A Moment in Time (28 page)

      
"What message do you wish to leave for Mr. Morrison, sir?"

      
"Who are you anyway, ma'am?"

      
Jackie watched him carefully for any reaction, then released a slow sigh.
 
"I'm Miss Clarke, the governess."
 

      
Smith guffawed–that was the only term to describe the sound he made.
 
Then his expression changed as he shifted his weight in the saddle.
 
Even so, no trace of recognition appeared in his dark eyes.

      
"Makes a man curious to know how a struggling miner can afford to hire a, uh, governess."
 
He arched a brow.
 
"Y'all tell Morrison I know what he did."
 
Leaning closer, Smith said, "Goodfellow will double Merriweather's offer.
 
I'll be back in two days for your answer."

      
"
My
answer?"
 
Jackie's blood turned cold.
 
"What do you mean?"

      
"I got me a feeling you know exactly what I mean."
 
The man's smile was malicious.
 
"If you don't have the right answer, then I'll just have to keep Goodfellow's gold for myself.
 
Y'all have a real nice day, ma'am."
 
He tipped his hat and whirled the horse around, galloping away in a cloud of dust.

      
She fanned the air and coughed.
 
Maybe this was the solution.
 
She'd be returned to Devil's Gulch, Cole would get his precious gold, she'd finish posing for that wretched portrait, then touch it like she had during the fire....

      
And pray.

      
The same miracle–or disaster–that had brought her here could just as easily return her.
 
Right?
 
Weren't time portals always two-way?
 
Jeez, Clarke, this isn't "Star Trek.
"

      
Well, if time portals weren't two-way, they damned well should be.
 
Once back in her own time, she could get back to work, visit Aunt Pearl for a reminder of what a loser she was–as if she could forget–and return to her little apartment.

      
Alone.

      
She trudged to the front step as if each leg weighed a ton and sat with an undignified plop.
 
She let the broom fall with a clatter at her side.

      
Home.
 
That was what she wanted, after all.
 
Her own bathroom with running water and a flushing toilet, cable television, video rentals, blow dryers and curling irons...

      
No adorable little boy asking her to read stories.
 

      
No little boy's daddy turning her hormones topsy turvy.

      
No more soul-shattering kisses.

* * *

      
Cole and Todd took their time bathing in the icy waterfall.
 
The longer Cole could postpone facing Jackie again, the better.
 
She was driving him crazy.

      
And, Lord help him, he
liked
it.

      
"Damn," Cole muttered, remembering this morning's kiss.
 
Then last night's kiss.
 
While his son scrambled into his clothing, Cole turned around and headed back under the waterfall for another cold shower.
 

      
As things were, by the time he was scheduled to return Lolita to the Silver Spur, Cole would have to consider moving to the falls permanently.
 
The woman didn't actually have to touch him to set him on fire.
 
Hell, he didn't even have to lay eyes on her–let alone hands or lips–to become as fired up as a rutting bull at spring thaw.
 
Then again, bulls rutted in the fall.

      
Dammit, now he was starting to think like a cowboy.

      
"I am not a cowboy," he muttered, swaggering out of the water and grabbing his shirt.

      
"I never said you was."
 
Todd looked at him thoughtfully, his eyes wide and filled with questions.

      
Cole buttoned his shirt, then pulled on his jeans.
 
He sat on a boulder and stretched his legs out to let his feet dry.
 
"I hate putting socks and boots on wet feet."

      
Todd imitated his father's actions, his smaller feet reaching Cole's knees as they sat side by side in the morning sun.
 
"I like Miss Jackie," Todd said, staring out across the small stream.
 
A moment later, he turned his head and pinned his father with that look that said he was about to ask one of
those
questions.

      
Not now.
 
If he asks me where babies come from, I'll curl up and die right here and now.
 
Cole gnashed his teeth and nodded, reaching over to ruffle his son's dark blond hair.
 
"Yeah, I like her, too."

      
"I can tell."
 
Todd's eyes twinkled.

      
Cole loosened the top button of his shirt.
 
"Getting warm fast today."

