A Time For Love: (A Time Travel Romance) (Dodge City Brides Book 3)

by Julianne MacLean

  Just then, a shot rang out from the saloon across the street, and some of the women shrieked. Truman jumped clear off the boardwalk. The music and dancing ceased, while everyone in town watched Truman bolt toward the gunshot. He disappeared into the saloon.

  A few minutes later, the saloon doors flapped open and a cowboy came flying out. He tumbled across the boardwalk and down onto the street, where he crouched on his hands and knees, wiping a spot of blood from his mouth.

  The saloon doors swung open again, and three men burst through. They grabbed the cowboy by the collar and hauled him to his knees. Truman strolled out of the saloon, twirled his revolver around his index finger and dropped it into his holster. The men held the cowboy until Truman thanked them. He took the drunken troublemaker by the arm and dragged him down the street toward the jailhouse.

  “He’s quite a sheriff, isn’t he?” Angus said, stepping onto the boardwalk with Wendy on his arm.

  “He certainly is,” Jessica replied. She watched Truman until he disappeared from sight. “Are you having a good time?” she asked Angus and Wendy.

  “We sure are.” Wendy patted Angus on the belly. “This one’s a real gentleman.”

  “Would you like to dance again?” he asked.

  Wendy glanced at Jessica. “Maybe we shouldn’t leave her by herself.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Jessica waved a glib hand. “Really. Go have fun.”

  Wendy and Angus returned to the dancing, while Jessica stood and watched.

  Later, she spotted Truman on the other side of the street, talking to a woman in a low-cut lacy gown. She wore dark red lipstick and her hair was the color of a ripe tomato.

  He nodded and laughed at something. Then he removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair while the woman smiled and fingered his badge.

  Any fool could see she was flirting with him, and in this day and age, she could only be one type of woman—the kind who earned her living on her back counting ceiling tiles.

  Truman glanced around, as if to make sure no one was watching. Jessica took a quick step back behind a mule. When she peered out again, Truman was reaching into his pocket. He withdrew some money and placed it in the woman’s hand. She shoved the payment into her deep cleavage, then wiggled her hips in the other direction.

  “What was that?” Jessica whispered.

  She didn’t want to feel jealous without knowing what it was all about, but how could she help it? The mere thought of Truman with a woman like that made her feel nauseous.

  Deciding it was time to go home, Jessica returned to the dance to find Angus. She stopped in the middle of the crowd and looked all around.

  Before long, unfamiliar faces glared at her, winking and smiling to reveal missing front teeth. Most of them were drunk and rowdy. Jessica covered her nose with one hand, all at once aware of the smell of cows and pigs and the droppings they left everywhere.

  She suddenly felt very displaced and desperate for her family and home and all the modern conveniences she missed so much. If only she could pick up a phone to call her parents and ask them to come and get her. They’d be here in a heartbeat—if only it were possible.

  A horse bucked as a cowboy tried to mount him, then they galloped past Jessica, swirling up a cloud of dust. Coughing and waving her hand in front of her face, she swung around, her eyes still searching the darkness for Angus or Wendy.

  She looked around for Truman too, but couldn’t find him anywhere. No one seemed to know where he’d gone, but one drunken cowhand offered to escort her into the dance hall to keep her entertained while she waited.

  It was time to go. She’d walk home and wait for Angus on his front porch if she had to, but she no longer felt comfortable at the dance, and wanted to get out of there.

  Swiping at a pesky fly, she walked through the crowd and kept her eyes lowered. The music grew distant as she walked on, and soon she was far enough away from the business district that she could hear the crickets again.

  Blinking her weary eyes, Jessica stopped and looked up at the sky. It was a comfort to think that in some other dimension, her family could be admiring the same sky and glittering stars.

  Who really knew how this worked? Maybe Jessica was still living her life back home. Maybe she was alive there, everything was normal, and her family had no idea she was living a parallel life in another century.

