Taken by the Cowboy

by Julianne MacLean

  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 be 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—"

  "Touch her, and you're a dead man," Truman ground out.

  Jessica felt the heat of his fury in the pit of her stomach and was glad she wasn't on the receiving end of it. She took one look at Corey and guessed he felt the same way. He cleared his throat nervously, and then continued as if he hadn't been interrupted.

  "If one of you was in pain,” he continued, “maybe the other might think more carefully about givin' us what we want. Love is funny like that, ain't it?"

  Jessica touched Truman's shoulder. "Maybe we should give i
t to him."

  He shook his head. "No, because he won’t let us live anyway. If we’re going to die, we’ll die together—right here."

  Jessica's hand dropped, certain that her contribution to the discussion had moved things along. It was a good thing, too, because she sure as hell was tired of wasting time, and she wanted to beat this ass to a pulp.

  Truman looped one thumb through his gun belt. "Even if we did agree to give it to you, do you think we'd be fool enough to keep it on us?"

  Corey smiled, his mouth curving in a manner that made Jessica wonder if he knew anything of human kindness. "No," he said, sardonically. "I’ve never taken you for a fool, Wade. You either, Junebug. That's why I came down here. I figured it's time I cashed in on some of those smarts of yours."

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Corey paced back and forth, pondering what to do. "I figure," he said, "if two people have a common enemy, that just about makes them partners, don't you think?"

  Truman leaned at his ease against a post. "Tell me more."

  Smoke spiraled upward as Corey took a deep drag off his cigar. "Bart's been vexing me lately. He's been gettin' too big for his britches, acting like he should be the new leader of this outfit."

  Jessica noticed Truman's patience wearing thin; he was tapping his thumb on his empty leather holster.

  "So what do you plan on doing about it?" he asked.

  "Them boys left me here while they went into Dodge for some ladies. But the way I see it, when they come back, you and me will have developed a proper friendship, and you'll be takin' me to where you hid that little piece of paper."

  Jessica felt a spark of adrenalin. Their plan was working, progressing as it should, yet what they possessed was only a small shred of the information they needed to save themselves.

  "If you don't consider me your friend," Corey continued, "I won't take too kindly to that. I might just shoot you right here. The lady'll be more obliging, I'm sure, when she sees how ugly a man can be when blood's drippin' down his face."

  Truman looked down and kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot. "I think we can work something out."

  "Good. Now, the bank'll be open soon, so why don't you tell me where you hid that combination?"

  Jessica sucked in a quick breath as everything began to make sense. Lou must have had the bank safe combination in his possession when he was shot.

  She slid a glance at Truman, wondering what he was going to do next, when all of a sudden, he grabbed her by the elbow and roughly pulled her closer.

  "You're gonna have to ask the lady," he said. "She hasn't told me yet, and I've been romancing her night and day. Maybe you can kiss better than I can."

  Jessica gasped in horror, struggling. "Truman!"

  His fingers bit into her flesh.

  Corey smiled and took a step forward. “A kiss sounds good.”

  Light from the lantern swept across his stubbly face, deepening the shadows under his craggy features. Jessica could smell him now—the stale odor of his filthy body, the fetid stink of his breath. She shrank back in disgust.

  Corey puckered and stepped forward. "No!" she screamed, struggling and hoping that Truman would not let it happen. She wanted to follow his lead, but she was also certain that at any moment, she was going to fight this.

  All at once, Truman let go of her, punched Corey in the face and kicked him off his feet. He fell against the stone wall, hit his head, and collapsed to the ground with a tremendous thud.

  Dropping to his knees, Truman seized his gun and checked it for bullets. He clicked it shut, grabbed Jessica’s hand, and without another word led the way up the stairs.

  "You were going to let him kiss me!" she pointed out, none too pleased about it either.

  "No, I wasn't."

  "Yes, you were! He was only inches away!"

  Truman stopped at the top of the stairs and looked around at the small, deserted house. "Just be glad, love, that he was so slow on the draw."

  They ran outside to the barn. Finding Thunder still saddled from the night before, they mounted together and galloped up the road toward town.

  * * *

  Three hours later

  Eating breakfast with Angus did little to calm Jessica's fears. Consuming an entire pot of coffee didn't help matters either. Her mind became a stampede of disoriented worst case scenarios, while she explained everything to Angus and waited for Truman to return. He had ridden off to fetch Dempsey and arrest the gang, who had spent the night at Rosalie’s whorehouse.

  She'd have to get used to worrying, she supposed, as she rolled up her sleeves to wash the dishes. It wasn’t easy loving a lawman – in this century or any other.

