Taken by the Cowboy

by Julianne MacLean

She laid a finger over his lips. "Shh…. It doesn’t matter."

  For a quivering moment, their bodies clung hotly together.

  He lingered there, driving her mad with anticipation, kissing her neck and breasts, until she couldn’t take it any longer. She needed him inside her and thrust her hips forward.

  Truman let out a moan of pleasure as he entered and filled her in a single, perfect thrust. Time stood still. She could feel his heart beating against her chest. Then at last he began to move smoothly and steadily within her.

  Jessica gripped the hard muscles of his lower back. Suddenly, she no longer felt displaced. This was exactly where she was meant to be in this moment, in this time. Here in his arms, connected to him. It didn’t matter that they were born a century apart. They were together now, and that was all that mattered.

  “I’ll be careful,” he whispered. “I’ll stop before it’s too late.”

  She understood that he was concerned about getting her pregnant.

  “No, please don’t stop,” she replied. “There’s nothing to worry about. You can’t get me pregnant.”

  Because she was wearing an IUD.

  “How do you know?”

  “I just do. I promise, it’s fine.”

  Truman kissed her lightly on the lips, then gazed into her eyes as he began to move. For a long time, he made love to her with great care and deliberation. Soon, she couldn’t keep the passion at bay. Her body tingled and pulsed. Tossing her head back, she shuddered just as a mighty release found her and left her weak and sated with rapture.

  A moment later, Truman thrust deep into her as he climaxed. He let out a rugged moan and collapsed onto her in exhaustion.

  Soon, their breathing slowed to a matched pace, raindrops pelted against the window, and the wind rattled the panes. Jessica ran her fingers lightly up and down his smoothly muscled back, damp with perspiration.

  "Are you all right?" he whispered. “Did I hurt you?”

  “Not a bit.” She wrapped her legs around him. “I loved every minute of it.”

  * * *

  Sometime after four in the morning, when Truman was certain the saloon had cleared out, he rose from bed and got dressed. After a long and appreciative moment admiring the smooth curves of Jessica’s exquisite naked form, he stroked her hair away from her face and disciplined himself into remembering what he was here to do. His job.

  He pulled the quilt up to cover her shoulders and left quietly, closing the door behind him and locking it.

  Bracing both hands on the railing outside Jessica’s room, he watched the barkeep sweep a broom across the floor below, and thought about what had just happened.

  Making love to Jessica had unraveled every tight coil inside him, coils he'd spent the last two years working hard to keep tightly maintained.

  Hell, the closest friend he had was Deputy Dempsey, but the kid didn't know the first thing about Truman’s personal life, which left Truman on his own most of the time. Jessica was the only person in Dodge who knew anything, and for the first time in two years, he felt an emotion emerge from somewhere deep down, a place he thought he had conquered. It was a place that knew pain.

  A place that remembered.…

  Sweeping those thoughts from his mind, Truman walked down the hall. The scent of stale beer and cigar smoke stunk up the saloon. He'd be half glad when winter arrived. At least the cattle drives would be finished for the season, and things would quiet down to a milder type of living.

  When Truman reached the downstairs, Lenny crossed both hands over the broom handle. "Can I get you something, Sheriff?"

  "Any food out back?" he replied.

  "Try the kitchen." Lenny whistled a tune and returned to his work.

  A moment later, Truman came out of the kitchen with a plate of sugar cookies. He took a seat at a table, as a woman’s sultry voice reached him from across the room.

  "I always knew you had a sweet tooth."

  He turned to see Rosalie meandering through the saloon, her hips swinging back and forth. The closer she came, the more she swung that skirt.

  "Evening, Rosie. You done workin'?"

  "Looks that way." She reached his table and lifted a foot up onto the chair next to his, to re-tie the laces on her heeled boot. "Slow night. For some of us, that is."

  Truman picked up a cookie while Rosalie dropped her skirt and sat down with one hand on her thigh, an elbow perched on the tabletop. "This is the first I’ve seen of you tonight. Where have you been?"

