by Deb Stover
"Fair enough." She held out her right hand. He stared at it for a few moments, then shook it. The warmth of his hand sent shivers up her arm and skittering down her spine. "Tonight," she whispered, unable to prevent other possible and impossible meanings to that word from flooding her certainly addled mind.
But she had to stay focused–convince him to take her back to Devil's Gulch and that damned portrait, before it was too late.
He continued to hold her gaze as he held her hand, his expression intense and unwavering. "Tonight."
Chapter 8
Jackie spent the entire morning with Todd, going through his father's impressive collection of books. Cole owned first editions by Mark Twain, Jules Verne, Herman Melville, James Fenimore Cooper, and others that would be rare collectibles in her time. The leather bindings were careworn, the pages obviously read and reread.
Cole Morrison was as intriguing as he was handsome. Any man who loved books as much as he obviously did wasn't meant to be a miner. There were books of poetry inscribed to Elizabeth, too. How and why had a couple like the Morrisons ended up here?
Todd stumbled over a word in the primer Jackie'd found among Cole's collection. He and Elizabeth must have been planning for their son's education when they'd hauled all these books to the top of a mountain.
"I think you've earned a break, kiddo," she said, closing the book and setting it aside. "Hmm, where does your dad keep his scissors?"
"Ma's sewing basket's over there." Todd pointed to the top of the pie safe. "Whatcha need scissors for?"
"You'll see." Jackie retrieved the basket, containing various threads, yarns, and patches, and removed a pair of shears. She tested them on a scrap of fabric and nodded. "These'll do."
"For what?" Todd's expression could only be described as dubious.
"Todd, my man, grab your comb and haul that chair outside," she swung open the front door. "You're about to have a complimentary cut and style, sans blow dry."
His eyes grew round and he shook his head.
"It's all right, I know what I'm doing." She put one hand on her hip and smiled at him. "I went to school to learn how to cut hair, Todd. Really."
"They got schools for stuff like that?"
Well, in my time they do. She couldn't be so sure about now. "You bet they do."
"Is that how your hair got that...that color?" Todd gave a loud gulp.
Jackie feigned indignance, patting the twin braids she'd coiled tightly around her head. She looked downright proper in the gray muslin dress with white cuffs and collar, and her hair restrained until its color was almost invisible. Almost.
"I'll have you know that women pay lots of money to have their hair dyed this shade, young man." Yeah, and they're out of their gourds, too.
"They do?" He narrowed his eyes, clearly skeptical.
"Indeed, they do." She made a snipping motion with the shears and waggled her eyebrows. "I promise your hair won't change color, and your father will like it."
"Well..."
"And we'll cut his hair later."
Todd brightened and he flashed her a grin that could charm Mary Poppins out of her umbrella. "All right, but I want to watch you cut Pa's hair."
And keep me from jumping his gorgeous bones. "It's okay with me if it's okay with him."
"Okay?"
"All right."
Jackie positioned the chair in the shade while Todd poured pitchers of water over his head as she'd requested. What did they do for shampoo around here? Rubbing his wet hair with a square of fabric that passed for a towel, he came around the corner of the cabin with a look of pure terror in his eyes.
"You'd think you've never had a simple haircut before," Jackie said. "Sheesh. You're almost ten. Now plop your backside into this chair and be a man." She bit the inside of her lip to prevent herself from laughing when he nodded in silent horror and obeyed.
She draped a dry "towel" around his shoulders and combed out his hair. "I'll bet your hair will turn as dark as your dad's when you get older."
"That's what Ma always said." Todd sounded calmer now.
A squeezing sensation clutched her heart. She hurt for this little boy, and wanted to make it all better. Her caring torpedoes were misfiring all over the place. "You miss your mom a lot."
"Yeah, and so does Pa."
"Yes, of course he does." An uncomfortable tightening commenced in her chest, but she refused to accept it as jealousy. Even Jackie Clarke wasn't insecure enough to be jealous of a dead woman.
Shaking the feeling, she started at Todd's nape, cutting the hair blunt and square, then tapering it toward the front with some strategic layering around his face. "Your hair has just enough curl in it to manage this style. It looks great."
