A Moment in Time (51 page)

      
With Smith's saddlebags in tow, Cole escorted Jackie down to Goodfellow's office, wondering why she insisted on talking to the unscrupulous little man before they left.
 
They had to pass through the main part of the saloon to get there, and the place was packed.
 
A sign sat on an easel near the door, announcing that Lolita Belle's opening performance would be held tonight.

      
Jackie froze partway through the room, clutching Cole's hand in a death grip.
 
He glanced down at her and her face was ghostly pale.
 
"Jackie?"
 
Leaning down, he repeated her name.

      
"There."
 
She pointed toward the bar with a trembling finger.
 
"There."

      
Cole looked and immediately saw the source of her terror.
 
Lolita's portrait.
 
The buxom beauty was depicted almost completely naked, and a small sign on the corner of the frame said "Wet Paint!"

      
"It can't hurt you now," Cole said.
 
"I'm here."

      
She nodded and he urged her through to Goodfellow's office, and away from Lolita's portrait.
 
The story she'd told him had described the portrait in explicit detail, right down to the frame.
 
She'd even known where it would hang.

      
Yes, he had to believe Jackie's tale of time travel.
 
She might have died in that fire if not for the portrait.
 
Whatever miracle had brought her here to him, he was eternally grateful for it.

      
He glanced down at her short dark curls.
 
No one would ever mistake her for Lolita Belle again.
 
Surprising relief eased through him.
 
Jackie was all his, but Lolita would always belong to her public.

      
They paused outside the ornately carved mahogany door to Goodfellow's office, and Jackie squared her shoulders.

      
"I sure wish I knew what you had on your mind," he said, just as she knocked.

      
"Come in," Goodfellow called, and Jackie opened the door, pulling Cole in behind her.
 
Dottie Elam stood beside her employer, who sat behind his fancy desk.

      
"Ah, I see you've recovered," Goodfellow said, rising.
 
"I must say, it's still quite a shock to see your hair...this way."

      
Jackie clasped her hands in front of her and lifted her chin.
 
"Mr. Goodfellow, I've come to collect what you owe me."

      
Goodfellow chomped down on his cigar.
 
"What I
owe
you?
 
For what?" he asked through clenched teeth.
 

      
"My time
and
mistreatment."
 
She drew a deep breath and waited.

      
Cole didn't give a damn about Goodfellow's money, but he sure admired Jackie's backbone.
 
He shook his head and rubbed his chin, risking a glance at Miss Dottie.
 
The woman's lips twitched and she winked.

      
Goodfellow glowered at Cole.
 
"I understand you're planning to marry this woman, Morrison?"
 

      
"That's a fact."
 
Cole took Jackie's arm and looped it through his.

      
"Then it's your responsibility to control her behavior."
 
Goodfellow chuckled, a low cynical sound that permeated the small, stuffy room.
 
"I gave you room and board.
 
I believe that's adequate, Miss...?"

      
"Clarke."
 
Jackie inclined her head.
 
"I'm willing to deduct the cost of room and board, Mr. Goodfellow, but the fact remains that you held me against my will upon my unfortunate arrival."

      
"But so did Morrison."

      
Jackie shook her head slowly.
 
"I went willingly with Cole."

      
Goodfellow's face darkened.
 
"But–"

      
"
Furthermore
, you
forced
me to pose for that
ghastly
portrait, even after I told you
repeatedly
that I was not Lolita Belle."

      
"Well, I..."
 
Goodfellow's face turned as red as the plush carpeting at their feet.
 
"But..."

      
"I'm afraid she's got you there."
 
Cole fell silent, sensing that Jackie wanted–and needed–to handle this on her own.
 
He loved her all the more for her courage.

      
"And you hired that no account Smith fella to kidnap her, too," Miss Dottie added, earning a scowl from Goodfellow.

      
"That's a fact, too," Cole said, chuckling.

      
"According to my calculations and based on current market value, you owe me a
minimum
of three hundred dollars, Mr. Goodfellow."
 
Jackie batted her lashes.

      
Goodfellow's mouth gaped open and his cigar landed on his desk, rolling until it came to a stop against a fancy gold box.
 
The man moved his mouth as if he intended to speak, but no intelligible sounds emerged.

      
"In gold," Jackie added.

      
Miss Dottie threw her head back and cackled.

      
"Remember yourself, Dottie," Goodfellow said, turning his glare back to Jackie.
 
"Why should I bow to your demands, Miss Clarke?"

      
Jackie gave Goodfellow the nastiest smile she could summon.
 
"Because I could tell the sheriff about you hiring Smith to kidnap me."
 
She looked around the room.
 
"There are witnesses in here who'll testify to what they heard Smith say about that."

      
"Unless you're willing to send Morrison here to jail with me, I don't think the sheriff will listen."
 
Goodfellow folded his arms across his potbelly, a smug grin on his ugly face.

