A Moment in Time (22 page)

Chapter 8

      
Jackie spent the entire morning with Todd, going through his father's impressive collection of books.
 
Cole owned first editions by Mark Twain, Jules Verne, Herman Melville, James Fenimore Cooper, and others that would be rare collectibles in her time.
 
The leather bindings were careworn, the pages obviously read and reread.

      
Cole Morrison was as intriguing as he was handsome.
 
Any man who loved books as much as he obviously did wasn't meant to be a miner.
 
There were books of poetry inscribed to Elizabeth, too.
 
How and why had a couple like the Morrisons ended up here?

      
Todd stumbled over a word in the primer Jackie'd found among Cole's collection.
 
He and Elizabeth must have been planning for their son's education when they'd hauled all these books to the top of a mountain.

      
"I think you've earned a break, kiddo," she said, closing the book and setting it aside.
 
"Hmm, where does your dad keep his scissors?"

      
"Ma's sewing basket's over there."
 
Todd pointed to the top of the pie safe.
 
"Whatcha need scissors for?"

      
"You'll see."
 
Jackie retrieved the basket, containing various threads, yarns, and patches, and removed a pair of shears.
 
She tested them on a scrap of fabric and nodded.
 
"These'll do."

      
"For what?"
 
Todd's expression could only be described as dubious.

      
"Todd, my man, grab your comb and haul that chair outside," she swung open the front door.
 
"You're about to have a complimentary cut and style, sans blow dry."

      
His eyes grew round and he shook his head.
 

      
"It's all right, I know what I'm doing."
 
She put one hand on her hip and smiled at him.
 
"I went to school to learn how to cut hair, Todd.
 
Really."

      
"They got schools for stuff like that?"

      
Well, in my time they do.
 
She couldn't be so sure about now.
 
"You bet they do."

      
"Is that how your hair got that...that color?"
 
Todd gave a loud gulp.

      
Jackie feigned indignance, patting the twin braids she'd coiled tightly around her head.
 
She looked downright proper in the gray muslin dress with white cuffs and collar, and her hair restrained until its color was almost invisible.
 
Almost.

      
"I'll have you know that women pay lots of money to have their hair dyed this shade, young man."
 
Yeah, and they're out of their gourds, too.

      
"They do?"
 
He narrowed his eyes, clearly skeptical.

      
"Indeed, they do."
 
She made a snipping motion with the shears and waggled her eyebrows.
 
"I promise your hair won't change color, and your father will like it."

      
"Well..."

      
"And we'll cut his hair later."

      
Todd brightened and he flashed her a grin that could charm Mary Poppins out of her umbrella.
 
"All right, but I want to watch you cut Pa's hair."

      
And keep me from jumping his gorgeous bones.
 
"It's okay with me if it's okay with him."

      
"Okay?"

      
"All right."
 

      
Jackie positioned the chair in the shade while Todd poured pitchers of water over his head as she'd requested.
 
What did they do for shampoo around here?
 
Rubbing his wet hair with a square of fabric that passed for a towel, he came around the corner of the cabin with a look of pure terror in his eyes.

      
"You'd think you've never had a simple haircut before," Jackie said.
 
"Sheesh.
 
You're almost ten.
 
Now plop your backside into this chair and be a man."
 
She bit the inside of her lip to prevent herself from laughing when he nodded in silent horror and obeyed.

      
She draped a dry "towel" around his shoulders and combed out his hair.
 
"I'll bet your hair will turn as dark as your dad's when you get older."

      
"That's what Ma always said."
 
Todd sounded calmer now.

      
A squeezing sensation clutched her heart.
 
She hurt for this little boy, and wanted to make it all better.
 
Her caring torpedoes were misfiring all over the place.
 
"You miss your mom a lot."

      
"Yeah, and so does Pa."

      
"Yes, of course he does."
 
An uncomfortable tightening commenced in her chest, but she refused to accept it as jealousy.
 
Even Jackie Clarke wasn't insecure enough to be jealous of a dead woman.

      
Shaking the feeling, she started at Todd's nape, cutting the hair blunt and square, then tapering it toward the front with some strategic layering around his face.
 
"Your hair has just enough curl in it to manage this style.
 
It looks great."

      
She couldn't have planned a more beautiful day.
 
The sky was crystal blue, birds sang, and the breeze was gentle and warm.
 
A few puffy white clouds floated by, so close it seemed she could reach out and pluck one of them out of the sky.

      
When she was finished, she stood back to survey her work.
 
