by Deb Stover
She nodded, tilting her head to one side to gaze up at him. "Gee, maybe you can even start believing I'm not Lolita now."
One corner of his mouth tugged upward. "Oh, I wouldn't say that."
She punched him on the arm. "Cad."
"Ow." He rubbed the offended spot, though it didn't hurt at all. "I believe your real name is Jacqueline Clarke, as you say, but that Lolita Belle is your stage name."
She stared at him in silence for several moments. "And if I tell you I never have been Lolita...?"
He remained silent, remembering the miners' reaction to her performance, her wanton pose wearing nothing but feathers for that French painter, and the saloon-owners' battle for her appearance at their establishments. Slowly, he shook his head. "I want to believe you, but I can't."
To his amazement, she didn't argue with him, but her lips narrowed and her jaw twitched slightly. After a moment of silence, she tilted her head back and looked up at the sky again. "It sure is pretty up here."
"It is when you're above ground."
"You don't have to mine anymore," she said matter-of-factly. "You have all that g–"
"Shhh." He gnashed his teeth in frustration. "Beg pardon. I really don't have any right to ask you to keep my secret after what...after...but I don't want–"
"I know, I know." She sighed again. "Sorry."
He couldn't suppress a chuckle. "Thanks, but it sure isn't your fault. I'm the one who said I'm sorry...and I meant it."
"Apology almost accepted." She laughed quietly, facing him again. "Brother, you don't know the half of it, though. Men started doing me dirty long before you ever came into the picture."
Guilt pressed down on him again. He had done her dirty. "Maybe someday you'd like to tell me about it."
She shrugged. "I might, but if you refuse to believe I'm not Lolita, then you sure wouldn't buy the rest of my crazy story." She shook her head. "Half the time I can't believe it myself."
"Truth is stranger than fiction?"
She laughed again. "That's for sure. In fact, I was reading a story sort of like what's happening to me just before..."
"Before what?"
"Ah, never mind."
He felt her withdrawal as surely as if she'd slammed a door in his face. There was a lot more behind the story of Lolita Belle than anyone knew–of that he was certain.
"I might tell you about my adventure, Cole," she said quietly, turning to stare at him, "but only if you tell me what made a nice guy like you willing to do Merriweather's dirty work."
"Easy enough." His gut clenched and burned. "I made someone a promise, and I need money to keep it."
She looked out at something only she could see. "And I made myself a promise to get revenge against somebody...and I aim to keep that promise."
He studied her profile, wondering if she also wanted revenge against him. No, that didn't make sense after the way she'd bartered with Elwood Merriweather and left Lost Creek with him willingly. There was something more she wasn't saying.
"Enough about that." She pivoted toward him again. "What sort of things should I teach Todd while I'm here?" she asked, obviously wanting to change the subject.
"Everything, I reckon." Cole rammed his hands into his pockets again, trying not to think about his transgressions. "He can read and cipher some, but he needs to learn to talk properly, and I want him to read well enough to really enjoy books."
"Yeah, I noticed that collection of yours in there," she said. "You read all those books, Cole?"
He smiled sadly. "Many, many times."
"'Still waters run deep,'" she murmured.
He faced her, catching the glimmer of a smile in her moonlit eyes. "I guess you could say that."
"So you aren't really planning to dig in that hole of yours anymore, are you?"
"You mean the mine?" He shrugged. "I have to."
"But what about the...you know?"
"I can't count on that until I have it," he said, pulling his hands out of his pockets to grip the porch rail. "Something could go wrong, and my son's future is too important."
"As long as he has a father like you, he'll do fine." She reached over and covered his hand with hers. "Something could go wrong, Cole. You're right about that. If it does, I want you to know I'm sorry, though I still don't know exactly why you need the money so badly."
Why would she be sorry? He was the kidnapper, the desperate man in search of a futile dream. He sighed, but warmth crept up his arm from her touch, and his gaze dropped to where her silvery white hand covered his darker one. "I want to trust you. I really want to."
"I won't run away, Cole," she whispered. "I promise."
"I appreciate that, though I don't understand it."
