Finally, Angus made a move to leave. "Truman, you should come with me. We'll head over to see the judge right now. He's a reasonable fellow, and he respects me. I'll tell him Jessica will be staying at my house. I'm sure it won't be a problem."
Truman rose and shook Angus's hand. "Thank you, sir."
"My pleasure." He turned and kissed Jessica on the forehead, then left the office to wait for Truman outside.
Truman turned to face Jessica. "What’s going on?" he asked.
"Nothing,” she replied too quickly. “Everything’s fine."
Truman hooked a thumb through his gun belt. It wasn’t his style to feel this uncertain. Hell, it wasn’t his style to feel much of anything at all. "You'll be here when I get back?"
"Of course. We’ll talk then.”
“It sounds important.”
“It is, but Angus is waiting. You should go.”
He stared at those moist ruby lips and wondered what she wanted to discuss, and hoped it wasn’t going to be something he didn’t want to hear.
He stroked a loose tendril of hair away from her face. "I have a bad feeling today."
"What kind of bad feeling?" she asked.
"I don't know. I can’t explain it. I just feel like things are going to take a turn, and not for the better.”
She backed away from him. “Are you afraid I’ll hang?”
He gazed into her eyes for a long moment, then shook his head. “I can’t say for sure. I don’t know why, but I feel like we’re going to be separated."
Jessica rested her palms on his chest. "I don’t ever want to be separated from you," she told him. "I promised I'd stay here, and that's what I intend to do."
Her words should have eased his mind, but for some reason he couldn’t explain, every muscle in his body tightened with apprehension.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Truman agreed to meet Angus at the county courthouse immediately after he had a word with Henry Gordon, the newspaper editor—but when he reached The Chronicle office, the front door was locked. Wrestling with his growing impatience, he faced the street, thumbed his hat back off his head, leaned a shoulder against a post, and waited.
He thought about Jessica and what she’d told him last night. Perhaps the strangest thing about it was that he believed her, even though it was the most outrageous tale he’d ever heard.
But when he remembered how she was dressed the first time he saw her—with her hair long and loose about her shoulders, wearing red shoes and britches that looked like they were designed to fit a woman's shapely hips, and that bizarre zipper contraption – it all made a strange sort of sense.
Truman shifted his weight to the other foot and glanced up and down the street. Five minutes passed and still no one showed up to open the newspaper office. Unusual for a Tuesday, he thought, as he pushed away from the post. He might as well go and meet Angus, then he’d try Henry Gordon at home.
His spurs chinked as he headed down the boardwalk toward the courthouse.
"Truman!"
He turned to see Angus waving from across the street. Truman waited for a wagon to pass, then headed in that direction.
"I paid the bail,” Angus said when the met. “You can let Jessica out, but Judge Whittier wants her to stay in Dodge."
"What if she doesn't stay?" It was half question, half warning. “You’ll lose your money.”
Angus shrugged. "I won’t miss it."
Truman nodded and gave Angus a light slap on the shoulder. "Thank you."
"My pleasure. Here you go." He handed over the bail certificate and leaned in to speak quietly. "I presume you’ll take her away?”
Glancing around to make sure no one was listening, Truman nodded.
“Where will you go?" Angus asked.
"Don't rightly know. Somewhere they won't find us. Maybe north. Maybe even as far as Canada."
Angus considered this, then relaxed his shoulders. "With any luck, you won't have to leave town at all. Did you talk to Henry Gordon?"
"Not yet. The newspaper office was locked up tight."
"Did you try his house?"
"That’s where I’m heading now."
Angus and Truman walked down First Avenue to the corner, then stepped onto the boardwalk in front of Kelley's Opera House. A pack of hounds tore by, barking all the way, stirring up a cloud of dust.
"How well do you know Jessica?" Truman asked, wondering how much Angus knew about what was really going on.
"Quite well,” he replied. “Why do you ask?"
Truman paused. "Do you know where she comes from?"
Angus stopped on the boardwalk. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do." He lowered his voice. "I understand she told you."
Two ladies carrying parasols walked by, and Truman tipped his hat at them. “Nice morning,” he said casually.
As soon as they passed, he continued. "She told me everything. Kind of hard to believe, don’t you think?"
"Yes, it most certainly is."
"Do you believe her?"
Angus hesitated. "Do you?"
Truman hesitated for a moment as he thought about it. "I love her, Angus. So I guess that means I’ll believe just about anything she tells me."
Angus smiled and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Good. Because it's true. Every last word."
They started walking again.
"Has she talked to you about her family?" Truman asked.
"Yes. At first, it was all she talked about—getting home to them—but as time moved on, she spoke of them less and less, and began to talk of other things. You, for one."
Truman looped both thumbs through his gun belt. "Will she be happy here, do you think?"
"Two weeks ago, I would have said no. She was determined to get home, no matter what it took, but now I believe she wants to stay. Even though we finally know how to get back."
Truman stopped in his tracks. "You know how to get back?"
Angus gazed uncertainly at him. "Oh, dear. Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything."
"She told me there wasn’t a way."
