Taken by the Cowboy

by Julianne MacLean

  Only then did the dog dash off toward the Peterson boy.

  For a long moment, she watched them run together down the boardwalk and felt a deep ache of longing in her chest.

  "Care for some company?” Truman asked. “I’d like to walk you home."

  "That would be nice,” she replied, “but I need to go into Zimmerman's. Will you come in? I'll just be a minute."

  "Sure." He opened the door for her, and the bells jingled.

  Jessica walked in and approached the clerk at the counter while Truman waited at the window, watching the street.

  "Can I help you?" the clerk asked.

  "Yes. Do you still have that necklace I sold you?"

  "The diamond? Yes, just a minute." He went out back, and returned after a few seconds. "Here it is."

  She admired the large sparkling stone, which dangled from his fingers like a pendulum.

  "I was thinking of making it into a ring,” the clerk mentioned.

  Jessica cleared her throat. "How much are you asking for it right now as a necklace?"

  "Forty dollars."

  “But it’s not a real diamond.”

  “Looks real to me.”

  She dug into her purse, counting what she had. "Would you take thirty-eight?"

  "It's forty dollars."

  "I see." She paused a moment, thinking about the irony of it—that Liam probably hadn't paid much more than that for it back in the twenty-first century.

  The merchant seemed to be waiting for her to agree to the price, but unfortunately, she didn't have enough money with her. The rest of her reward was at Angus's house. "Could you hold it for me? I'd like it just as it is."

  "I suppose I could do that. Only a couple of days, though."

  "Thank you." She moved toward Truman who was watching her with curious eyes.

  "Ready?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  He opened the door, nodded a thank you to the clerk, and escorted her out. As they stepped onto the boardwalk, a voice called out from a few doors down. "Hey, Junebug!"

  Truman and Jessica stopped and turned.

  "I'd watch out for that sheriff if I were you!” It was Virgil Norton and his gang of rowdies. “He ain't gentle like I am!" They roared with laughter from a bench outside the Long Branch Saloon.

  "That man,” she said, irritably, "lacks refinement."

  "Just ignore him," Truman drawled. "He's drunk, and he's more gurgle than guts." He placed a protective hand on her arm and guided her away. The other hand rested on his gun.

  She and Truman walked past the storefronts and saloons until they came to the end of the boardwalk and stepped into the dusty street.

  "Careful," Truman cautioned, as he guided her around fresh evidence that this was a cow town.

  "Thank you." She had become quite adept at spotting these things, but today, her mind was elsewhere. It was time, she knew, to tell Truman the truth about where she came from. If she ever expected to feel genuinely close to him, to end this persistent awkwardness, there could be no more secrets. He needed to understand why she talked the way she did, and why she had very modern ideas about feminist issues.

  Truman's spurs chinked as four chickens ran past them. "Must be a fire in the coop," he commented.

  When they reached Angus's house, they stopped at the front gate. "Would you take a walk with me out onto the prairie tomorrow?" she asked, feeling nervous about the whole thing. "I think it's time we spent some time together and had a talk – about that secret of mine."

  Truman eyed her speculatively. "I was wondering when you'd ask. I figured you’d be ready to tell me, eventually."

  Jessica looked down at her feet.

  "I'll come by around noon," he said.

  He left her there at the gate, and she wondered uneasily if this would turn out to be a mistake. Maybe she would be wiser to keep her extraordinary secret to herself and just try to fit in.

  But no. She couldn’t live like that.

  She had to tell him.

  * * *

  The following day, Jessica stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom, gliding a brush down the length of her hair, wondering how Truman was going to react when she told him where she came from.

  What would he think about microwave ovens, movies, and space travel. Would he even believe it? And what if she were able to find a way home? If she could take him with her, would he come?

  She was imagining all that when the sound of hoof beats approached the house. A moment later, a knock sounded at the front door.

  "Jessica!" Angus called up the stairs. "Sheriff Wade is here to see you!"

  A thrill moved through her. Taking one last look in the mirror, she quickly twisted her hair up into a knot on top of her head, pinned it and tucked the stray locks in as best she could. She smoothed out her dress, picked up her purse, and headed downstairs.

  When she reached the parlor and her gaze fell upon Truman standing in front of the fireplace, she could go no further. Their eyes met and locked, and her heart turned over in her chest.

  Before she entered the room, Angus donned his hat and told them he was heading into town to run a few errands, but Jessica knew he was simply giving them some time to be alone.

  "Good morning," Truman said after the door swung shut behind Angus.

  "Good morning." She strode into the room. "Do you want to sit down?"

  Truman hesitated. He turned his hat over in his hands. His voice was heavy with what sounded like an apology, and Jessica felt a sudden twinge of discomfort.

  "I'm afraid this isn't a social call," he told her.

  “But I thought we were going to spend the day together.”

  He shook his head. "Not today.”

  Her stomach began to churn with a sinking dread. “Why not?”

  “Because Virgil Norton was murdered last night."

  “What!” Jessica exclaimed, her heart suddenly racing. They had seen Virgil only yesterday. "How? What happened?"

  "That’s what I’d like to know. I came to ask you where you were last night. Some time after eleven."

