A Moment in Time (5 page)

      
Blazing timbers collapsed into the center of the room and she screamed.
 
Regaining some control, she felt along the wall for the window she'd seen earlier.
 
Somewhere...

      
Another crash–the building was falling down around her.
 
She was going to burn.
 
Freezing out in the wilderness would have been better than this.

      
"Where's that frigging window?"
 
Tears and smoke blinded her as she felt along the wall, ducking lower to escape the intense heat.
 
She felt something and straightened.
 
A frame, but not the window.
 

      
Something large plummeted to the bar, struck her shoulder and slammed her against the wall.
 
Both she and Lolita slid to the floor together.

      
Dizziness gripped her and she held her head as she turned to look at the painting one more time.
 
"This is it," she whispered, knowing she would die tonight.
 
There was no escape.

      
The flames bathed the portrait in a red-orange glow, and Lolita's face faded before Jackie's eyes.
 
Barely conscious, Jackie reached toward the portrait as a face reappeared.

      
Not Lolita's.

      
The face staring back from the canvas now was a mirrored image.
 
Dazed, Jackie touched her likeness just as something seized her.
 
God, help me.

      
Powerful and swift, the force delivered her from the flames.
 
      
Darkness bathed her in blessed coolness.
 
No longer frightened, Jackie closed her eyes.

      
And prepared to face death.

Chapter 2

      
Voices–loud ones–ganged up on Jackie.
 
Then she remembered the fire!
 
Her heart bolted and her stomach lurched upward to press against it.
 

      
I'm alive.
 
Under the circumstances, that was a miracle in itself.
 
Maybe the voices belonged to paramedics coming to her rescue.
 
She struggled to open her eyes, but they declined to cooperate.
 
Considering the entire Sahara Desert must've filtered in beneath her lids during the night, she could understand their reluctance.

      
"She shore don't look like I reckoned she would," a man said.

      
Jackie managed to open one gritty eye, but quickly closed it to regroup.
 
She must be dreaming.
 
For a second, she'd thought she was at a wild west amusement park.

      
But this was far from amusing.

      
"Scrawny thing, but who else could she be?"
 
This time, a woman's voice intruded.

      
I'm asleep and this is a dream.
 
Jackie would simply ignore the voices until she could wake herself.
 
Though that seemed her wisest course of action, wisdom and patience had never been her strengths.
 
She couldn't resist peeking once more.
 
Partly opening both eyes, she peered through a sticky veil of smudged mascara, confirming that she was still in the saloon.

      
Gray beard stubble covered the man's face; a dark stain shaded one side of his chin.
 
Yuck.
 
Why couldn't she dream about attractive men?

      
Yeah, like Blade?
 
On second thought, maybe ugly was safer.
 
Even Aunt Pearl might approve of ugly.

      
"Well, I reckon it must be her."
 
The unattractive owner of the gruff voice stood less than a foot away, peering down at Jackie as if she were a side of beef.

      
I'm not asleep.
 
But she had to be.
 
God, please let me be asleep.
 
Allowing her eyes a few minutes to tear and refocus, she blinked several times and forced them open completely.

      
"Well, it's about time," the woman said, coming closer to stare down at Jackie.
 
"Don't just stand there–help her up, Zeb."

      
Grumbling, the filthy man–apparently the Zeb in question–reached down and grabbed Jackie's hand.
 
A moment later, she found herself being hauled to her feet, which seemed less than capable of supporting her weight this morning.

      
She wavered and the man grabbed her arm to steady her.
 
His stench was unbelievable, and up close, his gap-toothed appearance did even less to restore her faith in a benevolent god.
 
"Who–"

      
"What are you wearin'?"
 
The woman shooed Zeb away and gripped Jackie's other arm.
 
"You're a mess.
 
We'd better get you cleaned up real quick-like, before Rupert gets a look at what he paid for."

      
"Rupert who?"
 
Jackie blinked again, trying to determine what sort of bizarre rescue team had found her, but after examining the woman's clothing, she realized the magnitude of her error.
 

