Taken by the Cowboy

by Julianne MacLean

  Jessica felt unsteady on her feet. She was still having trouble believing all this. Or maybe she was afraid to believe it.

  “Do you remember all of Truman’s life?” she asked uncertainly.

  He shook his head. “Not all of it. Only certain things later on. I remember Dorothy, and I recall things about bounty hunting, but most of all, I remember you.”

  Her heart warmed at the words. “You’re a doctor now.”

  “Yes. I did things differently this time, and now my life makes more sense to me. You have to believe me, Jessica. I've been waiting such a long time for you to come back."

  Suddenly she was filled with a hopefulness she never imagined she would feel again. “But if you’ve known about me for so long, why didn't you find me sooner? I've been right here in Kansas for years. I almost married someone else."

  "I was afraid of altering fate,” he replied.

  She shook her head with disbelief. "How long have you known who I was?"

  "About five years. I came to Dodge City when I finished my residency. To wait for you. But I didn’t remember anything about you having a brother. I was shocked to see you that day, and I tried so hard to save him. If I could have foreseen what would happen to him, maybe I could have done something to prevent it, but you were all I saw."

  Jessica touched his cheek and felt a lump form in her throat. "No more regrets,” she said. “We can’t change the past. I don’t think we’re meant to. All we can do is build the future.”

  Jake nodded and kissed the palm of her hand.

  “When I first met Truman,” she said, “I knew he looked familiar, but I couldn't place him. Now, I remember. He reminded me of you. I remember that day in the hospital. The day Gregory died. You knew my name."

  "Of course I did.”

  "But," she said, pulling away so she could look at him, "what have you been doing all this time?"

  "We have a lot to catch up on," he told her with a smile. "Now I save lives, instead of take them."

  "Truman said that to me once," she replied. "I dreamed he was a doctor, but he laughed at the idea. I told him he could be anything he wanted to be."

  Jake smiled. “I remember that, too. It was the last day we were together. We were riding on my horse. Maybe you planted the idea in me.”

  A horn honked somewhere. Such a modern sound.

  "It is you, isn't it?" she finally said, in a quiet, shaky voice.

  "Yes."

  Without hesitation she wrapped her arms around his neck, laughing and crying at the same time. Could she believe him? Could she really trust him? Dear Lord...she had to. Nothing would ever mean anything to her again if she couldn't have this. Again.

  Jessica's feet came clear off the ground as he lifted her and swung her in a circle.

  “I love you,” she whispered in his ear, astonished by how quickly she could utter those words to a man she thought she barely knew, but now it felt so right, and so comfortable.

  “I love you, too.”

  When he set her down, he gazed into her eyes for a second, then pressed his lips to hers.

  In that instant, Jessica knew it was true. His lips were the same. The kiss was the same.

  He was Truman. Her Truman.

  He brushed her hair away from her face. Jessica touched her necklace—the one Truman had returned to her just before he died.

  The pain of that day still ached inside her, but as she looked at this man before her, she realized it was fading fast. Truman had indeed come back to her. He had promised her forever, and he had kept that promise.

  She reached up and touched Jake’s cheek. In his eyes, she saw the ageless connection they shared.

  He held his hands out in front of him, turned them over and looked at his palms. "These hands…they've never held a gun, and they never will."

  She trembled with joy. Everything that had happened made sense now.

  "It's not going to be just us, you know," she said, grinning mischievously, resting her hand on her belly.

  The news registered on Jake’s face, and Jessica saw the faint memory of his own demons disappearing. “I know.”

  “How do you know?”

  He gave an apologetic shrug. “I’m a doc. When they brought you in, I was involved. I followed your progress, but I couldn’t say anything to anyone. And I knew I had to give you time to recover before I dropped this on you.” He pulled her close and buried his face in her hair. "I'm so happy," he said. "This time, I promise, everything really is going to be all right."

  A gentle sigh of a breeze blew across their faces, hinting at hope and contentment.

  Jessica stepped back and nodded. "I think it’s going to be better than all right."

  Then her cell phone rang, and his BlackBerry vibrated at his belt. They reached for them quickly, then looked at each other and laughed.

  “Let’s shut these off,” he said, moving close to her again. He slid his warm hand up under the hair at her nape and whispered in her ear. “It’s high time we got out of here, don’t you think?”

  She glanced up at him flirtatiously as a delicious rush of desire shivered through her. “That depends. What did you have in mind, Sheriff? And dare I ask—will handcuffs be involved?”

  He smirked and led her toward his Mustang. “I’m game if you are.”

  He opened the door for her and waited until she was comfortably seated on the leather upholstery before he shut the door, circled around the front, and got into the driver’s seat. He slid the key into the ignition, started the engine, and pushed a button to lower the top.

  “Do you remember Angus Maxwell?” he said, while the top retracted and folded away.

  “Yes, of course. Why? Is there some news about him?”