  Her mind refused to register what he was implying. "You can't possibly think...."

  "I don't think anything,” he replied. “Just answer me."

  She sat down. "I was here, sleeping. You don’t seriously think I did it."

  "Did you?" he asked.

  "Of course not!"

  He looked down at his boots, as if he didn’t know what to believe. "I had to ask," he said coolly. "I’m the sheriff, and it's my job."

  Jessica could feel her mood veering sharply to anger. "I thought you knew me better than that by now."

  He gave no reply, and she noticed the muscle at his jaw was twitching. "I'm sorry, Jessica,” he said, “but you’re going to have to come with me."

  She scoffed in disbelief. "What are you saying?"

  "Just until we get everything straightened out. It’s for your own protection."

  “My protection? Why?”

  He hesitated, his eyebrows pulling together in frustration. "Because if I don't bring you in, I might have a riot on my hands. There was another article in the paper this morning, and it said there was a witness who saw you do it. The folks of Dodge won't stand for any more of this. I just can’t guarantee your safety."

  She massaged her temples with two fingertips. "But I didn't do it. You can't lock me up because of a sensational story in a newspaper, just to keep people happy. It's not right. And who is the witness?"

  "We don’t know yet. That information wasn’t printed in the paper, but we’re working on it. That’s why I need to take you in. Until I find out who killed Virgil, you're the only suspect, and I can't even prove you're who you say you are."

  Jessica was tempted to spill everything out there and then, but she resisted the urge because he’d never believe it – not under these circumstances. He’d think she was crazy, and it would only make her appear guiltier.

  "I was going to explain everything to you today,” she
said, “but I doubt you’d even believe it now."

  "It doesn’t matter what I believe,” he replied. “It only matters that you come with me now, because if you don’t, you might have to face a lynch mob – and that’s the last thing I want. You should know that better than anyone."

  He didn’t say the words, but when she looked into his tormented eyes, she understood his meaning. He had already lost a wife. He didn’t want to lose her, too.

  Rising to her feet, she wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered, “Then I’ll go peacefully.”

  He held her for a long moment, and she was astonished by the euphoria she felt, knowing that he cared for her so deeply.

  It wasn’t until much later—when he locked her up in the jail cell to be guarded by Dempsey—that she experienced an almost crushing urge to escape from this place and return to her own time.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The jail cell was humid and hot. It smelled of heavy sweat and alcohol left over from the burping, hungover cowboy that Dempsey had recently let go. Sitting on the cot and feeling itchy beneath her ridiculous corset – a truly perverse instrument of torture—Jessica wondered what was going to happen next.

  A number of times she asked to see Angus, but was told no one could find him, and as the day progressed, she grew increasingly worried.

  It was dark when Truman finally returned to the law office. "You can go now," he said to Dempsey. "But keep an eye on things in the streets. Make sure your gun is loaded."

  They both glanced at Jessica. Truman’s eyes were frigid, icy blue.

  The young deputy stood and headed for the door. "You can rest easy, Sheriff. I won’t put up with any shenanigans. See you in the morning."

  Truman walked to his desk, never meeting Jessica’s gaze. His cool indifference made her wonder if he had somehow grown to detest her in this one, short, traumatic day.

  He paused in front of his desk with his hands on his hips, as if thinking. For a tense moment, he stared down at all the papers and writing utensils on the desktop. Then he leaned forward in a sudden fit of rage and swept everything onto the floor. The jar of pens and the inkwell went flying. They crashed into the wall and flew everywhere.

  Heart suddenly racing, Jessica rushed forward to the cell door.

  His dangerous eyes focused in on her. Then he approached her and gripped the bars. "God, Jessica," he whispered, closing his eyes.

  The agony in his voice caught her by surprise, and a wave of apprehension coursed through her. "Tell me what happened.”

  When he looked up, the dark rage was gone, but deep lines of regret were creasing his forehead. "Folks in town want to hang you."

  Jessica backed away. "You’re not serious."

  "I won't let them do it."

  "How can you stop it? If a judge says—"

  "It won't come to that. I'll take you away before it does."

  "You’d help me escape?” she asked, not sure she’d heard him correctly. “And you’d come with me?”

  He didn’t nod or say yes, but his eyes answered the question.

  “But I’m innocent,” she insisted. “Angus will help me prove it in court. Have you found him yet?”

  He reached a hand through the bars and touched her cheek. "No. He’s been missing all afternoon. But it doesn’t matter. I’m going to get you out of this. No matter what it takes."

  The words came to her in a light whisper, and she closed her eyes, almost drowning in relief. He did trust her. Even without knowing her secret, he knew she would never kill a man.

  He drew her into his arms and pressed his mouth to hers. Jessica leaned into the cell door, savoring the velvet warmth of his kiss, barely able to believe she could feel so happy when her whole world was falling to pieces around her.

  Truman pulled away and went to lock the front door, then returned with the jingling keys. He let her out of the jail cell, swept her into his arms, and carried her to the stairs. Taking two steps at a time to the top, he kicked his bedroom door open with his boot and set her down on the floor.