  "Around."

  Rosalie let out a throaty laugh. "You’ve been around all right. You’ve been all around little Miss Junebug." Rosalie peered into Truman's face. "You're not in love, are ya'?"

  "You know better than to ask me that, Rosie.”

  "Oh, that’s right. You don’t like folks poking their noses into your personal affairs." She rotated a half circle on the chair and stood. Sauntering around the bar, she scooped up a bottle and two glasses. "I feel like a drink. What'll it be?"

  "Nothing for me."

  "Why, because you’re on duty? You gotta learn to have some fun, sweetheart. That girl up there...she don't deserve all that devotion."

  Truman pushed the plate of cookies away. "And what makes you think I’m devoted?"

  “Oh, I just have a feeling, that’s all. I also have a feeling she’s bad news.”

  Rosalie poured whisky into one glass, but Truman placed his hand flat across the top of the other.

  Rosalie paused with the bottle suspended horizontally in the air. Then she set it down, picked up her own glass, tossed the whisky back, and swallowed it in one gulp.

  Turning away, she headed for the stairs. "You're a damn fine thing to look at, Truman. Finest lookin' man in Dodge. Anytime you want to come see me, it'll be on the house." She disappeared into the darkness, but called out in a throaty voice. "You remember that offer, now. I have a feeling after Junebug leaves town – which she will, no doubt about it—you'll be needing to take the edge off."

  * * *

  Jessica woke to a ray of light piercing through the window. Outside, a pack of dogs barked ferociously.

  She sat up and stretched her arms over her head, then winced in agony.

  Oh, the headache. How much of that moonshine did she drink? She lifted the bottle to inspect it, sloshed the remains about inside, and collapsed in horror onto the pillow.

  A few minutes later, an aggressive knock sounded at her door. Jessica sat up. "Ouch…geez.” She cupped her forehead and massaged gently. “Who is it?"

  "It's Truman. Open up."

  Wrapping her reprehensible naked self in the quilt and vowing not to do anything like this again, she padded in her bare feet to the door, and opened it. Truman stood in the hall, washed and shaved, and dressed in black again, looking like a sexy hero out of a classic spaghetti western flick.

  Yet no fictional hero on the big screen could ever do what this man had done to her last night. Her head was still spinning from the shocking and wicked impiety of it—and that particular commotion in her brain had nothing do with Ol’ Bob Stafford’s atrocious moonshine.

  "Get dressed,” he said without ceremony. “We're leaving."

  Recognizing the urgency in his tone, she froze. "Why? What happened?"

  "Just do as I say. I'll be back in five minutes." He started to go, but spoke over his shoulder. "Wear your trousers."

  With that, he walked away, leaving Jessica naked under the quilt, still standing at the door.

  She quickly shut it and dropped the blanket onto the bed, wondering if she had imagined the grouchiness in his tone. Was he trying to put distance between them because of what happened last night? Or did something terrible happen? Something to do with Lou’s gang?

  As soon as she was dressed and everything was packed, Jessica sat on the edge of the bed waiting.

  Another knock sounded. She rushed to the door and flung it open.

  "You should've asked who it was before you opened it," Truman said, walking in.
>
  "I think I know the sound of your boots by now," she replied.

  He moved fully into the room, carrying a brown slicker and cowboy hat. "Put these on." He tossed the hat onto the bed and held the coat up for her. "I don’t want anyone to recognize you."

  Studying his expression in those spark-like seconds, listening to the impatient tone in his otherwise patient voice, Jessica turned her back on him and shoved her arms into the sleeves of the slicker. He eased the coat onto her shoulders and turned her around to face him. He tugged at her lapel to tighten the collar around her neck and rolled up the long sleeves.

  “I can dress myself, you know,” she said.

  “I’m sure you can.” He picked up the hat and rotated it in his hands, while looking at her long tousled hair. "Can you pin that up?"

  She dug into her leather bag to retrieve the pins from the bottom and swept her hair up in a messy twist on top of her head. Pulling the hat on, she tucked up all the loose strands.

