Bodyguards Boxed Set

by Julianne MacLean

  “Matthew, see that Lou gets looked after.” The sheriff’s smile vanished, and it felt as if the temperature dropped. “I think you better come along with me, Junebug. We’re going to have a little chat in the jailhouse.”

  Jessica’s stomach lurched with dread as he took hold of her arm and led her down the street, granting no opportunity for debate. They marched quickly, and it wasn’t easy keeping up with the sheriff’s long strides. He had to be at least six feet tall. But everyone seemed tall next to her tiny five-foot-four inch frame.

  “Would you mind loosening your grip, Sheriff?” she said haughtily. “There’s no need for police brutality. I’m not resisting arrest.”

  He let her go, but kept one hand on his weapon at all times as if he half expected a gang of outlaws to ride up out of nowhere and break her free.

  Finally, they reached the two-story jailhouse, and he escorted her through the front door and into a jail cell.

  “Hey, you can’t put me in here.”

  Before she had a chance to say another word, he swung the bars shut in front of her face and locked her in.

  Jingling the key ring in his hand, he gave her a quick look before hanging it on a hook across the room.

  Jessica, reeling with frustration, gazed around the one-room jailhouse. She had expected to see a telephone, a computer and maybe some florescent lights, but even the law office was straight out of another century.

  At that instant, her frustration turned to fear. “I need to speak to a lawyer,” she said, gripping the cold iron bars. “And I need a phone.”

  “No phone here I’m afraid.”

  It was one brick wall after another. Her stomach muscles clenched tight, mirroring her desperation.

  The sheriff sat on a messy, paper-covered desk, folded his muscled arms at his chest, and crossed one ankle over the other.

  Growing increasingly anxious by the minute, Jessica pinched the bridge of her nose. She had to ask the question that had been niggling at her ever since the accident—the question she hadn’t wanted to ask—and she needed to ask it in a way that wouldn’t make her sound insane or delusional. “Sheriff, what’s the date today?”

  “June 29th.”

  She cleared her throat and felt some relief, because June 29th was the date she woke up that morning. “And the year is, of course....”

  His dark eyebrows drew together. “Eighteen-eighty-one.” He stared at her.

  Jessica squeezed her eyes shut against the panic, and felt a crippling need to lie down.

  “I need to speak to a lawyer,” she said again, more shakily this time.

  “Are you all right, Junebug? You look a little pale.” His voice conveyed some concern, as if he finally noticed how unsettled she was.

  She sat down. “No, I’m not all right. I was in a car accident. I almost died today, and I had to walk here from the wreck. And now I’m in jail! And don’t call me Junebug.”

  He leaned forward in his chair and again looked down at her jeans and shoes, everything crusted in mud. “I didn’t hear about any train wreck.”

  “No, not a train wreck. A car wreck.”

  He frowned.

  Please tell me you know what a car is .

  “Really, you have to believe me,” she said. “I’m not sure how I got here. I can’t remember what happened exactly, but I don’t belong in this place.” She swallowed hard over the panic and tried to beat it down, but it was no use. Her heart began to beat very fast.

  Sheriff Wade opened a drawer, pulled out another clean folded handkerchief, stood up, and passed it through the bars. “No need to fret, darlin’. You’re safe now.”

  Her pride bucked wildly as she glanced down at his offering, then she lifted her gaze to meet his and spoke with a hard edge of confidence. “I don’t need a hanky, and I’m not your darlin’. What I need is to speak to a lawyer, and I won’t say anything more until you bring me one.”

  He watched her for a moment. The fierce lines around his eyes softened, then he turned back to his desk. “You stay put till Deputy Dempsey gets here. I’ll see if I can fetch Mr. Maxwell. He won’t be happy about being disturbed after hours.”

  “Is he a lawyer?” Jessica asked, her hopes igniting.

  “Yep.” Without another word, Sheriff Wade turned and walked out.

  * * *

  TRUMAN WALKED OUT of the jailhouse and stood alone on the dark, damp street. His shoulders heaved as he breathed in the cool night air.