  Jessica, her mind swimming, backed all the way inside and hit the bed. “Thank God, Truman. I couldn’t bear to be away from you another minute.”

  He unbuckled his gun belt and tossed it to the floor, then took off his shirt to reveal the most magnificent naked chest she’d ever seen in her life, and strode toward her. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her deeply.

  Jessica ran her palms over his deliciously smooth, contoured chest and down to the rippled muscles of his stomach. He flinched, but a faint murmur of encouragement prompted her to continue. He kissed her again, his hands roaming urgently over her dress.

  All she knew in that moment was a need to feel his skin next to hers, a need to feel his lips and hot breath caressing her.

  He unfastened her bodice and slid it off her shoulders. His lips were demanding, and his tongue probed her mouth in a slow, intoxicating rhythm.

  Truman unbuttoned the top of her skirt and petticoats and let them fall gracefully to the floor at their feet. His fingers touched her corset, and he stepped back, leaving Jessica wobbling with impatient desire. Focusing closely on the task, he unhooked each hook. Soon, the tightness gave way, and she could breathe again. At last. The corset dropped to the floor, landing quietly on top of the skirts.

  His arms came around to massage her back in a tight embrace, his breath moist against her neck and shoulder.

  Flames of impatience licked within her. Truman guided her gently onto the bed. She sank into the soft, feather mattress, then inched back toward the pillows. Truman came upon her, moving. His hand wandered down her side, over her hips and to her leg, still covered by the cotton drawers.

  "Take these off," he whispered.

  She eagerly untied the ribbon at her waist, delighting in the cool air dancing across her skin, as Truman slid the drawers down her legs, then slowly rolled each stocking from her uplifted knees, dropping open-mouthed kisses down her thighs and calves. A deep, sensual ache enthralled her—a need to feel him inside her, to feel the sudden, shocking pleasure of his entry. "Please," she murmured.

  Truman rolled away from her, kicked off his boots, and removed his trousers. Soon, as if in a dream, he was upon her.

  "I can't wait anymore," he said.

  She groaned as he filled her. All sense of time and place left her, and she could barely remember anything of her life before this exquisite moment. All she knew was the glorious feel of Truman driving into her again and again. Her former existence was consumed by the pleasure that rolled over her.

  Together they reached an explosive climax and released everything to each other. He shuddered in her arms. She arched her back and drew in a deep breath.

  In that wild, raging moment, Jessica knew that she would never—in all this peculiar, entangled eternity—be able to leave him. Nothing could take her away from him now. She belonged to him. This was meant to be.

  She understood it now.

  It’s why she was sent here.

  * * *

  Later, still wrapped in each other’s arms, Jessica and Truman resisted sleep. Outside, distant saloon pianos played over the faint laughter and rowdy hollering from the street. Closer to their window, crickets chirped in the darkness, smothering the cruel realities that faced them.

  "What’s going to happen next?" Jessica asked, as she rested her cheek on his shoulder.

  "Everything will be fine," he whispered.

  "You always say that."

  "I've been right so far, haven't I?"

  A quiet moment passed as Truman's thumb brushed over her shoulder, back and forth...until she felt almost hypnotized by it.

  Yet still, that relentless ache in her chest persisted—the ache that came from wanting two different things at the same time. Now that she had surrendered to the love she felt for Truman, she would have to accept, once and for all, that she would never see her family again, or her dog, George. Her life in the twenty-first century was lost to her n
ow, and she couldn’t help but grieve for it.

  Nevertheless, she couldn’t imagine leaving this new life behind—most important…this love she’d found. Or rather, the love that had found her.

  She never dreamed she could feel so close to anyone, that she could love a flesh and blood man with more than just her heart and body. They were connected somehow in a soulful, profound way, and the connection was beyond physical. It was not something she could touch or feel, yet it was very real. More real than anything she’d ever known back home. The depth of her love for Truman Wade ran too deep to even understand.

  If only she could live two parallel lives.

  If only she had all the answers and knew what was happening right now, at this very moment, in the future. What had become of her life there?

  Did her parents believe she was dead?

  "Truman?"

  "Mmm?"

  She rolled on top of him, laced her fingers together on his chest, and rested her chin on top of them.

  He threw an arm up under his head like a pillow. “You look like you want to tell me something, and I really hope that’s the case, because I’ve been waiting a long time.”

  “I do. I’ve wanted to tell you this since the first night we met, but I was too afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  She rubbed a finger over the smooth, warm surface of his chest. “That you wouldn’t believe me. Or that you’d think I was crazy.”

  “I’d never think that.”

  She tried to smile, to make light of this, but it was impossible. “You might change your mind about that after you’ve heard what I’m about to say.”

  He frowned with some concern.

  Lord. This was harder than she thought it would be.

  "It’s about where I come from," she said at last.

  “Whatever it is, it can’t possibly be any worse than the things I’ve told you.”

  “It’s not like that,” she said. “It’s not something I’ve done. It’s something I had no control over, and….well....brace yourself."

  "I’m braced."

  She leaned forward to kiss him. His lips were soft and moist. As she withdrew, he put his arm around her and coaxed her to lie beside him. His warm hand swept the locks of her hair across her shoulder.