A Moment in Time (11 page)

      
Right on top of Jackie's T-shirt and the velvet robe.

      
"Come on," the kidnapper ordered.
 
"Now."

      
Jackie looked down at the unconscious painter, and, more importantly, at the edge of her ugly dark green T-shirt.
 
"My clothes."
 
She pointed ineffectively with her left hand, but the kidnapper seemed indifferent to her request.

      
Henri moaned, and Jackie found the kidnapper's gloved hand around her upper arm, feathers and all.
 
He propelled her out the door and into the bright sunlight, in all her half-naked glory.

      
"My clothes," she repeated, but found herself slung unceremoniously onto a horse.
 
A horse?
 
She didn't know how to ride a horse.
 
All thoughts of clothes and time travel fled in light of more urgent matters.

      
Like survival.

      
A second later, the kidnapper shoved his rifle into a slot on the side of his saddle and swung himself up behind her.
 
He reached around Jackie and grabbed the reins, snapped them once and did something with his feet to launch the horse.

      
"Noooooooo."
 
Jackie clung to the saddlehorn and gasped for breath, no longer holding the boa.
 
It flapped in the breeze around her and her captor.

      
"Hold those damned feathers before you spook the horse," he said in her ear.

      
Suddenly aware of his proximity and her monstrous vulnerability, Jackie quieted and gathered the feathers closer, tucking the ends under her inner thighs to secure them across her chest.
 
Without slowing its pace, the horse galloped up a rocky incline that didn't even resemble a trail.
 
Jackie could barely breathe and her skin was starting to itch where the feathers touched it.
 
The constant jarring motion of the horse was making her stomach queasy and she was just plain sick and tired of her adventure.

      
"I want to go home," she whispered between breaths.
 
"I've had all of this I'm going to put up with."

      
Nothing.
 
The least he could do was acknowledge her.
 

      
"I said, I want to go home."

      
Still nothing.

      
As the horse plunged over a fallen tree and down into a ravine, Jackie reached and passed her limit.
 
She sucked in a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let loose the loudest, shrillest scream of her life.

      
"Jesus, woman."
 
The horse balked and reared as the kidnapper pulled on the reins, trying to calm the beast.
 
"Hush, you're spooking my mare."

      
She knew it was risky–well, more than risky–but rather than listen to reason, Jackie sucked in yet another breath and screamed even louder.

      
The horse reared again, pawing the air high above them.
 
Jackie stared at the flailing hooves, almost ready to admit she might have pushed her luck just a little too far.

      
"Easy, girl," the kidnapper said in a soothing tone.

      
Was he speaking to
her
?
 

      
"That's a good old girl."

      
Old girl?
 
Jackie whipped her head around to stare at the man, whose face was still hidden from view.
 
When she opened her mouth to talk, he clamped his gloved hand over it.

      
Dust mingled with the scent of sweat and leather, nearly suffocating her.
 
His glittering eyes narrowed and he leaned very close.
 
"If you promise to be quiet, I'll let go.
 
If you don't..."

      
A shudder rippled through Jackie and she nodded, certain he intended to do something horrible to her at any moment.

      
"That's better," he said softly, moving his hand away from her mouth.
 
The kerchief twitched slightly.

      
The bastard is laughing.

      
Something inside her snapped.
 
How dare he?
 
Her life had been completely destroyed, and now the Sundance Kid, or whatever he called himself, was
laughing.
 

      
Rage, irrational but commanding, gripped her and she screamed even louder than before.
 
Her throat protested the harsh treatment, even as the surge of adrenalin made her feel superhuman.
 
Let him laugh, she thought.

      
The horse went berserk and Jackie clawed the air for something more substantial than ostrich feathers.
 
But this time, even she knew the beast wouldn't stop.

 
      
No, this time, the huge animal was going all the way over.

      
With two humans to cushion its fall.

Chapter 4

      
Cole tightened his grip around Lolita's waist and released the reins.
 
The mare had gone berserk and no amount of expert handling would make any difference.

      
Ruth's body twisted one way and Cole lunged the other, hauling the woman with him.
 