  As she considered it more, however, she decided that the most likely scenario was that she had died in that car accident, and her family had already buried her. Maybe this was purgatory. Or hell. But why the Wild West of all places? If God really wanted to punish her, He could have put her on The Bachelor.

  She took in a deep breath and wondered if destiny’s blueprints were written up there somewhere, and if a doorway back to her own time even existed.

  All at once, a distant clamoring interrupted her thoughts. The ground rumbled beneath her feet. Stampede. She felt a surge of panic.

  Straining to see through the darkness, all she managed to make out were the gloomy shapes of buildings and abandoned wagons. An angry dog barked somewhere down the street.

  Then, from around a corner, they appeared like living shadows.

  Hooves thundered toward her. Dust rose up from the ground. There must have been four, maybe five horses approaching, and Jessica’s heart began to race. She felt like she was standing on a boat, rocking back and forth on a series of swells while she tried to keep her footing. Please, let them ride right by. But her prayers were in vain.

  She hurried to the side of the road, but they skidded to a halt in front of her. She backed up and bumped into a white picket fence at the edge of someone’s yard. Two of the men dismounted while the others, scowling down at her, remained astride their horses. The tallest man approached.

  He was difficult to make out in the darkness, but Jessica could sense, simply by the manner of his stride, that he was big and strong and he meant her harm.

  “Looks like we found her, boys.” His face sagged into a vile frown. “Your sheriff ain’t here to protect you now, is he, little darlin’?”

  Chapter 13

  Jessica glared up at the man’s brute size and took in the foul stench of his clothes. She clenched her jaw and demanded, “What do you want?”

  He stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “You sure got soft skin.”

  Jessica jerked away from his loathsome touch.

  “She’s shy, boys!”

  Another approached and cocked his head to the side. “She sure is pretty, Bart. What do ya’ say we take her for a ride?”

  “Sounds like a fine idea, Corey. Then we can search her.” The others laughed. One of them hawked and spit tobacco onto the ground.

  “If you lay one hand on me…” Jessica threatened through gritted teeth.

  “Yeah?”

  “I swear you’ll wake up tomorrow and wish you were dead.”

  He scowled. “I don’t think you’ll get a chance to take your revenge out on me, Junebug. Not when we’re through with you.”

  The one named Corey grabbed her wrists, but she kicked the leader in the shin. He groaned and crouched down, while Corey shoved her up against the fence pickets. The point dug painfully into her skin beneath the fabric of her dress and forced her into submission as he brushed his lips over her ear. His foul breath sent shivers of revulsion down her spine.

  “Now, listen here,” Corey said.

  “Help!” she screamed, but he quickly covered her mouth with his clammy hand while he clamped both her wrists in the other.

  Jessica bit him. He hollered and let her go. She took off toward the dance, shouting for help. The other three followed in quick pursuit.

  “Someone, help me!” she screamed.

  It wasn’t long before one of the gang members threw himself into a tackle and knocked her down. Her ankle twisted as she tried to keep from f
alling, but she fell anyway. The gritty dirt scraped into her palms, and her chin hit the ground. She bit her tongue. Pain shot to her temples.

  Scrambling to her hands and knees, she crawled away from him, but he wrapped his arms around her waist. He flipped her over onto her back and straddled her.

  “Get off me!” she hollered.

  Corey and the leader, Bart, came running, out of breath, watching her with amused expressions while she squirmed and wriggled helplessly beneath the heavy brute. Where was Truman?

  She quit fighting when a gun cocked in front of her eyes. Paralyzed with fear, she stared down its long, black barrel.

  “Now, calm down, Junebug. We ain’t gonna hurt ya’.” Bart knelt down next to her and held the weapon steady. The cold barrel brushed over her eyebrow. Jessica squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Now, where is it?” he asked.

  “Where is what?”

  “Ah, come on. You know what I’m talkin’ about.”

  She shot him a fierce glare. “No, I don’t. Let me go.”

