A Moment in Time (17 page)

      
Heat crept up Cole's neck to his face.
 
The woman's personal life was none of his business, but for some blamed reason it bothered the hell out of him to think of her
being
with a lot of men.
 

      
She's a saloon singer.
 
She made her living by entertaining men.

      
Did she entertain them in other ways, too?

      
Dang it all.
 
He didn't want to know and it didn't–shouldn't–matter to him anyway.

      
And how the devil was Cole supposed to explain Miss Lolita to a nine-year-old-boy?
 
He slowed the horse as they rounded the final curve before the ground leveled out again.
 
The last thing in the world Cole wanted was for his son to know his father had stooped to kidnapping for a few gold nuggets.

      
More than just a few
.
 
The money Merriweather had promised him would be enough to allow him and Todd to leave Devil's Gulch and head for Oregon.
 
He'd probably have enough left to buy some land and a few hundred head of cattle before winter.

      
His spirits lifted.
 
The woman wasn't being harmed, after all, and she'd negotiated a respectable deal with old Merriweather herself.
 
Cole chuckled quietly, remembering how the miners had responded to that racket she called singing.
 
After that, Miss Lolita had been able to name her price.
 
And so she had.

      
Damned peculiar.
 
A man would either have to be deaf or starving for the sight
and
sound of a woman to enjoy Miss Lolita's voice.
 
She had a way about her, though.
 
His mother would've called it charm.
 
In fact, if not for the crazy red hair and her chosen profession, he suspected his mother would've liked her.
 

      
Actually, the more time he spent with her, the more
he
liked her.

      
"How much farther?" she asked, glancing back over her shoulder.

      
"Just up yonder."
 
He pointed up the sloping trail that led to his cabin, suddenly wary that someone might see them climbing the mountain.
 
The sun was nearly set and darkness bathed the lower valleys, but the higher they went, the lighter the sky.
 

      
Her hair was like a signal fire to anybody searching for her, and he'd be willing to bet money these mountains were crawling with men on the lookout for the famous Lolita Belle.
 
Without another thought, he yanked off his hat and put it on her head.

      
"Hey, why'd you do that?"

      
"Don't want anybody to recognize you."

      
She nodded and adjusted the hat's angle, tucking her hair up under it.
 
"There, better?"

      
She looked back and flashed him that big open smile of hers.
 
He caught his breath.
 
Without that dyed hair hanging around her face, she looked like a different woman.
 
Her eyes were large and expressive, fringed with thick, inky lashes.
 
Her lips were full and the color of rubies.
 
Beckoning.
 

      
Kissable.
 

      
Rein yourself in, Morrison
.
 
He'd definitely been too long without a woman.
 
She faced forward again and one red curl slipped from the back of the hat, helping him put things in perspective again.
 
She was a saloon singer who dyed her hair–not the kind of woman he could take up with even if he wanted to.

      
And the more he thought about her, the more he wanted to.

      
He recalled the way her womanly softness had filled his hand, with her dusky nipple peeking between his gloved fingers.
 
Tauntingly.
 
A powerful ache commenced between his legs.
 
Considering he was
behind
the saddle, one wrong move could cause him more physical distress than he'd known in a decade.
 
Of course, having this particular woman around day and night for three weeks was bound to cause him a passel more physical distress before this was finished.

      
"Are we there yet?" she asked again, turning enough to show her profile in the twilight.
 
"I need to, uh..."

      
He nodded, comprehending what she hadn't said.
 
"Just beyond that outcropping."
 

      
"Hot damn."

      
"Miss Lolita...?"

      
She sighed but didn't look at him.
 
"What?"

      
"I'd appreciate it if you'd watch your language and such while you're at my cabin."

      
She laughed quietly.
 
"You don't talk like a Sunday school teacher yourself, Morrison."

      
"Well, that's a fact," he said, grinning.
 
"But I do try to watch my language at home."

      
She half-turned again, arching a brow.
 
"Why?
 
I thought you lived alone."

      
He shook his head.
 
"My wife died a few years ago, but I have a son."

      
She twisted more, her eyes widening and her lips curving into another smile.
 
"Really?
 
That's great.
 
I always...wanted a child."

      
Cole fell silent as the cabin came into view.
 
Miss Lolita wanted a child?
 
She was full of surprises.
 
"I need your word, ma'am."
 
He brought Ruth to a stop on the rise just above the house.

      
"My word?"
 
She blinked, then her mouth formed a circle.
 
"Oh, right.
 
About my, uh, behavior.
 
Sure, I'll be good.
 
Very
good."

      
Fire ignited between Cole's legs and he drew a deep breath, then released it very slowly.
 
"I'll bet," he said gruffly, "but you know what I mean."