  He had an uneasy feeling in his gut. The woman he just tossed in jail… something wasn’t right about her. It wasn’t merely the strange things she said either—like talking about a car wreck.

  Whatever that was.

  No, it was something else. She had an odd fear in her eyes that didn’t seem to go with her tough and plucky attitude. He wasn’t sure how to describe it, and he was even less sure where it was coming from.

  All he knew was that he’d felt compelled to leave the jailhouse to get her that lawyer she wanted- even though she wasn’t in any trouble. She hadn’t done anything illegal. All she did was bring in an outlaw who was wanted dead or alive, and now he was dead. Case closed.

  Then why the hell was he holding her? he wondered uneasily, as he stomped down the steps to fetch Maxwell.

  Chapter Three

  * * *

  JESSICA SAT ON the cot inside the tiny cell and tried to stay calm while she figured things out. What exactly happened to her when she blacked out in the car and woke up on the prairie? Did she really travel through time, or was this some freakishly elaborate hoax?

  She looked around the room, searching everywhere for something that didn’t belong in 1881. An electrical socket hidden behind the unpainted wooden table? A prop made of plastic, perhaps?

  Unfortunately, after a futile search, she had turned up nothing. Everything seemed perfectly old fashioned and authentic—the tin wash basin, the desk, the WANTED posters on the wall.

  Sitting back down on the cot, she ran her hand along the scratchy wool blanket beneath her. When she squeezed the mattress, the straw crackled inside.

  Just then, the door opened and a young man entered the office. He wore a cowboy hat, brown trousers, and a beige shirt with a navy vest. Clearing his throat, he tugged at his collar to loosen it. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen.

  “Howdy, Miss. I’m Deputy Dempsey. They say you killed Left Hand Lou.”

  Jessica let out a sigh and wondered when this nightmare would end.

  “Lou’s been wanted for a year now,” Dempsey said. “Sheriff Wade’s been after him, offered a reward for his capture, dead or alive. I guess that’ll be dead in your case.”

  Jessica stood and walked to the bars. “I’m going to get a reward? Is that legal?”

  “Sheriff Wade nailed them posters up himself.”

  She decided it would be best to play along. “What am I doing in jail then, if I brought in a wanted man?”

  “The sheriff’s pretty thorough. I reckon he’ll be askin’ around to confirm who you are. Just to make sure you’re not wanted by the law, too.”

  “Well, I can guarantee he won’t find anything on me.” And that was the truth, especially if this really was 1881. “How much is the reward?”

  “You mean you don’t know? Everybody knows about that reward. Lou was famous.”

  She hesitated and chose her words carefully. “I’m from out of town.”

  “Well then....” He smiled proudly. “It’s five hundred dollars.”

  A nice tidy sum. It might come in handy if she was stuck here for a while.

  “When will I get the money?” she asked.

  “Wade’ll have to talk to the governor. It might take a few days.” He walked around the sheriff’s desk, sat down in a creaky chair, and rested his elbows on his knees. “So, how’d it feel to meet Sheriff Wade in person? Most folks get all tongue tied and like to go home braggin’ about it.”

  She sat on the cot. “Why? Is he famous or something?”


  “Darn tootin! He can draw quicker’n you can spit and holler howdy. Lou was pretty good, too, but I would’ve put my money on Wade if I was a gambling man.” Deputy Dempsey’s face went pale. “But I suppose, you must be pretty good, yerself.”

  Jessica shook her head and looked down at the floor. If she wasn’t up to her ears in anxiety, she might find some of this amusing. “How is it Sheriff Wade became so famous?”

  “Well, nobody knows the whole story for sure. The way I heard it, he shot the outlaw who killed the old town marshal. There was a draw, and nobody even saw Truman go for his gun.”

  Dempsey drew his six-shooter. He clumsily twirled it around his index finger and dropped it back into the holster. “He was just like lightning they say. They elected him county sheriff not long after that. He also holds the office of town marshal. Dodge has been pretty quiet since then. Nobody wants to mess with him.”

  “That’s it? He won a single draw?” Jessica said. “Could’ve been pure luck.”

