A Moment in Time (20 page)

      
She punched him on the arm.
 
"Cad."

      
"Ow."
 
He rubbed the offended spot, though it didn't hurt at all.
 
"I believe your real name is Jacqueline Clarke, as you say, but that Lolita Belle is your stage name."

      
She stared at him in silence for several moments.
 
"And if I tell you I never have been Lolita...?"

      
He remained silent, remembering the miners' reaction to her performance, her wanton pose wearing nothing but feathers for that French painter, and the saloon-owners' battle for her appearance at their establishments.
 
Slowly, he shook his head.
 
"I want to believe you, but I can't."

      
To his amazement, she didn't argue with him, but her lips narrowed and her jaw twitched slightly.
 
After a moment of silence, she tilted her head back and looked up at the sky again.
 
"It sure is pretty up here."

      
"It is when you're above ground."

      
"You don't have to mine anymore," she said matter-of-factly.
 
"You have all that g–"

      
"Shhh."
 
He gnashed his teeth in frustration.
 
"Beg pardon.
 
I really don't have any right to ask you to keep my secret after what...after...but I don't want–"

      
"I know, I know."
 
She sighed again.
 
"Sorry."

      
He couldn't suppress a chuckle.
 
"Thanks, but it sure isn't your fault.
 
I'm the one who said I'm sorry...and I meant it."

      
"Apology almost accepted."
 
She laughed quietly, facing him again.
 
"Brother, you don't know the half of it, though.
 
Men started doing me dirty long before you ever came into the picture."

      
Guilt pressed down on him again.
 
He
had
done her dirty.
 
"Maybe someday you'd like to tell me about it."
 

      
She shrugged.
 
"I might, but if you refuse to believe I'm not Lolita, then you sure wouldn't buy the rest of my crazy story."
 
She shook her head.
 
"Half the time I can't believe it myself."

      
"Truth is stranger than fiction?"

      
She laughed again.
 
"That's for sure.
 
In fact, I was reading a story sort of like what's happening to me just before..."

      
"Before what?"

      
"Ah, never mind."

      
He felt her withdrawal as surely as if she'd slammed a door in his face.
 
There was a lot more behind the story of Lolita Belle than anyone knew–of that he was certain.
 

      
"I might tell you about my adventure, Cole," she said quietly, turning to stare at him, "but only if you tell me what made a nice guy like you willing to do Merriweather's dirty work."

      
"Easy enough."
 
His gut clenched and burned.
 
"I made someone a promise, and I need money to keep it."

      
She looked out at something only she could see.
 
"And I made
myself
a promise to get revenge against somebody...and I aim to keep that promise."

      
He studied her profile, wondering if she also wanted revenge against him.
 
No, that didn't make sense after the way she'd bartered with Elwood Merriweather and left Lost Creek with him willingly.
 
There was something more she wasn't saying.

      
"Enough about that."
 
She pivoted toward him again.
 
"What sort of things should I teach Todd while I'm here?" she asked, obviously wanting to change the subject.
 

      
"Everything, I reckon."
 
Cole rammed his hands into his pockets again, trying not to think about his transgressions.
 
"He can read and cipher some, but he needs to learn to talk properly, and I want him to read well enough to really enjoy books."

      
"Yeah, I noticed that collection of yours in there," she said.
 
"You read all those books, Cole?"

      
He smiled sadly.
 
"Many, many times."

      
"'Still waters run deep,'" she murmured.

      
He faced her, catching the glimmer of a smile in her moonlit eyes.
 
"I guess you could say that."

      
"So you aren't really planning to dig in that hole of yours anymore, are you?"

      
"You mean the mine?"
 
He shrugged.
 
"I have to."

      
"But what about the...you know?"

      
"I can't count on that until I have it," he said, pulling his hands out of his pockets to grip the porch rail.
 
"Something could go wrong, and my son's future is too important."

      
"As long as he has a father like you, he'll do fine."
 
She reached over and covered his hand with hers.
 
"Something could go wrong, Cole.
 
You're right about that.
 
If it does, I want you to know I'm sorry, though I still don't know exactly why you need the money so badly."

      
Why would she be sorry?
 
He was the kidnapper, the desperate man in search of a futile dream.
 
He sighed, but warmth crept up his arm from her touch, and his gaze dropped to where her silvery white hand covered his darker one.
 
"I want to trust you.
 
I really want to."

      
"I won't run away, Cole," she whispered.
 
"I promise."

      
"I appreciate that, though I don't understand it."

      
"There's a lot about me you can't possibly understand, cowboy."
 
She eased her hand away and hugged herself as if chilled.

      
"You cold?"

      
"Not on the outside."