  Jake turned down the volume on the radio. “Nothing recent, but when I was researching I came upon some announcements in the old newspapers. He married Wendy Smith, and they had three children. All of his descendants are living right here in Dodge.”

  A tiny thrill moved through her. “Have you tried to contact them?”

  He shook his head. “No, but I’ll be willing if it’s something you want to do.”

  Jessica smiled at him as a fresh breeze blew through her hair. “We’ll have to think about that.”

  He revved the engine and adjusted the rearview mirror.

  “Did you know I’m a writer?” she asked.

  “Of course. I read your column religiously. I especially liked the one about how to train for the New York Marathon. I’m thinking about doing that.”

  “Yeah?” She sat up straighter as her passion for running sparked in her veins. “Me, too. But we’d have to qualify.”

  He shifted into reverse to back out of the parking spot. “I’m sure we could help each other out. You strike me as the competitive type. How early do you like to get up on a Saturday morning?”

  “Very early,” she replied, “unless there’s a reckless consumption of moonshine the night before, which shouldn’t happen too often, I hope.”

  “I’ll try not to be a bad influence.” He hit the gas and headed toward the exit.

  “I’m also thinking about writing a book,” she added.

  He drove under the museum archway, pulled out onto the street, and shifted into second gear. “Really?” He looked her square in the eye. “That sounds amazing. What kind of book?”

  “A romance novel,” she replied. “Maybe a time travel.”

  Jake put on his sunglasses and grinned at her. “What would you call it?”

  She slipped off one of her red stilettos and massaged her calf and arch while she thought about it. “Taken by the Cowboy,” she said at last, “and I shouldn’t have to do much research at all.”

  He chuckled softly. “That sounds like something I might like to read. Just make sure you work in those red stilettos somehow, because they’re really hot.” He shifted into second gear and sped up the street. “Now let’s go to the costume shop and see if we can rustle up a pair of handcuffs and a leath
er gun belt.”

  “And a hat,” Jessica added as she leaned close and laid her hand on his gorgeous muscular thigh, “because there’s just something about a man in a Stetson.”

  They turned a corner, and he shifted smoothly into third.

  -THE END-

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  Read on for additional bonus content….

  THE COLOR OF HEAVEN

  By Julianne MacLean

  writing under the pseudonym E.V. Mitchell

  Excerpt - Copyright 2011 Julianne MacLean

  All rights reserved

  Preface

  A lot goes through your mind when you’re dying. What they say about life flashing before your eyes is true. You remember things from your childhood and adolescence – specific images, vivid and real, like brilliant sparks of light exploding in your brain.

  Somehow you’re able to comprehend the whole of your life in that single instant of reflection, as if it were a panoramic view. You have no choice but to look at your decisions and accomplishments – or lack of them – and decide for yourself if you did all that you could do.

  And you panic just a little, wishing for one more chance at all the beautiful moments you didn’t appreciate, or for one more day with the person you didn’t love quite enough.

  You also wonder in those frantic, fleeting seconds, as your spirit shoots through a dark tunnel, if heaven exists on the other side, and if so, what you will find there.

  What will it look like? What color will it be?

  Then you see a light – a brilliant, dazzling light – more calming and loving than any words can possibly describe, and everything finally makes sense to you. You are no longer afraid, and you know what lies ahead.

  Chapter One

  In this remarkable, complex world of ours, there are certain people who appear to lead charmed lives. They are blessed with natural beauty, have successful and fulfilling careers. They drive expensive cars, live in upscale neighborhoods, and are happily married to gorgeous and brilliant spouses.

  I was once one of those people. Or at least that’s how I was perceived.

  Not that I hadn’t endured my share of hardships. My childhood had been far from idyllic. My relationship with my father was strained at best, and there were certain pivotal events that I preferred to forget altogether – events that involved my mother, which I don’t really wish to go into now, but I will explain later, I promise.

  All you need to know is that for a number of years my life was perfect, and I found more happiness than I ever dreamed possible.

  * * *

  My name is Sophie. I grew up in Camden, Maine, but moved to Augusta when I was fourteen. I have one sister. Her name is Jen and we look nothing alike. Jen is blonde and petite (she takes after our mother), while I am tall, with dark auburn hair.

  Jen was always a good girl. She did well in school and graduated with honors. She went to university on scholarship and is now a social worker in New Hampshire, where she lives with her husband, Joe, a successful contractor.

  I, on the other hand, was not such a model student, nor was I an easy child to raise. I was passionate and rebellious and drove my father insane with my adventurous spirit, especially in the teen years. While Jen was quiet and bookish and liked to stay home on a Friday night, I was a party girl. By the time I reached high school, I had a steady boyfriend. His name was Kirk Duncan, and we spent most of our time at his house because his parents were divorced and never around.

