Bodyguards Boxed Set

by Julianne MacLean

  No, he didn’t want it.

  He wanted her, and the whole thing made his head pound with the searing knowledge that no matter how hard he tried, he was going to lose this battle. Maybe he should just yield now, go back upstairs, and get on with it.

  He laid his cards down on the table and nodded at the dealer.

  * * *

  WHEN JESSICA PULLED the covers back, she took one look at the sheets and doubted they were changed since the last guest—or guests—had slept there, so she unpacked her bag and decided to sleep in her clothes on top of the covers. She’d use her dress to keep warm.

  Turning the key in the lantern, without extinguishing the flame entirely, Jessica snuggled down and closed her eyes, but they flew open at the sound of thumping in the next room. Wide awake now, she couldn’t help but listen.

  The bed next door squeaked and bounced. An occasional grunt alternated with giggly moans from a loud-mouthed woman.

  Jessica sat back on a heel. She draped an arm over her other knee and cupped her forehead in her palm. What next? It was impossible not to listen. She couldn’t help herself. And with this being a whorehouse, the racket was probably going to continue all night.

  Jessica waited for it to stop—thankfully it was over pretty quickly—then lay back down and pulled her dress up to her chin. A peculiar thought occurred to her, but she fanned it away. She was being ridiculous. Just then, the bed next door started squeaking again, faster this time. It thumped and whacked against the wall so hard, dust flew onto Jessica’s bed. Anger boiled inside her until she sat up and swung her feet to the floor. She considered pounding against the wall to shut them up, but under the circumstances, she knew she had to keep quiet.

  That ridiculous thought occurred to her again. It wasn’t Truman, was it?

  Don’t be so foolish, Jessica .

  The woman next door screamed out in pleasure. You’d think she just won the lottery. Jessica could feel her blood pressure rising.

  Sliding off the bed, she limped toward the door. Maybe she could take a brief look downstairs. It would set her mind to rest if she could see Truman. Then maybe she could get some sleep. She stopped pacing and stared at the doorknob. Just one little peek....

  As she moved closer to the door, the squeaking and groaning stopped. Jessica stood listening, frozen in her spot as the door to the other room slowly creaked open. Slow footsteps tapped along the hall. Jessica’s heart began to race as the footsteps approached.

  She stared at the brass doorknob. Please, let them pass by, she thought, stepping back.

  The knob turned. She placed her hand on her chest to try and calm her breathing, preparing to scream for Truman.

  Or scream at Truman.

  Then the door slowly opened.

  Chapter Fifteen

  * * *

  ALL OF A sudden, screaming didn’t seem like the proper thing to do. Sneaking into Jessica’s room and closing the door…was a woman.

  Jessica examined the tattered looking pink lace and black stockings. The woman turned to face her with eyes that were darkened with kohl smeared thickly under her lower lashes. Jessica also noticed the woman’s familiar red hair. She was the prostitute Truman had given money to on the street.

  “You must be the secret guest,” she said.

  Jessica watched her carefully through narrowed eyes. “Yes, and who are you?”

  She chuckled. “Don’t worry, honey. I ain’t your enemy.” The woman crossed the room to the bed. “I just came in to make sure everything was to your likin’, that’s all.” She leaned forward and pulled the covers back. “Hmm, sheets aren’t too clean.”

  “I didn’t think anyone knew I was here,” Jessica said, her voice quiet and controlled.

  “Yeah, well… your secret’s safe with me.” She looked Jessica up and down. “Truman said you were a real spitfire, but you don’t look like much to me.”

  Being insulted had a funny way of shaking Jessica’s senses into a workable order. “What do you want?” she asked, wishing the woman would state her business and leave.

  “I wanted to get a look at the famous Junebug Jess, up close.” She wandered casually to the window, pushed the curtain aside, and looked out onto the alley. Letting the curtain fall closed, she lifted her skirt, reached up to her garter, and retrieved a cigarette.

