Taken by the Cowboy (17 page)

Rosalie flicked ashes
into a dish on the bedside table. "Let's just say, he was a very
special customer of mine."

Jessica flinched. "I
see. Well, I'm sorry about that. It was kind of an accident. A
misunderstanding."

Rosalie smiled
sardonically. "You don't have to give me that story, honey. I know
what kind of man he was. You probably had a real good reason to
shoot him."

"I told you it was an
accident," Jessica said, growing increasingly impatient. She didn't
enjoy pretending she killed Lou any more than she enjoyed talking
to this woman.

"Whatever you say."
Rosalie sauntered toward Jessica and blew smoke into her face.

Jessica fought a
cough.

"What kind of danger
are you in anyway?" Rosalie asked.

"Lou's gang wants
something from me."

"Then I recommend you
give it to them, Darlin'. I don't care who you are. It ain't too
bright makin' enemies out of them boys."

"I'd give it to them if
I knew what it was."

"They didn't tell
you?"

"No."

The tip of Rosalie's
cigarette glowed red as she took another drag. "Looks like you're
in a whole lot of trouble. Those boys…they don't mess around. I'd
watch your back."

"Thanks for the
tip."

They stared at each
other in silence.

"Well," Rosalie said in
a bored way, "I better get back to work. I'll send someone in with
some clean sheets." Just before she left, she turned around with
one last word. "By the way. You're supposed to be my sister.
Truman's orders."

Jessica clenched her
jaw as she watched the door close behind her.
Truman's orders.
And in what scenario had he been giving orders to a
prostitute?

* * *

The following morning,
Jessica woke to an incessant knocking at her door and the rank
smell of stale whisky, smoke, and body odor.

Quickly, she sat up,
staring at the boot she had wedged under her door last night to
prevent any more unwelcome visitors.

"Is that you,
Truman?"

"Yes, open up."

"Just a minute." She
scrambled out of the bed, forgetting her sprained ankle until it
hit the floor, causing a searing pain to shoot up her leg. After a
brief recovery, she limped to the door. She bent forward to pull
the boot out from under it but felt a sudden shock when the door
burst open and hit her in the head.

"Ouch!" she cried,
stumbling back.

Truman stepped inside.
"Sorry. I didn't know you were there."

Jessica rubbed her
head. "I wedged the door shut. What did you expect?"

"I told you I'd be
downstairs. If anyone so much as looked at your door, besides
Rosalie, of course—"

“Okay, okay.” Jessica,
still half asleep, limped back to the bed and sat down. “Wow. I
need coffee.”

"Breakfast will be here
soon,” he replied. “And I've sent for Dempsey to watch over you
today. I'm going to try to track down Lou's gang before nightfall
and find out what they want." Truman yawned and sat down in the
rocking chair.

“That would be good,
because I'd hate to have to spend another night here."

"Believe me, if there
was any other way..." He yawned again.

"Didn't you get any
sleep?" Jessica asked.

"Not a wink."

"What did you do all
night?"

"I lost most of my pay
at the keno table."

Jessica watched him for
a moment. She glanced down at his manly hands and muscular thighs
and recalled how he had braced her up against the door last night
with his strong, hard body and kissed her senseless.

"What would you have
done if the gang had broken in here?” she asked in a desperate
effort to distract herself from the thrill of that memory. “Would
you have shot them?"

"If I had to," he
flatly replied.

She regarded him
keenly. “Doesn’t that ever make you feel guilty?”

“Which part?”

“Killing a man.”

He stared at her
intently for a long time. "Most of the men I shoot are in bad need
of killin'." Then he closed his eyes and leaned his head back as he
rocked.

His casual comment made
Jessica’s ears prickle. She couldn’t resist satisfying her
curiosity another minute. “Tell me about the men you’ve
killed.”

He kept his eyes closed
as he spoke. "Murderers. All except for one, but I didn't take too
kindly to what he was guilty of."

"And what was
that?"

