her hands up in surrender. She'd agree to almost anything to gain more time to charm Cole into taking her back to Devil's Gulch.
Merriweather mopped his eyes dry and stopped laughing. "Then it's settled. I'll see you both back here in three weeks." He pointed a finger at Cole. "And if you deliver her safe and sound then, the gold is yours."
"Not so fast, Merriweather. What about what you already owe me?" Cole towered over the saloon owner, his expression stern.
"Wouldn't you rather have a lot more later than a little now?" Merriweather asked in a patronizing tone.
Cole leaned closer. "I'd rather have both."
Merriweather gave a snort and nodded. "Very well, I'll get the first installment."
"And a shirt."
"And a shirt." Merriweather rolled his eyes. "Oh, there's the tailor now, Miss Belle, to take your measurements. Wilson, you can use my office."
A small man carrying a case followed Merriweather, and Jackie gathered she was expected to join them. With a shrug, she obeyed, figuring it best to cooperate now and savor her freedom later. Silently, she was grateful that Cole followed close behind. For some reason she trusted him. Strange emotion for a woman to feel toward her kidnapper.
Dark and gaudily carved mahogany furnishings occupied Merriweather's office. The seat cushions and drapes were the same red velvet with silver trim as the stage curtain. At least the rotund man was consistent with his horrible taste.
Cole pulled on a stiffly starched shirt more than a few sizes too large and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans, then slipped his suspenders back in place. Jackie stifled her sigh of regret that his muscular chest was no longer on display.
But she had the next three weeks alone with Cole. A tiny shiver of excitement raced through her, and she silenced Aunt Pearl's voice in the back of her mind.
I don't have to listen to you while I'm here. She'd deal with Aunt Pearl later, after she returned to her own time. Now, she was a free agent with only her own conscience to guide her.
Scary thought.
Seriously, her own conscience was more than enough to keep her in line. Besides, hadn't she learned her lesson with Blade? No more men for Jackie Clarke. Too much trouble.
Then why couldn't she convince her hormones of that?
The fitting wasn't nearly as humiliating as she'd expected, though the tailor did grumble about how much he'd have to alter to make the gowns fit her more modest bust and hips. Jackie amazed herself by keeping her comments to herself, though she grew increasingly aware of Cole's approving gaze aimed in her direction.
The man made her hot. Get a grip, Clarke. Forcibly quelling her rampant libido, she endured the fitting in stony silence. Finally, she and Cole were making their way back through the front room of the Silver Spur. Long shadows stretched across the room as they maneuvered their way through the crowd of gawking miners. These guys were worse than the Brothers Grime back at the Gold Mine Saloon. Almost.
Only a few yards from the swinging front doors, a chill washed over her and the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Someone was staring at her. She almost laughed. Of course, an entire room full of men were staring at her. However, her uneasiness persisted and she looked toward a card game in the corner.
A pair of hauntingly familiar dark eyes met her questioning gaze. Her heart slammed into her chest and a cold sweat coated her skin. A desert overtook her mouth and throat, and no amount of swallowing provided relief.
"Come on, it's late," Cole said, steering her toward the doors.
Jackie watched those dark eyes following her until she emerged into the late afternoon light. The cool mountain air revived her and she shook her head, denying what she'd seen as Cole helped her into the saddle and swung himself up behind her.
"You sure got quiet all of a sudden," he said, nudging the horse away from the Silver Spur and the town of Lost Creek. "I don't reckon it
'll last, though."
Jackie looked back, leaning to the side enough to see past Cole. She half expected to find the dark-eyed man in hot pursuit, but the lone street stretched empty behind them. It had to have been her imagination. She faced forward again, willing her hands to cease their trembling, and her pulse to slow to a moderate pace.
Anxiety made way for another emotion, one she hadn't felt since before her trip through the looking glass–rather, Lolita's portrait. Anger and a raging thirst for revenge.
She clenched her teeth, gripping the saddlehorn until her knuckles whitened and her fingers ached. Was it possible? Could he really be here, too? The man's dark eyes, his unshaven face, his inky hair merged in her mind's eye to taunt her.
Blade.