She couldn't have planned a more beautiful day. The sky was crystal blue, birds sang, and the breeze was gentle and warm. A few puffy white clouds floated by, so close it seemed she could reach out and pluck one of them out of the sky.
When she was finished, she stood back to survey her work. "Todd, my man, you look good enough for prime time television."
"What's tele–"
"Ah, nothing important." She winked and swept the comb through his drying locks once more.
A dark hand snaked before her and grabbed her wrist in a steel grip. Jackie's heart stopped and she turned slowly to identify the owner of the hand.
Her gaze settled on the leather-clad man, whose silver hair hung in braids nearly to his waist. His creased face was the color of bronze and his eyes black like the cast iron frying pans hanging in Cole's cabin.
"It's all right, Chief Byron," Todd said. "This is Miss Jackie. She's my teacher."
Byron? Jackie managed a shaky smile and met the old man's gaze. "Hi, I'm Jackie Clarke." She wiggled the fingers of the hand he still held prisoner. "Uh, could I have my hand back now, please?" At least he wasn't one of the Brothers Grime back for an encore.
"It's all right," Todd repeated, and the aging Native American released her hand.
Jackie rubbed her appendage until the circulation was restored. "Pleased to meet you, Chief." What was one supposed to say to aging Indian chiefs in 1891? Aunt Pearl's etiquette training had fallen a little short in this area. Jackie tried another tight smile and added, "Sir," for good measure.
He looked fierce. Old, sure, but still fierce. He could have been anywhere between seventy and a hundred, and his eyes were downright mean when he stared at her. But when he shifted his gaze from Jackie to Todd, a transformation took place.
Chief Byron's lips curved in a toothless grin and his obsidian eyes twinkled. "Did you let this white squaw scalp you, Son of Pale Eyes?"
"She didn't scalp me." Todd touched his head with both hands. "I gotta look." He raced inside, then returned a few seconds later. "Hey, I think it looks pretty good, Miss Jackie."
"Miss Jackie?" The chief pinned her with his intelligent gaze again, but he didn't seem nearly as fierce now. "That sounds like a white man's name."
Todd giggled and said, "That's what I said."
Jackie stuck her tongue out at him. "It's also what your father said."
Todd laughed even louder. After he regained his composure, he explained, "Chief Byron is a Ute Indian. When the government sent his people to the reservation, he stayed here."
"Home," the old man said, his gaze sweeping the surrounding mountain range.
History in the making. She might not have finished college, but even this lowly hairdresser had read enough historical romance to value real history. "Why did you stay here?" Alone? Jackie Clarke understood alone too damned well.
"This is my home," Chief Byron repeated, turning his gaze to a bird flying overhead. When he looked at her again the light in his eyes appeared cloudy. "No matter what the white man says."
Todd kicked the dirt at his feet. "You know how Pa feels about that."
"Pale Eyes is a wise man." Chief Byron smiled at Todd again. "So is his son."
Todd blushed with obvious pleasure and ducked his hea
d. "Miss Jackie's teaching me to read and write and do arithmetic."
The chief looked at her again and gave a curt nod before turning his gaze back to Todd. "Your mother taught me to read, write, and to speak your tongue."
"Really?" Todd asked, his eyes widening.
The boy was obviously hungry for stories about his mother. Jackie's heart ached for him, because she knew all too well what it felt like to lose a parent at such a young age.
"Yes," the chief continued. "The Wife of Pale Eyes– Elizabeth–named me Chief Byron the day of our first meeting."
"Why?" Though curious about his name, Jackie was more interested in keeping the old man talking about Elizabeth for Todd's benefit. The boy hung on every blessed word. "Why Byron?"
"My real name is very long and begins with the letter B. Elizabeth taught me that, too." He gave a wistful sigh. "Elizabeth read to me from a book that brought tears to these old eyes." Chief Byron's wrinkled bronzed skin represented a web of life experience. "The words reminded me of the mother of my sons."
Lord Byron? "Why, Chief, I do believe you're a romantic at heart," Jackie said, winking at Todd.