  “What’s your name?” Jessica asked.

  “Rosalie.” She took a match from the box on the bedside table, struck it, and lit her cigarette. The fresh scent of sulfur drifted across the room as Rosalie inhaled deeply.

  “I’m Jessica.”

  “I know.”

  “Did Truman tell you my real name?”

  “Nah, he just said he needed a room for a woman to use, and I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone. It just so happens I know about Lou’s gang bein’ in town, and it ain’t hard to figure out why you’re hidin’ out here. Folks have been talkin’ about nothing else since you killed little Louie.”

  The woman’s casual manner of speaking struck Jessica as odd. “You knew him?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Rosalie flicked ashes into a dish on the bedside table. “Let’s just say, he was a very special customer of mine.”

  Jessica flinched. “I see. Well, I’m sorry about that. It was kind of an accident. A misunderstanding.”

  Rosalie smiled sardonically. “You don’t have to give me that story, honey. I know what kind of man he was. You probably had a real good reason to shoot him.”

  “I told you it was an accident,” Jessica said, growing increasingly impatient. She didn’t enjoy pretending she killed Lou any more than she enjoyed talking to this woman.

  “Whatever you say.” Rosalie sauntered toward Jessica and blew smoke into her face.

  Jessica fought a cough.

  “What kind of danger are you in anyway?” Rosalie asked.

  “Lou’s gang wants something from me.”

  “Then I recommend you give it to them, Darlin’. I don’t care who you are. It ain’t too bright makin’ enemies out of them boys.”

  “I’d give it to them if I knew what it was.”

  “They didn’t tell you?”

  “No.”

  The tip of Rosalie’s cigarette glowed red as she took another drag. “Looks like you’re in a whole lot of trouble. Those boys…they don’t mess around. I’d watch your back.”

  “Thanks for the tip.”

  They stared at each other in silence.

  “Well,” Rosalie said in a bored way, “I better get back to work. I’ll send someone in with some clean sheets.” Just before she left, she turned around with one last word. “By the way. You’re supposed to be my sister. Truman’s orders.”

  Jessica clenched her jaw as she watched the door close behind her. Truman’s orders. And in what scenario had he been giving orders to a prostitute?

  * * *

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Jessica woke to an incessant knocking at her door and the rank smell of stale whisky, smoke, and body odor.

  Quickly, she sat up, staring at the boot she had wedged under her door last night to prevent any more unwelcome visitors.

  “Is that you, Truman?”

  “Yes, open up.”

  “Just a minute.” She scrambled out of the bed, forgetting her sprained ankle until it hit the floor, causing a searing pain to shoot up her leg. After a brief recovery, she limped to the door. She bent forward to pull the boot out from under it but felt a sudden shock when the door burst open and hit her in the head.

  “Ouch!” she cried, stumbling back.

  Truman stepped inside. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were there.”

  Jessica rubbed her head. “I wedged the door shut. What did you expect?”

  “I told you I’d be downstairs. If anyone so much as looked at your door, besides Rosalie, of course—”

  “Okay, okay.” Jessica, still half asleep, limped back to the bed and sat down. “Wow. I need coffee.”

  “Breakfast will be here soon,” he repl
ied. “And I’ve sent for Dempsey to watch over you today. I’m going to try to track down Lou’s gang before nightfall and find out what they want.” Truman yawned and sat down in the rocking chair.

  “That would be good, because I’d hate to have to spend another night here.”

  “Believe me, if there was any other way...” He yawned again.

  “Didn’t you get any sleep?” Jessica asked.

  “Not a wink.”

  “What did you do all night?”

  “I lost most of my pay at the keno table.”

  Jessica watched him for a moment. She glanced down at his manly hands and muscular thighs and recalled how he had braced her up against the door last night with his strong, hard body and kissed her senseless.

  “What would you have done if the gang had broken in here?” she asked in a desperate effort to distract herself from the thrill of that memory. “Would you have shot them?”