"There wasn't, before today, but last night I figured it out. I believe, if we do everything just right, she can go back anytime she wants."
Truman swallowed over the peculiar dread and apprehension that had been eating away at him all morning. He tried to make sense of everything, to understand where he stood in all this.
"Can she travel back and forth?” he asked. “I mean, could she go there, and then come back here? Like, on the stagecoach?"
Angus wrinkled his nose. "I don’t think so, not without risking her life. She was lucky to have survived the first time."
Truman's gut began to churn. "Could she take someone with her?"
"I’m not sure. I don't think so. But you could always try."
Truman suspected Angus’s was just being polite.
All at once, his mood darkened. He knew the town wanted to hang Jessica. Was it selfish of him to keep her here? To help her break the law, ride out of Dodge, and turn her into an outlaw?
Maybe she was destined to go home. Maybe Angus figured this out yesterday for a reason.
"So, how does it work?" he asked, facing Angus. "How can she get home? I want to know everything."
On the way to the jailhouse, Angus explained it—from the car crash to the missing watch. Truman listened carefully to every word.
"She has to wear exactly what she had on when she arrived?" he asked.
"Yes, I believe so. The watch had been missing, but now we have it. I don’t think there's anything stopping her."
Truman turned away, leaving Angus in front of the jailhouse. "Tell Jessica I'll be back soon. There's something I gotta do."
* * *
Jessica paced back and forth in the cell, while frantic thoughts bounced around in her head. She surprised herself sometimes. All along, she had dreaded making the decision of whether to stay or return home, but now the answer was clear. The dread was gone. She was going to do what her gut was tell
ing her to do. She was going to stay, no matter what the cost.
Of course, she would always miss her old life and her family especially, but surely in time, it would get easier. At least she had Truman to help her through it.
Moving to the cell door, she rested her chin on one of the bars, and thought about how handsome he was the night before, when the moonlight had shone through the window and illuminated his face.
He filled the empty place in her heart, the place where a little voice had always insisted that something was missing from her life.
She had never been truly happy. She’d always wanted what she didn't have, what was beyond her reach, what was one day ahead. She spent days, week after week, seeking something better, working harder at her job, dreaming of something that would change her life and finally satisfy and her allow her some peace from the little voice.
Even when she thought she was in love with Liam, she wasn’t happy. Something had been missing, and she foolishly believed that once they were married, she would stop dreaming and longing for whatever it was that remained so vague in her mind. Now at last, she understood what it was.
Contentment, peace, and fulfillment. Today was a better day. Even with all the danger and uncertainties, she was happier now than she had ever been, and she truly believed that everything would work out for the best. She was innocent of the crimes. The truth would come out.
And Truman loved her.
Just as she closed her eyes to rest for a moment, the front door opened.
"I'm back." Truman stepped into the office and removed his hat. "And I have good news."
"You found out who killed Virgil?"
"Well, not that good." He reached into his pocket and removed a set of keys. Crossing the room toward her, he jingled them. "Angus paid the bail and you're free, at least until the trial. That'll give us some time to do some investigating."
“What about the lynch mob?”
Truman unlocked the door and swung it wide open. Jessica walked out, straight into his arms.
"Don’t worry. I'm not letting you out of my sight."
"Thank God," she murmured.
He kissed her deeply, with superb skill and relentless passion, and she came away, dizzy with longing, locked in his gaze, touching her fingertips to his lips.
He laid soft, moist kisses on her palm. "There are things we need to do," he said. "We shouldn't be standing here wasting time."
"You call this wasting time?"
He smiled, and the seduction in his eyes was an exhilarating balm to her senses that left her reeling with desire. "We need to go."
"I’m sure you're right," she breathlessly replied, but she couldn’t seem to make her body move in any direction – not when he was dropping hot, sweet, tender kisses up her arm and sending her into a heated pool of sensual yearnings.
“We need to stop this,” he said with a devilish grin, “before it gets out of hand…”
A moment later, after no shortage of wicked fits and starts, he led her out the front door of the jailhouse, and locked it behind them.
"We'll start by riding out to Henry Gordon's place,” he said, “to ask a few questions."
He freed Thunder from the hitching rail.
They mounted, and Truman sat behind her.
"I get to sit in the saddle this time?" she asked.
"I reckon that’s the best thing. That way, I don't lose sight of you."
"You're giving me goose bumps," she said huskily, as his breath tickled her ear.
He turned Thunder toward the edge of town. Soon they were out on the prairie, talking about their plans for escape should it come to that.
Later, the bright sun in Jessica's eyes and the swaying motion of the horse, plodding slowly along, weighed heavily upon her eyelids. She had slept only a few hours the night before, waking every hour or so to make love. She tipped her head back upon Truman's shoulder and closed her eyes.
It was not long before she encountered the sweet sensation of drifting off...into another dreamy existence, where she stood outside a hospital emergency room, peering through a round window, watching a doctor's back as he leaned over an unconscious man.
In her dream, she was home again in a modern and familiar world. Electronic devices beeped and florescent lights hummed. She heard footsteps hurrying behind her and turned to see two nurses approaching.
