by Deb Stover
"I see," she said, trying to resolve the man's identity as someone other than Blade, but he did have the same last name. The most common name in the English language, she reminded herself. Even so, this Rock Smith persona was outrageous enough to be one of Blade's cons.
"So my ma said my head was hard as a rock." He gave a shrug. "Folks in East Texas are queer that way, so, naturally, my name's Rock."
Queer East Texans? Gee, that's reassuring. She cleared her throat again. "Naturally. All right, Mr. Smith." There was no way she'd call any man "Rock." She tightened both hands around the handle of her broom and held it in front of her, though her visitor hardly seemed threatening. Still... "I'll tell Mr. Morrison you called."
"Beg pardon, ma'am, but when do you expect he'll be...available?" He grinned again.
A con artist, just like his descendant. And there was no way she'd believe this man wasn't Blade's ancestor. She squinted. Though she still couldn't be totally certain this wasn't Blade himself playing an evil game.
It sure as hell wouldn't be the first time.
"I'm not certain," she said carefully. "If you'd care to leave a message, I'll be sure he gets it."
"Y'all do that." He tilted his head to one side, then his gaze plunged to her not-so-heaving bosom. Chuckling, he shook his head.
Heat crept up Jackie's neck to her cheeks, but she tried to pretend she hadn't noticed his affront. However, one thing was now perfectly clear. This man was looking for Lolita. Didn't he recognize her from the Silver Spur? And how had he known to look here? Cole had seemed certain he didn't recognize anyone in the saloon that day.
Maybe Cole's baggy shirt had hidden her then and the bonnet was doing it now. She glanced at the huge brim. Thank goodness. Concealing her hair and being less voluptuous than Lolita might have saved her. Twice.
"What message do you wish to leave for Mr. Morrison, sir?"
"Who are you anyway, ma'am?"
Jackie watched him carefully for any reaction, then released a slow sigh. "I'm Miss Clarke, the governess."
Smith guffawed–that was the only term to describe the sound he made. Then his expression changed as he shifted his weight in the saddle. Even so, no trace of recognition appeared in his dark eyes.
"Makes a man curious to know how a struggling miner can afford to hire a, uh, governess." He arched a brow. "Y'all tell Morrison I know what he did." Leaning closer, Smith said, "Goodfellow will double Merriweather's offer. I'll be back in two days for your answer."
"My answer?" Jackie's blood turned cold. "What do you mean?"
"I got me a feeling you know exactly what I mean." The man's smile was malicious. "If you don't have the right answer, then I'll just have to keep Goodfellow's gold for myself. Y'all have a real nice day, ma'am." He tipped his hat and whirled the horse around, galloping away in a cloud of dust.
She fanned the air and coughed. Maybe this was the solution. She'd be returned to Devil's Gulch, Cole would get his precious gold, she'd finish posing for that wretched portrait, then touch it like she had during the fire....
And pray.
The same miracle–or disaster–that had brought her here could just as easily return her. Right? Weren't time portals always two-way? Jeez, Clarke, this isn't "Star Trek."
Well, if time portals weren't two-way, they damned well should be. Once back in her own time, she could get back to work, visit Aunt Pearl for a reminder of what a loser she was–as if she could forget–and return to her little apartment.
Alone.
She trudged to the front step as if each leg weighed a ton and sat with an undignified plop. She let the broom fall with a clatter at her side.
Home. That was what she wanted, after all. Her own bathroom with running water and a flushing toilet, cable television, video rentals, blow dryers and curling irons...
No adorable little boy asking her to read stories.
No little boy's daddy turning her hormones topsy turvy.
No more soul-shattering kisses.
* * *
Cole and Todd took their time bathing in the icy waterfall. The longer Cole could postpone facing Jackie again, the better. She was driving him crazy.
And, Lord help him, he liked it.
"Damn," Cole muttered, remembering this morning's kiss. Then last night's kiss. While his son scrambled into his clothing, Cole turned around and headed back under the waterfall for another cold shower.