  “Think hard, sweetness.”

  Jessica glanced sideways at the gun, while searching the far corners of her mind for an answer. “You mean...the reward?”

  “Hell, no.”

  She shook her head quickly. “Then I don’t know what you’re looking for.”

  Bart squeezed her cheeks together in one hand so her lips puckered like a fish. “That’s an awfully pretty face you got there. I’d hate to see it messed up.”

  “Just tell me what you want!” she pleaded.

  “You know what we want! Where is it?”

  Somewhere, a door opened and smacked against the outside wall of a house. A skinny, little old man in a white nightshirt, partially silhouetted by the light shining through the open doorway behind him, stepped onto his porch and aimed a shotgun.

  Bart’s gaze darted wildly toward him. “You stay out of this, mister!” he called out.

  “You let the lady go, ya’ hear?” the little man replied.

  Bart’s eyes burned with rage. “I said stay out of this, you old coot!”

  Just then, voices called out from the bottom of the hill, accompanied by the welcome clatter of speedy footsteps.

  “Let’s go, boys,” Bart said.

  The gang took off like a pack of wolves.

  Jessica rolled over onto her hands and knees, then rose unsteadily to her feet. Limping toward the side of the road, she leaned on a wagon and looked up to see a crowd of townsfolk running toward her.

  Bart and his gang were long gone.

  Barely able to support her weight on her twisted ankle, Jessica hung onto the side of the wagon.

  “Miss? You all right?” someone asked.

  She looked up at a worried face. It was the little old man with the shotgun. He must have leaped out of bed to come to her aid, for he wore no shoes.

  “I’m fine now,” she said. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would have done.”

  “I think you better come and sit down.” He helped her to a rocking chair on his covered porch. The anxious group of rescuers followed and began to ask a confusing mix of questions.

  “Do you know who they were?” someone asked.

  “How’s your foot?” The boy looked really worried.

  “What’s your name, Miss?” another asked.

  She wished all these people would just slow down.

  Jessica rubbed her temples and squeezed her eyes shut. “I think someone better get the sheriff.”

  “I’ll go!” The young boy bolted back to the main street before anyone else had a chance to offer.

  The old man knelt beside her. “Can I get you anything? I got whisky.”

  “Yes, please.”

  He went inside, leaving her in the protection of the crowd.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” Jessica said, wiping the blood from her lip. She wasn’t sure whose blood it was at first, until she felt the sting and swelling when she ran her tongue across the inside of her mouth.

  A few minutes later, she heard the rapid beating of hooves approaching.

  “It’s Wade!” someone yelled, and Jessica felt a swirl of anger rise up within her.

  ‘I’ll protect you,’ he had said. If he hadn’t been so distracted by that red-headed, big-breasted harlot, he might have been paying closer attention.

  The crowd parted as Truman dismounted and shouldered his way through. He leaned forward, but Jessica turned her cheek away when he tried to touch her swollen lip with his thumb.

  “Bastards,” he whispered, straightening.

  In a flash, he hopped off the porch, his spurs chinking as he landed in the dirt. “Which way did they go?” he asked, heading for his horse.

  “That way, Sheriff!” someone answered.

  He mounted and said, “Take care of her!” Then he clicked his tongue and took off at a gallop.

  Jessica watched the cloud of dust that swirled up in his wake. As it faded into the darkness, tears filled her eyes. Cupping her forehead in a hand, she silently cursed this God-forsaken place and wished like hell there was a fast plane out of here. If there were, she’d be on it, and wouldn’t look back.

  “I saw you dancing with Sheriff Wade,” Wendy said an hour later, sitting at the foot of Jessica’s bed in Angus’s house. “It looked like you were having a nice time. Why did you leave?”

  Jessica turned her eyes toward the dark window. “Because I couldn’t find you or him, and I didn’t feel safe among all those drunken cowboys. Besides that, I saw Truman talking to a prostitute tonight, and I suppose I was a little miffed.”

