A Moment in Time (3 page)

      
Frustration permeated Jackie like lotion toner on a seek and destroy mission for dark roots, as she continued along the rutted mountain road.
 
Snow quickly covered the ground, making her pray again that she'd made the right decision.
 

      
She squinted through the white stuff, straining to identify the dark silhouettes ahead.
 
They weren't trees.
 
Dare she hope...?
 

      
She quickened her pace, falling flat on her face twice before she was able to identify the definite shapes of several structures.
 
Calling out in the awesome silence, she hoped someone would hear and lead her to shelter.
 

      
Nothing.
 
No sound at all came from the cluster of buildings.
 
Whatever it was–a ranch, maybe?–no one was home.
 
It didn't matter.
 
She'd break in, if necessary.

      
Nearly numb, Jackie staggered to the nearest building and stumbled to her knees.
 
An upward glance confirmed that she would find no shelter in this building.
 
It had no roof.

      
Abandoned.
 
Like her.

      
Fear sliced through her.
 
Surely one of the buildings was whole and safe.
 
After struggling to her feet, she turned and stomped toward the next one.
 
Only two walls still stood against the harsh Rocky Mountain weather.

      
"I don't believe this."

      
She was so tired, but she remembered reading something about people getting sleepy before they died from hypothermia.
 
Well, she wasn't ready to die.
 
Not until she made Blade pay for what he'd done.

      
A new surge of anger fueled her.
 
After a few minutes, she summoned what remained of her strength and lurched toward the next building.
 
If she died up here, she wouldn't be able to get revenge.

      
And her aunt would really get some mileage out of this one with her women's circle at church.

      
Jackie had no intention of being that generous.

      
Her heart raced as she studied the next structure.
 
Hope filled her.
 
This building had a porch and all the walls appeared intact.
 
She reached for the handle and jiggled it, holding her breath as the door squeaked in protest.
 
After a good shove, it swung open and she scrambled inside.
 
The interior was dry and warm–comparatively speaking.
 

      
After closing the door against the wind, she unbuckled her fanny pack and dropped it, then slumped to the floor to catch her breath.
 
Her feet and hands were completely numb.
 
The way her luck was running, she'd probably lose all her fingers and toes.

      
Blade would pay for each and every one.

      
As her breathing slowed to a more reasonable rate, she examined her surroundings.
 
Dusty was a supreme understatement, but the place was totally dry.
 
Who cared about a little dust?
 

      
She sneezed.

      
A bar ran the length of the room, with a tarnished brass rail around its rim.
 
Glasses and barrels lined the wall behind it.

      
A saloon.
 
She laughed in disbelief.
 
Just her luck to find an abandoned...ghost town?

      
She slowly rolled to one hip and rose, flexing her fingers and wiggling her toes.
 
Maybe she didn't have frostbite after all.
 
Everything seemed to be thawing nicely.
 
Like a Thanksgiving turkey.

      
And she was definitely thankful, ghost town or not.
 

      
Stiff-legged, she walked toward the bar, inspecting the place.
 
Incredible.
 
Overturned tables and chairs filled the room; broken chandeliers hung from the rafters.
 
A potbellied stove occupied one corner.
 

      
Her gaze followed the stovepipe through the wall high above.
 
What were the chances of it being clean?
 
She didn't want to burn down her only shelter, and the way her luck had been running...
 

      
A sinking sensation swept through her.
 
It didn't matter anyway, because she had no matches.
 
Just her luck they didn't teach fire building in beauty college.

      
With a sigh, she turned to look at the magnificent bar.
 
Where were Little Joe, Hoss and Adam?
 
Better still, a bartender like Sam Malone from "Cheers" waiting to serve her a shot of whiskey to warm her bones?

      
It struck her as odd that this one building should be in such good shape–so to speak–while the others were completely collapsing.
 
Curious, she walked behind the bar and looked at the shelves beneath it.
 

      
A book grabbed her attention.
 
She pulled it out and set it on the bar, pluming dust into her face.
 
Coughing and waving her hand to clear the air, she flipped open the black leather cover.

      
It was a script called
The Legend of Devil's Gulch
.
 
That explained a few things.
 
Obviously, a movie crew had used the saloon.
 
They must've done a little restoration on the place.

      
She looked upward at the roof.
 
Thank God.

      
Wondering what other useful items might have been left behind, Jackie searched through the shelves and produced a bottle of whiskey.
 
A sealed bottle of whiskey.

      
"This is progress."
 
She placed the bottle on the bar and continued her search.
 
Now, if only she could find a can of soup, or anything else non-perishable and edible.
 

