A Moment in Time (30 page)

      
"I was
exercising
."
 
Jackie's cheeks warmed and she grabbed the post beside the steps, ready to vault over the railing if the chief didn't clear the steps for her retreat.
 
But another part of her squared her shoulders and stood her ground.
 
"There's nothing indecent about it, Cole Morrison, so–"

      
"Oh,
really
?"
 
He quirked a brow.

      
"Really."
 
She put her fists on her hips and glowered.

      
"The dance, Pale Eyes," Chief Byron repeated, rising to stand beside Jackie, his drum clutched under his arm.
 
"You understand."

      
"No, Chief, I don't understand much of anything these days."
 
Cole barked a derisive laugh and raked his fingers through his hair.
 
"Why don't you enlighten me?"

      
Chief Byron straightened, his chin high and his expression deadly serious.
 
"Woman with hair like fire was doing her tribal mating dance."

      
Jackie choked.
 
Mating dance?
 
And what tribe did he think she belonged to–the Redheaded Floozies?
 
Sheesh.

      
Cole's face turned so red it was nearly purple.
 
Todd's eyes widened even more.

      
The chief pointed one bony finger at Cole and said, "For you."

      
All the air rushed out of Jackie's lungs and she nudged past the chief and ran inside.
 
She grabbed her dress and pulled it on, her hands trembling.

      
The thought of "mating" with Cole Morrison undid all the good her exercise had done.

      
Another type of exercise would be far more satisfying about now.

      
Clarke, you're in
major
trouble.

* * *

      
Somehow, Cole managed to sit at the table for a cold dinner with a now fully clothed Lolita-Jackie, his son, and Chief Byron.
 
Stunned silence had been their only response to the chief's description of Lolita-Jackie's dance.

      
Mating dance, my ass.

      
Of course, his ass wasn't the part of him that had responded to her little performance.
 
What in the hell had she been trying to prove, parading around outside in her unmentionables?
 
Even if she looked damn good in her unmentionables.

      
Remembering the sight of her pert bosom outlined beneath clinging white cotton made Cole's throat close too soon around a lump of cornbread and he washed it down with lukewarm coffee.
 
Since he and Todd had been gone all morning, no one had prepared anything for their mid-day meal.
 
Cole peered at the woman who'd occupied his mind far too much in the last few days as he spooned honey onto cold cornbread.
 
She probably couldn't cook anyway.

      
A woman like Lolita didn't have to cook.
 
He took a vicious bite of cornbread and managed to find the edge of his tongue, too.
 
"Shit."

      
"Now who has a potty mouth?" Lolita-Jackie asked tauntingly.
 

      
Todd and Chief Byron both snickered, but a glower from Cole shut them both up and he set aside his cornbread, his appetite gone.
 
"I apologize for my language," he said stiffly, reaching for his cup again.
 
"I'll be more careful in the future."

      
Lolita-Jackie's eyes twinkled mischievously.
 
A second later, something brushed against his ankle.
 
And again.
 
He started to look under the table to see if a critter had found its way into the cabin, but the expression on Lolita-Jackie's face stayed him.
 
He swallowed hard and an inferno settled right between his legs.

      
The critter was a woman with flame-red hair.

      
Judging from his body's response, she might have been rubbing another appendage.
 
One a little higher and a whole lot harder.

      
She was killing him.
 
Little by little, she was wearing him down to a poor excuse for a man who couldn't think beyond his privates.
 
She worked her toe beneath the edge of his dungarees and found the top of his boot, then bare skin.

      
Time ceased.
 
His privates throbbed.
 
Any second now, the buttons at his fly would give and shoot across the room like stray bullets.
 
Then everybody'd see his sorry state.

      
Pitiful, Morrison.
 
Just pitiful.

      
Sweat formed all over his body.
 
A breeze wafted through the open door.
 
He shuddered and raked his fingers through his hair.
 
The falls were calling to him again.
 
Screaming his name.

      
Lolita-Jackie stroked the inside of his calf with her toe, sending rivulets of warmth up his leg to fortify his aroused state.
 
Lord help him, but he didn't need any fortification.
 
He needed to break a commandment real damned fast.
 
Fornication
–not fortification.
 
He needed a woman.

      
He met her gaze and she licked her lips.

      
God help him, but not just any woman.
 
Her.
 
Only her.

      
Dangerous thinking, Morrison.
 
His gut clenched and he drew a shaky breath.
 
"I need some air."
 
He slid off the bench and stood, trying to ignore the nagging throb as the seams and buttons at his fly gouged his eager flesh.

      
"You okay, Pa?"

      
"Yeah," he lied.
 
He walked slowly and grabbed his hat.
 
"I'm going to the mine.
 
Be back before dark."

      
"But I thought you weren't going today," Lolita-Jackie said, her voice too pretty.
 