  Wendy touched her hand. “It doesn’t mean anything if they were just talking.”

  “But I saw him give her money.”

  Wendy paused. “Well...we don’t know that it was payment for anything…immoral. He’s a gentleman, Jessica. Ain’t no man finer than him in this town. Except maybe Mr. Maxwell.”

  Leaning back against the headboard, Jessica regarded Wendy keenly. “Why are you so concerned with what I think of Sheriff Wade anyway?”

  Wendy shrugged and stood up to open the window. A light breeze blew in and lifted the white linen curtains.

  “He just seems different these days, that’s all. His scowl is gone.”

  “What scowl?” Jessica didn’t understand what Wendy was getting at.

  Wendy returned to the bed. “He’s always had this real intense look about him, like he’s concentrating real hard. He never stops to chat, but over the past week, he’s been saying hello to people. Sometimes he smiles.”

  “That’s not so strange.”

  “I think he likes you more than you know.”

  Jessica couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Likes me? You think he likes me because he’s not scowling?”

  Wendy wagged a finger. “You two looked nice together when you were dancing.”

  “Just because two people look good together doesn’t mean they’re meant for each other.”

  Yet she couldn’t stop thinking about how wonderful and exhilarating it felt just to be in his presence. The whole time she was dancing with him, her body was on fire with excitement, and she hadn’t wanted it to end.

  Nevertheless, she searched her mind for a non-committal answer. “He’s a good dancer.”

  “I never saw him dance before.”

  “Not even with his wife?”

  Wendy cocked her head to the side. “Sheriff Wade’s not married.”

  “He used to be.”

  Wendy leaned forward. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, he told me she died.”

  Wendy let out a breath. “I had no idea. What happened to her?”

  “I was hoping you would know.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think anybody in Dodge knows about it.”
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  Jessica and Wendy stopped talking when they heard a horse gallop up to the house, followed by footsteps up the walk, and a knock at the front door.

  “Sheriff Wade, come in,” Angus said from downstairs.

  “Maybe he caught the gang,” Wendy whispered, as they tried to listen to the conversation, but couldn’t make out much of anything.

  A minute later, Angus’s footsteps tapped up the stairs, and he knocked at the bedroom door. “Jessica? Sheriff Wade wants to see you.”

  Her heartbeat skyrocketed. “Tell him I’ll be right down,” she answered through the closed door.

  Wendy wrapped a blanket around Jessica’s shoulders and helped her to the top of the stairs. Jessica then limped down on her own while Truman watched from the parlor. He stood quickly, holding his hat in his hands.

  Truman hadn’t expected Jessica to be wearing a nightdress, or to be barefoot. As she descended the stairs with the light of a bracket lamp flickering behind her, he saw her toes peeking out from under the white hem, and the bandages around her ankle. Then he looked up at her face.

  What he saw there, in the compelling depths of her eyes, in the curving line of her lips, was an emotion he didn’t want to see. Disappointment. She was upset that he hadn’t been there to keep her safe.

  It reinforced every doubt he had about his ability to keep any woman safe. He shouldn’t have made that promise. He, of all people, should have known better.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  She limped to the sofa and sat down. Angus and Wendy went into the kitchen. “I’m fine.”

  “Your foot….”

  “I sprained my ankle when they knocked me down.”

  He wrestled violently with a sudden strike of fury when he imagined those ruffians man-handling her.

  “This was my fault,” he said. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

  The next thing he knew, he was moving closer, taking a seat beside her....

  He wrapped his arms around her, and she responded by kissing him lightly on the lips, then resting her cheek on his shoulder.

  His blood quickened at the nearness of her, at the softness of her flesh beneath the thin fabric of the nightgown. He cupped the back of her head, then ran his hand down the length of her silky hair to the small of her back, felt her breasts tight against his chest, and couldn’t seem to curb the intensity of his desires.