"There's a lot about me you can't possibly understand, cowboy." She eased her hand away and hugged herself as if chilled.
"You cold?"
"Not on the outside."
Something swelled in his chest and he ached to reach out to her, to pull her small frame against his chest, to hold her and protect her against the whole world. But he knew if he touched her now it wouldn't stop there. He burned to taste her lips, to feel the softness of her body pressed against his, to lose himself in her womanly flesh.
The pressure in his chest turned south within the span of two heartbeats. His blood rushed to his groin, tugging until he was hard enough to dig ore. Raking his fingers through his hair, he drew a deep breath and released it very slowly.
"Well, if you're determined to work in your mine, then Todd and I will be fine here." Her voice sounded strained, filled with something undefinable. "We'll start reading some of those books for starters."
"Good." He drew another deep breath, regaining some semblance of self-control. "And thanks."
"Don't thank me, because I'm going to ask you for a favor later. Consider yourself warned."
He stared at her, wondering what favor she could possibly ask of him. Her freedom? She could've taken that many times since reaching the cabin, if she'd wanted. "What is it?"
"Later, cowboy. For now, you've given me a lot to think about," she whispered. "Thanks."
She'd given him one hell of a lot to think about, too. And want. His eyes dipped to his oversized shirt that still covered her slender body. Hungrily, his gaze settled on the open collar just above her full bosom. This woman would definitely leave a permanent mark on the Morrison males.
He only hoped he lived to tell about it.
* * *
By the time Jackie climbed the ladder to the loft, exhaustion made her legs feel like they weighed a thousand pounds apiece. Garbed in a soft cotton gown that had belonged to Cole's wife, she flopped onto the narrow bunk shoved against the wall beneath the eves.
And stared at the ceiling.
When Cole had offered her his dead wife's clothing, she'd been unable to refuse. She couldn't very well traipse around in his shirt and her filthy jeans indefinitely.
Not indefinitely–temporary, Clarke. This is only temporary.
Somehow, she would determine a way to return to her own time, to indoor plumbing, and to freezers full of ice cream and ice makers. This primitive Americana scene was for people made of tougher stuff.
And why was she being so damned cooperative with Cole Morrison? This was nuts. Okay, she knew why–she was attracted to her kidnapper. Talk about shallow. Obviously, she still hadn't learned her lesson about men.
But Cole Morrison wasn't Blade Smith. Thank God. Her eyes drifted closed on a sigh, but sleep continued to elude her. Vivid memories of Blade, of her stupidity, and of her great-aunt's constant criticism made her tense and very much awake.
Before being thrown back in time, she'd vowed to exact revenge against Blade. Sitting up in bed, she clenched her fists in her lap. Dammit, she still wanted that revenge. Blade had it coming, too.
A chill chased itself down her spine as she remembered that man in the Silver Spur. He couldn't have been Blade. Maybe an ancestor? But if he wasn't Blade, why had he stared at
her so intently?
As if he knew her?
"Cut the crap, Clarke," she muttered, falling back on the bunk. The man might very well be one of Blade's ancestors. After all, he had claimed the cabin where he abandoned her belonged to his family. However, there was no way his ancestors could know about her.
Unless he was here, too.
Impossible. But until she experienced time travel up close and personal, she'd believed it impossible, too. If she was here, then couldn't Blade be, too?
"No," she whispered, dragging her hands over her face, hoping to stop the crazy thoughts.
She had to concentrate on facts and on her present present. Fact number one: Cole planned to return her to Lost Creek for her opening night.
Fact number two: She had to get back to Devil's Gulch and her portrait sitting.
But how? She'd think about that later.
Fact number three: Cole Morrison expected her to stay here and play teacher to his adorable little boy. And she was actually looking forward to it.
Sucker.
Fact number four: If the real Lolita showed up before her opening night or her portrait was completed, she was up Shit Creek without a paddle. Plus, Cole wouldn't get paid, and for some crazy reason, she wanted him to have the promised gold. Furthermore, once he learned she really wasn't Lolita, he'd have no more reason to keep her under his roof. She'd be homeless in a strange place and an even stranger time.
