Damn. Truman had said he would be there before dark. Something must have happened.
Leaning forward on one knee, she shook Angus. He twitched, and then he awakened with a jolt.
"Angus, wake up. It's eleven thirty, and Truman's not here yet."
Angus sat up. He rubbed his head and smoothed his thinning hair. "Maybe he's at the house watching from there."
"I need you to go check."
"Of course. You stay here."
He made his way down the ladder.
A few minutes later, the barn door squeaked open, and Jessica rose to her feet. "Did you find him?" she asked.
Angus shook his head.
Jessica pounded a fist against the post. "Something’s wrong. I can feel it. We have to go look for him."
Angus hesitated. "We can’t do that. I promised to keep you here. And what if he arrives, and we’re gone?”
She considered it a moment. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll stay here while you head back into town. Find Dempsey, and tell him that Truman never arrived. Learn whatever you can.”
“The sheriff's probably locking that gang up right now," Angus replied, as he gathered up his coat.
* * *
An hour later, Jessica was just drifting off to sleep for the briefest of moments, when a bandanna was shoved into her mouth, and ropes snaked around her wrists and ankles. Flinging her arms about, thrashing on the blanket like a caged animal, she fought the waves of fury that slammed over her.
Someone tied her wrists behind her back while another roped her ankles together. When she tried to scream, she inhaled the sour tasting, sweat-drenched essence of the soiled fabric that filled her mouth, and her enraged plea was reduced to a pitiful moan.
"Your lawyer friend led us right to you," Bart said, smiling diabolically at her. "He came rolling in off the east road, and there are only so many ranches in this direction.”
One of the others laughed. "And they say lawyers are supposed to be smart.”
“Get her up, boys."
Jessica grunted when Corey lifted her like a sack of grain and flung her over his shoulder. Her hair fell forward over her face.
"How am I gonna get down from here?" Corey complained, standing at the edge of the loft.
Jessica heard Bart's deep, sardonic voice behind them and saw the glare of the lantern he held. It swung dangerously close to her face, and she shrank back defensively.
"Throw her down, Corey," Bart commanded. "Throw her into that haystack."
"What if I miss?"
"You won't miss."
"I'm not a very good thrower."
"Just do it, ya sissy."
He paused there, looking down.
"Do it, Corey!"
The third voice came from below, and the encouragement was all he needed. Jessica struggled and fought right up until the last second. Then Corey threw her over the side.
She hit the hay, and the wind blew out of her lungs.
Before she had a chance to suck in a breath, she was picked up and hurled over someone else's shoulder, her head bobbing up and down as she was carried outside.
She was thrown like an old blanket onto a horse, her hands still tied behind her back. Corey mounted behind her and held her firmly, so she wouldn't fall off.
As soon as they gained some distance from the Russells’ farm, Bart trotted up next to Jessica. Her position made it impossible to see his face, but she could hear him laughing.
"Don't fret, little Missy," he said. "There ain't no Junebugs where you're goin', so you won’t be tempted to shoot anyone by mistake."
“I highly doubt it,” she mumbled through the dirty bandana, wishing she had a gun right now.
Chapter Nineteen
Jessica lay on the damp dirt floor of a root cellar, struggling with the prickly bonds at her hands and feet. Her wrists burned under the coarse rope hair; the corners of her mouth stung against the bandanna's gritty abrasion. A few times on horseback she had gagged, but that was only when she stretched her body and arched her back to see the sky. By finding the North Star, she had established that they were heading west across the prairie.
She could only hope the information would prove useful.
Directly above her, a kerosene lamp hung from a hook on a beam. She squinted into the light. Then she looked all around, considering a possible way out.
The cellar foundation was constructed of stones. There were no windows. To the right, wooden barrels lined the wall. The steps were steep like a ladder, and she was grateful Corey hadn't simply tossed her down like he'd done at the Russells’ barn.
Closing her eyes, she searched her mind for a plan, but a brilliant escape strategy failed to materialize.
Jessica strained to listen for anything that might give her some ideas. Above her, the lantern hissed and sputtered.
And someone on the other side of the cellar was breathing.
She struggled in a panic to comprehend the possibilities—perhaps this anonymous breather was one of the gang members guarding her. Or maybe it was the owner of the house, the poor soul. Or a huge, ferocious dog that hadn't been fed in days....
Eventually Jessica summoned her courage, and then she inched her way on her back across the dirt floor.
The sound was coming from the other side of the cellar, behind the thick stone support wall in the center. She wiggled her way around the wall, where it was much darker. Slowly her eyes adjusted, and she focused on a man, but it was too dark to see his face. He was tied to a chair and slumped forward.
Jessica nudged her shoulder against his leg. She tried to speak, but only grunts and gibberish broke through the gag. Bumping and prodding, she uttered words as best she could. "Wake up, wake up!"
Suddenly, the man jerked wildly like a bucking stallion. It was a fit of anger, the likes of which Jessica had never seen. She flipped over and rolled across the floor to escape the unpredictable path of the thrashing chair.
After a moment, he went still, seemingly spent of energy. Jessica lay there in fear, listening to the violent rush of the blood in her veins.
The man seemed unaware of Jessica's presence on the floor not three feet from his boots. He began to tug against the ropes that bound him. Sitting up again, Jessica uttered a sound as best she could to let him know he wasn’t alone.
There was a pause. Silence. Then, "Jessica?"
She recognized the voice. It was Truman’s.
Dizziness swarmed in her head as she rose up onto her knees and touched her forehead to his chin. He nudged her with his face, burying his nose into the crook of her neck. “Thank God you’re alive,” he whispered. “Did they hurt you?”
“No.”
The ropes at her wrists and ankles felt like shackles now. She tugged and pulled, ignoring the chafing pain.
“Wait,” he said. “Try to get behind me and untie my hands.”
She nodded and inched along the floor, so they were back-to-back. She then wiggled her cold fingers to find the ropes in the dark. She felt the leg of the chair, but she was too low to reach his hands.
Jessica grunted as she pushed upward with all her might. She used Truman's weight as leverage, balancing as best she could. The ropes around her ankles pulled tightly as she tried to stand.
She fumbled as she untied the knots at his wrists. After a considerable struggle, she loosened them, and Truman pulled a hand free. He untied the rest of the knots, and then released her as well.
They each untied their ankles, and Jessica rose to her feet. In one swift motion, she was in his arms. "I didn't know what happened to you."
"I was on my way to you, and they caught me off guard. I was tired...I should've known better."
His mouth covered hers. He crushed her body to his and pulled her close. His lips were warm and moist as he kissed and caressed her, and she sighed with a pleasure that seemed impossible under these circumstances, but there it was. They were together. Nothing else mattered.
He drew away and whispered f
aintly, "I was in hell today. It was all I could do to keep from following you after you left Rosie’s. Then when they ambushed me, I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again."
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 Twenty
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 same 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 a
ny 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...."
Taken by the Cowboy Page 15
