Jessica took his hand. “Come over to the lamp, so I can look at you.” He followed, but when she caught sight of him, she gasped, a sharp sound in the bleak silence. “Oh, God.”
He was black and blue, one eye swollen shut. Blood matted his hair close to his temple. The skin over his cheekbone was cut. Blood stained his black shirt and dripped down his neck.
“Oh, Truman.” Jessica reached to touch his face, but he jerked away.
“Don’t,” he said.
She wanted to pound the disgusting thugs who brought them here. “How could they do this to you?”
“They’re cowards. They knocked me out before they took their punches. I don’t remember any of it.”
Jessica wished there was something she could do to clean his wounds, but they didn’t even have any water.
“I need to get you out of here,” he said, looking around. “Do you know where we are?”
“About a half-hour ride west of the Russells’ place.”
He frowned. “That’s not good. If they let you see where they were taking you, I doubt they plan to let us out of here alive.”
She shut her eyes and tipped her forehead against the solid wall of his chest. “This really sucks.”
He gathered her into his arms again, and Jessica knew that while he held her, he was thinking and plotting.
“We have to find out what it is they want from you,” he said, “then tell them you have it, but not with you. We’ll try to bargain.”
“Will it work?”
He gazed down at her. “I don’t know. They seem pretty ruthless.”
“I can be ruthless, too,” she assured him.
If one of them came down here now, she was quite sure she would beat him insensible with her own hands.
“Maybe Dempsey will find us,” she said, working hard to restrain those feelings of aggression—at least for now. “Angus told him you were missing. Soon, he’ll discover I’m gone and…”
She watched Truman beneath the orange glow of the lamp, thinking back on everything that had brought them here and wished in vain that she’d never stopped to fight with that Junebug.
Truman looked at the stairs. “Have you tried the door?”
“No.”
He brushed by her and climbed the cellar steps. He listened at the top and jiggled the latch, but the door was bolted shut. When he heard nothing from the other side, he began to slam his shoulder against it.
A voice shouted. “Give it up, Wade! It’s locked tight with a few extra boards nailed on just to be sure.”
Truman uttered an oath and stepped back down.
The voice called down to them again from behind the locked door. “You two might as well relax. Bart’ll be down in the morning to have a little chat with you.” His footsteps started away and then stopped. “Oh,” he added, as if he’d just thought of something clever. “Enjoy your last night together.”
Jessica listened to the heartless laughter and felt breathless with rage. Then she began to tremble. If only she would wake up in her own bed with Truman beside her and find the television on....
Footsteps pounded across the floor overhead; bedsprings creaked and bounced. Then silence.
“I guess we’re stuck here until morning,” Truman said. “Do you have any idea how late it is?”
“It must be after three. Maybe four.”
“We should get some sleep.” He unhooked the lamp, carried it to the other side of the cellar, and found an old blanket from behind one of the crates. “You can lie down on this.”
Jessica glanced up at his bruised face. “We’ll share it. How about over there?” She pointed toward the far corner where they would be out of sight if anyone came down the stairs. Truman set the lamp down and spread the blanket on the ground.
“I don’t want this to be our last night together,” she whispered as she lay down.
“It won’t be.”
Curling up beside him on the blanket, she hid her face in his shoulder while he stared up at the ceiling, blinking.
“What if tomorrow...?”
Truman leaned up on his side and draped one arm across her stomach. “Everything will be fine.”
“You always say that, but what if it isn’t? What if tonight really is our last night?”
He touched a finger to her lips.
“Make love to me,” she said.
His expression grew strained. “Jessica....”
“Why not? I’m in love with you. There, I’ve said it.” Relief flooded through her, but his reaction crushed it instantly. His eyes turned cold, and his voice was dark and almost threatening.
“I don’t want you to love me.”
“Why?”
Lying back, his hand slipping from her stomach onto his own, he said, “There are things you don’t know about me. Things no one knows.”
She wanted to tell him that it didn’t matter. There were things he didn’t know about her either, like the fact that she came from another century and still wanted to return home. She felt torn, yes…because of how she felt about him, but this was not her world, and when the time came—if it came—she would leave him. It would kill her inside, but she would do it.
If only she could take him with her, but would he even want that? Would she? How sensible or realistic would it be to bring a lawman from the Wild West into the twenty-first century? How would they ever live?
She leaned up on an elbow and looked into his eyes. “You can tell me anything,” she said, “because I have secrets, too. Things you wouldn’t believe.”
He touched her cheek. “I’ve always known that, since the first moment we met.” Abruptly, he sat up. Then he stood and rested his forehead on a low timber beam.
Jessica rose and approached him. “Tell me everything. I want to know all your secrets. Then I’ll tell you mine.”
A vein pulsed at his temple. “I don’t know if I can. The words are like poison on my tongue.”
He moved into the shadows and sat down on the chair. Jessica picked up the lantern and set it on the dirt floor at his feet.
He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands locked together in front of him.
