Taken by the Cowboy (19 page)

"You know better than
to ask me that, Rosie.”

"Oh, that’s right. You
don’t like folks poking their noses into your personal affairs."
She rotated a half circle on the chair and stood. Sauntering around
the bar, she scooped up a bottle and two glasses. "I feel like a
drink. What'll it be?"

"Nothing for me."

"Why, because you’re on
duty? You gotta learn to have some fun, sweetheart. That girl up
there...she don't deserve all that devotion."

Truman pushed the plate
of cookies away. "And what makes you think I’m devoted?"

“Oh, I just have a
feeling, that’s all. I also have a feeling she’s bad news.”

Rosalie poured whisky
into one glass, but Truman placed his hand flat across the top of
the other.

Rosalie paused with the
bottle suspended horizontally in the air. Then she set it down,
picked up her own glass, tossed the whisky back, and swallowed it
in one gulp.

Turning away, she
headed for the stairs. "You're a damn fine thing to look at,
Truman. Finest lookin' man in Dodge. Anytime you want to come see
me, it'll be on the house." She disappeared into the darkness, but
called out in a throaty voice. "You remember that offer, now. I
have a feeling after Junebug leaves town – which she will, no doubt
about it—you'll be needing to take the edge off."

* * *

Jessica woke to a ray
of light piercing through the window. Outside, a pack of dogs
barked ferociously.

She sat up and
stretched her arms over her head, then winced in agony.

Oh, the
headache
. How much of that moonshine did she drink? She lifted
the bottle to inspect it, sloshed the remains about inside, and
collapsed in horror onto the pillow.

A few minutes later, an
aggressive knock sounded at her door. Jessica sat up.
"Ouch…geez
.” She cupped her forehead and massaged gently.
“Who is it?"

"It's Truman. Open
up."

Wrapping her
reprehensible naked self in the quilt and vowing not to do anything
like this again, she padded in her bare feet to the door, and
opened it. Truman stood in the hall, washed and shaved, and dressed
in black again, looking like a sexy hero out of a classic spaghetti
western flick.

Yet no fictional hero
on the big screen could ever do what
this
man had done to
her last night. Her head was still spinning from the shocking and
wicked impiety of it—and that particular commotion in her brain had
nothing do with Ol’ Bob Stafford’s atrocious moonshine.

"Get dressed,” he said
without ceremony. “We're leaving."

Recognizing the urgency
in his tone, she froze. "Why? What happened?"

"Just do as I say. I'll
be back in five minutes." He started to go, but spoke over his
shoulder. "Wear your trousers."

With that, he walked
away, leaving Jessica naked under the quilt, still standing at the
door.

She quickly shut it and
dropped the blanket onto the bed, wondering if she had imagined the
grouchiness in his tone. Was he trying to put distance between them
because of what happened last night? Or did something terrible
happen? Something to do with Lou’s gang?

As soon as she was
dressed and everything was packed, Jessica sat on the edge of the
bed waiting.

Another knock sounded.
She rushed to the door and flung it open.

"You should've asked
who it was before you opened it," Truman said, walking in.

"I think I know the
sound of your boots by now," she replied.

He moved fully into the
room, carrying a brown slicker and cowboy hat. "Put these on." He
tossed the hat onto the bed and held the coat up for her. "I don’t
want anyone to recognize you."

Studying his expression
in those spark-like seconds, listening to the impatient tone in his
otherwise patient voice, Jessica turned her back on him and shoved
her arms into the sleeves of the slicker. He eased the coat onto
her shoulders and turned her around to face him. He tugged at her
lapel to tighten the collar around her neck and rolled up the long
sleeves.

“I can dress myself,
you know,” she said.

“I’m sure you can.” He
picked up the hat and rotated it in his hands, while looking at her
long tousled hair. "Can you pin that up?"

She dug into her
leather bag to retrieve the pins from the bottom and swept her hair
up in a messy twist on top of her head. Pulling the hat on, she
tucked up all the loose strands.

"How's that?" she
asked, raising her hands.

