by Deb Stover
She took a long drink of tepid water, easing the burning sensation. Finally, she passed it back to him and forced herself to stand. Facing the creep, she asked, "Why did you do this?"
Smith gave a quick shrug. "Gold."
"But why did you go to the cabin the other day if you planned to do this all along?"
His eyes twinkled and he rubbed his chin, then tapped his head with his index finger. "Pretty smart, huh?"
Jackie barely managed to suppress her laughter. "Gee, I guess I'm not as smart as you," she said, rotating her aching shoulders and making sure both arms still worked. "I don't get it."
"First of all, I had to make sure you were still there."
Who? Jackie or Lolita? "Ah, my disguise didn't work, huh?" She flashed him a grin, hoping to disarm the thug.
"Well, when I saw you at the Silver Spur, I wasn't sure you were really you. I couldn't hardly believe it when Merriweather told me." Chuckling, he scratched his head and adjusted his hat. "Then I went back to Devil's Gulch and told old Goodfellow about the woman I'd seen–though I didn't tell him where. There aren't many women in these parts with hair that matches that particular description."
Was it Jackie's imagination, or was Rock's speech improving and his accent waning?
"Goodfellow offered me a fortune to bring you to him."
Good old Rupert. "How sweet of him." Jackie sighed and held her hands out to her sides. "So he offered the gold you told me about for my, uh, safe return. Is that it?"
"That's it."
"I still don't understand why you told me to give Cole–I mean, Morrison–that message."
Smith leaned closer and said, "See, that's the smart part."
"Uh, right." Jackie shook her head slowly, wondering how hard Rock's father had dropped him.
"Fooled you, huh?"
She gave a nervous laugh. "Yeah, I'd say fool is the right word for it."
"You still don't get it. Do you?"
A chill swept through her and she held her breath, waiting. "No, I don't get it."
"See, I figured you would hightail it down to claim Goodfellow's gold for yourself, so I waited and watched for you to start down the pass."
"But I didn't."
"So I grabbed you. Case closed."
Case closed? He didn't sound like a man of the nineteenth century now. "I guess you're smarter than you look then." She had to play along until she could be sure.
Smith straightened, practically preening his feathers. "You might be a little on the mouthy side, but I wouldn't mind having a little fun before we head to town." He waggled his eyebrows. "Know what I mean?"
Jackie's throat tightened and her belly revolted. "No, I'm afraid you're way too smart for me."
He moved closer and trailed his fingertip along the side of her neck to the top of her neckline. "You know, have a little fun."
Jackie swallowed the bile rising in her throat and drew a deep breath. "No, we'd better not," she said, scanning her limited mental database of historical terms. "I've had the...the pox."
He threw his head back and roared. Obviously, being overheard wasn't high on his list of worries now.
"Then I guess we'll go to town." He inclined his head toward her horse. "Saddle up."
She glanced over her shoulder. "I need to, uh..." She aimed a thumb over her shoulder.
He shook his head slowly. "No way. I'm not letting you out of my sight," he said. "Ma'am." He tipped his hat again and flashed a dazzling smile.
How many personalities did this guy have lurking behind his pretty face? Just like Blade. Jackie lifted her chin a notch and gathered her skirt into her hand. "Very well," she said with as much dignity as she could muster. "I hope the horse won't object when I pee my pants."
Smith chuckled and boosted her into the saddle. "The horse won't notice and neither will I." His smile held a warning. "You're the one who'll have to sit in it."
In that moment, Jackie realized the guy'd been playing dumb all along. I'll bet his name isn't really Rock. Then another thought made her look harder at his finely chiseled features, his glossy black hair and obsidian eyes.
Was he Blade? Had the dumb East Texan thing been another of Blade's cons? She had no idea how he could have gone back in time with her, but she intended to find out who he was once and for all.
He tied her hands to the saddlehorn again, but left the gag off. At least that was progress. As he strolled toward his own horse and swung his leg over the beast's back, Jackie watched the way he moved.
Graceful–too graceful. Like Blade. But could Blade ride a horse? She scanned her memory, then remembered something about an uncle of Blade's who owned a dude ranch somewhere. Of course, that might have been a lie, too. Still...
