by Deb Stover
And what a body. Cole Morrison was one well-endowed man. He couldn't have been more beautiful if Michelangelo had risen from the dead to create him. But it was much more than his looks that drew her to him. He was a good man–kind, generous, a loving father.
And a kidnapper. Don't forget that.
Tonight, by God, she would find out why he'd been willing to abduct her for pay. He'd promised and she wouldn't let him weasel out of telling her again. Cougars, bears, Big Foot–nothing would stand in her way tonight.
Then after his confession...maybe they'd get back to that other unfinished matter between them. Of course, there were really two unfinished matters between them, but until Henri's broken finger was healed...
She cleared her throat. After having seen Cole in his birthday suit–oh, my–she couldn't call their attraction a small matter by any stretch of the imagination. Not that she had before.
Somehow, she'd known exactly where he was going when he'd stormed out of the cabin earlier. Todd had been only too eager to tell her how to find the falls, though she'd worried the whole time that she might become lost again in the mountains. But she'd found the falls. And Cole.
Whoa. She fanned herself and released a long, slow breath.
Of course, she probably should fill him in on the visitor she'd had this morning. Rock Smith. The name made her cringe, but was it really any worse than Blade? Yep.
But he couldn't be any worse than Blade. Unless he was Blade...
Should she tell Cole about Smith's visit and Goodfellow's offer? What if it was really Blade setting a trap for her again? She had to be careful and think this through first.
And if she decided to tell Cole about Smith, should she do it before or after they made love...? Could she keep her emotions disengaged long enough to have casual sex?
No. Get real, Clarke.
She cared about Cole Morrison even more than she wanted him.
The thought of lying naked in his arms made her tingle all over, and her nipples stiffened against her clothing. She glanced down, wondering if he'd be able to see through the brown fabric. No. Darn it.
In all seriousness, urging Cole to return her to the Gold Mine Saloon and the unfinished portrait was the right thing. He'd get paid and, maybe, she could go home, and stop thinking about seducing him with every breath she took.
Unless Lolita Belle was living Jackie's life. Stop that. She couldn't think straight as it was without adding more confusion.
Like this morning, the thought of going home left her feeling sort of empty and confused. A lump formed in her throat. Get over it. She wasn't the kind of woman a man like Cole Morrison wanted as a stepmother for his son. Besides, he thought Jackie was a notorious saloon singer. Hardly mother material.
Of course, in truth, she wasn't a saloon singer. She was just a foolish hairdresser from another century, trapped in the past because of her own stupidity.
So she should sleep with him, have her jollies and be done with it. Get him out of her system. Wasn't that how a man would handle it? Slam-bam, thank you, ma'am? That was the ticket.
Sure, Clarke. Stop lying to yourself.
There was no way she could engage her hormones without engaging her heart. Those caring torpedoes were total duds and she was in deep doo-doo.
And while she was fulfilling her quest for truth and great sex–which she really needed to forget about–should she also tell him how she'd ended up in Devil's Gulch in the first place? Could a nineteenth century man believe in time travel? Well, considering she was still having trouble accepting it herself, that was doubtful.
But should she tell him?
"Turn around and give a man some privacy," Cole said from the edge of the falls, jarring her from her troublesome thoughts.
"Too late. I've already seen you." She grinned and waggled her brows. "And I must say you looked real good. Big guy."
"Would you quit calling me that and just mind your manners for a change? I'm freezing in here." His face reddened, but the steady streams flowing over his shoulders and down the front of his body shrouded his more interesting attributes from her roving gaze.
"You blush nicely, too." She laughed when he scowled. "All right, I'm turning around now."
"No peeking."
"Promise."
"Behave," he said from much closer behind her.
"I'm not peeking."
"But you want to."
"Yes, but I won't." This time. She heard the rustle of fabric and knew his jeans were in place again. Darn. No more voyeurism today. "You finished yet?"
"Yep."