      
After completing her unsuccessful search of the bar, she turned around.
 
A portrait on the wall seized her attention.
 
Tentatively, she reached up and wiped a layer of dirt away with her bare hand.

      
"Nude, of course.
 
I should've known."
 
She shook her head and sighed.
 
"Men are pigs.
 
Sheesh."

      
As she studied the painting, heat bloomed in her face.
 
Blade had painted Jackie in the nude.
 
What was he doing with that painting now?
 
Who was he showing it to?

      
"Damn."
 
It didn't matter.
 
Right now, only survival mattered.
 
But what if he tried to blackmail Aunt Pearl with it?
 
Jackie covered her face for a second and groaned.

      
She couldn't help wondering if the woman in the portrait had been foolish about men, too.
 
She studied the woman's face.
 
Her eyes appeared intelligent and a smug smile tilted the corners of her red lips.

      
No, foolish definitely wasn't the word to describe this woman.
 
In fact, she exuded self-assurance.
 
"I'll bet you had men falling at your feet.
 
Bet you kicked them in the balls when they got out of line, too."

      
The woman's hair was as red as Jackie's, certainly not natural.
 
Henna, probably.
 
Though beautiful, she was fat by today's standards.
 
Rubenesque.
   

      
And except for a feather boa draped across her breasts and pelvic area, the woman was as naked as Jackie had been while modeling for Blade.
 
"Who talked you out of your clothes, lady?
 
One of Blade's ancestors, no doubt."

      
Buxom didn't begin to describe the woman's bustline.
 
Jackie looked at her own medium-sized assets beneath her damp, clinging T-shirt.
 
Blade hadn't seemed to mind.

      
He'd said he loved her.
 
Asked her to marry him.
 
Wanted her to have his babies.
 
Her eyes burned and she blinked rapidly.
 
No tears, Clarke.
 
No tears.

      
"To
hell
with Blade."

      
She looked up at the woman in the portrait again.
 
A strange but powerful sense of déjà vu suddenly swept through her.
 
She couldn't shake it.

      
A gold plate on the frame drew her gaze.
 
She rubbed her thumb across it until the words became legible through the grime.

 
      
Lolita Belle, 1891.

      
"Yeah, right."
 
She snickered and shook her head.
 
Lolita Belle had obviously been a stage name.
 
Jackie looked up at the woman's face again, wondering exactly what type of performances had been her specialty.
 

      
"Lolita, were you a...lady of the evening?"
 
Jackie waggled her eyebrows suggestively.
 
"Aunt Pearl would've been in her element trying to convince you to mend your wicked ways."
 
She laughed at her own foolishness.
 

      
"Instead, she just had pitiful me to work on."
 
She sighed and turned away from the portrait.
 
Standing around talking to an antique painting wasn't doing her a bit of good.

      
A particularly fierce blast of wind rattled the shutters, prompting Jackie to go to the window and peer through the louvered slats.
 
The wind whipped the snow around in a furious pattern.
 
She couldn't even see beyond the porch.

      
"Oh, boy.
 
What am I going to do up here with no food?"

      
Shivering, she moved away from the window.
 
"And no heat?"
 
She could go longer without food than she could without heat.
 
Water would be no problem with all the snow outside, but how would she melt it?

      
"I can't win for losing."

      
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn't eaten anything since her cold breakfast.
 
At least it was dry inside, though definitely not warm.
 
In fact, the temperature was dropping steadily.
 
When night came she'd freeze.

      
Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them into submission.
 
She couldn't–
wouldn't
–allow Blade to get away with this.
 

      
When she turned toward the back of the room, hope spiraled through her.
 
Hidden in the shadows, an archway opened to another room at the back.
 
To the right, a winding staircase led to the second floor.
 

      
"You dummy," she muttered.

      
With any luck, the back room might be a kitchen.
 
What treasures besides the whiskey had the movie crew left behind?
 
Food?
 
Heat?
 

      
She quickened her pace to match her pulse, walking through a cobweb stretched across the doorway.
 
"Yuck."
 
Peeling the sticky threads away from her hair, she stepped into the room.
 

      
A kitchen.
 
On the table in the center of the room sat a cardboard box.
 
She rushed over and looked inside.
 
A half dozen cans with poptops greeted her.
 
Retrieving one, she read the label.
 

      
"Vienna sausages."
 
She hadn't eaten anything that heavily laced with cholesterol in over a decade, but right now she didn't care.
 
A slightly shortened lifespan was better than a severely shortened one.
 
Besides, she had to stay alive long enough to exact vengeance.