Damn.
She heard Cole close the door, and a scraping sound she couldn't identify followed. He was probably doing something to the fireplace. After a few moments, the scent of wood smoke drifted up to the loft. She heard the rustle of fabric as he undressed, then he blew out the lamp.
Did he sleep in the buff? A lump formed in her throat and her pulse did the tango through her veins. She rolled onto her side, trying not to picture the way his bare chest had looked with those red suspenders....
And failing.
It didn't help matters at all that she'd actually seen his bare chest when he'd given her his shirt earlier. The sexy image in her mind was more than her imagination. It was a pure, unabridged–and damned nice–memory.
After a moment, she heard him climb into his own bunk, and his sigh drifted up to the loft. She wrapped her arms around herself and bit her lower lip, forcing herself not to wish for the warmth of Cole's arms or the strength of his shoulder to rest her head upon.
But as sleep claimed her at last, her dreams found her running from Blade's double, straight into the protective circle of her captor's embrace.
* * *
Morning sunrays stretched across the loft, startling Jackie awake. She rubbed her eyes and crept to the edge of the loft to peer down. Cole and Todd sat at the table eating breakfast. She shouldn't have slept so late.
Then again, maybe it would be best if Cole left before she went downstairs. If she concentrated more on Todd and less on his handsome father, she'd be a lot less distracted. Maybe then she could develop a reasonable plan to find her way home again.
"I remember visiting Grandma and Grandpa in St. Louis," Todd said.
"Do you now?" Cole's smile was wistful, and he reached across the table to squeeze his son's hand. "You were still wet behind the ears then, but your ma would be proud that you remember her folks."
Jackie's eyes blurred, but she rubbed them clear again. Cole and Todd both obviously missed Elizabeth. Jackie fingered the lace at the neckline of her nightgown.
Elizabeth's nightgown...
"But I still remember." Todd reached for his cup and took a long drink. "I remember lots."
"I'm glad." Cole cleared his throat and refilled his coffee cup. "I want you to always remember your ma. She loved you more than anything."
Todd bowed his head for a moment, then looked up at his father again. "I remember when she died, too. And what you promised her."
"Oh?"
Cole looked nervous, as if he didn't want his son to remember this. Jackie listened more intently, sensing this was important.
A loud knock on the door made Jackie gasp. Cole glanced up at her before he went to the door. Their gazes met and Jackie understood his silent plea. Stay hidden.
"Todd, go out back and get fresh water, please," his father said.
"But–"
"Do as I say, son."
Jackie held her breath as Todd obeyed his father and headed out the back door. Poor Cole still didn't want his son to know what he'd done, and he obviously didn't want her to know why he'd done it.
She inched back, peering through the floorboards as Cole opened the door. Recognizing the Brothers Grime from the Gold Mine Saloon, she held her breath. The last thing in the world she wanted was to go back with them.
Even if it would put her back where she started, and closer to her time portal? Damn. All she had to do was reveal herself to them, and they'd take her back to Goodfellow and that unfinished portrait. Think, Jackie. Think!
Good old Zeb said, "We're lookin' for Miss Lolita. You seen her, Morrison?"
"Miss Lolita?" Cole rubbed his chin, obviously planning to play dumb.
"Yeah, that crazy woman you kept from gettin' run down over to Devil's Gulch. Remember?"
Cole nodded slowly. "Sure, but why would you think she might be here?"
And why wasn't Jackie seizing this opportunity? You're weak, Clarke. All right, she knew why. She didn't want to expose Cole as a kidnapper. After all, he was a single father. What would happen to Todd if his father went to jail? No matter how much she needed to see that portrait completed, she couldn't bring herself to jeopardize the Morrisons. She'd find a way to do it herself, without incriminating Cole.
Even if he had kidnapped her.
She rested her forehead against the cool wood. I'm a stupid, trusting fool. Even so, she remained silent.
"Goodfellow reckoned maybe you changed yer mind 'bout helpin' her, since she asked you," Zeb's equally filthy cohort said. "Did ya?"