As things were, by the time he was scheduled to return Lolita to the Silver Spur, Cole would have to consider moving to the falls permanently. The woman didn't actually have to touch him to set him on fire. Hell, he didn't even have to lay eyes on her–let alone hands or lips–to become as fired up as a rutting bull at spring thaw. Then again, bulls rutted in the fall.
Dammit, now he was starting to think like a cowboy.
"I am not a cowboy," he muttered, swaggering out of the water and grabbing his shirt.
"I never said you was." Todd looked at him thoughtfully, his eyes wide and filled with questions.
Cole buttoned his shirt, then pulled on his jeans. He sat on a boulder and stretched his legs out to let his feet dry. "I hate putting socks and boots on wet feet."
Todd imitated his father's actions, his smaller feet reaching Cole's knees as they sat side by side in the morning sun. "I like Miss Jackie," Todd said, staring out across the small stream. A moment later, he turned his head and pinned his father with that look that said he was about to ask one of those questions.
Not now. If he asks me where babies come from, I'll curl up and die right here and now. Cole gnashed his teeth and nodded, reaching over to ruffle his son's dark blond hair. "Yeah, I like her, too."
"I can tell." Todd's eyes twinkled.
Cole loosened the top button of his shirt. "Getting warm fast today."
"Yep."
Rubbing the back of his neck, Cole tried to summon an indifferent expression. "Now, just what do you mean 'I can tell?'"
"About Miss Jackie?" Todd shrugged and tossed a pebble into the stream. "I just can. That's all."
Cole remained silent for several moments, pondering just how much his son had noticed. But Todd was only nine. Almost ten. Sure, he could tell his father liked someone, but not...how much. Could he?
"All right, if you say so." Cole drew a deep breath and decided to change the subject. "I've been doing a lot of thinking." He sent his son a sidelong glance, noting the boy's sudden rapt attention.
"About what?"
"Oregon." Cole released a long sigh.
"You mean we ain't–aren't–going to St. Louis?" Todd's eyes were as round as saucers. "Honest?"
Cole chuckled quietly. "You didn't like it much the one time we went back to visit, huh?"
The boy's cheeks pinkened, but his expression remained thoughtful and solemn. "Well, Grandma and Grandpa were real nice," he said, "but there were too many people."
"You remember it pretty well." Cole smiled at his son, his heart swelling with pride. "But you were still little then."
"I was six." Todd lifted his chin a notch.
"So you were." Cole drew a deep breath, knowing how much worse it would've been to lose Elizabeth if he didn't have Todd. "I'm sure glad you're my son."
Todd beamed. "Me, too." He tossed another pebble into the water. "Is Miss Jackie goin' to Oregon with us?"
Cole's heart slammed into his ribs. "Well, no, of course not." He gave a nervous chuckle. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
"Well..." The boy looked down at his hands folded in his lap.
"Well, what?" Cole kept his tone gentle, though the way his blood was roaring through his head, that was no small feat.
"Like I said before, I...I like her." Todd lifted one shoulder. "She's fun."
Fun? A hot flush crept over Cole's body. "I, uh, believe she has another job lined up after she's finished, uh, teaching you." And tormenting me.
Todd's face fell and his disappointment permeated the air around them. "Oh," he said.
"You li
ke her that much, huh?"
The boy nodded without looking at his father. "Chief Byron likes her, too."
"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."
"Yes." Cole drew a quick breath. It didn't help. Chief Byron had no idea how much fire that woman's mouth was capable of igniting.
Todd faced his father. "What's wrong, Pa?"
"Wrong?" Cole stood and unbuttoned his shirt.
"You look sorta...strange. Feverish, maybe." Todd rose and reached up on tiptoes to press his hand to his father's forehead.
Feverish was one way to put it. "No fever." Not that kind anyway. "I'm fine," Cole lied, turning his back on his son to peel off his dungarees.
"Then what's wrong?"
"Someday you'll understand, son," Cole said, dropping his breeches and heading toward the falls. He kept his back to his son until after the frigid waterfall did its job.
And soothed the wild beast again.