  “If I had to,” he flatly replied.

  She regarded him keenly. “Doesn’t that ever make you feel guilty?”

  “Which part?”

  “Killing a man.”

  He stared at her intently for a long time. “Most of the men I shoot are in bad need of killin’.” Then he closed his eyes and leaned his head back as he rocked.

  His casual comment made Jessica’s ears prickle. She couldn’t resist satisfying her curiosity another minute. “Tell me about the men you’ve killed.”

  He kept his eyes closed as he spoke. “Murderers. All except for one, but I didn’t take too kindly to what he was guilty of.”

  “And what was that?”

  Truman opened his eyes. “He did some unspeakable things to a lady. Hefty price on his head, too. The woman he assaulted was the wife of a governor.” Truman stopped rocking and kneaded his eyelids with the heels of his hands. He yawned again and stood, moved to the bed and lay flat out on his back—beside Jessica. Crossing one boot over the other, he added, “I would’ve taken him down for free, though.”

  For a long moment, Jessica watched Truman in the morning light.

  He had just revealed far more than usual about his past, and she wished he would say more, but unfortunately, he was falling asleep there beside her, and she didn’t have the heart to disturb him.

  * * *

  LATER THAT MORNING, after a brief half-hour nap on Jessica’s bed, Truman walked into the Dodge House Hotel and took a seat at his regular table. He felt like he hadn’t slept or eaten in days. He leaned back in his chair, surveying the dining room. Too early in the day for cowboys. The only people around were the good folks, and he recognized every face.

  “Morning, Sheriff,” Mrs. Brown said, approaching his table. “The usual?”

  “Thanks, that’d be real nice. And add a slice of cherry pie to that, too, will you please?”

  “Hungry today?”

  “You bet.”

  She disappeared into the back kitchen while Truman stared out the window. He couldn’t forget the look on Jessica’s face an hour ago when he opened his eyes to find her lying beside him on the bed, resting her cheek on her hand, watching him with those sleepy and seductive green eyes.

  She’d probably thought it mighty strange—how he rose to his feet and left the room so fast. Hell, he had no choice, really. When he woke up and looked at her with her wild chestnut hair spilling over her shoulders in an alluring, uncombed mess—certain parts of his body arose for some earnest horseplay.

  If he’d stayed, he would have done more than just kiss her up against a whorehouse door. He would have flipped her onto her back and planted himself fervently between her sweet, luscious thighs, and that would have been some seriously dangerous territory to slide into.

  A few minutes later, a plate of food appeared in front of him. He hadn’t even seen Mrs. Brown coming. “There you go, Sheriff. Piping hot, the way you like it.”

  Yeah, he liked it hot, all right.

  Thankfully, the succulent aroma of spicy roasted chicken distracted him from his degenerate thoughts, and he picked up his fork and dug in.

  He ate his lunch and thought more about Jessica—and worked real hard to keep those thoughts strictly professional.

  Maybe he should take her away for a while, just until the gang got bored and gave up. He could lose them. He’d lost a number of men hot on his trail before, but as he began to consider a plan to do just that, he shook his head. Ideas like that didn’t come from anything professional. Truthfully, all he wanted to do was be alone with Jessica for a few days and quench his pent-up lust.

  After he finished and paid for his meal, he left the dining room and walked out onto the boardwalk. Old Jimmy Clay was sitting on an upturned barrel, smoking a pipe. “Howdy, Sheriff. Swell day.”

  Truman settled his hat on his head and tipped it forward to shade his eyes from the blinding sun. “Certainly is. You just get here, Jimmy?”

  “Been sittin’ for about five minutes. Just came from Ham Bell’s Livery. All kinds of commotion over there.”

  “Such as?”

  “They had some ruffians in there last night. They were askin’ about Junebug Jess. Threatened to drop a lamp in a haystack if no one fessed up.”

  Truman’s blood began to boil in his veins. “Why didn’t anybody tell me?”