  “Luck?” Deputy Dempsey’s head drew back as if she had just said the sky was green. “No, he’s never missed.”

  “You mean he’s killed others?”

  “That’s what people say. He’s only been here a year, and he hasn’t killed anybody else in Dodge other than that one outlaw. Hasn’t had to. People don’t risk making him want to shoot them, I guess.”

  Dempsey stood up and sauntered to the window. “They say he used to be a hired gun and killed people for money. He won’t talk about it, though.”

  All of a sudden, Jessica wasn’t feeling too well. Ever since Gregory was shot, guns were not her favorite topic of conversation. Yet here she was, held prisoner by a man famous for killing people. For money.

  She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead as the ground started to whirl beneath her feet. That worried her because she’d had a few dizzy spells since the accident.

  “I think I need to lie down.” She put her head down on the pillow.

  Dempsey quickly averted his gaze. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. I’ll be outside if you need anything.” He placed his hat on his head and left.

  Jessica lay on the rickety cot, trying not to make any sudden movements that might cause her to hurl. She rolled onto her side and rested her cheek on her hands. The sheriff’s face appeared in her mind, and something about his eyes sent her head into another spin. Maybe it was the unusual turquoise color of his eyes that struck her with such potency.

  No, that wasn’t it. There was something else....

  Jessica sat up. Sheriff Wade was familiar. She was certain she’d seen him before. But where? She wouldn’t forget meeting a man like that.

  Just then, the door creaked open. Jessica rose to her feet.

  “Miss Delaney?”

  “Yes?”

  Sheriff Wade entered the jailhouse with one thumb hooked in his belt loop and the other tipping his hat off his forehead. Those eyes gleamed in the lamplight, and for a flashing second, she forgot about the bed spins.

  “Here’s the lawyer you wanted,” he drawled.

  A portly middle-aged man wearing spectacles and a three-piece suit entered the jailhouse. A gold watch chain dangled from the pocket of his vest, and he carried a soft brown leather briefcase. The top of his balding head didn’t quite reach the bottom point of Sheriff Wade’s badge.

  This was the man who was going to help her? She was hoping for someone...taller.

  “I understand you are vehemently requesting a lawyer,” he remarked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Angus Maxwell.” He crossed the room with his hand outstretched. She immediately put her own through the bars and gave him a firm handshake. He stared into her eyes for a moment.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Jessica shivered.

  “Sheriff, will you excuse us please?” Maxwell asked, turning. “I’d like some privacy with my client.”

  Wade nodded and disappeared out the front door with Dempsey. Mr. Maxwell set his briefcase on the floor.

  “What is it?” Jessica asked again. The man’s silence was unnerving. Something was wrong. She feared he was about to deliver terrible news.

  “I understand you shot a man.”

  “No. That’s what I need to talk to you about.”

  “Sheriff Wade also said you were in a car accident.”

  “That’s right, but—”

  “How long have you been in Dodge?” he asked.

  “That depends on what Dodge you’re talking about. This sure isn’t the Dodge I know.”

  He narrowed his bespectacled gaze. “How do you mean?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  For a long moment, he squinted into her eyes, then looked down at her outfit. “Sheriff Wade got me out of bed to come here and talk to you. He said you were desperate, and I’d like to know why.”

  She thought hard about what she should say. “Is client confidentiality invented yet? I mean, you’re sworn to secrecy, right?”

  “I assure you, I am very discreet.”

  She paced back and forth in the cell. “Well, in that case…I’m going to tell you something that’s going to sound a little crazy.”

  He quirked a brow. “Believe me, I’ve heard it all. Nothing you say will surprise me.”

  Jessica continued to pace, but watched his expression carefully as she began to explain.

  “I think I might have...I know this sounds unbelievable, but...” She leaned closer and whispered. “I’m not from here, and I think I might have traveled back in time. In my world, it’s 2011.”

  His stunned expression silenced her.

  “You don’t believe me, do you?” she said. “I knew it.”

  Mr. Maxwell cleared his throat, as if he had no idea how to respond.

