A Moment in Time (14 page)

      
"Thanks."
 
She made a twirling motion with her finger.
 
"Uh, do you mind?"
 

      
"Oh, of course, ma'am."
 
He half-turned, then shot a look back over his shoulder.
 
"You aren't going to try anything, are you?"

      
"Huh.
 
Where would I go?"
 
She rolled her eyes heavenward.
 
"Getting lost in the frigging mountains is what got me in this mess in the first place."

      
She made less sense than that snake oil salesman who came through town every spring and fall.
 
"Good enough."
 
He turned his back and folded his arms over his bare abdomen.
 
A man could get mighty cold at night in these mountains without a shirt.
 
He'd have to ask Merriweather for one.
 
Now
that
was a name Cole wished he'd never heard....

      
"All right, you can turn around now."
 

      
He pivoted and almost laughed at the ridiculous sight.
 
His shirt engulfed her, hanging nearly to her knees and gaping open at the neckline where he'd lost a button last summer and never bothered to replace it.
 
She rolled the sleeves up just above her slender wrists, then put her hands on her hips.
 

      
"There, how do I look?"

      
Cole laughed.
 
"Like a little boy wearing his pa's clothes."

      
"You know damn well I'm not a little boy," she said in a sultry tone, then bent down to retrieve the ostrich feathers at her feet.
 
"Would you like to try wearing these itchy things for a while, Mr. Morrison?"

      
The reminder of his earlier indiscretion regarding her anatomy sent a flash of quicksilver between his legs.
 
To make matters worse, her gaze raked his nakedness, and if he wasn't mistaken, she liked what she saw.
 
Damnation.

      
"No," he whispered, his voice gruff and thick, "you definitely are not a boy."
 
He took the feathers and draped them around a tree branch.
 
"We'd better go on into town so I can get home before dark."

      
"Mmm, you do have a fine set of pecs, Mr. Morrison."
 
She winked, then turned and put the wrong foot in the stirrup.
 
After a few seconds of staring at her misplaced foot, she seemed to realize her error and switched.
 
"I'm a quick study."

      
"Yeah, I can see that."
 
Chuckling, he swung himself up behind the saddle and gathered the reins, then turned Ruth toward Lost Creek and the Silver Spur.
 
"Uh, mind if I ask a question?"

      
"Go for it, big guy."

      
"What are pecs?"

Chapter 5

      
Jackie grew far too aware of Cole's shirtless state as they rode into the minuscule town of Lost Creek.
 
The heat of his body seeped toward her, closing the short distance between her back and his impressive chest.
 
His bare arms at her sides didn't help any either.

      
She'd never imagined a man wearing suspenders without a shirt would look so good.
 
Oh, my.
 
And they were red suspenders, too.

      
You're in big trouble, Clarke, and
you
can't keep your mind off this man.
 
Self-disgust oozed through her and she resisted the urge to scratch her rash.
 
When she'd removed the boa to put on the shirt, she noticed angry red welts covering her chest and shoulders.
 
Her back felt even worse.
 
Of course, those welts would have to grow a lot before she'd live up to the real Lolita's legendary bustline.

      
Despite her situation, a grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.
 
Under other circumstances, she would've found this entire adventure utterly hilarious.
 
If
it were happening to someone else...

      
A few moments later, Cole brought the horse to a stop in front of a garish building painted fiery red with canary yellow trim.
 
A sign arched over the swinging doors, telling her they'd reached their destination.

      
The Silver Spur seemed far too extravagant for such a small town, but it was just one more in a long series of the oxymorons she'd encountered.
 
It wouldn't be the last,
 
either.

      
"Why such a big saloon for such a small town?" she asked as Cole dismounted and looped the horse's reins over a hitching post.

      
"Competition's fierce."
 
He chuckled quietly.
 
"The miners live in shacks and cabins all over these hills, and all the towns are part of the Devil's Gulch Mining District."

      
His cock-eyed grin gave him a rakish charm that nearly made her fall off the horse.
 
"So the miners visit the various saloons in the area for, uh, relaxation and refreshment?"
 
She hoped her voice didn't reveal her attraction to her own abductor.

      
"And entertainment."
 
His expression grew solemn as he held his hands up to assist her.
 