  “Tellin’ you now.”

  Truman pounded down the steps and took off down the dusty street. Hell and tarnation, he was mad enough to swallow a horned-toad backwards.

  * * *

  BY LATE AFTERNOON, Jessica, growing restless and weary of the same four walls, sat forward in the rocking chair when a knock sounded at her door. “Who is it?”

  “Truman.”

  She rose and crossed the room to unlock it. “Come in.”

  He entered, wearing the same clothes as the night before, but now they were coated in dust. He looked exhausted and was in bad need of shave.

  “Any luck?” she asked, knowing the answer before he gave it.

  “Afraid not.”

  “Don’t tell me I have to stay here again another night.”

  “I don’t want to risk moving you,” he replied. “The streets are filling up and you’d be seen.”

  She returned to the chair to sit down. “Can I at least have a visitor? I’m bored to tears.”

  Removing his hat, he hesitated as he studied her face for a moment. “Well, it just so happens you’re gonna have company tonight. All night as a matter of fact.”

  “Really? Who?”

  He put his hat back on. “Me.”

  Jessica’s heart began to race, as Truman turned and headed for the door.

  “Wait a minute.” She sat forward in the chair. “Where are you going?”

  “To get a bath and a shave.”

  Jessica smiled at him flirtatiously. “You don’t have to smell pretty on my account.”

  He turned the knob and opened the door. “Who said I’d be doing it for you? My horse is beginning to give me the cold shoulder.”

  He glanced back and winked at her, sending a wonderful shudder of anticipation through her body.

  Chapter Sixteen

  * * *

  THAT EVENING, AFTER a few hours of mental preparation and soul searching, Jessica jumped when a knock rapped at her door. “Is that you?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Truman replied.

  She’d been reading a book about potatoes, and at the sound of his deep-timbered voice, she accidentally dropped the wildly stimulating piece of literature on the floor.

  “Come in,” she called out, picking up the book and opening it at random.

  Truman walked in and removed his hat. His hair was wet and slicked back, and he wore a clean white shirt and black vest, along with a pair of freshly laundered trousers. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “Because I just told Rosie to bring up a couple of plates.”

  He crossed to the window, as he did every time he entered the room and pulled the curtain aside with one finger. Outside, it had begun to rain. “Kind of dark in her
e for reading.”

  He casually glanced down at the book on her lap.

  Jessica admired the way his holster hung loosely at his hip. The leather was soft and well used.

  “You’re right,” she managed to reply as she gladly closed the book.

  He moved to the bedside table and scraped a match along the wall. It flared and illuminated his face as he lowered the flame to the wick of the kerosene lamp.

  “Truman....”

  “Yeah?” He glanced at her only briefly as he moved across the room.

  “Why are you staying here tonight? Did something happen?”

  He withdrew his revolver and checked the chamber for bullets. “I paid a visit to Ham Bell’s Livery today and found out that Lou’s gang doesn’t plan on leaving Dodge until they find you and take what’s rightfully theirs.”

  She bristled at the subtle note of accusation in his voice. “Does anyone know what they want from me?”

  “No one seems to have the faintest idea. Funny, isn’t it?”

  Jessica, growing frustrated, met his stare. “You sound like you don’t believe me again.”

  Truman moved toward her and lifted her chin with one finger. “Whatever this secret is that you’re keeping, are you ever going to share it with me?”

  She hesitated while she imagined how he would react if she told him the truth. Would he think she was off her rocker? “I might, one of these days…”

  “Does it have anything to do with Lou’s gang?” he asked, studying her intently.

  “I already told you—no.”

  He backed away. “Well, if you don’t have whatever it is they want, who does have it?”

  “How should I know? I wasn’t a close, personal friend of Lou’s. All I know is that he was an unlucky brute.”

  Truman fell silent for a moment and sat down at the foot of the bed. “Back to your earlier question. I’m staying because I reckon they’ll be looking everywhere for you. It might get rough tonight.”