  “Nothing’s the same here,” she continued. “I’m used to telephones and lights and...well you probably wouldn’t understand. Sheriff Wade just told me that it’s 1881, and I’m having a hard time accepting it myself. Maybe I’ve lost my mind, or I’m hallucinating. I don’t know. I just want to go home.”

  His eyes narrowed as if he were struggling to understand. “When did you arrive here?”

  “About an hour ago, or maybe it was longer. I don’t know. It was a bit of a walk, and I was disoriented.”

  “What happened to the car?”

  “I have no idea. It seemed vanish into thin air, but I think I blacked out for a while. When I woke up, I was lying on the prairie.”

  He stared at her. “This is inconceivable.”

  Jessica turned away from him and crossed the cell to the crude square mirror that hung over the wash basin. She looked at her reflection carefully. “Tell me about it.”

  “But you don’t understand…” he began to say.

  Just then, the door of the jailhouse opened and Wade entered with Deputy Dempsey. Mr. Maxwell swung around to face them.

  “You two about finished?” the sheriff asked.

  Maxwell stepped forward. “Sheriff Wade, my client was doing her duty as a U.S. citizen. Her intention was to bring in Left Hand Lou in response to your advertisement.”

  Jessica opened her mouth to object, but Mr. Maxwell held up a hand to silence her.

  “Fine,” Wade said. “I’ll arrange for the reward money in the morning.”

  Jessica stared at him in astonishment.

  “But I want to hold her for a while,” Wade added, “until I do some checking on my own.”

  “That’s fine, Sheriff.” Mr. Maxwell approached the bars again and whispered to Jessica, “Come and see me when he releases you. I’ll provide you with a place to stay.” He slipped a card to her with his name and address written on it. “And don’t tell anyone what you’ve just told me. There’s more you need to know first. I’ll explain when I see you.”

  Turning away, he tipped his hat at the sheriff, and left Jessica standing there with her mouth agape.

  Sheriff Wade unbuckled his gun belt and hung it on the hook next to h
is hat. “You can go home, Dempsey. I’ll look after Miss Delaney for the night.” He sat down in the chair and threw his long legs up onto the desk. Jessica looked at Deputy Dempsey for help, but he’d already disappeared through the door, which was bouncing on its hinges.

  “Don’t expect me to answer any questions without my lawyer present,” she said.

  Sheriff Wade studied her intently. “I’ve never met anyone so fixed on having their lawyer around.”

  “I know my rights.”

  “You certainly do advocate that.” He looked down at her belted jacket and noticed the torn pocket. “Do you have any other clothes? You’re covered in mud.”

  “No,” she replied and gave a little shiver.

  “I’ll see if I can get something else for you to wear.”

  Wade rose from the chair and crossed the room toward the staircase. The flame in the kerosene lamp flickered as he passed by, and Jessica breathed a sigh of relief to be out from under his concentrated scrutiny.

  A few minutes later, his black leather boots came tapping heavily down the stairs. Jessica stood up and watched him approach with a pale blue calico dress and some white cotton petticoats draped over his arm.

  Just before he passed the garments to her, he ran his hand gently, almost tenderly, across the lace neckline. “This should fit,” he said, “though it may need hemming. You’re not as tall as...as my wife.”

  Jessica reached out to take the garments from him and pulled them carefully through the bars.

  She noticed there was no corset, but he probably assumed she was already wearing one. “Your wife won’t mind?”

  He leaned one elbow on the tall cabinet and glanced out the window. “I doubt it.”

  Jessica held the dress up in front of her. It was like something out of an old movie. “I don’t know about this. Look at this petticoat. Geez. I’m going to get all caught up in it. I’ll be tripping all over the place.”

  “Put it on,” he said. “At least you’ll look like a lady, even if you can’t sound like one.”

  “I assure you, Sheriff, I’m every inch a lady.”

  He gave her a quick once over from head to foot, as if studying all those inches she had just referred to, then he lifted the black hat from its hook on the wall, placed it on his head and buckled his gun belt around his hips.