"In this case,
you
.
 
The saloon-keepers all believe you're the key to success–that every miner in the area will spend his paycheck in the establishment where you're singing."

      
"Oh, yeah."
 
She swallowed the lump in her throat as Cole gripped her waist to ease her descent.
 
She had way too many problems now to think about how good it felt to have him so close.
 
Focus, Clarke.

      
"Ouch."
 
She rubbed her backside as her feet met the ground.
 
"My God, is that saddle made of concrete?"

      
"Just leather, ma'am."

      
At least the pain might keep her mind off his pecs.
 
She directed a sideways glance.
 
Doubtful
.

      
Besides her aching butt and stiff legs, the main problem now was that she'd be expected to perform.
 
How was she going to manage that?
 
When Aunt Pearl had insisted she try out for the church choir during high school, she'd been asked–politely, of course–not to come back.
 
The preacher's nasty daughter had muttered something about a dying cat.

      
Jackie hadn't been offended, because it was true.
 
She couldn't sing.
 
Period.
 
In a word, she sucked.
 
Except in the privacy of her own shower, she never sang, though she knew the words and tunes to almost every Broadway musical ever produced.

      
And now she had to hop up on the stage and entertain a bunch of drunken miners.
 
At least, she hoped they would be drunk, because that was the only way they might be able to endure her singing.

      
"Well, here we are," he said, stopping suddenly to face her.
 
"I just want to thank you for being so...understanding about this.
 
Eventually."
 
He grinned again.

      
A lump lodged in her throat and Jackie managed a quick nod before he led her toward a pair of swinging doors.
 
She should hate Cole Morrison, but she couldn't.
 
It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize he'd never done anything dishonest before in his life.
 
No way.
 
Obviously, he needed the money pretty badly and had his own reasons for taking the job.
 
It didn't really matter, as long as she found her way back to Lolita's portrait–and her own time–sooner or later.
 
Preferably sooner.

      
Holding her breath, Jackie followed Cole into the saloon.
 
Tobacco smoke flavored by the stench of beer and whiskey struck her immediately.
 
The Silver Spur wasn't nearly as large as the Gold Mine Saloon, but it was more extravagantly decorated.
 
The now familiar spittoons occupied every available corner, and several crystal chandeliers illuminated the gaudy interior; ornate carving adorned the bar and the stage.

      
The stage.

      
Jackie's blood turned to ice as she stared at the stage.
 
Highly polished and elevated, it gleamed beneath the largest chandelier.
 
Silver ropes held red velvet drapes to each side, and heavy fringe cascaded in a waterfall from the curtain's edges.

      
"Hey, is that her?" someone yelled.

      
Jackie looked around the saloon and found several intense gazes boring into her.
 
A tremor skittered through her and she felt Cole's hand press more firmly against the small of her back.
      
Was he trying to comfort her or steer her toward destiny?
 
Jackie sighed and tried not to think about the fact that he'd soon be leaving her here among strangers.
 
At least at the Gold Mine Saloon she'd had Dottie to keep her company, and that wasn't saying much.
 
Looking around the Silver Spur, she didn't see any other women.

      
She was it.

      
"Oh, my God," she whispered.

      
"Here comes the owner now," Cole said, his hand still pressed against her back.

      
"You mean your employer?"
 
She avoided Cole's gaze, but felt him wince.
 
Her comment had found its mark, but for some reason that knowledge gave her no satisfaction.
 
It should have, though, and that worried her.

      
Shifting her attention from her own inconsistent thoughts about her abductor, she spotted a rotund man dressed in a suit with a red and silver brocade vest and string tie emerge from the far side of the stage.
 
The guy looked like a pale Sumo wrestler.
 
Only bigger.
 
And dressed.

      
"Well, well, it took you long enough to get here, Morrison," the man said, his gaze riveted to Jackie as he spoke.

      
"We're here now."
 

      
"So you are, though I'm sure wondering why you gave away your shirt."
 
The huge man inclined his head toward Jackie, his meaty jowls jiggling with the effort.
 
"I'm Elwood Merriweather.
 
You must be the famous Miss Lolita Belle."
 
He took her hand, then bent over and planted a sloppy kiss on it.