Chapter 6
Cole rushed the mare as much as he dared through the darkening mountain pass. Todd would be worried. Besides, Cole never left his son alone this late. The little guy might be self-reliant, but he was still just a child.
"Did you see that man?" Miss Lolita asked after an uncharacteristically long silence.
"Which man? The place was crawling with men."
"The one in the corner who was staring at me."
He chuckled. "They were all staring."
"Yes, but..." She sighed, her shoulders slumping. "Never mind. It must've been my imagination."
Something was obviously worrying the woman, but Cole sensed she didn't want to talk about it. Thinking back, he couldn't remember anyone, other than Merriweather himself, being rude or unseemly toward her. Maybe she did recognize the man she was worried about. A woman like her must know more than her share.
Heat crept up Cole's neck to his face. The woman's personal life was none of his business, but for some blamed reason it bothered the hell out of him to think of her being with a lot of men.
She's a saloon singer. She made her living by entertaining men.
Did she entertain them in other ways, too?
Dang it all. He didn't want to know and it didn't–shouldn't–matter to him anyway.
And how the devil was Cole supposed to explain Miss Lolita to a nine-year-old-boy? He slowed the horse as they rounded the final curve before the ground leveled out again. The last thing in the world Cole wanted was for his son to know his father had stooped to kidnapping for a few gold nuggets.
More than just a few. The money Merriweather had promised him would be enough to allow him and Todd to leave Devil's Gulch and head for Oregon. He'd probably have enough left to buy some land and a few hundred head of cattle before winter.
His spirits lifted. The woman wasn't being harmed, after all, and she'd negotiated a respectable deal with old Merriweather herself. Cole chuckled quietly, remembering how the miners had responded to that racket she called singing. After that, Miss Lolita had been able to name her price. And so she had.
Damned peculiar. A man would either have to be deaf or starving for the sight and sound of a woman to enjoy Miss Lolita's voice. She had a way about her, though. His mother would've called it charm. In fact, if not for the crazy red hair and her chosen profession, he suspected his mother would've liked her.
Actually, the more time he spent with her, the more he liked her.
"How much farther?" she asked, glancing back over her shoulder.
"Just up yonder." He pointed up the sloping trail that led to his cabin, suddenly wary that someone might see them climbing the mountain. The sun was nearly set and darkness bathed the lower valleys, but the higher they went, the lighter the sky.
Her hair was like a signal fire to anybody searching for her, and he'd be willing to bet money these mountains were crawling with men on the lookout for the famous Lolita Belle. Without another thought, he yanked off his hat and put it on her head.
"Hey, why'd you do that?"
"Don't want anybody to recognize you."
She nodded and adjusted the hat's angle, tucking her hair up under it. "There, better?"
She looked back and flashed him that big open smile of hers. He caught his breath. Without that dyed hair hanging around her face, she looked like a different woman. Her eyes were large and expressive, fringed with thick, inky lashes. Her lips were full and the color of rubies. Beckoning.
Kissable.
Rein yourself in, Morrison. He'd definitely been too long without a woman. She faced forward again and one red curl slipped from the back of the hat, helping him put things in perspective again. She was a saloon singer who dyed her hair–not the kind of woman he could take up with even if he wanted to.
And the more he thought about her, the more he wanted to.
He recalled the way her womanly softness had filled his hand, with her dusky nipple peeking between his gloved fingers. Tauntingly. A powerful ache commenced between his legs. Considering he was behind the saddle, one wrong move could cause him more physical distress than he'd known in a decade. Of course, having this particular woman around day and night for three weeks was bound to cause him a passel more physical distress before this was finished.
"Are we there yet?" she asked again, turning enough to show her profile in the twilight. "I need to, uh..."
He nodded, comprehending what she hadn't said. "Just beyond that outcropping."
"Hot damn."
"Miss Lolita...?"
She sighed but didn't look at him. "What?"
"I'd appreciate it if you'd watch your language and such while you're at my cabin."
She laughed quietly. "You don't talk like a Sunday school teacher yourself, Morrison."
"Well, that's a fact," he said, grinning. "But I do try to watch my language at home."
She half-turned again, arching a brow. "Why? I thought you lived alone."