Chief Byron turned his dark gaze on Jackie again, surprise evident in his expression. "That was what Elizabeth said. She taught me many things, but passed on with much yet to teach. We miss her."
"Maybe..." Todd hesitated, then cast a questioning glance at Jackie. "Maybe the Chief can learn with me, Miss Jackie."
"I...don't see why not." Jackie gave a nervous laugh, wondering how she'd managed to make the leap from beauty college grad to teacher.
"I would like that." Chief Byron's eyes twinkled with renewed interest and he smiled again. "Very much."
He was obviously a proud man who'd refused to leave his homeland with his tribe. Jackie had a lot of respect for anyone willing to stand his ground for something he believed in. Besides, the old guy looked lonely. Of course, she knew a man like him wouldn't take kindly to pity, and she made a silent vow to offer him only kindness and respect.
"Sure, why not?" She laughed and Chief Byron gifted her with another of his toothless grins. "How about a haircut first?" She snipped the air with the scissors.
The chief slapped both hands over his braids and his eyes flashed with horror. "Never."
Todd shifted closer to Jackie. "I don't think the chief takes kindly to teasing about his hair."
"No kidding, Sherlock?" Jackie smiled and lowered the scissors. "Just a little joke there, Chief Byron. No harm done."
The old Indian straightened to his full height and pinned her with his gaze. "Foolish squaw."
Squaw? That was twice. "With all due respect, Chief, I'm nobody's squaw."
"That was also what Elizabeth said." The chief's piercing gaze drifted down the length of her and he arched a silver brow. "Maiden?" His tone was skeptical.
Jackie stiffened and flames flared in her cheeks. "Sure, why not?" In my dreams.
"Fire in your hair." The chief walked a half-circle around her, then gave a nod and grunted. Twice.
God only knew what that meant.
"I believe this one will do, Son of Pale Eyes."
"Do?" Jackie swallowed, wondering what the old man was up to now. "Do for what?"
The chief chuckled and rubbed his leather-covered abdomen. "The sun is high. We eat now."
"Do for what?" Jackie repeated, following the chief and Todd into the cabin. "Hey, do for what?" Did he plan to scalp her in her sleep? No, of course not. Get a grip, Clarke.
Chief Byron peeked in the pot bubbling over the hot coals, then looked back over his shoulder. "Beans again. Next time, I bring rabbit."
"Thanks, Chief," Todd said, getting plates and cups for the table.
Jackie hurried over to help him. Leaning close, she whispered, "Do for what?"
Todd looked a little sheepish. "I think he thinks you're here to be...my new ma."
Jackie dropped the tin plate she'd been holding. "Oh, shit."
* * *
Cole stepped out of the dark mine and into the late afternoon sunshine. He hadn't even taken a break for dinner today, but he didn't feel any closer to finding gold than any other day.
His mine was nothing but a worthless hole in the ground. Elizabeth had known it all along, and she'd asked him to give it up and go back to St. Louis more times than he could count. Maybe she'd still be alive if he'd listened to her. His gut clenched and his chest tightened.
And Todd would be in a real school, instead of learning to read and write from a saloon singer. Gazing upward at the blue sky, Cole shook his head. With a sigh, he set his tools inside the cave entrance and headed down the trail toward the cabin.
He was a failure as a miner and now he'd stooped to kidnapping. What next?
"Don't ask," he muttered to himself, stopping to wash beside the cabin. His father would've rolled over in his grave to see his only son digging in the ground instead of following in his scholarly footsteps. For that matter, Cole much preferred the company of books to that of dirt and rocks.
With a sigh, he stepped through the open front door of the cabin he called home. For now. Lolita-Jackie sat at the table with Todd and Chief Byron. She had both males writing with chalk and slate.
Lolita-Jackie looked up and smiled at Cole. His heart faltered at the transformation. Wearing a decent dress and her hair up, she looked like a different woman. And that smile of hers never failed to ambush him.
When she smiled and had her wild red hair tucked away, Jackie Clarke was one of the prettiest women he'd ever seen. That realization shocked him, but he didn't argue with himself. That would've been pointless.