"Todd, my man, you look good enough for prime time television."

      
"What's tele–"

      
"Ah, nothing important."
 
She winked and swept the comb through his drying locks once more.

      
A dark hand snaked before her and grabbed her wrist in a steel grip.
 
Jackie's heart stopped and she turned slowly to identify the owner of the hand.

      
Her gaze settled on the leather-clad man, whose silver hair hung in braids nearly to his waist.
 
His creased face was the color of bronze and his eyes black like the cast iron frying pans hanging in Cole's cabin.

      
"It's all right, Chief Byron," Todd said.
 
"This is Miss Jackie.
 
She's my teacher."

      
Byron?
 
Jackie managed a shaky smile and met the old man's gaze.
 
"Hi, I'm Jackie Clarke."
 
She wiggled the fingers of the hand he still held prisoner.
 
"Uh, could I have my hand back now, please?"
 
At least he wasn't one of the Brothers Grime back for an encore.

      
"It's all right," Todd repeated, and the aging Native American released her hand.

      
Jackie rubbed her appendage until the circulation was restored.
 
"Pleased to meet you, Chief."
 
What was one supposed to say to aging Indian chiefs in 1891?
 
Aunt Pearl's etiquette training had fallen a little short in this area.
 
Jackie tried another tight smile and added, "Sir," for good measure.

      
He looked fierce.
 
Old, sure, but still fierce.
 
He could have been anywhere between seventy and a hundred, and his eyes were downright mean when he stared at her.
 
But when he shifted his gaze from Jackie to Todd, a transformation took place.

      
Chief Byron's lips curved in a toothless grin and his obsidian eyes twinkled.
 
"Did you let this white squaw scalp you, Son of Pale Eyes?"
 

      
"She didn't scalp me."
 
Todd touched his head with both hands.
 
"I gotta look."
 
He raced inside, then returned a few seconds later.
 
"Hey, I think it looks pretty good, Miss Jackie."

      
"Miss Jackie?"
 
The chief pinned her with his intelligent gaze again, but he didn't seem nearly as fierce now.
 
"That sounds like a white man's name."

      
Todd giggled and said, "That's what I said."

      
Jackie stuck her tongue out at him.
 
"It's also what your father said."

      
Todd laughed even louder.
 
After he regained his composure, he explained, "Chief Byron is a Ute Indian.
 
When the government sent his people to the reservation, he stayed here."

      
"Home," the old man said, his gaze sweeping the surrounding mountain range.

      
History in the making.
 
She might not have finished college, but even this lowly hairdresser had read enough historical romance to value real history.
 
"Why did you stay here?"
 
Alone?
 
Jackie Clarke understood alone too damned well.

      
"This is my home," Chief Byron repeated, turning his gaze to a bird flying overhead. When he looked at her again the light in his eyes appeared cloudy.
 
"No matter what the white man says."

      
Todd kicked the dirt at his feet.
 
"You know how Pa feels about that."

      
"Pale Eyes is a wise man."
 
Chief Byron smiled at Todd again.
 
"So is his son."

      
Todd blushed with obvious pleasure and ducked his head.
 
"Miss Jackie's teaching me to read and write and do arithmetic."

      
The chief looked at her again and gave a curt nod before turning his gaze back to Todd.
 
"Your mother taught me to read, write, and to speak your tongue."

      
"Really?" Todd asked, his eyes widening.

      
The boy was obviously hungry for stories about his mother.
 
Jackie's heart ached for him, because she knew all too well what it felt like to lose a parent at such a young age.

      
"Yes," the chief continued.
 
"The Wife of Pale Eyes– Elizabeth–named me Chief Byron the day of our first meeting."

      
"Why?"
 
Though curious about his name, Jackie was more interested in keeping the old man talking about Elizabeth for Todd's benefit. The boy hung on every blessed word. "Why Byron?"

      
"My real name is very long and begins with the letter B.
 
Elizabeth taught me that, too."
 
He gave a wistful sigh.
 
"Elizabeth read to me from a book that brought tears to these old eyes."
 
Chief Byron's wrinkled bronzed skin represented a web of life experience.
 
"The words reminded me of the mother of my sons."

      
Lord Byron?
 
"Why, Chief, I do believe you're a romantic at heart," Jackie said, winking at Todd.

      
Chief Byron turned his dark gaze on Jackie again, surprise evident in his expression.
 
"That was what Elizabeth said.
 
She taught me many things, but passed on with much yet to teach.
 
We miss her."