Truman opened his eyes.
"He did some unspeakable things to a lady. Hefty price on his head,
too. The woman he assaulted was the wife of a governor." Truman
stopped rocking and kneaded his eyelids with the heels of his
hands. He yawned again and stood, moved to the bed and lay flat out
on his back—beside Jessica. Crossing one boot over the other, he
added, "I would've taken him down for free, though."

For a long moment,
Jessica watched Truman in the morning light.

He had just revealed
far more than usual about his past, and she wished he would say
more, but unfortunately, he was falling asleep there beside her,
and she didn’t have the heart to disturb him.

* * *

Later that morning,
after a brief half-hour nap on Jessica's bed, Truman walked into
the Dodge House Hotel and took a seat at his regular table. He felt
like he hadn't slept or eaten in days. He leaned back in his chair,
surveying the dining room. Too early in the day for cowboys. The
only people around were the good folks, and he recognized every
face.

"Morning, Sheriff,"
Mrs. Brown said, approaching his table. "The usual?"

"Thanks, that'd be real
nice. And add a slice of cherry pie to that, too, will you
please?"

"Hungry today?"

"You bet."

She disappeared into
the back kitchen while Truman stared out the window. He couldn’t
forget the look on Jessica's face an hour ago when he opened his
eyes to find her lying beside him on the bed, resting her cheek on
her hand, watching him with those sleepy and seductive green
eyes.

She'd probably thought
it mighty strange—how he rose to his feet and left the room so
fast. Hell, he had no choice, really. When he woke up and looked at
her with her wild chestnut hair spilling over her shoulders in an
alluring, uncombed mess—certain parts of his body arose for some
earnest horseplay.

If he’d stayed, he
would have done more than just kiss her up against a whorehouse
door. He would have flipped her onto her back and planted himself
fervently between her sweet, luscious thighs, and that would have
been some seriously dangerous territory to slide into.

A few minutes later, a
plate of food appeared in front of him. He hadn't even seen Mrs.
Brown coming. "There you go, Sheriff. Piping hot, the way you like
it."

Yeah, he liked it hot,
all right.

Thankfully, the
succulent aroma of spicy roasted chicken distracted him from his
degenerate thoughts, and he picked up his fork and dug in.

He ate his lunch and
thought more about Jessica—and worked real hard to keep those
thoughts strictly professional.

Maybe he should take
her away for a while, just until the gang got bored and gave up. He
could lose them. He'd lost a number of men hot on his trail before,
but as he began to consider a plan to do just that, he shook his
head. Ideas like that didn’t come from anything professional.
Truthfully, all he wanted to do was be alone with Jessica for a few
days and quench his pent-up lust.

After he finished and
paid for his meal, he left the dining room and walked out onto the
boardwalk. Old Jimmy Clay was sitting on an upturned barrel,
smoking a pipe. "Howdy, Sheriff. Swell day."

Truman settled his hat
on his head and tipped it forward to shade his eyes from the
blinding sun. "Certainly is. You just get here, Jimmy?"

"Been sittin' for about
five minutes. Just came from Ham Bell's Livery. All kinds of
commotion over there."

"Such as?"

"They had some ruffians
in there last night. They were askin' about Junebug Jess.
Threatened to drop a lamp in a haystack if no one fessed up."

Truman's blood began to
boil in his veins. "Why didn't anybody tell me?"

"Tellin' you now."

Truman pounded down the
steps and took off down the dusty street. Hell and tarnation, he
was mad enough to swallow a horned-toad backwards.

* * *

By late afternoon,
Jessica, growing restless and weary of the same four walls, sat
forward in the rocking chair when a knock sounded at her door. "Who
is it?"

"Truman."

She rose and crossed
the room to unlock it. "Come in."

He entered, wearing the
same clothes as the night before, but now they were coated in dust.
He looked exhausted and was in bad need of shave.

"Any luck?" she asked,
knowing the answer before he gave it.

"Afraid not."

"Don't tell me I have
to stay here again another night."

"I don't want to risk
moving you,” he replied. “The streets are filling up and you'd be
seen."