  She pressed down on the pump handle and rinsed the plates with the cold water that gushed out and splashed onto her shirt.

  While she stared at the sparkling drops, an agonizing question nagged in her brain. She and Truman were from different worlds, and she still hadn’t told him where she came from. When he learned the truth, would he even believe her? Would he think she was insane or lying to him again for some reason?

  If she did end up staying here, she certainly wasn't going to stay home and embroider all day. She'd want to start up a business, and maybe a running club. Or she could become an inventor and strike it rich with everything she knew about industry and technology. At the very least, she would open a pizza shop with delivery. She really missed pizza—with extra cheese and pepperoni and bacon and hamburger.

  Once she laid the dishes out on the counter to dry, she went into the parlor to see Angus. He was reading by the window with a silver pistol resting on the cushion beside him. Jessica stared numbly at the weapon. When had she become so indifferent to guns and bullets, and even death? Did life mean so little here?

  They both looked up when they heard hoof beats approaching. Angus reached for the pistol while Jessica pushed the white lace curtain aside with one finger, but relaxed when she discovered their unexpected guest was Deputy Dempsey.

  Please, let Truman be safe.

  She watched Dempsey hop off the horse, tie the reins to the front railing, and dig into a saddlebag. She stayed indoors while Angus walked onto the covered porch.

  "Deputy Dempsey, I hope things are well?"

  Dempsey removed his hat and climbed the steps. "Couldn't be better. The gang's behind bars, and we’ve notified the bank about the stolen combination to the safe. We’ll be following up on that in the next few days."

  Jessica, hearing the good news, exhaled a long-held breath. She walked out to the porch. "Is Truman all right?"

  "He's fine. Looking pretty black and blue, though. The doctor's checking him over now. I brought this for you." Dempsey held out her satchel. "It was in the Russells’ barn."

  Jessica reached out and took it from him. She looked inside to find her red shoes still tucked beneath her gowns.

  "I just thought I'd come out here and let you know," he added. "Sheriff Wade said he was gonna do everything in his power to make sure the people of Dodge learn to forget those rumors about Junebug Jess. He said he knows there ain't no such person, and he wants you to feel that you can stay in town if you want to." He tipped his hat. "Well, I better be getting on my way." Turning, he stomped down the steps, mounted his horse, and galloped away.

  Jessica stared after him.

  Angus laid a hand on her shoulder. "Looks like somebody wants you to stay in this century."

  Strangely, however—despite everything Jessica had gone through with Truman, and no matter how desperately she longed to be with him—something deep inside her told her that this was not where she belonged.

  * * *

  The heels of Jessica's shoes clicked along the dry, boarded sidewalk while a familiar cow-scented breeze blew into her face and whipped up a torrent of light dust in the street. It whirled in a circle, and then settled down just as a horse-drawn wagon rolled by and stirred it into a pirouette again.

  When she reached Zimmerman's Hardware Store, Jessic
a looked through the window, wondering if the storeowner had sold her necklace yet. Not that it mattered. Liam was long forgotten. Their relationship had been as fake as its stone. She was better off without the necklace, so she started down the boardwalk again.

  She stopped a second time, however, when another thought struck her. That necklace was a piece of the future. Something told her she should have it. She turned back toward Zimmerman’s and nearly collided with a dog who must have been following her.

  There, gazing up at her with big brown eyes and an eager panting smile, was a white Jack Russell terrier very similar to George, her dog back home.

  A pain squeezed her heart as she remembered how George used to sit on the floor between her legs to wait for supper while she would stand with her feet braced apart, opening a can of something. God, she missed him. She hoped her parents were taking good care of him.

  She knelt down and scratched behind the dog’s ears. “Hi there, cutie. Where did you come from? You look just like my dog back home.”

  "Hello." Those familiar black boots stepped into her range of vision.

  Jessica immediately stood. She hadn’t seen Truman since they parted after escaping the gang’s hideout, and for some reason, there was a strange awkwardness between them now. “Hi.”

  Just then, the dog nudged his nose under her skirts and sat down between her feet.

  “This a friend of yours?” Truman asked, looking down.

  Jessica laughed. “No, I’ve never seen him before, but this is exactly what my dog does.” She lifted her skirts to let him out from under her petticoat and knelt down again to pat his head. “Does he belong to anyone?”

  “Yeah, the Peterson’s. His name is Leo.”

  Jessica continued to ruffle Leo’s ears while he licked her chin. “Too bad, because I would have loved to take him home with me.”

  A young boy called out from across the street. “Leo! Come on! We gotta go!”

  Leo looked at Jessica and hesitated.

  “Go on,” she said, waving a hand as she rose to her feet. “He’s calling you.”