Preventing a fall now was impossible.
 
Hitting the ground hard would be one helluva lot better than being crushed to death.

      
He curled his body around Miss Lolita, praying he'd land beneath her and a safe distance from flailing hooves.
 
His shoulder slammed into a rock–pain pierced through his bones.
 
Ignoring the pain as best he could, he pulled the woman's slight form closer to his chest as his body absorbed the shock of their fall.

      
Pain shot down his arm, but he didn't loosen his grip.
 
The woman was just crazy enough to get them both killed, given half a chance.
 
And he had no intention of giving her that chance.

      
The horse's shrill neigh reminded Cole of the continued threat.
 
He looked up just in time to see Ruth's descent.
 
She seemed to hang in the air, frozen for several seconds.
 
Nothing could prevent the animal from going down.
 

      
Cole scrambled farther down the rocky incline, away from the shadow cast by the horse's broad back.
 
Everything seemed to slow almost to a standstill as he watched.
 

      
Cole yanked Miss Lolita from the path of destruction.
 
The mare landed on her side, grunting as she hit the rocks.
 
Her hooves shot a spray of rocks and dirt down the incline, stinging Cole's face and the side of his neck.
 
After a moment, Ruth fell silent.
 

      
Cole clenched his teeth, knowing he had to see if the mare was hurt as badly as he feared.
 
He couldn't–wouldn't–let her suffer.
 
"Damn," he muttered, feeling the woman tense against him.
 
"You all right?"

      
She nodded against his sore shoulder and lifted her head to look at him.
 
Dirt covered her face and she blew a feather from the corner of her mouth.
 
That wild red hair fell in disarray around her small face.
 
At this moment, she more closely resembled a woman raised by wolves–or maybe ostriches–than a famous saloon singer.
 

      
"I have to see about my horse," he said.

      
The sound of sliding rocks jerked Cole's attention back to the animal.
 
He held his breath as the graceful mare swung herself to a standing position with surprising ease.

      
"She's all right," the woman said, relief giving her voice a breathy quality that seeped right through Cole's bones.
 

      
Miss Lolita's gray eyes sparkled like silver in the sunlight.
 
The sight purloined his breath and his heart slammed against his ribs.
 
Other than to lift her head, she hadn't moved since their fall.
 
Still sprawled atop him, her hips were pressed intimately against his.

      
What the hell was he thinking?
 
Cole needed to put some distance between them damned fast.
 
"My mare," he repeated, reaching for Miss Lolita's shoulder to ease away her soft, appealing weight.
 

      
But the roundness that filled his palm was far too lush and pliable for a shoulder.
 
Surprised, he looked down to where his hand pressed against her round breast, her dusky brown nipple peeking tantalizingly between two of his gloved fingers.

      
Cole's throat went dry and lightning whipped through his body, straight to his groin.
 
Then his gaze met hers again, where he found shock and something more displayed in her silver eyes.
 
The something more made him wonder how she would taste.
 
How soft her flesh would feel beneath his lips...

      
The sun blazed down on them and sweat trickled along the long, pale column of her throat.
 
He followed the moisture's trail, feeling himself grow harder with each beat of his heart until the droplet vanished amid a riotous tangle of feathers.

      
He ached to remove his glove and close his hand around her breast, to roll her onto her back and cover her with his length, to press himself into her receptive body....

      
Deep.
 
Hard.
 
Fast.

      
"Copping a feel, cowboy?" she whispered, her gaze drifting toward his impudent hand.

      
Self-disgust and humiliation shot through him and he shifted his hand from her breast to her shoulder.
 
"Pardon."
 
Hellfire and damnation.
 
He'd been
way
too long without a woman.
 
Avoiding her gaze, he shifted her weight from him and rose, dragging her none too gently up beside him.
 
Careful not to look upon her nakedness again, he released her arm and drew one end of her feather wrap over her shoulder.
 

      
Though he'd only held her softness for a few startling moments, the feel of her was burned into his palm right through his leather glove.
 
The savageness of his sudden desire had shaken him senseless enough to make him forget far more important matters.