"Fine," he
answered.

“Fine?” she replied,
feeling a bit testy from the after-effects of the moonshine.
“That’s all you have to say to me? Can we at least please mention
the elephant in the room?”

He faced her and
frowned in confusion. “What elephant?”

She shook her head in
disbelief. “We had sex last night. Seriously dirty sex. Want me to
describe it to you?”

The room went suddenly
quiet.

“No. I remember. Now,
come on." He scooped up her bag and led her out of the room, along
the railing toward the stairs.

Jessica followed him
down to the front door and stopped there.

"Don't say a word to
anyone,” he said. “Just get in the wagon out front. The driver will
take you to a safe place."

She placed her hand on
his forearm. "Are we okay? This feels weird, and I don’t want to
leave here if we need to talk about stuff."

He looked at her
strangely. “If I’m going to protect you, I need to keep my mind on
my job, not the dirty sex. And I certainly don’t want to talk about
it. Now off you go."

He handed her the bag
and shuffled her through the swinging doors into the blinding
morning sunlight. Stopping on the boardwalk, she squinted and
shaded her eyes, feeling more turned on than she’d ever felt in her
life.

A wagon was parked out
front. She walked around the back of it, climbed up and sat down.
The driver slapped the reins and whistled, the mules began to walk,
and the bumpy ride began.

"Angus?" she whispered.
“Is that you?”

"Just look straight
ahead," he replied, “until we’re out of town.”

She did as she was
told, lowering her chin so no one would see her face beneath the
brim of her hat.

Leaning back and
folding her arms, she wondered where in all this expanse of flat
windy prairie they were going to go, and how long it would take to
get there.

* * *

Outside of town, the
golden prairie opened up and the blue sky spanned one horizon to
the other. "What's going on?" she asked. “Why was Truman in such a
hurry to get me out of there?”

Angus glanced over his
shoulder to make sure they weren’t being followed. “Lou's gang's
been asking questions about you. They were searching everywhere
last night, and Truman said it was only a matter of time before
they got to the whorehouse."

"So where are we
going?"

"Truman heard from the
Russells that the gang searched their place last night."

"Who are the
Russells?"

"They own a claim out
that way." He pointed eastward. "Mr. Russell said the gang searched
everywhere—the house, the barn, even the outhouse. All the while,
they kept him and his wife at gunpoint."

“That’s terrible. Was
anyone hurt?"

"No, but Mrs. Russell
insisted they leave and visit relations in Caldwell, so I agreed to
milk their cow and feed their chickens for them. The house will be
empty for a while, but we’ll sleep in the barn. Truman figures, if
the gang was there only last night, they won't go back again
tonight. They'll be looking elsewhere."

"I hope he’s right
about that." A gust of wind blew across the prairie. Jessica placed
a hand on top of her hat to keep it from flying off, while the
mules shook their harnesses and plodded on.

"I meant to tell you,"
Angus said, "Wendy and I ate dinner together last night."

"Really?"

"Yes, and I’m growing
quite fond of her.”

"That's wonderful,”
Jessica replied, touching him affectionately on the shoulder. “Does
she feel the same way about you?"

"I don’t know."

Jessica watched his
profile as he slapped the reins again.

"How does a man know?"
he asked.

"Does she blush when
she sees you?"

"A little, but it might
just be shyness."

"Does she smile and
giggle a lot?"

"Wendy's not much of a
giggler."

"Have you kissed
her?"

"Heavens no."

Jessica removed her hat
and held it on her lap. "Maybe you should."

"No, I couldn’t
possibly. What if she didn't want me to? It would be very
embarrassing."

"Sometimes you have to
take risks,” she told him, as she gazed across the prairie where
meadowlarks sang and swooped low over the grass. “If you really
want to love someone, you need to be able to share everything with
them."

Last night, Truman had
made love to her as if in a dream, and this morning, she had felt
the raw ache of being torn away from him.

Yet, he still knew so
little about her.

