by Deb Stover
Don't forget the kid, Clarke.
She should cover herself. Self-disgust oozed through her, and after a few tense moments, Cole also seemed to drag himself from the spell he'd cast over them both and rolled his eyes heavenward. His cheeks reddened and he shifted his gaze to the chief.
"What's going on here, Chief?"
The old man appeared nonplused, looking from Cole to Jackie, then back to Cole as if their inability to grasp the obvious were absurd. He grinned again. "The maidens in my tribe never danced this way." His dark eyes twinkled and he directed a longing glance in Jackie's direction. "Sadly."
Jackie smiled at her elderly friend. "You're a treasure, Chief." She'd better get her butt inside and back into her dress.
"I like this dance," the chief said with conviction.
"Thanks, Chief." A niggling worry eased through Jackie as she inched her way toward the steps. She'd just squeeze by the old boy and grab her clothes....
"The custom is obvious," the chief continued. "Do you not see it, Pale Eyes?"
Uh-oh. Jackie had no idea what sort of "custom" the old man thought she'd been practicing, but she knew trouble when she heard it. Well, sometimes.
Cole chuckled without a hint of humor, yanking his hat off to slap his thigh. "Custom?" He shook his head. "It might be obvious to you, Chief, but all I saw was a half-naked woman prancing around like she had ants in her drawers."
"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 cool
ness 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.
The water's alleviation of his rutting state expired in a single, powerful thud of his heart. His body responded before he could form any rational thought.
Hard. Fast. Prominent...
"What," he croaked, forcing his gaze from her bosom to her face, "are you doing here?"
She licked her lips. "I think you know the answer to that question,"–her gaze dropped and her eyes widened–"big guy."
He crossed his hands in front of his impudent and not-so-private privates. Watching her watch him, he dragged in a shaky breath. A gentleman would grab his clothes and get the hell out of here while the getting was good.
And Cole Morrison was a gentleman. Damnation.
"Where's Todd?"
"He and Chief Byron are reading Huckleberry Finn. It's a long book." She shrugged and flashed a grin that turned his blood molten. "So I decided to come and finish what we started before." Tilting her head to one side, she smiled again. "And here you are."
"Yeah," was all he could manage. His arousal flinched and throbbed, reminding him how long it had been since he'd felt a woman's body rise against his in the throes of passion. Gentleman or not, he couldn't drag his gaze from her luscious mouth. Her tongue slipped between her lips and glided smoothly across them again, leaving a rosy luster in its wake.
He should be angry at this invasion of his privacy, but he couldn't summon the gumption Only one thing could possibly spur him to action now, and that wasn't about to happen in reality.
But he could imagine plenty.
She continued to stare at him and he returned the favor, envisioning the endless row of buttons popping open one at a time until her dress pooled at her feet. Underneath, she probably wore the thin white chemise and drawers–Lord help him–he'd seen her cavorting in earlier.
If the expression in her eyes was any indication, she was every bit as aroused as he. Were the tawny peaks of her breasts taut and straining against the confines of her clothing? Did her insides feel hot and all aquiver like his? Was she hankering to kiss him as desperately as he was to kiss her–he swallowed hard–all over?
Damnation.
If he remembered correctly, the narrow ribbon at the front of her chemise was buttery yellow. In his mind, he untied it and slowly opened the soft white fabric until it gaped, revealing the tops of her full, firm breasts.
"Jackie," he whispered, barely able to breathe let alone talk. His voice held a warning note, he hoped. One she'd best heed if she expected him to remember he was a gentleman much longer. He forced himself to look at her face again, forsaking the delectable thoughts of how she would look disrobed.
She bit her lower lip and a flush crept across her cheeks, almost as if she could read his thoughts. Her eyes were moist and wide. Innocent.
Lolita, innocent? What was he thinking? But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the ache in his loins and the hunger in his very soul.
"I came to give you what we didn't get to last night," she said, her voice taking on a sultry quality he hadn't noticed before. "Whether you want it or not."
Oh, he wanted it all right.
She smiled and looked pointedly to where his hands still tried to hide his blatant arousal from her hungry gaze. "It's easy to forget things. I'd be willing to bet neither of us has been getting much sleep."
"Well...but...I..." How the hell did she know he hadn't been sleeping well? "You want to...?"
"Oh, yeah, I definitely want to. In fact, I've been looking forward to this." She smiled and opened the top two buttons of her dress. "Warm today."
"Hot," he whispered, struggling for every breath. His gaze lingered again at her breasts–full, round, perfect. Don't think about those. He definitely had a powerful weakness for her bosom. A man could never get enough of a woman like her.
And she came here to finish what they'd started last night.
A roar commenced in his ears as his heart pounded wildly. He couldn't fight her again. If she so much as touched him, he'd ravish her right here on the ground like the wild beast she'd created in him.
Surrendering, he let his hands fall to his sides, unable to shield himself from her any longer. Naked, vulnerable, he whispered her name again.
She stared at his throbbing manhood, and Cole was powerless to stop her. At this point, he couldn't deny her anything she wanted.
And he hoped she wanted plenty.
"My, but you are an impressive specimen." She sighed. "Just a sec," she said, then reached into her deep pocket and withdrew something long and shiny.
What the hell was that and what was the woman up to now? Her dallying would be the death of him. His mouth went dry. Yes, he wanted her. Desperately. Damn. He didn't feel like a gentleman now. Rutting boar seemed far more appropriate, and there was nothing he wanted to do more than rut at this particular moment.
He'd transformed from a single father with a worthless mine to a kidnapper and a lecherous monster. A beast. The thought gave him pause, reminding him of a French fairy tale his mother
had loved. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he took a step toward Jackie–no longer Lolita-Jackie to him.
She advanced a step and held out one hand. "You might want to get dressed first."
He paused, blinking as her words reached his addled mind. "What? I thought..."
"What did you think, big guy?" The corners of her luscious lips curved in a mischievous grin and her gaze dropped again. "It seems a shame to cover such a, uh, magnificent specimen, but the hair will make you itch like mad."
"Hair?" What the devil was the woman jabbering about now? "What hair?" The only thoughts he had of hair were too crass to mention.
He stared at her outstretched hand, then back to her breasts, following a thin blue vein up the side of her neck until it disappeared behind her curls. Finally, he met her gaze, forcing himself to pay attention to her words instead of his lust.
She held the long silver object up in one hand and made a snipping motion. "I promised Todd he could watch, but since you wormed your way out of your haircut last night,
I–"
Cole roared and pivoted on his heel, marching right back into the waterfall, her laughter following him all the way. She'd played him for a fool and he'd fallen right into her little game. No more.
His lust waned beneath the sting of humiliation and the icy water. He'd make her turn around while he dressed, then he'd let her cut his damned hair. And if–when–his body decided to rise to her bait again, well, he'd just ignore it. He glanced down at his now flaccid privates. "You hear that?" he whispered through the running water.
No answer.
Good thing his privates couldn't answer, because the answer he needed to hear would've been a lie anyway. Disappointment pressed down on him as he forced himself to admit the truth, at least to himself.
Though he knew it was wrong, during those few moments when he'd believed she meant to have her way with him...
He'd felt more alive than he had in years.
Chapter 11
Jackie watched Cole stomp back into the waterfall, and she laughed even though she felt more like crying. She'd seen the naked desire in his eyes and the even more naked state of his body.