Jessica moved aside to let them pass. They pushed through the door without acknowledging her—as if she weren't even there—and she watched through the window as the doctor leaned over the patient.
"What are the vitals?" he asked one of the nurses, his back to Jessica.
The nurse wrapped a blood pressure band around the patient's arm and pumped air into it. "One-seventy over eighty."
Another nurse said, "Pulse is ninety-six."
The doctor leaned over the body and lifted the patient’s eyelids, one at time, while he shone a penlight into his eyes. "Patient has a blown left pupil."
He paused, staring at the far wall. He reached a hand up and combed it through his hair, as if frustrated.
The nurse walked toward him. "Doctor, are you all right?"
He nodded, but stood motionless, as if he had seen a ghost. "Yes. I need a stat Chemstrip, and order blood work, and start an I.V. right away. Lift the bed so he’s sitting up. Get him ready for intubation, and someone call neurosurgery. This guy's gonna have to go to the O.R."
When the doctor moved aside, and the head of the bed slowly lifted and came into view, Jessica sucked in a quick breath.
The man on the bed was Truman.
"Doctor, are you all right?" a nurse asked again.
"I'm fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You look pale.”
From the door, Jessica watched him shake his head, though he still stood with his back to her.
“Something’s not right here,” he said. “I have a bad feeling. He’s not going to make it.”
Just then, the doctor turned around and looked directly into Jessica’s eyes. Their gazes locked and held through the window. Her whole body began to tingle. It wasn’t possible.
The doctor was Truman, too….
She jerked out of her sleep. "Where are we?" she asked, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She felt Truman's hand on her stomach and said a silent thank you when she discovered they were still on the Kansas prairie.
"We're almost there," he said. "You fell asleep."
"I know." She licked her dry lips. "I dreamed I was back in the future."
"Did you see your family?"
"No. I saw you. Only it wasn't you. You were in a hospital. You were the patient, but you were the doctor, too."
"A doctor? Me? That's comical."
"Why?"
She felt his body heave with a sigh. "Me, saving lives. All I’ve ever done is take them."
Jessica turned in the saddle. "That’s behind you, now. All that matters now is the future. You can be anything you want to be."
He tightened his grip around her stomach, nuzzling the hair at the back of her head. "I love that you have such confidence."
"More than anything." They rode in silence, while Jessica imagined Truman being something different than a lawman. "You could go to school, you know. There’s a future in medicine. So much to learn.” She turned her cheek to nuzzle his. “I could help you."
Then she realized what she was doing…
Listen to yourself, Jessica. Do you really want to change him? Is that what real love is about?
He smiled. "Let’s take one day at a time. First, we need to prove your innocence."
Jessica inhaled deeply. Then she remembered the dream.
Truman, unconscious on the operating table, just like her brother, Gregory….
Thank God it was just a dream, she thought, looking down at the strong hands resting on her stomach.
Touching the rough, sun-bronzed skin, she imagined those hands pulling a trigger to kill a man.
Six men.
; A shiver ran through her.
"Will you ever do it again?" she asked.
"Do what?"
"Kill someone."
He was silent for a long moment. "I hope not," he softly replied.
"I wonder about it sometimes," she continued. "It's a side of you I don't know."
She sensed his unease as he gazed across the prairie.
"It's a side of me I hope you don’t ever have to see,” he said. “I can't erase my past, Jessica. It happened. It's part of who I am." He paused. "Sometimes I...."
A hawk soared above them—a dark, ill-omened figure against the bright blue sky. "Sometimes you what?"
"Sometimes I wish I didn't have a conscience. I wish I didn't feel regret, but it’s there in my head, constantly."
Jessica rubbed his hands. “I’m glad. It makes you human.”
"It's not something I'm proud of," he continued, "killing those men. Every time I think about it, something inside me aches, like an old wound on a rainy day."
Thunder swung his tail to slap at a fly, and a gust of wind blew Jessica's hair away from her face.
"The first time I killed someone," Truman told her, "I did it for the reward. I was seventeen. After it was done, I sat under a tree and drank half a bottle of rotgut whisky. Then I had to drag a stiff body across the dirt and lift him onto my horse."
Jessica squeezed his hand tighter.
"I didn't sober up for days,” Truman continued. “I had a saddlebag full of cash from the reward, and I spent most of it on booze. I can't remember much else about it. Afterwards, I got numb. I didn't think much about what I was doing. I just pulled the trigger and got paid for it. But when Dorothy...." He paused. "When that happened, everything changed."
Jessica reached back and touched his cheek. "I hope you never have to do anything like that again."
"I just wish I could make up for it somehow."
"You are making up for it," she told him. "As Sheriff of Dodge, you protect people. You're a good man, Truman. I know you don't think so, but it's true. And I intend to keep telling you that for the rest of my days—until finally, God willing, you believe it."
Chapter Twenty-Five
Henry Gordon was a loner. He lived in a small rented house on the side of a hill, overlooking a narrow, winding creek.
Taken by the Cowboy Page 19