      
Something swelled in his chest and he ached to reach out to her, to pull her small frame against his chest, to hold her and protect her against the whole world.
 
But he knew if he touched her now it wouldn't stop there.
 
He burned to taste her lips, to feel the softness of her body pressed against his, to lose himself in her womanly flesh.
 

      
The pressure in his chest turned south within the span of two heartbeats.
 
His blood rushed to his groin, tugging until he was hard enough to dig ore.
 
Raking his fingers through his hair, he drew a deep breath and released it very slowly.

      
"Well, if you're determined to work in your mine, then Todd and I will be fine here."
 
Her voice sounded strained, filled with something undefinable.
 
"We'll start reading some of those books for starters."

      
"Good."
 
He drew another deep breath, regaining some semblance of self-control.
 
"And thanks."

      
"Don't thank me, because I'm going to ask you for a favor later.
 
Consider yourself warned."

      
He stared at her, wondering what favor she could possibly ask of him.
 
Her freedom?
 
She could've taken that many times since reaching the cabin, if she'd wanted.
 
"What is it?"

      
"Later, cowboy.
 
For now, you've given me a lot to think about," she whispered.
 
"Thanks."
      

      
She'd given him one hell of a lot to think about, too.
 
And want.
 
His eyes dipped to his oversized shirt that still covered her slender body.
 
Hungrily, his gaze settled on the open collar just above her full bosom.
 
This woman would definitely leave a permanent mark on the Morrison males.
 

      
He only hoped he lived to tell about it.

* * *

      
By the time Jackie climbed the ladder to the loft, exhaustion made her legs feel like they weighed a thousand pounds apiece.
 
Garbed in a soft cotton gown that had belonged to Cole's wife, she flopped onto the narrow bunk shoved against the wall beneath the eves.

      
And stared at the ceiling.

      
When Cole had offered her his dead wife's clothing, she'd been unable to refuse.
 
She couldn't very well traipse around in his shirt and her filthy jeans indefinitely.
 

      
Not indefinitely–temporary, Clarke.
 
This is only temporary.

      
Somehow, she would determine a way to return to her own time, to indoor plumbing, and to freezers full of ice cream and ice makers.
 
This primitive Americana scene was for people made of tougher stuff.

      
And why was she being so damned cooperative with Cole Morrison?
 
This was nuts.
 
Okay, she knew why–she was attracted to her kidnapper.
 
Talk about shallow.
 
Obviously, she still hadn't learned her lesson about men.
 

      
But Cole Morrison wasn't Blade Smith.
 
Thank God.
 
Her eyes drifted closed on a sigh, but sleep continued to elude her.
 
Vivid memories of Blade, of her stupidity, and of her great-aunt's constant criticism made her tense and very much awake.

      
Before being thrown back in time, she'd vowed to exact revenge against Blade.
 
Sitting up in bed, she clenched her fists in her lap.
 
Dammit, she still wanted that revenge.
 
Blade had it coming, too.

      
A chill chased itself down her spine as she remembered that man in the Silver Spur.
 
He couldn't have been Blade.
 
Maybe an ancestor?
 
But if he wasn't Blade, why had he stared at her so intently?
 

      
As if he knew her?

      
"Cut the crap, Clarke," she muttered, falling back on the bunk.
 
The man might very well be one of Blade's ancestors.
 
After all, he had claimed the cabin where he abandoned her belonged to his family.
 
However, there was no way his ancestors could know about her.

      
Unless he was here, too.

      
Impossible.
 
But until she experienced time travel up close and personal, she'd believed it impossible, too.
 
If she was here, then couldn't Blade be, too?

      
"No," she whispered, dragging her hands over her face, hoping to stop the crazy thoughts.
 

      
She had to concentrate on facts and on her present present.
 
Fact number one: Cole planned to return her to Lost Creek for her opening night.

      
Fact number two: She had to get back to Devil's Gulch and her portrait sitting.

      
But how?
 
She'd think about that later.

      
Fact number three: Cole Morrison expected her to stay here and play teacher to his adorable little boy.
 
And she was actually looking forward to it.
 

      
Sucker.

      
Fact number four: If the real Lolita showed up before her opening night or her portrait was completed, she was up Shit Creek without a paddle.
 
Plus, Cole wouldn't get paid, and for some crazy reason, she wanted him to have the promised gold.
 
Furthermore, once he learned she really wasn't Lolita, he'd have no more reason to keep her under his roof.
 
She'd be homeless in a strange place and an even stranger time.

      
Damn.

      
She heard Cole close the door, and a scraping sound she couldn't identify followed.
 
He was probably doing something to the fireplace.
 
After a few moments, the scent of wood smoke drifted up to the loft.
 
She heard the rustle of fabric as he undressed, then he blew out the lamp.