  "How's that?" she asked, raising her hands.

  "Fine," he answered.

  “Fine?” she replied, feeling a bit testy from the after-effects of the moonshine. “That’s all you have to say to me? Can we at least please mention the elephant in the room?”

  He faced her and frowned in confusion. “What elephant?”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “We had sex last night. Seriously dirty sex. Want me to describe it to you?”

  The room went suddenly quiet.

  “No. I remember. Now, come on." He scooped up her bag and led her out of the room, along the railing toward the stairs.

  Jessica followed him down to the front door and stopped there.

  "Don't say a word to anyone,” he said. “Just get in the wagon out front. The driver will take you to a safe place."

  She placed her hand on his forearm. "Are we okay? This feels weird, and I don’t want to leave here if we need to talk about stuff."

  He looked at her strangely. “If I’m going to protect you, I need to keep my mind on my job, not the dirty sex. And I certainly don’t want to talk about it. Now off you go."

  He handed her the bag and shuffled her through the swinging doors into the blinding morning sunlight. Stopping on the boardwalk, she squinted and shaded her eyes, feeling more turned on than she’d ever felt in her life.

  A wagon was parked out front. She walked around the back of it, climbed up and sat down. The driver slapped the reins and whistled, the mules began to walk, and the bumpy ride began.

  "Angus?" she whispered. “Is that you?”

  "Just look straight ahead," he replied, “until we’re out of town.”

  She did as she was told, lowering her chin so no one would see her face beneath the brim of her hat.

  Leaning back and folding her arms, she wondered where in all this expanse of flat windy prairie they were going to go, and how long it would take to get there.

  * * *

  Outside of town, the golden prairie opened up and the blue sky spanned one horizon to the other. "What's going on?" she asked. “Why was Truman in such a hurry to get me out of there?”

  Angus glanced over his shoulder to make sure they weren’t being followed. “Lou's gang's been asking questions about you. They were searching everywhere last night, and Truman said it was only a matter of time before they got to the whorehouse."

  "So where are we going?"

  "Truman heard from the Russells that the gang searched their place last night."

  "Who are the Russells?"

  "They own a claim out that way." He pointed eastward. "Mr. Russell said the gang searched everywhere—the house, the barn, even the outhouse. All the while, they kept him and his wife at gunpoint."

  “That’s terrible. Was anyone hurt?"

  "No, but Mrs. Russell insisted they leave and visit relations in Caldwell, so I agreed to milk their cow and feed their chickens for them. The house will be empty for a while, but we’ll sleep in the barn. Truman figures, if the gang was there only last night, they won't go back again tonight. They'll be looking elsewhere."

  "I hope he’s right about that." A gust of wind blew across the prairie. Jessica placed a hand on top of her hat to keep it from flying off, while the mules shook their harnesses and plodded on.

  "I meant to tell you," Angus said, "Wendy and I ate dinner together last night."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, and I’m growing quite fond of her.”

  "That's wonderful,” Jessica replied, touching him affectionately on the shoulder. “Does she feel the same way about you?"

  "I don’t know."

  Jessica watched his profile as he slapped the reins again.

  "How does a man know?" he asked.

  "Does she blush when she sees you?"

  "A little, but it might just be shyness."

  "Does she smile and giggle a lot?"

  "Wendy's not much of a giggler."

  "Have you kissed her?"

  "Heavens no."

  Jessica removed her hat and held it on her lap. "Maybe you should."

  "No, I couldn’t possibly. What if she didn't want me to? It would be very embarrassing."

  "Sometimes you have to take risks,” she told him, as she gazed across the prairie where meadowlarks sang and swooped low over the grass. “If you really want to love someone, you need to be able to share everything with them."

  Last night, Truman had made love to her as if in a dream, and this morning, she had felt the raw ache of being torn away from him.

  Yet, he still knew so little about her.

  While she stared down the long road that stretched before them, she knew it was probably time to heed some of her own advice. She was going to have to tell Truman about her time traveling eventually.

