by Deb Stover
Now a notorious saloon singer wore Elizabeth's too-tight dress with ease. Maybe he should be offended, but he wasn't. Elizabeth would've been the first one to insist on giving the dress to someone in need. Considering Lolita-Jackie had come wearing only jeans and feathers, she definitely qualified.
Cole gazed up the row of buttons, lingering at the twin mounds outlined by the soft fabric. His mouth went dry as he recalled last night. He had held her, touched her, and had ached to taste as well. His gaze meandered farther up to the square neckline that exposed an expanse of creamy skin. Perspiration trickled down the sides of his neck and he licked his lips, remembering....
That kiss. Another few minutes and he would've taken her right there on the ground like an ani–
"You going to lie there staring at me all morning, Morrison?" She reached down and trailed her fingernail along the bottom of his foot.
Todd giggled and Cole jerked his foot to safety beneath the covers, rolling onto his side in one smooth motion. No need to let anybody see his typical morning randy state. Then again, she'd probably already noticed. With a sigh, he swung his legs to the floor, keeping the quilt bunched in his lap.
Squinting, he glanced up at her. "Mind giving a man a little privacy?"
She cocked one brow and pursed her lips. "You got something to hide, big guy?"
Todd giggled again from his seat at the table, obviously missing the dual meaning. Thank God. Cole cleared his throat. "Yeah, I reckon I do. Ma'am." A moment later, his jeans smacked him across the face. Forcing a grin and gritting his teeth, he muttered, "Much obliged."
"No problem." Sarcasm edged her tone.
He glanced at her again and couldn't miss the steel glitter in her gray eyes. They looked downright silver this morning. Quicksilver. Her cheeks had a nice rosy flush, too. Anger agreed with her, but he kept his opinion safely to himself. Somehow, he suspected it wouldn't be much appreciated just now.
"Well?" He arched a brow, waiting.
"Well, what?" She kept her arms folded and tapped her foot.
He held the jeans up suggestively, hoping she wouldn't make him spell it out in front of Todd. The woman was plain old-fashioned ornery this morning, and Cole's patience was wearing damned thin. "You get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?"
Her jaw gaped open and her nostrils flared.
Uh-oh. He glanced over at his son, whose eyes widened.
"I'm gonna go tend Ruth," the boy wisely announced, then disappeared through the open door.
Jackie's lips twitched. "Smart kid you've got there, Morrison."
Cole couldn't prevent his grin. "That he is. A chip off the old..." He shot another look at Jackie's narrowed gaze. "Ah, never mind."
The woman burst out laughing. Shaking her head, she turned her back, her laughter subsiding. "You'd better get dressed and go dig in your mine some more."
He yanked on his jeans, then stood and buttoned them quickly, figuring she might turn around any second. That would be just like her, too–one surprise after another. Lolita-Jackie probably drove every single man she met out of his mind.
And far be it for Cole Morrison to defy the laws of man and nature.
"I'm not going to the mine today," he said, deciding as he buttoned his shirt, then turning to observe her slim back and narrow waist.
She spun around to confront him again, surprise etched across her pretty face. "Why not? Today could be the big day. Gee, you might miss it." Sarcasm dripped from every syllable.
Chuckling, he shook his head and tugged the quilt neatly across his bed. "The same worthless rocks'll be there tomorrow." Who was he trying to convince anyway? Truth was, his heart wasn't in that damned mine.
And it never had been.
He straightened and found himself unable to tear his gaze away from Jackie. Sunlight flooded through the open door behind her, outlining her with golden fire. Her hair was pulled away from her face and tied loosely at her nape, the red tresses glinting in the morning light. With the sun at her back, her complexion softened right before his eyes, not that it had been rough before. Not at all.
But there was something so compelling about her this morning, he could barely keep his hands–and other things–to himself. Remembering last night didn't help matters any. His enthusiastic body twinged and throbbed, reminding him he hadn't even visited the outhouse yet this morning.
Yep, the woman is driving me loco.