Because he was right.
He felt her gaze still on him and returned her smile with a tentative one of his own. Much to his surprise, her cheeks pinkened and she averted his gaze. By God, Jackie Clarke seemed downright...demure.
Impossible.
She was up to something. Then Cole remembered their conversation from this morning. "Tonight," she'd promised.
Tonight.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, then deliberately made enough noise to draw his son's attention.
"Pa." Todd jumped up and rushed over to hug him. "Miss Jackie's teachin' me and Chief Byron to read, write, and cipher."
"Is that a fact? Nice to see you, Chief."
"Greetings," the chief said, rising. "Woman With Fire in Her Hair will make good squaw, Pale Eyes. She will warm your bed when the snow covers the mountains, and give you many fine sons."
Jackie coughed and Todd pounded her on the back until she waved him away. "I think the chief is operating under a misconception," she said at last.
"Hmm." Cole smiled at the chief and tried to remain calm. This wasn't easy, especially with Jackie and Todd in the room. "Chief, Miss Jackie is only here to teach–not to be my, uh, squaw." He glanced at Jackie and saw her nostrils flare and sparks dance in her eyes.
"Or, wife." Cole gave a sheepish grin. "Honest."
Chief Byron appeared confused as he looked from Cole to Jackie, then back again. Finally, he shrugged and said, "We will see, Pale Eyes. We will all see in time."
Time was something they didn't have. In three weeks, Lolita-Jackie would be out of their lives, and Cole would have the gold necessary to take his son to Oregon. But the thought of never seeing Jackie again stung, and Cole turned his attention back to the old Indian.
Chief Byron's presence wasn't a surprise. He invited himself to dinner regularly, often bringing the main course along.
"You staying for supper, Chief?" The sooner Cole could change the subject, the better. He hung his hat on a peg near the door, avoiding his son's probing gaze for now. Later, he'd have to speak with him about the chief's assumption.
"No, I must go now, before the sun is lower." The chief gave a weary sigh and looked back at Jackie. "Thank you for teaching me more words today, Miss Jackie."
"Will you come again, Chief?" Jackie smiled at the old man, and Cole realized the chief was as enamored by that
smile as he.
"It will be my pleasure." The chief raised a hand to bid them farewell, but hesitated. "I have one question before I go," he said, looking at Cole.
"Sure."
"What meaning does the word 'shit' have?"
Todd dissolved into squeals of laughter and Cole struggled to keep a straight face himself as Jackie turned every shade of crimson known to man and nature. She'd obviously had some difficulty remembering to watch her language, but he couldn't summon any anger, no matter how justified.
"Uh, well," Cole said, clearing his throat. "It's slang, Chief, and it's a word Miss Jackie promised not to use while she's here."
Todd fell silent and Jackie turned even redder.
"And a word your lovely Elizabeth chose not to teach me." The chief rubbed his chin, then looked at Cole again. "What meaning does it have?"
Cole escorted the chief outside and whispered the definition in the old man's ear. The chief grinned and nodded. "You will see that I am right. Woman With Fire in Her Hair–and mouth–will make a good squaw. She will warm your bed when the snow covers the mountains, and give you many fine sons."
Cole's breath caught in his throat and he tried not to dwell on the notion of Lolita-Jackie in his bed, or on his body's immediate and nearly explosive response to that thought.
"You sound like an Indian," he said gently, his voice hoarse. He knew his words would be taken as they were intended–with goodnatured respect.
"I am Ute." Chief Byron gave an emphatic nod. "Heed my words, Pale Eyes."
"Uh, thanks, Chief." Cole rubbed the back of his neck and reminded himself to breathe. "I'll definitely think about it." Whether I like it or not.
Unfortunately, he liked it. A lot.
He drew a deep breath and watched the chief walk slowly down the trail. Raking his fingers through his hair, Cole tried to banish thoughts of Jackie in his bed, then turned and stepped into the darkening cabin.
"I'm starved," he said, not looking at Jackie, fearing his lustful thoughts might reveal themselves in his eyes. "What's for supper?"