      
"Yep."

      
Rubbing the back of his neck, Cole tried to summon an indifferent expression.
 
"Now, just what do you mean 'I can tell?'"

      
"About Miss Jackie?"
 
Todd shrugged and tossed a pebble into the stream.
 
"I just can.
 
That's all."

      
Cole remained silent for several moments, pondering just how much his son had noticed.
 
But Todd was only nine.
 
Almost ten.
 
Sure, he could tell his father liked someone, but not...how much.
 
Could he?

      
"All right, if you say so."
 
Cole drew a deep breath and decided to change the subject.
 
"I've been doing a lot of thinking."
 
He sent his son a sidelong glance, noting the boy's sudden rapt attention.

      
"About what?"

      
"Oregon."
 
Cole released a long sigh.

      
"You mean we ain't–aren't–going to St. Louis?"
 
Todd's eyes were as round as saucers.
 
"Honest?"

      
Cole chuckled quietly.
 
"You didn't like it much the one time we went back to visit, huh?"

      
The boy's cheeks pinkened, but his expression remained thoughtful and solemn.
 
"Well, Grandma and Grandpa were real nice," he said, "but there were too many people."

      
"You remember it pretty well."
 
Cole smiled at his son, his heart swelling with pride. "But you were still little then."

      
"I was six."
 
Todd lifted his chin a notch.

      
"So you were."
 
Cole drew a deep breath, knowing how much worse it would've been to lose Elizabeth if he didn't have Todd.
 
"I'm sure glad you're my son."

      
Todd beamed.
 
"Me, too."
 
He tossed another pebble into the water.
 
"Is Miss Jackie goin' to Oregon with us?"

      
Cole's heart slammed into his ribs.
 
"Well, no, of course not."
 
He gave a nervous chuckle.
 
"Whatever gave you that idea?"

      
"Well..."
 
The boy looked down at his hands folded in his lap.

      
"Well, what?"
 
Cole kept his tone gentle, though the way his blood was roaring through his head, that was no small feat.

      
"Like I said before, I...I like her."
 
Todd lifted one shoulder.
 
"She's fun."

      
Fun?
 
A hot flush crept over Cole's body.
 
"I, uh, believe she has another job lined up after she's finished, uh, teaching you."
 
And tormenting me.

      
Todd's face fell and his disappointment permeated the air around them.
 
"Oh," he said.

      
"You like her that much, huh?"

      
The boy nodded without looking at his father.
 
"Chief Byron likes her, too."

      
"Woman With Fire in Her Hair–and mouth–will make a

good squaw.
 
She will warm your bed when the snow covers the

mountains, and give you many fine sons."

      
"Yes."
 
Cole drew a quick breath.
 
It didn't help.
 
Chief Byron had no idea how much fire that woman's mouth was capable of igniting.

      
Todd faced his father.
 
"What's wrong, Pa?"

      
"Wrong?"
 
Cole stood and unbuttoned his shirt.

      
"You look sorta...strange.
 
Feverish, maybe."
 
Todd rose and reached up on tiptoes to press his hand to his father's forehead.
 

      
Feverish was one way to put it.
 
"No fever."
 
Not that kind anyway.
 
"I'm fine," Cole lied, turning his back on his son to peel off his dungarees.

      
"Then what's wrong?"
 

      
"Someday you'll understand, son," Cole said, dropping his breeches and heading toward the falls.
 
He kept his back to his son until after the frigid waterfall did its job.

      
And soothed the wild beast again.

Chapter 10

      
Jackie sat on the boulder where Cole had kissed her the night before.
 
In the bright mid-day sun, she didn't worry about cougars or other beasts that might be roaming the hills.
 
Maybe she should have, but in this case, ignorance was bliss.
 
Or so she convinced herself.

      
She had a decision to make.
 
More than one, actually.
 
Extricating herself from Cole Morrison's life would be the kindest thing she could do for him and his son.
 
On the other hand, if she simply ran away–and managed to get lost in the mountains again, no doubt–he wouldn't receive the promised gold from either Merriweather or Goodfellow.