Maybe he should go to the mine after all. He wrenched his gaze from hers and raked his fingers through his hair. "I don't know what got into me, sleeping so late." He stepped into his boot and stomped his foot, then imitated the process with the other.
"Something keep you awake last night, Morrison?" she asked, drawing his gaze back to her mouth.
Her lips had tasted sweet and spicy at the same time. Warm. Soft. He swallowed. Hard. "Slept like a babe," he lied, wondering how he managed to stay on his feet with all the memories firing through him.
"Oh, yeah, I'll bet." She arched both brows this time. "We already had breakfast. Fix your own, then we'll get to your hair."
"My hair?" He crossed the room and retrieved his hat from the peg near the door, hoping his hands didn't tremble as he jammed it onto his head.
"Yes. You managed to wiggle out of your haircut last night...among other things."
Her voice took on a husky, throaty quality that made him hold his breath and stare as she faced him again, moistening her lips with her tongue. Twice.
"Guess we forgot." He had to breathe.
She took a step toward him. Two. Three. Less than a foot away, she paused and said, "Guess we were...distracted." She pursed her lips into a pout and took another step, the tips of her breasts almost touching his chest.
Oh, shit. "Distract...ed?" That squeaky croak didn't sound a thing like him, and if she came any closer, he was going to grab her and–
"Hmm." She walked her fingers up the buttons on his shirtfront and released the top one with a deft movement of her thumb and forefinger. "Yes, don't you remember?"
"Remember?"
"You sound like a parrot, Morrison." Her eyes glittering dangerously, she gripped the points of his collar with both hands and gave a sharp tug, hauling him full against her. She brushed her lips across his so delicately he wasn't sure they'd actually made contact, then she severed any further doubt about their proximity by pressing herself against him so tightly they practically shared one skin. She wound her arms around the back of his neck. "Need me to refresh your memory, cowboy?" she whispered.
He was lost. Before his next heartbeat he covered her mouth with his, igniting a liquid inferno between them. A shudder dawned in the depths of his soul and shattered his pitiful excuse for self-restraint.
This woman drove him to want and do things he had no business wanting or doing. She muddled his thinking until he had no common sense left.
And, dammit, she felt good against him and tasted even better. Banishing the voices at the back of his mind that told him he should resist, he held her to him and deepened their kiss, amazed at how her method of kissing resembled a far more intimate act between man and woman.
An act he wanted to do with her. Now.
Soft, warm, stroking...she tormented and tantalized his tongue until he moaned into her mouth. All he could think of was having her womanly warmth surround another, much harder, part of him. She'd be hot and slick there, too. He knew that like he knew the sun would set behind the mountains come evening. And she'd be tight. Oh, so tight...
"Pa, you coming?"
Jackie wrenched herself away so violently she sent Cole slamming against the wall. A smug, triumphant smile spread itself across her pretty face. "Now do you remember, cowboy?"
Right this moment, he hated Jackie Clarke–hated her with all the passion she'd dredged out of him since she'd barged into his life. To hell with who'd kidnapped whom. He pointed at her with his index finger, ready to give her the ass-chewing of a lifetime, just as soon as he was able to speak again.
"Pa, you gonna stay in there all day?"
Chastising himself for being a negligent father, Cole brushed past Jackie and peered out the door. He breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted Todd happily currying Ruth. "Be right out, son," he called, amazed he sounded so normal.
He spun around, pointing his finger at the woman again. "You...you..."
"What?" She batted her lashes again like she had at Merriweather.
"That won't work with me." He kept shaking his finger.
"It's not nice to point, cowboy."
He dropped his hand to his side, clenched his fists and relaxed them repeatedly, then reached up to straighten his hat. He blinked three times, then met her laughing gaze again. Damn. "You'd best remember one thing, Lolita-Jackie-Clarke-Belle."
"Just Jackie will do." She tilted her head and smiled, her lashes fluttering so fast he wondered if they might get stuck that way. "What would you like lil' old, empty-headed me to remember...sir?"
The southern accent was outrageous enough to break the spell she'd cast on him. He drew a deep, calming breath. "Remember that I am not a cowboy."