Chapter 10
Jackie sat on the boulder where Cole had kissed her the night before. In the bright mid-day sun, she didn't worry about cougars or other beasts that might be roaming the hills. Maybe she should have, but in this case, ignorance was bliss. Or so she convinced herself.
She had a decision to make. More than one, actually. Extricating herself from Cole Morrison's life would be the kindest thing she could do for him and his son. On the other hand, if she simply ran away–and managed to get lost in the mountains again, no doubt–he wouldn't receive the promised gold from either Merriweather or Goodfellow.
Goodfellow was willing to pay more, and that was also where Jackie would find her unfinished portrait. She had to get to that portrait before the real Lolita showed up and cost Cole the gold and Jackie her time portal.
But, as long as it was completed, did it really matter whether the portrait was of Jackie or Lolita? Her time portal painting had been of the real Lolita, after all. Now that Jackie thought about it, though, she remembered the way the face in the painting had transformed from Lolita's to Jackie's.
Dammit, Clarke–get back to that portrait before it's too late.
She rolled her eyes skyward. Damn. Did the way Lolita's face had changed to hers mean Jackie's current fate was to be Lolita Belle? A sudden consideration made her flesh turn cold and she stiffened. Bracing herself with her arms extended behind her, Jackie considered the impossible. Of course, much of her life seemed impossible these days. Even so, she had to consider it.
When she'd fallen back in time, had the real Lolita gone forward? This was all starting to sound like a low budget science fiction movie. Question was, how would the movie end? Swallowing the lump in her throat, she drew a deep breath and watched a hawk sail by, mocking her with its serene appearance.
Could it be true? Was the real Lolita in Jackie's time trying to figure out modern technology and the nuances of dating and the modern single woman? Another thought made Jackie laugh out loud and sit up straight.
Was Lolita educating Great-Aunt Pearl?
Poor Aunt Pearl. Jackie bit her lower lip, remembering the last time she'd seen her aunt, then revised her concern. Poor Lolita. Either way, Jackie knew Lolita and Pearl would be worthy adversaries. Hell, Aunt Pearl would probably prefer having Lolita to ridicule instead of Jackie. Lolita's life had to be a lot more interesting than Jackie's.
In any century.
With a sigh, she slid off the boulder and trudged slowly toward the cabin, pondering the whole mess. If–big if–she and Lolita had actually traded centuries, then didn't they both have to trade again to set things right? What if Lolita liked modern times, indoor plumbing, and the feminist movement? Could they both be in the same time together?
Jackie froze. She was in big trouble. Then again, maybe she was borrowing trouble. She had absolutely no proof that she and Lolita had traded places, other than the fact that she was here and Lolita wasn't. On the other hand, Goodfellow had said Lolita–er, Jackie–was earlier than expected. She threw her hands up in surrender, her mind and emotions dueling inside her body.
And how could she be certain Rock Smith wasn't Blade trying to con her again with that dumb cowboy routine?
Damn. She needed to release some major stress. At home, she would've gone to Jazzercize, then seen Dom for a massage. The thought of her favorite massage therapist's magical hands made her moan and rub the kink in the back of her neck.
"Face it, Jackie, you aren't Dom." Maybe she couldn't get a massage, but she could do some aerobic exercise to relieve her stress. Besides, Todd's fatty cooking would go straight to her thighs in no time, so exercise would serve a dual purpose. Triple. Relieve stress, burn fat and calories, and...take her mind off Cole.
No, be honest, Clarke. Not just Cole–sex with Cole.
Too risky, because she couldn't keep her heart out of it. Sex was one thing–lovemaking was another.
"Why can't you be a wanton, Clarke?" She had to stop thinking about sex. Exercise was the answer. Hop to it before it's too late.
There was no such thing as spandex in 1891, so she would have to improvise. She was completely alone in the wilderness for heaven's sake. No one would see her. At any rate, she certainly couldn't exercise in this Little Bo Peep regalia.
Looking over her shoulder to ensure she was still alone, she removed the sunbonnet as she stepped into the cabin and unbuttoned Elizabeth's dress. She squirmed out of it, then folded it over the back of the rocking chair. For a moment, Jackie stared at the rocker. Elizabeth would've rocked Todd to sleep in that chair.