Too seductive.
 
Too...
too
.

      
"I know what I said."
 
He didn't look back, nor did he have any intention of going to the mine.
 
He had a date with a waterfall, and at the rate he was going, he'd be permanently waterlogged.
 
"A man's got a right to change his mind.
 
Besides, I need to go."

      
And
that
was no lie.

      
Shoving his hat onto his head, he trudged out the door and toward the trail leading to the mine.
 
He'd keep right on walking, though, until he found that icy waterfall.
 
Another shudder rippled through him as the mountain air dried the sweat from his skin.
 
He drew deep gulps of fresh air, and by the time he reached the falls, he felt almost in control again.
 
Almost.

      
He stripped and placed his clothes and boots neatly on the boulder where he and Todd had sat this morning.
 
Stonily, he marched into the water's steady flow and gasped as the icy sting met his bare skin.

      
This constant state of arousal and deliberately freezing himself couldn't be good for a man.
 
It violated the laws of nature.
 
Man was supposed to go forth and be fruitful.
 
Propagate the species.
 
Sow his wild oats.

      
Shit.

      
He stood with the water pouring over his head and down the length of his body, his arms braced against the sheer rock wall behind the falls.
 
Motionless, he welcomed the abatement of his lustful side.

      
His fingers and toes tingled, and he knew better than to stay in the near-freezing water any longer.
 
He'd warm himself in the sun, then dress after his skin dried.
 
Maybe he'd douse himself another time before he dressed.
 
It was worth a try if it would help keep these constant urges under control a mite longer.

      
He sat naked on the boulder beside his clothing, confident of his privacy.
 
Farther downstream where the water met a beaver dam, he would've had many visitors, but all of the four-legged variety.
 
Here only an occasional bird flew overhead.
 
He was completely alone.

      
The sun warmed his skin despite the coolness of the breeze.
 
The scent of pine mingled with the air and tickled his senses.
 
What a glorious day.
 
He should have brought his journal along, but he'd been too danged desperate to think straight.

      
Maybe if he spent some time jotting down his feelings, he might be more successful at combatting his crude urges.
 
Then again, if he wrote down all the thoughts coursing through his mind, the words wouldn't be fit for anyone to read.
 
Especially his son.
 
No, that wasn't a good idea, since Todd loved to read Cole's stories.

      
A real man didn't sit around sunning himself when he should be working.
 
Shame slithered through him.
 
He never would have wasted a day like this before Lolita-Jackie came into his life.
 
No sirree.

      
"Enough lazing around, Morrison," he muttered, rising and stretching.
 
The sun had made him drowsy and dulled his senses, but he knew what would fix that straightaway and headed for the water again.

      
His dash into the frigid water was different this time–less desperate and more playful.
 
He hooted like Todd had this morning, and lifted his face up to let the water revive him.
 
No trace of his sun-induced lethargy remained.

      
It was too late for him to accomplish much at the mine now, but there were some chores he could do at home.
 
Outside.
 
Away from Lolita-Jackie.

      
The image of her flushed face, dishevelled hair, and slender curves flashed through his mind, but he forcibly banished them.
 
No more of that.
 
He had plans to make for the future.
 
At last.

      
He hooted again and raised both hands in the air, turning slowly in the water.
 
They were going to Oregon.
 
The dream he and Elizabeth had planned would happen.
 
He closed his eyes for a moment, wishing she could be here to share this, but he figured she knew somehow.

      
But he sure as hell hoped she didn't know about the kidnapping.
 
Or Lolita-Jackie...

      
Cole winced, pushing the thought aside.
 
He couldn't undo what had been done.
 
Live with it, Morrison.
 
Everything would be all right as soon as he had Todd out of Colorado and on the road to Oregon.
 
Then, Cole could leave his short-lived crime spree behind.

      
And Lolita Belle.

      
His gut clenched as he stood where the water barely hit one arm and his hip, thinking.
 
He wouldn't miss Lolita, but Todd's "Miss Jackie" was another matter.
 
Cole's Lolita-Jackie...

      
No, not his.

      
He turned toward the water again, dousing himself thoroughly and expelling such thoughts.
 
Think about the future.

      
Since Elizabeth's death, he hadn't even opened the book they'd bought about Oregon.
 
Now was the time.
 
He'd haul out that book and show Todd the illustrations he and the boy's mother had dreamed over for years.

      
Whistling, Cole stepped out of the water's flow and shook himself like a wet dog, droplets flying from his hair.
 
He wiped his eyes until his vision cleared, then turned toward where he'd left his clothes.

      
And froze.

      
Lolita-Jackie stood beside the boulder wearing a prim and proper brown dress.
 
Cole couldn't breathe.
 
All he could do was count the buttons at the front of her basque, one at a time, pondering what lay hidden behind them.