Her laughter followed him as he pivoted on his heel and stomped out the door with what little remained of his dignity. Maybe he'd better visit the waterfall again this morning. He could use another icy dousing. That might help him think straight again, though the frigid water's effect sure as hell hadn't lasted long last night.
Todd had stopped currying Ruth and stood staring at both adults as if they'd lost their minds. Well, the boy was a lot smarter than his pa. Cole smacked his fist into his palm, never breaking his pace as he approached Todd.
No doubt about it–Cole was being punished for breaking the law. For kidnapping. He never should've agreed to do Merriweather's dirty work. Too late for regrets. He couldn't undo what he'd done. The sooner he collected his gold and sent Lolita-Jackie packing, the sooner he could take his son to Oregon.
Hesitating, he remembered his plans to raise cattle in Oregon and called back over his shoulder, "I am not a cowboy yet."
The crazy woman laughed even louder.
* * *
Jackie watched Cole and Todd walk into the woods without telling her where they were going, let alone when they'd be back. Men. With a sigh, she went back inside and slumped into the rocking chair, her knees trembling.
That kiss. A hot flush crept up her neck and into her cheeks. Jeez, that man could kiss. She fanned herself, allowing her head to fall back against the chair.
After Blade, she'd believed herself uninterested in any relationship, let alone one based on simple lust. Who are you kidding, Clarke? Her attraction to Cole was a lot more than lust, and there was nothing simple about it.
And that was the part that terrified her. Without a doubt, she was unable to have a physical relationship with a man and keep her heart out of it. Damn shame, too. Life would be a lot simpler that way.
She wanted Cole Morrison in a bad way. He could reduce her to a quivering mass of hormones and molecules with a glance. Her response to Blade had never been anything like this. Oh, it had been good–damned good–but not...soul-shattering.
Soul-shattering, Clarke? Why didn't she throw heartbreaking into the equation, too? No, Cole hadn't broken her heart. Yet.
But he would...just like every other man she'd ever cared about.
Reminded of his cowboy remark, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. There was nothing boyish about Cole Morrison except his grin. She envisioned him the way he'd looked this morning asleep in bed, with his shaggy hair tousled, morning beard stubble darkening his jaw, and that hunky torso barely covered.
He'd looked good enough to eat. With seconds.
And that kiss... "Oh, Lord, you've got it bad, girl." Jackie rose, trying to shake off the last vestiges of the awakening she'd experienced in Cole's embrace. Unfortunately, the man's kiss was potent enough to linger long after he'd fled the scene.
She paused at the table, pressing her fingertips to her lips. No one had ever kissed her quite like that before. Like he wanted to consume her. Own her. Love her.
Love? A bitter laugh tumbled from her lips and she busied herself clearing away the breakfast dishes. She'd learned her lesson about love after her marriage and Blade. Enough of that foolishness.
It wasn't that she didn't like sex. The problem was–and always would be–keeping her heart and her hormones separate. Divided and conquered, so to speak.
Could she learn to separate sex and emotions? Men did it all the time. A shudder rippled through her. It wasn't as if she had to worry about contraception, at least not for a while. She'd had her Depo-Provera injection just two weeks ago. With any luck, she'd be home before she was due for another one.
Then again, maybe she wouldn't need any contraception. She should just join a nineteenth century convent and end this nightmare once and for all. She could be the official hairdresser for the Holy Sisters of Quantum Theory.
No, even if she never made love again, Jackie clarke couldn't qualify as nun material. Besides, she wasn't even Catholic.
"You're hopeless," she muttered, attacking the crumbs on the table with an angry swipe. When she straightened, she stared through the open door at the rugged mountains in the distance. Some of the peaks looked familiar even in this century, though she certainly couldn't name them.
Amazing. If she hadn't accompanied Blade into these mountains, she wouldn't be here now. In a way, her ill-fated affair with Blade had brought her here to this place.
And this time.
"Everything happens for a reason, dear," Aunt Pearl had always said.
Maybe the old biddy had been right all along. Jackie walked out onto the porch and tossed the crumbs to the ground. No man had ever made her feel the way Cole did, and she was crazy about Todd, too. Was she here in 1891 for a reason?
