Free A Moment in Time by Deb Stover Page A

truth?
           His gaze swept over her face and her bizarre red hair startled him back to reality.   She had to be Lolita Belle.   Only a saloon singer would dye her hair.   A decent woman wouldn't even consider it, and especially not that glaring shade.
           "You're in demand, Miss Lolita," he murmured, trying to justify the sordid mess to himself.   And failing.   He lifted his uninjured shoulder and averted his gaze.   "The price was right."
           "You filthy pig."   Her voice trembled.   "I have to get back to that hellhole and see that portrait finished so I can go...go home."
           "Now, don't you start bawling."   He sighed and didn't allow himself to confirm whether or not her ruby lips quivered, or any sparkling tears streamed down her rosy cheeks.   Surrendering, he faced her.   "Just...don't."
           "Why the hell should I listen to you?"   Her eyes snapped and her nostrils flared.
           She wasn't crying, but her rage was a palpable thing.   Cole had a hunch she could commit murder about now.   "Look, nobody's going to hurt you.   Hell, they all love you, though God only knows why."  
           "Excuse me?"   She put one hand on her hip and lifted her chin a notch.   "They don't want me , they want Lolita Belle.   I'm not–"
           "Yeah, you already said that."   He clenched his teeth until they ached, then released a long sigh.   "Look, I didn't want to do this, but I...I really need the money.   You're still going to perform and get paid, so what difference does it make to you if that's at the Gold Mine Saloon or the Silver Spur?"
           "What, no Caesar's Palace?"  
           Her feathers shifted, offering him a brief glimpse of heaven.   Cole held his breath as a shudder of longing rippled through him, and he tried to ignore the ornery throb between his legs.  
           "I'm not Lolita Belle.   My name is Jackie Clarke and I'm a hairdresser , you fool."
           His gaze returned to her hair, so bright it hurt his eyes out here in the sunshine.   One corner of his mouth lifted and he arched his brow.   "Jack's a man's name and I don't believe a real hairdresser would do... that to her hair."
           "Shit."
           "And you sure talk like a saloon singer."
           "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"   She scratched her chest.   "I'm getting a frigging rash from these feathers."
           "My ma would've washed your mouth out with soap by now."
           "Bite me."   She actually smirked.
           His gaze drifted down the length of her again, and a powerful urge to do a lot more than bite her waylaid him.   He drew a shaky breath and said, "No, but thanks for offering, ma'am."
           "Ha!   I don't give a damn that you look like George Clooney."   She looked up at him through eyes like lethal gray daggers.   "Well, you're taller than Mel, but that doesn't mean every woman with a pulse wants to jump your bones.   Get over it, cowboy."
           "You had your chance," he said, ignoring her second reference to someone named Mel.   "Why didn't you make a run for it while I was checking on Ruth here?"
           "I...I had to stay and make sure she was all right."
           "That speaks well of you, ma'am."   He nodded and looked over the length of her again.   Even though she was a bit on the scrawny side by most standards, she was curvy in all the right places.   A fine-looking woman...except for the hair.   "Ruth's fine."
           "Good, then I'll be on my way."
           "Nope."   He folded his arms and shook his head.   "I can't let you do that.   I promised to deliver you to Lost Creek, and deliver you I will."
           "You son of a..."   She lifted her fist as if to strike him, then started scratching again instead.   "If this is a dream or a coma, then how the hell can I have a rash?"   Her tone shifted from fury