“Why don’t you want me to love you?” she boldly asked.
He lifted his eyes, and the malice was there again, reflecting in the lamplight. “Dorothy loved me,” he said, “and I wish every day that she hadn’t.”
“Are you afraid I’ll get sick and die, like she did?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, it’s not that.”
“What is it, then?”
There was a long pause. “It was my fault that she died.”
Jessica knelt down and took his hands in hers. “She was sick, Truman. You can’t blame yourself. It was no one’s fault.”
He glared at her with dark and brooding hostility. “You’re wrong about that.”
“How?”
The flame in the lantern sputtered and hissed. “Because I shot her.”
Chapter 20
A cold wave of shock moved through Jessica as she digested Truman’s words.
“What happened?”
He sat forward again, rested his elbows on his knees, and looked her in the eye as he spoke.
“She was sick—that much is true—and we couldn’t run the farm. We needed money, so I set out to collect what I thought would be an easy reward. There was an outlaw they called Big Dog. He knew I was looking for him, and by that time, folks knew my aim was good, and I didn’t miss my mark often. I reckon he wanted to get to me before I could get to him, so he came to the house.”
Jessica swallowed over the sickening lump of dread that rose up in her throat.
“When Big Dog walked in my front door,” he continued, “I drew my weapon. Big Dog shot me in the shoulder, and I shot him at the sam
e time. He dropped his gun but stayed on his feet, while I fell back onto the floor. He was wobbling, and I figured he’d go down any time. So I lay there with my six-shooter aimed at his head, not even knowing if I had any bullets left.”
Sitting back in the chair, Truman kept his eyes trained on Jessica’s. “That’s when Dorothy came out of the bedroom with my shotgun. I didn’t see her. She was so quiet on her bare feet. Big Dog saw her though. He made a move for his gun, so I fired. Dorothy stepped between us right then and took my bullet in her back.” His quiet voice shook. “She thought Big Dog shot her, and I never told her the difference. She died right there in my arms. The last thing she said was, ‘I saved you.’”
Jessica got down on her knees in front of him. “I’m very sorry, Truman.”
“I buried her on the hill,” he continued, “and everyone in town thought...” He looked down. “I told them Big Dog shot her. Then I took the reward money, sold the ranch, and left town for good.”
“It was an accident.”
“But I should have told people. I should have told her folks. They were good people, and I lied to them.”
“You’d been through hell, dealing with the worst kind of guilt. You were in no state to think clearly.” She ran her fingers down his arm, searching for the right words.
“I killed my wife,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll never forgive myself for it, and I don’t want to lose you like I lost her.”
“You will forgive yourself,” she said. “I’ll make sure of it. And you won’t lose me.”
A chill shivered up her spine. Could she really promise him that?
Suddenly, in a rush of movement, he stood up, pulled her to her feet, and smothered her next words with a deep, open-mouthed kiss that left her burning with love and desire.
She knew she had to tell him the truth about where she came from, but he needed her now. He needed this, so she would confess her secrets later. Besides, morning would be here soon, and they’d done enough talking....
His lips seared a path down her neck, and she threw her head back, opening herself to him completely.
“I need to make love to you,” he growled in her ear, and just the sound of his voice fired a tremor of relentless passion into her blood.
Jessica slid her hand down his firm thigh and wondered how he had endured the past two years without intimacy, hiding his secret from the world. “Yes....”
In a reckless flurry of movement, she unfastened his trousers and slid her hand inside. He responded with a groan of pleasure, while she touched her lips to the fine curve of his collarbone, tasting the delicious salty flavor of his skin. Nipping gently, her lips followed her trembling fingers as she undid the buttons of his shirt and kissed his chest. He pulled his shirt off over his head, and her lips found the firm, smooth corded surface of muscle at his stomach.
Next, with clumsy fingers, she unbuckled his empty gun belt and dropped it onto the ground beside them.
“Come to the blanket,” he said, taking her hand and leading her into the shadows. “We’ll be more comfortable there.”
She followed him away from the lamplight into the darkness where he had laid their bed. Barely able to see him, she reached out to touch him instead, her impassioned senses shifting away from sight and becoming alert to smells, sounds, and textures. Locked together, they sank onto the blanket.
Truman uttered a husky murmur and lowered himself on top of her. She wrapped her legs around him, unable to get close enough, wanting, craving everything she knew he was going to do with her.
His lips blindly sought the sensitive flesh at her neck. Warm kisses journeyed to her shoulder as he slid a hand inside her shirt. He released each button and slid the shirt off her, covering her with his hot, sensuous weight.
“You feel good,” he whispered, reaching down to unfasten her jeans.
She wiggled out of them. He removed his, and as soon as he was naked beside her, she rolled onto him. “Lie back.” She pressed her palm to his chest and guided him down. “Relax.”
“That’s not possible.” His tone was low and laden with desire.