A dull roar filled her ears as he led her horse down into town. She remained silent, studying the angle of his shoulders, the way he moved his head, everything about him.
She couldn't be sure, but her unease mutated until she realized she could probably never be happy knowing Blade might be running around loose in the same century. She had to know.
A plan formed in her mind and she put things into perspective. She'd test him. That was it. But she knew better than to do it out here where there was no one to witness anything he chose to do to her. She'd wait until they were at the Gold Mine Saloon.
But what would she do if this Smith really was Blade? More importantly, what would he do to her if she discovered his identity?
She'd face that if and when it happened. Meanwhile, she had to face Goodfellow, Dottie, and the Brothers Grime again.
The streets of Devil's Gulch were deserted, but smoke rose from chimneys and lights filled windows in the pre-dawn hour. Soon, the town would bustle with activity, as it had the morning she'd first met Cole.
Cole. Her heart squeezed and she prayed he wouldn't assume she'd left him under her own power. Even though he hadn't said the words to her, she wished now that she'd told him she loved him.
Great-Aunt Pearl's oppression had a grip on her even here. No more. From now on, Jackie Clarke would let her feelings be known.
I love you, big guy. Believe that. Trust me, Cole. Trust me.
* * *
Cole combed the mountainside, left no boulder, no tree, nothing unsearched near the cabin. He returned to the cabin shortly after dawn, wanting to be there when Todd awoke. The boy realized immediately that something was terribly wrong.
Jackie was gone and the miniature grown-up immediately seized control of Todd again. Cole saw it...and hated it.
No matter what it took, he'd find Jackie and bring her back. He loved her and wanted her, no matter who or what she was or had been. And his son needed her.
They barely touched their breakfast as Cole explained to his son that Miss Jackie was missing, and he needed to find her. A knock sounded at the door and Cole tipped over the bench in his haste to answer it, but it wasn't Jackie.
Chief Byron stood framed in the open door wearing a frown. "I couldn't sleep," the old Indian said, stepping into the cabin and glancing around, then up the ladder. "She is gone."
"How did you know?"
"A dream."
Cole nodded, then glanced at his son. The boy looked so solemn. "I'm going to find her and bring her back, Todd."
The chief met and held Cole's gaze, a knowing look in his wise old eyes. "Yes," he said, then looked at Todd. "We will finish the book about the boy called Huck today. Then we will tell Woman with Fire in Her Hair–Miss Jackie–about it when she returns."
Todd brightened and nodded, but Cole saw the glitter of unshed tears in the boy's eyes.
Clenching his fist, Cole vowed to accomplish two things before the sun set today. He would find Jackie, and he would make the bastard who'd taken her pay.
Because he knew–knew it in his heart, his soul, and his gut–that she hadn't left here willingly. Someone had stolen her away. Just as he had not long ago.
But that had been fate. This was simply wrong.
And God help t
he bastard if he's harmed her in any way.
"Thank you, Chief," Cole said, struggling to keep his voice calm. "I'd appreciate it if you'd stay here, just in case she comes back before I find her."
"A herd of buffalo cannot move me from this place until I see her with these old eyes."
Cole squeezed the old man's shoulder as he righted the bench and took a seat across the table from Todd. The old man understood things no white man could possibly know. It was uncanny, and very welcome just now.
"I saw...marks on the earth," the chief said. "A struggle."
"Show me."
Cole followed the old Indian outside and saw the scuff marks it had been too dark for him to find earlier. "Somebody kidnapped her," he whispered, swallowing hard, then returning to the cabin with the chief.
Cole smashed his hat onto his head and strode toward the door, then hesitated. Gnashing his teeth, he retrieved his rifle and ammunition. He felt his son's gaze on him and met it.
"I'll be careful." He swallowed the lump in his throat and Todd flew into his arms. Cole rubbed the boy's shoulder and dragged in a shaky breath. "I promise."
Todd nodded against Cole's side. "Bring her home, Pa," the boy said.