He shook his head. "My wife died a few years ago, but I have a son."
She twisted more, her eyes widening and her lips curving into another smile. "Really? That's great. I always...wanted a child."
Cole fell silent as the cabin came into view. Miss Lolita wanted a child? She was full of surprises. "I need your word, ma'am." He brought Ruth to a stop on the rise just above the house.
"My word?" She blinked, then her mouth formed a circle. "Oh, right. About my, uh, behavior. Sure, I'll be good. Very good."
Fire ignited between Cole's legs and he drew a deep breath, then released it very slowly. "I'll bet," he said gruffly, "but you know what I mean."
"Sorry. I will watch my language and behavior while I'm at your cabin." Her smile widened and she fluttered her lashes the way she had at Merriweather and the miners.
"Thank you. I appreciate it." Cole cleared his throat.
"Anything for you, big guy."
Liquid fire crept up his neck from his stiff collar and settled in both ears. "Calling me that isn't exactly what I'd call behaving."
She winked. "I'll be good. Cross my heart." She drew an imaginary X over her chest. Between those tempting breasts...
He had to keep his mind, his hands, and his gaze off her bosom. They were more enticing than any part of a woman's anatomy had a right to be. Full. Firm. Perfect.
Enough, Morrison. He wrenched his gaze from her chest to her face and realized she knew where he'd been looking. From that devilish gleam in her eyes, he'd be willing to bet she'd read his thoughts, too.
Determined to bring those guilty thoughts under control, he cleared his throat again. She'd promised to behave and, though he had no idea why, he trusted her. Probably dangerous. "Thanks."
She swung around and gasped just as the cabin came into clear focus. "Oh, Cole, it's beautiful."
The breathy, feminine quality of her voice and easy use of his given name struck a chord deep within his soul. His heart stuttered and skipped a beat. "Elizabeth–my wife–worked real hard to make those flowers grow up here," he said quietly. "Me and Todd have been carrying water to them ever since."
"That's a sweet tribute to her memory." She gave a dreamy sigh–another contrast to her saloon singer persona. "How old is Todd?"
"Nine. Ten in A
ugust."
"He must miss his mother very much."
"Yeah." Cole swallowed hard. "We both do."
"I'm sorry."
"Me, too." He brought Ruth to a stop again as he scanned the cabin for any sign of Todd. "There's one more thing, Miss Lolita. I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't say anything to the boy about...about..."
"About why and how I came to, uh, visit?" She flashed him a crooked grin over her shoulder. "No sweat, big guy. I understand."
And, somehow, he knew she did. Bemused by this vexing and perplexing creature, he swung his leg over the horse's rump and reached up to assist Miss Lolita's dismount. "Thank you, ma'am."
She winced as he lowered her to the ground in front of him. "Ouch."
"Beg pardon. Did I hurt you?"
"No, but 'ma'am' makes me sound as old as this saddle makes my fanny feel, cowboy."
He chuckled quietly as she stood there rubbing her backside. He tried not to think about how much he wanted to rub her backside for her. Dangerous territory, Morrison. "All right, Miss Lolita."
"Uh, how about calling me Ja–"
"Pa!"
Todd came rushing out the door, but skidded to a halt when he saw Miss Lolita. "I...I was worried about you," he said to Cole, though his questioning gaze never left the strange woman.
"Sorry, Todd," Cole said. "I was delayed in town."
Lantern light spilled out the open cabin door, framing the boy's lanky body. Finally, Todd pointed at the woman. "Who's she?"
"Hello, Todd," Miss Lolita said in a gentle voice. "My name is Miss Clarke." She stepped closer and extended her hand to the child. "Your father brought me here to...to be your teacher for a while. You may call me Miss Jackie."
Miss Jackie? Teacher? Cole coughed and mopped perspiration from the back of his neck. What the hell was this woman up to now? He couldn't imagine what she could possibly teach anybody–well, at least not a nine-year-old-boy.
"I don't need no teacher." Todd's tone held more than a trace of skepticism. "And Jackie's a man's name."
Like father, like son. A grin tugged at the corners of Cole's mouth. "Mind your manners."