She returned to the
chair to sit down. "Can I at least have a visitor? I'm bored to
tears."

Removing his hat, he
hesitated as he studied her face for a moment. "Well, it just so
happens you're gonna have company tonight. All night as a matter of
fact."

"Really? Who?"

He put his hat back on.
"Me."

Jessica's heart began
to race, as Truman turned and headed for the door.

"Wait a minute." She
sat forward in the chair. "Where are you going?"

"To get a bath and a
shave."

Jessica smiled at him
flirtatiously. "You don't have to smell pretty on my account."

He turned the knob and
opened the door. "Who said I'd be doing it for you? My horse is
beginning to give me the cold shoulder."

He glanced back and
winked at her, sending a wonderful shudder of anticipation through
her body.

That evening, after a
few hours of mental preparation and soul searching, Jessica jumped
when a knock rapped at her door. “Is that you?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Truman
replied.

She'd been reading a
book about potatoes, and at the sound of his deep-timbered voice,
she accidentally dropped the wildly stimulating piece of literature
on the floor.

"Come in," she called
out, picking up the book and opening it at random.

Truman walked in and
removed his hat. His hair was wet and slicked back, and he wore a
clean white shirt and black vest, along with a pair of freshly
laundered trousers. "Are you hungry?" he asked. "Because I just
told Rosie to bring up a couple of plates."

He crossed to the
window, as he did every time he entered the room and pulled the
curtain aside with one finger. Outside, it had begun to rain. "Kind
of dark in here for reading."

He casually glanced
down at the book on her lap.

Jessica admired the way
his holster hung loosely at his hip. The leather was soft and well
used.

“You’re right,” she
managed to reply as she gladly closed the book.

He moved to the bedside
table and scraped a match along the wall. It flared and illuminated
his face as he lowered the flame to the wick of the kerosene
lamp.

"Truman...."

"Yeah?" He glanced at
her only briefly as he moved across the room.

"Why are you staying
here tonight? Did something happen?"

He withdrew his
revolver and checked the chamber for bullets. "I paid a visit to
Ham Bell's Livery today and found out that Lou's gang doesn't plan
on leaving Dodge until they find you and take what's rightfully
theirs."

She bristled at the
subtle note of accusation in his voice. "Does anyone know what they
want from me?"

"No one seems to have
the faintest idea. Funny, isn't it?"

Jessica, growing
frustrated, met his stare. "You sound like you don’t believe me
again."

Truman moved toward her
and lifted her chin with one finger. "Whatever this secret is that
you’re keeping, are you ever going to share it with me?”

She hesitated while she
imagined how he would react if she told him the truth. Would he
think she was off her rocker? “I might, one of these days…”

“Does it have anything
to do with Lou's gang?" he asked, studying her intently.

"I already told
you—no."

He backed away. "Well,
if you don't have whatever it is they want, who does have it?"

"How should I know? I
wasn't a close, personal friend of Lou's. All I know is that he was
an unlucky brute."

Truman fell silent for
a moment and sat down at the foot of the bed. "Back to your earlier
question. I'm staying because I reckon they'll be looking
everywhere for you. It might get rough tonight."

A knock sounded at the
door, and Truman drew his gun. "Who is it?"

"Rosalie."

He holstered his weapon
and went to open the door.

Rosalie entered with
supper on a large tray. "Hey, Truman. I brought you and your lady
some grub."

"She's not my
lady."

Jessica squirmed
inwardly at the cool tone of rancor in his voice.

"Either way,” Rosalie
said, setting the tray on the table, “there's enough food here to
keep both of you busy for a while. When you're done, you can set
the tray out in the hall. One of the girls will get it
eventually."

"Thanks, Rosie," Truman
said.

She ran her hands over
her skirt. "I'll be right back."

"This looks delicious,”
Jessica said, looking at the plate of roast beef, baked potatoes,
corn, and gravy. A fat buttered roll sat squarely on top of the
beef, its bottom soaked with the dark brown sauce.

Rosalie knocked again,
but Truman drew his gun just to be sure.

"It's only me."