Cole forcibly quelled his rising fear. Unable to speak, he nodded again, then wrenched open the door and stepped into the early morning light, closing the door behind him.
He glanced at the horizon, wondering which way to go. Common sense said he'd find her one of two places–the Gold Mine Saloon in Devil's Gulch or the Silver Spur in Lost Creek.
But where should he look first?
Saddling Ruth, he weighed his options. Merriweather was expecting Cole to deliver Lolita. It stood to reason that Goodfellow would be turning the district topsy-turvy looking for her.
Cole led the mare into the sunlight and stroked her muzzle. Then he swung himself into the saddle and headed down the pass.
Toward Devil's Gulch.
* * *
After Smith pounded on the door for several minutes, the front door of the Gold Mine Saloon swung open and Jackie grimaced, waggling her fingers at good old Rupert and Dottie. "Hey, long time, no see."
They both surveyed her groggily, as the saloon wasn't due to open for hours yet. "What the hell?" Rupert finally asked, rubbing his eyes. He wore a silk robe tied at his waist, and Jackie strongly suspected the sawed off, cocky runt wore nothing underneath.
Gag me–er, careful what you ask for, Clarke.
Dottie looked like she'd been up all night–entertaining Rupert, no doubt–without a hair out of place and her fake beauty mark glued on the opposite cheek from where Jackie'd first seen it. Jackie made a mental note to ask the buxom blonde about her migrating beauty mark.
"Well, I'll be damned," Rupert said, shoving the proverbial unlit cigar into the corner of his mouth.
Criminy, did the man sleep with that stupid cigar in his mouth? Suppressing a shudder, Jackie batted her lashes and forced a smile. "Top o' the mornin' to ye, Mr. Goodfellow."
"It's the middle of the damned night," he said, holding the lamp higher and staring at Jackie as he removed his cigar. "So you found her." He turned his attention to Smith, though the cigar still pointed at Jackie.
"Yep," Smith said.
Every time Jackie glanced at her captor, he looked more
like Blade. Damn. She ran her fingers through her tangled hair and gulped.
It didn't change Smith's appearance one bit.
Rupert grinned, sending Jackie to new and dangerous levels of nausea. "Well, well, well, so the famous Lolita has returned, but still without all her attributes, I see." He heaved a mournful sigh.
Jackie shrugged, deciding to play along. For now.
"Dottie, show her to her room."
Jackie arched an eyebrow in the blonde's general direction. "I know the way."
Dottie yawned.
"Very well, tell Zeb to guard her door." Rupert shoved the cigar back into his mouth. "With his miserable little life."
Jackie suspected the lowly Zeb was more honorable than the high and mighty Rupert P. Goodfellow. And neither of them could hold a candle to Cole Morrison. She closed her eyes, praying again that he would believe in her enough to search.
She headed toward the stairs–those same stairs she'd been afraid to ascend in her time. No, she decided, now was her time. Get used to it, Clarke. That other life was a distant memory.
She glanced back over her shoulder, her hand on the bannister. Except for Blade. Pausing, she met his gaze and a slow, insidious smile spread across his handsome face.
Dammit, he is Blade. Isn't he?
Her flesh turned clammy as she stood staring at him, and listening to the exchange between Smith and Goodfellow.
"I'll take that gold now and be on my way," Smith said, no longer looking at Jackie.
"Let's be civilized about this," the weasly saloon-owner said. "Dottie will show you to a room and we'll do business at a decent hour."
"Right now's decent enough for me." Smith hooked his thumb through a belt loop and cocked his hip at an angle.
Just like Blade.
Damn. Jackie just wanted him to go away and leave her alone. Getting revenge didn't even matter anymore. Why the hell had he followed her? She held her breath, reminding herself how ridiculous she was being. First of all, she had no way of knowing for certain that this guy was really Blade.
She looked again and he met her gaze. She narrowed her eyes, trying to read his mind, wondering, needing confirmation.
He winked.
Oh, God. All right, he was Blade and he obviously wanted to rub it in. Her belly burned and her heart slammed into it–not a good feeling by any stretch.
"Changed my mind, Rupert, old boy," Smith said. "I'll take that room." He stared at Jackie, who still stood on the stairs. "Put it real close to Lolita's."