While she stared down
the long road that stretched before them, she knew it was probably
time to heed some of her own advice. She was going to have to tell
Truman about her time traveling eventually.

Maybe tonight would be
the night.

It was six o'clock in
the evening by the time Truman returned to the jailhouse to check
in before leaving for the Russell’s claim. He had spent the entire
day searching for the gang while fighting an exhausting need for
sleep, which he’d have to continue resisting, at least until he
reached Jessica.

He walked into the law
office, where Deputy Dempsey was seated at the desk with his cheek
on his hand, reading another dime novel.

Truman removed his hat
and raked his fingers through his hair. "Did you hear anything
about the gang?"

"No, Sheriff.” Dempsey
quickly closed the book. “I asked all over town, though. Even went
out to the Jones Ranch. They ain't anywhere."

"They have to be
somewhere." Truman’s spurs jingled as he crossed the room and
looked over a few new police court dockets on his desk. Seeing
nothing unusual, he pressed his palms over his bloodshot eyes and
rubbed. Then he blinked a few times.

Dempsey looked up at
him as if waiting for instructions.

"You’ll need to stay
here," Truman said, heading for the door. "In case anybody comes
forward with information about the gang. All of Dodge knows we're
looking for them. I'm sure somebody will see or hear
something."

"You should get some
sleep, Sheriff. You look like you were run over by a cattle
drive."

"I’ll sleep later."

"Where are you going
now?" Dempsey asked.

"I'm gonna get a quick
meal at the Dodge House, then head out to watch over Miss Delaney.
I won’t tell you where, though. Best to keep that secret."

He opened the door and
stepped out onto the front porch, feeling more impatient to reach
Jessica than he could ever have anticipated.

* * *

After Truman ate a
quick supper at the Dodge House, he rode out of town toward the
Russells’ claim, checking over his shoulder every so often to make
sure he wasn’t being followed. The sun was low in the sky, and
since riding into it was hard on his eyes, he kept his head low,
shaded by the brim of his hat.

He was halfway there
when he saw an overturned wagon up ahead, and the blurry image of a
man. Truman slowed Thunder to a trot and approached.

The man was waving his
arms over his head.

Truman dismounted. "You
all right? Is anyone hurt?"

"Yes. My wife." The man
stood on the other side of the wagon, looking down.

Truman walked around
the wreckage to help the injured woman, but stopped dead when four
Winchesters all cocked at once.

Staring at the four
surviving members of Lou’s gang and kicking himself for being so
foolish as to let down his guard, Truman raised his hands in the
air.

"Keep yer hands over
yer head, Wade," Bart said, reaching into Truman's holster and
confiscating his gun. The gang slowly surrounded him, and the wind
roared over the wagon, spinning its wheels.

"Now, you're gonna tell
us where you been hidin' that little lady of yours. She has
something that belongs to us." Bart jabbed him in the ribs with the
barrel of his rifle, while his forefinger flexed at the
trigger.

"If you wanna see the
sun come up tomorrow,” Corey added, “you best tell us where she
is."

Truman spit off to the
side.

"Where is she?” Bart
demanded. “And if you don’t answer me soon, I swear on my mother’s
grave, I'll blow your brains out."

Truman glared at Bart,
his ugly face not six inches away. "Sounds like things are going to
get messy, then,” he replied, “because I ain’t telling you
shit."

Bart’s eyes clouded
over with rage. "You're gonna be sorry you said that." Then he
swung his Winchester through the air and struck Truman sharply in
the head.

* * *

As time ticked by in
the Russells’ hayloft, Jessica found it increasingly difficult to
ignore the worries that were niggling at her.

"It's been dark for at
least an hour," she said to Angus. "He should be here by now."

"I'm sure everything’s
fine."

The remainder of the
evening dragged by slowly. Jessica passed the time reading under
the lantern while Angus napped. Hours later, the flame flickered
and the barn creaked in the wind like an old ship.

Wondering what time it
was and what had become of Truman, she rose to her feet and walked
to the other side of the loft. She perked up for a moment when the
dog barked. Maybe Truman was coming…