She turned around just as he was buttoning his blue chambray shirt. "Pity to cover all that." She gave an exaggerated sigh and his scowl deepened. "Careful, your face might stay that way."
"Ha. Ha." He pulled his sexy red suspenders over his shoulders and sat on the edge of the boulder. "Since you insist, go ahead and cut my hair. That's what caused all this trouble in the first place."
Not exactly. Jackie kept her thoughts to herself as she went to work on Cole's damp hair. The dark curls were sleek between her fingers, and she had to lean across his shoulders to do the back, her breasts brushing against him. She felt him shudder and smiled to herself.
She could've had him this afternoon–right here in the Rocky Mountain sunshine. Her heart raced and his warmth radiated through his damp shirt, narrowing the distance between them. This man had some kind of power over her, and it both frightened and thrilled her at the same time.
Cole Morrison simply stole her breath without even trying. Even more disconcerting, he'd made her care about him and his son.
She chewed her lower lip as she snipped and layered his wavy hair into a neat, collar-length style. "There. Hmm. I wish I had a little gel. Your hair is perfect for the messy look." She finger-combed the strands around his face. "Very sexy."
His Adam's apple traveled down then back up his throat, then he reached behind him and felt his hair. "You left it kind of long back here," he said, his voice rough and smooth, like good whiskey–so Blade had claimed. She wouldn't know good whiskey from bad.
"I couldn't bring myself to take off all your curls." She reached up and brushed a strand back from his forehead. "They're too pretty to cut."
"I don't want to be pretty."
"Okay, handsome." Her voice fell to a husky whisper and she rested her hand on his shoulder, his warmth filling her with need.
And promise.
Should she tell him about Goodfellow's proposition now? No, not until Cole told her why he needed money badly enough to kidnap her. Then she'd tell him.
But maybe she'd seduce him first.
Listen to yourself, Clarke. Aunt Pearl would have a heart attack if she knew what Jackie was thinking. Cole looked up at her, his expression pensive, but the hunger still burned in his blue eyes.
She gulped, massaging his shoulder. To hell with not-so-Great-Aunt Pearl.
But she had to be honest with herself. Aunt Pearl's conscience wasn't really what prevented Jackie from throwing herself at Cole right here and now. It was hers. She couldn't do it without falling for him completely, and that was out of the question.
Back on topic, Clarke. Maybe he would tell her why he'd kidnapped her now. She slid the scissors into her pocket and sat beside him on the boulder. "Cole?"
"Hmm?" He looked at her again and his eyes darkened. "What is it? You already cut my hair."
"Not that." She drew a deep breath, then released it very slowly. "Tell me now."
He appeared confused. "Tell you what?"
"Why you kidnapped me."
The lights in his eyes faded and his jaw twitched.
"Don't grind your teeth."
His eyes narrowed and his jaw twitched again. "I don't want to tell you, but I reckon you have a right to know." He looked up at the sky and shook his head. "Like any man, I like to keep my failures secret–only for my own musing and misery." He released a ragged sigh. "I'll tell you tonight, like we agreed."
; "Hold on there, cowboy–"
"I asked you not to call me that anymore."
"Big guy–"
"Or that."
He made a move to rise and she swung her legs onto his lap. "Don't you dare walk away from me."
Staring at her skirt and legs draped across his lap, he asked, "What the hell kind of game are you playing with me, Lolita?"
"Jackie." She leapt to her feet and walked in circles around the clearing, then spun around to face him, her fists resting on her hips. "How many times do I have to tell you my name is Jackie?"
He rose, towering over her, his broad shoulders casting a shadow across the clearing. "Right now, you're acting more like a Lolita than a Jackie. That's why."
That stung. A lot. Jackie's lower lip trembled and her throat clogged. She wouldn't cry, but, dammit, he was right. Drawing a shaky breath, she knew what she had to do. "You're right, Cole. I am, and I'm sorry."
He tilted his head to one side, clearly skeptical. "You are?"