      
"Sorry.
 
I will watch my language and behavior while I'm at your cabin."
 
Her smile widened and she fluttered her lashes the way she had at Merriweather and the miners.
 

      
"Thank you.
 
I appreciate it."
 
Cole cleared his throat.

      
"Anything for you, big guy."

      
Liquid fire crept up his neck from his stiff collar and settled in both ears.
 
"Calling me that isn't exactly what I'd call behaving."

      
She winked.
 
"I'll be good.
 
Cross my heart."
 
She drew an imaginary X over her chest.
 
Between those tempting breasts...

      
He had to keep his mind, his hands, and his gaze off her bosom.
 
They were more enticing than any part of a woman's anatomy had a right to be.
 
Full.
 
Firm.
 
Perfect.

      
Enough, Morrison.
 
He wrenched his gaze from her chest to her face and realized she knew where he'd been looking.
 
From that devilish gleam in her eyes, he'd be willing to bet she'd read his thoughts, too.

      
Determined to bring those guilty thoughts under control, he cleared his throat again.
 
She'd promised to behave and, though he had no idea why, he trusted her.
 
Probably dangerous.
 
"Thanks."
 

      
She swung around and gasped just as the cabin came into clear focus.
 
"Oh, Cole, it's beautiful."

      
The breathy, feminine quality of her voice and easy use of his given name struck a chord deep within his soul.
 
His heart stuttered and skipped a beat.
 
"Elizabeth–my wife–worked real hard to make those flowers grow up here," he said quietly.
 
"Me and Todd have been carrying water to them ever since."

      
"That's a sweet tribute to her memory."
 
She gave a dreamy sigh–another contrast to her saloon singer persona.
 
"How old is Todd?"

      
"Nine.
 
Ten in August."

      
"He must miss his mother very much."

      
"Yeah."
 
Cole swallowed hard.
 
"We both do."

      
"I'm sorry."
 

      
"Me, too."
 
He brought Ruth to a stop again as he scanned the cabin for any sign of Todd.
 
"There's one more thing, Miss Lolita.
 
I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't say anything to the boy about...about..."

      
"About why and
how
I came to, uh, visit?"
 
She flashed him a crooked grin over her shoulder.
 
"No sweat, big guy.
 
I understand."

      
And, somehow, he knew she did.
 
Bemused by this vexing and perplexing creature, he swung his leg over the horse's rump and reached up to assist Miss Lolita's dismount.
 
"Thank you, ma'am."

      
She winced as he lowered her to the ground in front of him.
 
"Ouch."

      
"Beg pardon.
 
Did I hurt you?"

      
"No, but 'ma'am' makes me sound as old as this saddle makes my fanny feel, cowboy."

      
He chuckled quietly as she stood there rubbing her backside.
 
He tried not to think about how much he wanted to rub her backside for her.
 
Dangerous territory, Morrison.
 
"All right, Miss Lolita."
 

      
"Uh, how about calling me Ja–"

      
"Pa!"

      
Todd came rushing out the door, but skidded to a halt when he saw Miss Lolita.
 
"I...I was worried about you," he said to Cole, though his questioning gaze never left the strange woman.

      
"Sorry, Todd," Cole said.
 
"I was delayed in town."

      
Lantern light spilled out the open cabin door, framing the boy's lanky body.
 
Finally, Todd pointed at the woman.
 
"Who's she?"

      
"Hello, Todd," Miss Lolita said in a gentle voice.
 
"My name is Miss Clarke."
 
She stepped closer and extended her hand to the child.
 
"Your father brought me here to...to be your teacher for a while.
 
You may call me Miss Jackie."

      
Miss Jackie?
 
Teacher?
 
Cole coughed and mopped perspiration from the back of his neck.
 
What the hell was this woman up to now?
 
He couldn't imagine what she could possibly teach anybody–well, at least not a nine-year-old-boy.

      
"I don't need no teacher."
 
Todd's tone held more than a trace of skepticism.
 
"And Jackie's a man's name."

      
Like father, like son.
 
A grin tugged at the corners of Cole's mouth.
 
"Mind your manners."

      
"Jackie is short for Jacqueline," she said, still waiting for Todd to take her hand.

      
The boy shook her hand at last, tilting his head to one side as he continued to stare.
 
"You don't look like no teacher.
 
You're wearing men's clothes, too."

      
Maybe she didn't look like a teacher, but Cole had to admit she sure sounded like one.
 
Encouraged, he listened in silence to his son and his new "teacher."

      
"I believe you meant to say I don't look like
a
teacher," she corrected.
 
"Double negatives are not allowed."
 
Todd grimaced and she ruffled his hair.
 
"And I think you could stand a trim, too."