  Maybe tonight would be the night.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was six o'clock in the evening by the time Truman returned to the jailhouse to check in before leaving for the Russell’s claim. He had spent the entire day searching for the gang while fighting an exhausting need for sleep, which he’d have to continue resisting, at least until he reached Jessica.

  He walked into the law office, where Deputy Dempsey was seated at the desk with his cheek on his hand, reading another dime novel.

  Truman removed his hat and raked his fingers through his hair. "Did you hear anything about the gang?"

  "No, Sheriff.” Dempsey quickly closed the book. “I asked all over town, though. Even went out to the Jones Ranch. They ain't anywhere."

  "They have to be somewhere." Truman’s spurs jingled as he crossed the room and looked over a few new police court dockets on his desk. Seeing nothing unusual, he pressed his palms over his bloodshot eyes and rubbed. Then he blinked a few times.

  Dempsey looked up at him as if waiting for instructions.

  "You’ll need to stay here," Truman said, heading for the door. "In case anybody comes forward with information about the gang. All of Dodge knows we're looking for them. I'm sure somebody will see or hear something."

  "You should get some sleep, Sheriff. You look like you were run over by a cattle drive."

  "I’ll sleep later."

  "Where are you going now?" Dempsey asked.

  "I'm gonna get a quick meal at the Dodge House, then head out to watch over Miss Delaney. I won’t tell you where, though. Best to keep that secret."

  He opened the door and stepped out onto the front porch, feeling more impatient to reach Jessica than he could ever have anticipated.

  * * *

  After Truman ate a quick supper at the Dodge House, he rode out of town toward the Russells’ claim, checking over his shoulder every so often to make sure he wasn’t being followed. The sun was low in the sky, and since riding into it was hard on his eyes, he kept his head low, shaded by the brim of his hat.

  He was halfway there when he saw an overturned wagon up ahead, and the blurry image of a man. Truman slowed Thunder to a trot and approached.

  The man was waving his arms over
his head.

  Truman dismounted. "You all right? Is anyone hurt?"

  "Yes. My wife." The man stood on the other side of the wagon, looking down.

  Truman walked around the wreckage to help the injured woman, but stopped dead when four Winchesters all cocked at once.

  Staring at the four surviving members of Lou’s gang and kicking himself for being so foolish as to let down his guard, Truman raised his hands in the air.

  "Keep yer hands over yer head, Wade," Bart said, reaching into Truman's holster and confiscating his gun. The gang slowly surrounded him, and the wind roared over the wagon, spinning its wheels.

  "Now, you're gonna tell us where you been hidin' that little lady of yours. She has something that belongs to us." Bart jabbed him in the ribs with the barrel of his rifle, while his forefinger flexed at the trigger.

  "If you wanna see the sun come up tomorrow,” Corey added, “you best tell us where she is."

  Truman spit off to the side.

  "Where is she?” Bart demanded. “And if you don’t answer me soon, I swear on my mother’s grave, I'll blow your brains out."

  Truman glared at Bart, his ugly face not six inches away. "Sounds like things are going to get messy, then,” he replied, “because I ain’t telling you shit."

  Bart’s eyes clouded over with rage. "You're gonna be sorry you said that." Then he swung his Winchester through the air and struck Truman sharply in the head.

  * * *

  As time ticked by in the Russells’ hayloft, Jessica found it increasingly difficult to ignore the worries that were niggling at her.

  "It's been dark for at least an hour," she said to Angus. "He should be here by now."

  "I'm sure everything’s fine."

  The remainder of the evening dragged by slowly. Jessica passed the time reading under the lantern while Angus napped. Hours later, the flame flickered and the barn creaked in the wind like an old ship.

  Wondering what time it was and what had become of Truman, she rose to her feet and walked to the other side of the loft. She perked up for a moment when the dog barked. Maybe Truman was coming…

  Hearing only the incessant howl of the wind, she gave up on the notion.

  She returned to where Angus slept and tried not to wake him as she lifted the watch out of his pocket to check the time. Eleven thirty.