      
The middle-aged woman wore a bright red dress, adorned with gold braid at its single shoulder and at the hem.
 
Her impressive cleavage left almost nothing to speculation, but the feathers protruding from the back of her blond hairdo had exactly the opposite effect, sending Jackie's speculative nature into warp speed.
 
"What–who–"

      
"C'mon, let's get you upstairs before Rupert gets here and sees you.
 
We weren't expectin' you for weeks yet."
 

      
"You were expecting me?"
 
Had Blade contacted these people?
 
Fat chance.
 
Besides, how could Blade have known Jackie'd end up here?
 
Wherever here was.

      
The woman shook her head and clicked her tongue as if scolding a small child.
 
"Now tell me, where in tarnation did you get them clothes?
 
Mercy sakes alive!"

      
Jackie glanced down at her Levis.
 
"What's wrong with my clothes?"
 
They were perfectly ordinary, though filthy, clothes, especially in comparison to the woman's Miss Kitty get-up.

      
"Well, if you don't know, I reckon there ain't no point in discussin' it right now."
 

      
Zeb laughed along with two other men leaning against the bar.
 
Jackie hadn't noticed them earlier, but they stared at her now with lechery written plainly across their grungy faces.

      
My God, I'm in hell.
 
That fire had burned her alive–cremated her.
 
What else could it be?
 
She was worm's meat, as Aunt Pearl would've said while in one of her Shakespearean moods.

      
"Where's your trunk, honey?"
 
The woman's voice was somewhat reassuring, though her condescending manner did nothing to inspire Jackie's confidence.

      
"Is this...hell?"
 

      
The woman furrowed her brow and shook her head.
 
"You must've been on one helluva drunk."

      
"Please answer me.
 
Is this hell?"

      
"Nope, but sometimes it sure feels like it, especially Saturday night after payday."

      
Jackie scanned her surroundings, confirming that she was still in the saloon, though it appeared far different now than it had last night.
 
For one thing, it was relatively clean, and there were no broken bits of furniture strewn about the room.
 
No trace of fire damage.
 
Impossible.
 
Who'd have thought hell could be an improvement?
 
"Weird."

      
"Hmm."
 
With a sigh, the woman guided Jackie toward the stairs.

      
The gleaming, sturdy, totally unburned stairs.

      
"Holy–"
 
Stunned, Jackie jerked herself free of the woman's grasp and backed away.
 
This was her wake-up call–time for some answers.
 
Hell or not, she had a right to know before she took another step.
 
"I want to know who you are and what's going on.
 
Now!"

      
The woman folded her arms across her middle and pursed her lips together in a thin line.
 
"My, ain't we high and mighty?"

      
"No, we...ain't."
 
Jackie shook her head and took another backward step, holding one hand up in front of her as if to ward off an attacker.
 
Her arms and legs trembled and her head pounded with relentless pain.
 
Dead people don't feel pain, do they?
 

      
But if she was still alive, then all this was even more inconceivable.
 
First Blade, the freak blizzard, the fire–now this.

      
Whatever
this
was.

      
"Who are you and where am I?" she repeated.

      
"As if you don't know."
 

      
"I don't."

      
A flicker of compassion suddenly appeared in the woman's eyes, but cynicism quickly displaced it.
 
"Whatever you say, honey.
 
I'm Miss Dottie Elam."

      
Dottie, of course.
 
She looked like a Dottie.
 
Or maybe Mae West.

      
Dottie kept her gaze pinned on Jackie.
 
"I'd be willing to bet you know where you are, but I'll tell you anyway.
 
This here's the Gold Mine Saloon."

      
"Gold Mine?"
 
A bad joke, for sure.
 
Jackie dragged her fingers through her tangled hair, wincing when she caught sight of a flaming red curl dangling before her eyes.
 
It was like something from her worst nightmare.

      
For a few blissful moments, she'd forgotten about her most recent act as a licensed, and somewhat misguided, beautician.
 
"Oh, no."
 
It was even worse–brighter–than she remembered.
 
With both hands, she pulled several strands forward and stared.
 
"God, it's
really
bad."