"Yes." She lifted her chin and met his gaze. "I'm sorry, because I don't want you to believe I'm Lolita Belle. I'm not."
He shook his head and slapped his thigh. "Here we go with that nonsense again."
"Truth, Cole." She stood her ground, refusing to look away. "God's honest truth."
He rubbed his chin for a few minutes, his expression studious. "Then I'd say you're the one who's got some explaining to do." He arched a brow. "Wouldn't you?"
"Yes. I...I'll tell you tonight, but you'll tell me the truth first. Like you promised." She drew several gulps of air, mustering all the courage she could. "Have you read all those Jules Verne novels in your collection, Cole?"
"Yep, more than once." His brow furrowed. "Why?"
"Because truth is stranger than fiction."
Chuckling, he shook his head and cocked one eyebrow. "Are you trying to tell me you came here in a spaceship?"
Her breath caught. "Something like that."
He didn't laugh at her and his expression grew sober. "I don't know why, but I'm really looking forward to hearing your story."
"I know why." She grinned.
"Oh, you do, huh?" His lips twitched and he almost smiled.
"Because you like me." Her voice lowered and softened as the heat of desire washed through her again. "And you want me." And you're being a terrible tease, Clarke.
His jaw flinched again and his eyes darkened. "Yes, ma'am," he said, his voice rumbling around inside her and hitting every nerve ending, "but I was raised knowing I can't have everything I want."
She reached for the buttons at the front of her dress and released them very quickly. "Well, I don't do self-deprivation very well myself." She eased her dress over her shoulders. "It's unhealthy."
Both his brows shot upward and his mouth gaped open. "What are you doing, woman?"
"Since you're determined to make us wait until later–to talk, I mean..." She let the dress drop to the ground, then retrieved it and placed it on the boulder.
"But..."
"Relax," she said in her sexiest voice, then she leaned forward and kissed him hard on the mouth. "I'm just going to have myself a little shower, big guy."
"But..."
She reached for the ribbons at the front of her antiquated underwear. "You going to watch, or turn your back and stand guard like a good boy?"
A visible shudder rippled through him and he turned his back, folding his arms and standing at attention. "Hurry up about it."
Laughing, she stripped and left her undies with her dress and hiking boots, then darted into the falls. The shock of the frigid water made her shriek. After a few moments, she grew somewhat used to the icy shower and peered through the sheet of running water at the man who still stood with his back to her.
"Damn," she muttered. "I was really hoping you'd want to be very, very bad."
* * *
Jackie closed the book she'd been reading to Todd and gazed down at his face. Asleep, he appeared even younger. She struggled against the sudden urge to gather him into her arms and hold him close. But he wasn't a baby. He wasn't even her son.
Unexpected tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away. She wasn't allowed to cry. Great-Aunt Pearl had always said so....
Cole was out feeding Ruth and putting her in the stable for the night, so Jackie sat with the leather-bound copy of Huckleberry Finn clutched to her chest and watched Todd sleep. And remembered...
Her mother had always read her bedtime stories. Jackie had only been a year older than Todd was now when her mother died. Old enough to read her own stories, Great-Aunt Pearl had said. Even that first night after the police officer had come to tell them about her mother's car accident, Jackie hadn't been allowed to cry. Only the weak and wicked cried, Great-Aunt Pearl had insisted.
So Jackie had shed her tears alone in her room with only an old doll to share her grief. She'd learned very quickly to keep her feelings to herself. No affection, no tears, no emotions whatsoever.
No wonder she'd eloped with her high school sweetheart the night of her eighteenth birthday. They had been very much in love, but both so immature that the marriage was doomed from the start.
Jackie the idealist had wanted the perfect little house with flowers and a picket fence. And she wanted babies. Lots of babies. If she ever had a daughter, she would name her Sandra, after her mother.
She'd almost had a baby. Jackie had conceived shortly after the wedding, but a miscarriage shattered that dream along with all the others. Great-Aunt Pearl had called it a sign from God. Jackie and her husband had buried their grief, rather than facing it, and that had signaled the beginning of the end.