"Nope." Cole straightened to his full and impressive height. "I have work to do. Tell Goodfellow he sent you two on a wild goose chase."
"I told him so," Zeb said, slapping his thigh. "But he's hell-bent on findin' her before that Frenchman's hand heals."
"Frenchman?" Cole asked.
"Yep, that fancy painter feller." Zeb chuckled and shook his head. "'Pears he broke his little finger when he fell, and swears he can't hold his paintbrush just yet."
"How bad was he hurt?"
"The day Miss Lolita disappeared," Zeb continued. "He said some man with a rifle took her, then he fell and broke his finger."
"That's too bad about his finger." Genuine regret sounded in Cole's voice, and Jackie suspected he blamed himself for Henri's injury.
Zeb's comrade snorted with obvious disgust. "Gol durned pantywaist, if'n you ask me."
"The Frenchman'll mend," Zeb said. "And we gotta fetch Miss Lolita back there before he does."
"I can't help you with that," Cole said quietly.
"You give a yell if you hear from her," Zeb said. "Hear?"
"Maybe."
Zeb chuckled as the pair left.
Jackie had to admit that Cole Morrison was one smooth operator. Was he conning her with his single daddy charm as well? No–that would make him no better than Blade, and she refused to believe that.
Cole closed the door behind the Brothers Grime, but stepped to the side to peek through the window as Jackie climbed down the ladder.
"So old Rupert is looking for me, huh?" She paused behind Cole and peered over his shoulder. "Those guys give me the willies."
"Willies?" Cole glanced back at her, his eyes widening as they drifted languidly down to her bare toes, then back to her face.
Probably the first time he's seen a woman in his dead wife's nightgown. Guilt made her breath catch and her heart pressed upward. His gaze dipped to her breasts and she wondered how transparent the worn fabric was in the bright light of morning. Was he wondering what she had on underneath the soft white cotton? Sha
king herself, she closed her eyes, then remembered his question even if he didn't.
"Uh, willies means they give me the creeps." Jackie watched the grungy pair until they were out of sight, then turned her attention to the breakfast table. "Is there any coffee?"
"On the fire."
Jackie poured herself a cup and took an appreciative sniff, then tasted it. "Yuck, Morrison, never apply for a job at Starbuck's."
"Starbuck's?"
"Never mind." She took another drink. "I'll get used to it, and caffeine is caffeine. Also my drug of choice."
"Drug? Caffeine?"
"Sorry, never mind."
Cole went to the back door and peered out at his son. "I'm going to the mine as soon as Todd gets back with the water." He rubbed his chin, a thoughtful expression on his handsome face. "I don't like strangers coming here when I'm not around."
"And I don't suppose you want anyone to see me either." She arched a brow when he looked at her sharply. "Let's face facts, Cole. You don't want Todd or anybody else to know it. If anybody sees me, they'll know who I am." Rather, who they thought she was. "And you don't want Todd to know the real reason I'm here."
A muscle twitched in his jaw. "All right, you found my weak spot." He pinned her with his gaze. "Now what do you plan to do about it?"
Jackie stared at him for several seconds, then sighed. "Nothing. Yet." She shook her head and set her coffee cup on the table. "I told you last night I plan to ask you for a favor, and I still do, but not just yet." Dummy. "I'll keep quiet, for now, if you'll tell me why you need that gold badly enough to resort to kidnapping."
"What makes you so sure I need a reason besides wanting the gold?"
"It doesn't take a rocket scientist to see that, Morrison," Jackie said quietly. "What did Merriweather call you? Oh, yeah–'a straight arrow.'" She gave an emphatic nod. "So why'd you do it?"
"I..." Cole raked his fingers through his collar-length hair and gave her a sad smile. "It's a long story. I'll tell you tonight after Todd's asleep."
She studied his eyes, so blue she could drown in their depths, and as sincere as any she'd ever seen. No, this man wasn't a con artist, and he couldn't become one no matter how hard he tried. Sure, he'd kidnapped her, but every passing moment made her more certain he had powerful motivation for doing so.