"In your dreams, slime ball," she said, climbing the stairs to the hideous green velvet room and slamming the door.
Once inside, she leaned against the heavy door, willing her heartbeat to slow and her mind to function clearly. If she ever needed to use her head, it was now.
"All right, Clarke," she whispered, turning up the wick on the lamp, then pacing the room. "Think."
Someone tapped on the door. "I'll be right across the hall if you change your mind," Blade called through the door, chuckling.
She held her breath until she heard him walk away and close the door to his own room. If only she had a key for the lock. She'd never understand how she could've let that bastard touch her in the first place.
All she wanted now was Cole.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she caught a glimpse of herself in the gilded mirror occupying most of the opposite wall and walked slowly toward it. "Clarke, you look like hell."
But there was something else in her reflection that drew her. A clue. An idea. An inkling.
What the hell was it?
She whirled around and grabbed the lamp, placed it on the dressing table, then leaned forward to stare at her shocking reflection. Her sunburned nose was peeling, new freckles had appeared across her cheeks, and her lips were chapped.
"Lovely." Grimacing, she lifted a hand to the tangled mass of red curls.
And froze.
A wicked cackle rose from her diaphragm and she rushed to the wardrobe in the corner. She threw it open and selected the most demure gown in the Lolita collection and tossed it on the bed. A few moments later, she opened the door and a dozing Zeb fell into the room.
"What? Huh?" He scrambled to his feet, a dazed expression on his wrinkled face. "Miss Lolita."
Jackie flashed him what she hoped was a dazzling smile and touched his arm. He blushed. Perfect. "Zeb, how nice to see you again."
"It is?" Nonplused, he backed toward the open door. "I'll just get back to my post now, Miss Lolita. Ma'am."
"Don't be in such a hurry, Zeb," she said, touching his arm again. "I need a little favor."
His Adam's apple bobbed up and dow
n the length of his skinny neck. "A...a favor?"
"Yes, dear." She gave a mournful sigh. "I want you to fetch me a nice tub of hot water and..." She leaned close and whispered in his ear.
"N-now?" he croaked.
"Now, Zeb." She smiled again and he blushed. "Right now."
"B-but I ain't supposed to leave my post." His eyes jerked back and forth between her and the door. "Mr. Goodfellow will cut off my whiskey for sure."
Ah, poor Zeb. What he needs is a good alcohol treatment program.
"Lock me in, Zeb," she said, and his eyes widened. "I won't mind. Really. I just want a nice, warm bath soooo bad. But bring me those other items first, please?" She smiled and he looked like he might croak. That would be damned inconvenient.
"Sure thing, Miss Lolita." He bobbed his head and backed out the door, pulling it shut behind him.
Jackie laughed quietly to herself, then went to the door and pressed her ear against it. After a few minutes, she twisted the knob and it gave easily. The fool had forgotten to lock it.
Fine, she'd get her answers first. Slipping out the door, she crossed the hall to the room they'd given Blade and turned the knob without knocking. A brunette let out a mini shriek and pulled the sheet over her head.
"You can't keep your wick dry in any century," Jackie goaded, closing the door behind her. The girl in Blade's bed couldn't be a day over sixteen. "Jail bait, Blade? Tsk, tsk."
He chuckled and shrugged, reaching for the whiskey bottle on his nightstand. "You remembered how good it was between us and came back for more, babe?"
"Only in your wettest dreams." She folded her arms and leaned against the door. He hadn't denied his identity. Well, at least now she knew. "I just want to know one more thing, Blade."
"What?"
"How the hell did you get here?"
He sat up and the sheet slipped down, revealing his tattoos and rippling muscles. The guy was still a looker, but she'd take Cole over fifty Blades.
"That piece of shit you call a car died and I got lost in that frigging blizzard," he said, shaking his head. "I snuck in the back door of this place–" he looked around and snorted–"at least I think it was this place and saw you sitting there reading. It was warm and dry, so I hid behind the bar, figuring I'd, uh, surprise you in the morning. Next thing I knew, the place was on fire."