After the divorce, Jackie'd had no choice but to move back in with her aunt. A nightmare from the first day. As an adult, Jackie wasn't about to play by the old woman's rules any longer. She paid rent and kept to herself, trying to ignore her aunt's constant criticism.
Jackie smiled to herself, remembering the day she had received the small business loan for her beauty shop. The old house she and her partner converted had an unused apartment upstairs, so Jackie had moved in while the downstairs was still under construction.
She shook her head. No more rules. No more hiding. No more Great-Aunt Pearl.
Of course, she'd still felt obliged to pay a weekly visit to her aging aunt, and the criticism only grew worse over time. So, Jackie had immersed herself in the business. She worked long hours, scrimped and saved, reinvested every dime into the shop, and had practically no social life, let alone a love life.
Then Blade had come along....
And the rest, so they say, is history. She stifled a giggle when she considered how accurately that described her current situation.
Jackie rose slowly and placed the book on the shelf, realizing Cole was probably finished with the horse by now. A sense of doom pressed down on her. Why? She was about to learn the truth Cole had promised her.
And tell him the truth about herself as well.
Oh, God. Would he call her mad and send her away? She drew a deep breath and lifted her chin a notch, pulling the shawl Cole had given her around her shoulders. Whatever happened, she'd deal with it.
After all, only the weak and wicked ever cried. She might be a tad wicked, but Jackie was never weak.
Remind yourself of that later, Clarke.
The front door was closed, because this evening was cooler than any since Jackie's arrival. She opened it and stepped quietly onto the porch, pulling the door firmly shut behind her. Cole definitely wouldn't want his son to overhear them.
For that matter, neither did Jackie. She didn't want Todd to think she was crazy, and she certainly didn't want him to believe his father was a kidnapper.
Cole Morrison hadn't really abducted her. He'd saved her.
A cool breeze swept up the pass and made her shiver. She glanced upward, noticing the nearly full moon shining through a small break in the otherwise overcast sky. Silver bathed the small clearing, giving the
area a surreal appearance.
Appropriate backdrop for her Twilight Zone tale.
She pulled the shawl closer and gazed toward the paddock. She saw movement and squinted. A tall figure closed the gate, then headed toward the cabin.
Cole.
His powerful, long-legged stride brought him toward her quickly. Perspiration coated her palms and she wiped them on her skirt. Her throat constricted, her breath quickened, and her heart thudded against the wall of her chest. Fluttering butterflies did a dance in her stomach. It had been years, but she recognized the symptoms.
She was in love with Cole Morrison.
A moment of terror seized her and she couldn't breathe. She should run away. Far away. Very fast. Now. Before it was too late....
Too late for what, Clarke? She had no Great-Aunt Pearl here to criticize her behavior. She had no one to answer to in 1891 but herself.
She was already lost.
Suddenly, the thought of seducing him took on an entirely different meaning. She could no longer pretend she was interested in casual sex. You're a fool, Clarke. She'd never been interested in casual sex with Cole or any other man.
For Jackie Clarke, there had never been anything remotely similar to casual sex. She was challenged in the separation of emotions and lust department. An outright failure. Hell, she wasn't even trainable.
She still wanted Cole–more than ever–but now she had to face facts. She couldn't sleep with Cole without giving him everything she had.
Whether he wanted it or not.
Making love.
"Todd asleep?"
Jackie gasped and squeezed her eyes shut. "Yes, he's asleep."
"I'm sorry I startled you." He stepped up onto the porch and stood facing her.
She tilted her head back and looked up at his face, barely visible in the moonlight. How could she have allowed herself to fall in love with this man? A man who was good and kind and so very sexy?
All right, how was easy. Why was more difficult. She should have seen it coming. Who did she think she was fooling with that lust stuff anyway? It had been love all along, but she was too much of a dweeb to recognize the danger signs. She should have stopped herself.