      
"I'm afraid you leave me no choice, Mr. Goodfellow," Jackie said with a sigh, then drew a deep breath and sang a song about some place over the rainbow.

      
"Stop."
 
Goodfellow put his hands over his ears.

      
Jackie paused to draw another deep breath and heard Cole's groan.
 
She shot him an apologetic smile, then forged ahead with another verse.

      
"All right.
 
All right."
 
Goodfellow held up his hands in surrender.
 
"I'll do it.
 
Anything to stop your caterwauling."

      
"Gee, and here you were going to pay me to sing for your customers."
 
Jackie batted her lashes as Goodfellow spun around and stepped behind a screen.
 

      
"That's where he keeps his safe," Miss Dottie whispered.

      
Cole wanted to laugh, but he chewed the inside of his mouth instead.
 
He'd underestimated Dottie Elam.

      
A few minutes later, Goodfellow returned with a pouch of gold, which he tossed unceremoniously onto the desk.
 
"That should be about three hundred dollars," he said, glowering at Jackie.
 
"In gold."

      
Cole reached down and peered into the bag, tested its weight, then handed it to Jackie.
 
"I'd say that's about right," he said, continually amazed by the woman he was about to marry.

      
"Thank you, Mr. Goodfellow," Jackie said.
 
"I believe that concludes our business."

      
"Thank God for that."
 
The man slumped into his chair as Jackie and Cole turned to leave.

      
Jackie paused at the door and turned back.
 
"One more thing."

      
"Oh, how fortuitous," Goodfellow said, rolling his eyes.
 
"I can hardly wait.
 
Don't keep us in suspense any longer, Miss Clarke."

      
"If you don't marry Dottie Elam, you're an even bigger fool than I thought."

      
With that, Jackie swung open the door and left the room.
 
Cole paused long enough to wink at a grinning Dottie and shake his head at Goodfellow.

      
When they passed through the front room again, Chief Byron and Todd were waiting near the door.
 
Cole and Jackie hurried toward them, and Jackie hugged them both.

      
"You're both invited to a wedding," Cole said, grinning at his son's wide eyes and open mouth.

      
Todd hugged Jackie again, then his pa.
 
"I take it this means you approve," Cole said, winking at Chief Byron.

      
"I told you so," the old Indian said with a nod, enduring Jackie's second hug with admirable dignity and a toothless grin.
 

      
"I'd like you to give away the bride," Jackie said to Chief Byron.
 
"Would you do that for me?"

      
"I'm not familiar with this white custom, but I'm willing to learn," the chief said.

      
"Well, let's get over to the church," Cole said, more eager than ever to put some distance between Jackie and that portrait.
 
"The preacher's expecting us, and it isn't fitting for Todd to be here."

      
He took Jackie's arm and the four of them turned to leave just as music sounded and a cheer erupted from the miners.
 
Jackie turned slowly toward the stage.

      
A woman started singing as the curtain rose, and they all stared.
 
Dressed in silk and feathers, Lolita Belle belted a ballad that had every man in the place mesmerized.
 
Except for her voice and the piano, the place was dead silent.

      
"So
that's
what all the fuss was about," Cole whispered.
 
"I reckon she is talented."

      
"Yes," Jackie whispered, taking a step toward the bar as if in a trance.

      
"Are you...all right?"
 
Cole stared at her.
 
Dear God, she wouldn't leave now.
 
Would she?
 

      
Jackie's eyes were wide and her lips set in a thin line.
 
"Look," she whispered, pointing again.

      
Lolita's portrait glowed with an orange light, almost like flames.
 
The same flames that had brought Jackie back in time?

      
Jackie knew, somehow, that if she touched the portrait, she could return to her own time and that the fire would be gone.
 
She knew it with a certainty that stunned her.
 
This was her moment of reckoning.

      
Modern plumbing, movies, fast food, women's rights, her salon, Great-Aunt Pearl...
 
Compared to love, none of that mattered.

      
She'd made her choice.
 
Giving Cole's arm a squeeze, she turned to leave the Gold Mine Saloon with him one last time.
 
She never wanted to see the place or Lolita's portrait again.
 
But before they reached the door, it swung open and a masked man strolled through, gun drawn.

      
Cole pulled Jackie back into the shadows along with Chief Byron and Todd.
 
The masked man's movements were smooth and graceful, his dark eyes familiar.

      
Blade.

      
His gaze met hers and she shook her head.
 
With a shrug, he moved toward the stage and leapt onto it.
 
A gasp rippled through the crowd and Lolita stopped singing.
 
Jackie sure hoped he didn't have any bullets in that gun, because she had a hunch he didn't know how to use it.

      
Blade grabbed the buxom singer around the waist and threw her over his shoulder, staggering beneath her substantial weight.
 
Jackie knew what would happen next.

      
"It's in the script," she whispered.
 
"But I have to guess about the ending.
 
And we know she won't be harmed, because she's too valuable to Merriweather and Goodfellow.
 
Right?"