His fingers found her breasts and inflamed her swirling senses as she eased herself down onto him, melting around him. Slowly she moved with controlled effort. The hard swell of him filled her with soaring pleasure.
“God,” he moaned, his hands trailing down her flat stomach and around her hips to guide her in the directions that pleased him. Jessica tipped her head back, swaying to his rhythm.
She went where he moved her, learning what he liked and what worked for her. Then she needed more, so she thrust faster, impatiently, until she was drained of strength, her body depleted of its power to thrust any harder.
Truman sat up and rolled them over onto the woolen blanket. “I wish we could do this forever,” she heard herself say in a cloud of pleasure, aware that she was denying the dangerous reality that faced them.
“We will,” he replied.
Within moments, his hips were grinding against hers, deeper each time as she arched her back. His name spilled from her lips, begging, pleading for more—more of his blinding, plunging desire.
Then, just as she began to believe there was no ecstasy more perfect than this, her body gave way, and she bit her lip to suppress the urge to cry out his name. All the sensual pleasures of life came to her at once, until she was spent, collapsing upon him, her arms falling open to the ground.
The bed above them had creaked and squeaked during the night, giving Truman something to pay attention to outside of his own thoughts and regrets.
Nestled beside Jessica, who slept contentedly on his shoulder, he stared up at the blackness above him and wondered how he could ever live his life from this day forward without her.
He simply couldn’t. He was devoted now, for the rest of his days. That’s the kind of man he was. When he loved, he loved forever. It was not something he took lightly. He loved from the deepest reaches of his soul. Not even death would keep him from her now.
Brushing the tip of his thumb over the soft, creamy skin at her neck, he recalled the sounds she had made when she’d shuddered beneath him. The bliss of that moment had consumed him so completely, he had imagined their predicament was all a bad dream.
Lying here now, he knew that to be a sad hallucination.
Truman shifted. His arm was falling asleep, but he didn’t want to wake Jessica. Her breathing had grown steady quite some time ago, and she had not stirred except for a slight twitching of her cheek where it was snuggled against his shoulder. Her heavy hair lay across his chest, tickling him each time it fluttered against the light breezes of her sweet breaths. He touched her lightly, but noticed the back of her arm seemed cold. He covered it with his hand.
A few moments passed. In the quiet, he felt her awakening, by the change in her breathing and the subtle movement of her head as she swallowed. Then a sweet whisper floated into his consciousness. “Do you think we’ll be all right tomorrow?”
Truman hugged her. “Yes.”
They had discussed their escape strategy in great detail after they’d made love.
If only he had his gun. The sorry events of the day before made him want to lash out and smack that overhead beam. He’d been foolish to ride up to that wagon without thinking. He should have slept at some point. He shouldn’t have believed he could stay alert.
Pins and needles tingled up his arm, so he tried to move. Jessica, so incredibly attuned to his needs, lifted her cheek, sat up, and watched him roll his shoulder to get the feeling back.
“Maybe we should get dressed,” she said.
“Yeah. It must be almost dawn.” He reached across her and picked up her clothes, holding them out to her. “Do you remember what to do?”
“I think so,” she answered, wiggling into her jeans.
He stood to pull on his clothes. “It would b
e best to let me do the talking.”
He buckled his empty gun belt and shook his head at the foolish comfort he took from the ritual.
“What should we do now?” Jessica asked, combing her fingers through her hair.
“There’s not much we can do but wait.”
Truman looked into her eyes and wondered how they had come to this. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I promised I’d protect you, didn’t I?”
Just then, the cellar door burst open.
A shot of panic fired into Jessica’s blood as she was blinded by the bright sunlight cascading down the cellar steps. Reaching for Truman’s hand, she knew this was the moment that would decide their fate.
He squeezed her hand, then moved protectively in front of her. Two dirty boots stepped into view and stomped down.
“Howdy,” Corey grunted, sucking on a cigar. He pulled it from his thin lips and tapped ashes onto the dirt floor.
Jessica wanted to dash forward, throw her body into him, and punch him repeatedly in the head, but one look at the revolver in his belt told her that would not be a wise move.
Truman spoke daringly. “What do you want, Corey?”
“You know exactly what I want.” He placed the cigar between his teeth and walked into the shadows. “You two have been spending an awful lot of time together lately.”
Jessica bit her lip, wondering how in the world they were going to make their plan work.
“Get to the point,” Truman demanded, his eyes narrowing.
“Bart wanted to kill you, Wade, but I told him not to. I knew you was worth keeping.”
Calmly, Truman removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “Why’s that?”
Corey pointed his cigar toward Jessica. “It don’t take a fool to see that you and this little lady are workin’ together, maybe even enjoying a little naughty business on the side.”
“What’s your point?” Truman replied.
“Well,” he said, tapping more ashes onto the floor. “That makes things easier. You see, if one of you was to be in a whole lot of pain—”
A Time For Love: (A Time Travel Romance) (Dodge City Brides Book 3) Page 16