Her heart fluttered and pressed upward against her throat, and lust had nothing to do with that. Here came the terrifying part again. With a sigh, she wiped her suddenly sweaty palms on the borrowed apron and swallowed the lump in her throat.
Foolish dreams had led her down the aisle right out of high school, and that had been a disaster. But after a lifetime of Great-Aunt Pearl's ridicule, she probably would've married the man in the moon if he'd asked. On the other hand, if her mother had lived...
Enough. "End of stroll down Memory Lane. Eject tape now." She squeezed her eyes shut, then blinked until her vision cleared.
Needing to keep busy, she grabbed the broom and made several passes across the porch, then paused to gaze into the distance again. A cloud of dust rose just beyond the boulder that marked the trail leading to the Morrisons' cabin. Curious, she stared until a man on horseback emerged. He rode steadily toward the cabin.
And her.
"Oh, nuts." She should hide or something.... Shouldn't she? But the guy must've seen her by now. Yes, he raised his hand and waved, never halting his steady progress.
She didn't want Cole to have any trouble with the law because of her. But who would recognize her as the famous Lolita Belle in this Ma Ingalls get-up? Her thoughts went immediately to her hair, and she hurried into the cabin and donned the sunbonnet she'd found among Elizabeth's things, tucking every strand of neon red inside. Once the ribbons were tied securely beneath her chin, Jackie stepped back onto the porch and drew a deep breath. Look cool. Considering her archaic attire, cool was impossible, so she settled for calm.
The rider brought his horse to a stop several yards in front of the cabin and sat staring at her. Who was he? Was he dangerous? What did he want?
And where the hell was Cole?
Drawing a deep breath, Jackie squared her shoulders, grabbed the broom handle again, and resumed her sweeping. If the stranger made one threatening move against her, she'd ram that broom right where it counted. It wouldn't kill him, but he'd wish it had.
She glanced at him from beneath her lashes and saw him nudge his horse into a walk. He advanced slowly, his features gradually taking
shape.
Beneath the brim of a black cowboy hat, his face was mostly a shadowy blur. Even so, there was something unsettling about the angle of his jaw, the way he held his shoulders.
Blade.
Her heart slammed into her breastbone and she clutched the broom in a death grip, pivoting to face the intruder. She had nothing to fear from Blade, but–she dug her nails into the wooden handle of the broom–he'd be smart to avoid her at all costs. Yet here he was. Or was he? Come to think of it, did Blade know how to ride a horse?
She looked at his face again and her heart did a somersault. If this guy wasn't Blade Smith, he was his exact twin. An ancestor? It almost made sense in a sick sort of way.
"Mornin'." The man brought his horse to a stop again a few feet from the porch step. "I'm lookin' for a fella named Cole Morrison. He around?"
Blade with a Texas drawl? Jackie would've laughed, but common sense prevailed. For a change. "Mr. Morrison isn't available right now." She smiled in what she hoped was an appropriately demure manner for a Victorian lady.
"Available?" The man made a snorting–and very un-Blade–sound. "Well, does that mean he's here or not, ma'am?"
"Was Mr. Morrison expecting you?" Jackie fluttered her lashes. "I didn't catch your name, sir."
The man shifted uncomfortably in the saddle.
He was hiding something. She peered intently into his dark eyes. Was he Blade? A little rougher around the edges, not as immaculately groomed by a long shot, but still Blade...? With an accent?
"Name's Smith." He stared at her as if checking for her reaction.
And Jackie forced herself not to react, though her heart rate tripled.
"Rock Smith," he added with a smile.
Smith. Rock? She regained control and drew a shaky breath. "Rock?" She cleared her throat and sniffled. "Really?"
The muscles in his jaw rippled and she knew he was clenching his teeth. Just like Blade.
"Yes, ma'am. Really." He heaved a weary sigh. "My pa had to deliver me durin' the War Between the States, and he dropped me on my head." Smith flashed her a smarmy grin reminiscent of the Blade she'd left in her time.