  Before you pass judgment, let me assure you that Kirk was a decent, sensible young man – very mature for his age – and I have no regrets about the years we spent together. He was my first love, and I knew that no matter where life took us, I would always love him.

  We had a great deal in common. He was a musician and played the guitar, while I liked to sketch and write. Our artistic natures gelled beautifully, and if we hadn’t been so young when we first met (I was only fifteen), we might have ended up together, married and living in the suburbs with a house full of children. But life at that age is unpredictable. It’s not how things turned out.

  When Kirk left Augusta to attend college in Michigan and I stayed behind to finish my last year of high school, we drifted apart. We remained friends and kept in touch for a while, but eventually he began dating another girl, and she was upset by the once-a-month letters we continued to write to each other.

  We both knew it was time to cut the cord, so we did. For a long stretch I missed him – he was such a big part of my life – but I knew it was the right thing to do. Whenever I was tempted to call him, I resisted.

  I went on to study English and Philosophy at NYU, which is where I met Michael Whitman.

  Michael Whitman. The name alone had a sigh attached to it…

  He was handsome, charming and witty, the most perfect man I had ever seen. Every time he walked into a room, I lost my breath, as did every other hot-blooded female within a fifty-yard radius.

  If only I knew then, when I was nineteen, that he would be my future husband. I probably wouldn’t have believed it, but there’s a lot I wouldn’t have believed about the extraordinary events of my life. I doubt you’ll believe them either, but I’m going to tell them to you anyway.

  I’ll leave it up to you to decide if they’re real.

  Chapter Two

  Michael was nothing like Kirk or any of the boys I had known in high school. His parents owned a corn farm in Iowa, but he looked as if he’d been raised by aristocrats in an English country house and had just stepped off the cover of GQ magazine.

  Well-dressed and devastatingly handsome – with dark, wavy hair, pale blue eyes, and a muscular build – he had a way of making you feel as if you were the most attractive, witty, charismatic person on earth. And it wasn’t just women who worshipped him. He was a man’s man, too, with a number of close, loyal friends. His professors respected him. He was an A student and the class valedictorian at graduation. And then – big surprise – he went off to Harvard Law School on scholarship.

  He was your basic “dreamboat,” and though he spoke to me now and then on campus, like everyone else, I mostly admired him from afar.

  It wasn’t until four years after graduation, when I was interning in the publicity department at C.W. Fraser – a major publisher of non-fiction books and celebrity tell-alls – that I became the envy of every single young woman in Manhattan and beyond.

  It was June 16, 1996. I was twenty-six years old, and had helped to organize a book launch party that Michael attended.

  We saw each other from across the room and waved. Later that night, we went out to dinner, and when he escorted me home, I invited him inside. We stayed up all night, just talking on the sofa, listening to music, and we kissed when the sun came up.

  It was the most magical, romantic night of my life.

  One year later, we were married.

  * * *

  During our honeymoon in Barbados, Michael confessed something to me that he’d never been able to talk about before, not with anyone.

  When he was twelve years old, his older brother Dean had died in a tractor accident. The vehicle slid down a muddy embankment, rolled over and landed on top of Dean, killing him instantly. Michael was the one who found him.

  His voice shook as he described Dean’s lifeless body, trapped beneath the heavy tractor.

  I hadn’t known about the accident when we attended university together. I don’t think anyone did. Michael had always seemed so strong and dynamic. It seemed as if nothing bad could
ever touch him.

  As soon as I heard this, I understood that we shared something very profound – a common experience that left us both broken in unseen places, for I had lost my mother when I was fourteen.

  I was still angry with her for leaving us.

  Because that’s what she did. She made a choice, and she left us.

  I, too, shared these things with Michael, and we grew even closer.

  Chapter Three

  When I mentioned earlier that I had once led a charmed life, I was referring to this stretch of time, which began on my wedding day and lasted for ten wonderful years.

  Michael and I were crazy in love as newlyweds. He rose quickly at the law firm, and we both knew it was only a matter of time before he became a partner.

  Things were going well for me, too. Six months after we began dating, I was offered a full-time, permanent position in the publicity department at C.W. Fraser, and with Michael’s encouragement, I pursued my first love – writing – and began submitting stories to magazines. We dined out often and connected with all the right people. Before long, I was leaving my job in publicity to write for the New Yorker.

  Everything seemed perfect, and it was. We made love almost every night of the week. Sometimes Michael came home from work with a Victoria’s Secret box containing something lacy, wrapped in pink tissue paper, and we’d make love during Letterman.

  Other times, he brought ingredients for chocolate martinis and we’d go dancing until midnight.

  We were as close as two people could be, and just when I thought life couldn’t get any better, the most amazing thing happened. I found out I was pregnant.

  How effortless it all seemed.

  Looking back, I sometimes wonder if it was all a dream. I suppose it was, because eventually I did wake from it. In fact, I sat straight up in bed, gasping my lungs out.