All the grief Cole and Todd must've felt since Elizabeth's death washed over Jackie and she pressed the heel of her hand to her breastbone and bit the knuckles of her other hand. She wanted–needed–to form a picture of Elizabeth in her mind. What had Cole's wife looked like? Did he have a photo or painting? Jackie made a mental note to go through more of the books and journals on Cole's shelves after her workout. Maybe there was a wedding album or something.
She looked around the cramped cabin. There simply wasn't room in here for a decent workout, so she shrugged and peered through the open door again. No one around but a few birds and a squirrel staring at her as if she had suddenly grown two heads.
Laughing at her own foolishness, she stepped outside and onto the bare ground in front of the cabin. "You ain't seen nothing yet," she said to the surrounding wildlife. She paused with her hands on her hips and drew a deep breath, then glanced down at her attire. The lace-trimmed chemise and pantalettes–or were they pantaloons?–were far less revealing than her usual tights and leotard.
"Get over it, Clarke." She reached over her head, then leaned far to each side, stretching her stiff muscles. Placing her palms flat on the ground, she felt the muscles at the back of her legs pull and elongate. Yes, exercise was just what she needed.
Sex is exercise.
No, Clarke. Get over it.
After stretching for several minutes, she started with some simple jumping jacks, then segued into a jazz routine she'd learned in class. The familiar music played through her head and she gradually gave herself over to her endorphins.
Time and place forgotten, Jackie worked hard. Stress became a distant memory and her body relished the familiar activity and the endorphin high. Her routine had been shot all to hell with this time travel gig, so anything familiar was a welcome change at this point.
A strange rhythm joined the music in her brain and she stopped abruptly to stare at the man seated on the front step. With a small drum wedged between his knees, Chief Byron gave her a toothless grin and an approving nod, and kept right on beating his drum.
Oh. My. God. The old man must think this was some sort of rain dance. Well, come to think of it, aerobic exercise was a ritual. And she wasn't doing anything wrong, after all.
Feeling her flesh begin to cool and her pulse rate slow too soon, Jackie gave a shrug and returned to her
workout, adjusting her mental music to match Chief Byron's. Several more minutes passed before she'd had enough. Reaching over her head, she stretched, then bent forward to repeat the process. She didn't want to wake up sore in the morning in any century.
"Thanks, Chief," she said, straightening. "You play a mean tom–"
The direction of the chief's gaze made Jackie bite off her words as she swung around to survey her unexpected audience. Todd stood by the paddock fence, his eyes wide and jaw slack. Allowing her gaze to drift slightly to the right, Jackie found a much longer pair of legs and followed them up past slim hips, taut abdomen, broad chest, sinewy neck.... Cole's jaw twitched and his lips were set in a thin line, with his nostrils slightly flared, his eyes narrowed to twin slits of disapproval.
Jackie's mouth went dry and she shoved her hair back from her face. "Hey, guys." She waggled her fingers in their direction, refusing to be embarrassed. These Victorian men needed some enlightenment. And then some.
"What the devil are you...?" Cole walked slowly toward her, his son at his side. "What...?" Again, he faltered, unable or unwilling to complete his question.
Damn. He probably thinks this is part of Lolita's act. Jackie gave a shrug and kept smiling, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "Exercising, and Chief Byron was good enough to play my, uh, accompaniment."
Cole shook his head, but his gaze dropped to her breasts. Uh-oh. Jackie realized the thin cotton chemise probably outlined every detail.
She held her breath and her nipples stiffened in response to the heat of his gaze. Liquid fire slowly unfurled through her core like tendrils of smoke.
Jeez, she wanted this man. A shiver of anticipation skittered down her spine. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath, and Cole seemed mesmerized.
Couldn't she set aside her emotions and morals just this once for a wild, lurid affair with Cole Morrison? Maybe it would be good for her to let go, to forget about her heart and her hang-ups. What would it take out of her to seduce this man? Regardless of what the future held, she knew one thing for certain.
She'd go crazy if she didn't have Cole Morrison at least once–she licked her lips–or twice.
