A Moment in Time (32 page)

      
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."