Taken by the Cowboy (20 page)

Hearing only the
incessant howl of the wind, she gave up on the notion.

She returned to where
Angus slept and tried not to wake him as she lifted the watch out
of his pocket to check the time. Eleven thirty.

Damn
. Truman
had said he would be there before dark. Something must have
happened.

Leaning forward on one
knee, she shook Angus. He twitched, and then he awakened with a
jolt.

"Angus, wake up. It's
eleven thirty, and Truman's not here yet."

Angus sat up. He rubbed
his head and smoothed his thinning hair. "Maybe he's at the house
watching from there."

"I need you to go
check."

"Of course. You stay
here."

He made his way down
the ladder.

A few minutes later,
the barn door squeaked open, and Jessica rose to her feet. "Did you
find him?" she asked.

Angus shook his
head.

Jessica pounded a fist
against the post. "Something’s wrong. I can feel it. We have to go
look for him."

Angus hesitated. "We
can’t do that. I promised to keep you here. And what if he arrives,
and we’re gone?”

She considered it a
moment. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll stay here while you
head back into town. Find Dempsey, and tell him that Truman never
arrived. Learn whatever you can.”

“The sheriff's probably
locking that gang up right now," Angus replied, as he gathered up
his coat.

* * *

An hour later, Jessica
was just drifting off to sleep for the briefest of moments, when a
bandanna was shoved into her mouth, and ropes snaked around her
wrists and ankles. Flinging her arms about, thrashing on the
blanket like a caged animal, she fought the waves of fury that
slammed over her.

Someone tied her wrists
behind her back while another roped her ankles together. When she
tried to scream, she inhaled the sour tasting, sweat-drenched
essence of the soiled fabric that filled her mouth, and her enraged
plea was reduced to a pitiful moan.

"Your lawyer friend led
us right to you," Bart said, smiling diabolically at her. "He came
rolling in off the east road, and there are only so many ranches in
this direction.”

One of the others
laughed. "And they say lawyers are supposed to be smart.”

“Get her up, boys."

Jessica grunted when
Corey lifted her like a sack of grain and flung her over his
shoulder. Her hair fell forward over her face.

"How am I gonna get
down from here?" Corey complained, standing at the edge of the
loft.

Jessica heard Bart's
deep, sardonic voice behind them and saw the glare of the lantern
he held. It swung dangerously close to her face, and she shrank
back defensively.

"Throw her down,
Corey," Bart commanded. "Throw her into that haystack."

"What if I miss?"

"You won't miss."

"I'm not a very good
thrower."

"Just do it, ya
sissy."

He paused there,
looking down.

"Do it, Corey!"

The third voice came
from below, and the encouragement was all he needed. Jessica
struggled and fought right up until the last second. Then Corey
threw her over the side.

She hit the hay, and
the wind blew out of her lungs.

Before she had a chance
to suck in a breath, she was picked up and hurled over someone
else's shoulder, her head bobbing up and down as she was carried
outside.

She was thrown like an
old blanket onto a horse, her hands still tied behind her back.
Corey mounted behind her and held her firmly, so she wouldn't fall
off.

As soon as they gained
some distance from the Russells’ farm, Bart trotted up next to
Jessica. Her position made it impossible to see his face, but she
could hear him laughing.

"Don't fret, little
Missy," he said. "There ain't no Junebugs where you're goin', so
you won’t be tempted to shoot anyone by mistake."

“I highly doubt it,”
she mumbled through the dirty bandana, wishing she had a gun right
now.

Jessica lay on the damp
dirt floor of a root cellar, struggling with the prickly bonds at
her hands and feet. Her wrists burned under the coarse rope hair;
the corners of her mouth stung against the bandanna's gritty
abrasion. A few times on horseback she had gagged, but that was
only when she stretched her body and arched her back to see the
sky. By finding the North Star, she had established that they were
heading west across the prairie.

She could only hope the
information would prove useful.

Directly above her, a
kerosene lamp hung from a hook on a beam. She squinted into the
light. Then she looked all around, considering a possible way
out.

The cellar foundation
was constructed of stones. There were no windows. To the right,
wooden barrels lined the wall. The steps were steep like a ladder,
and she was grateful Corey hadn't simply tossed her down like he'd
done at the Russells’ barn.

Closing her eyes, she
searched her mind for a plan, but a brilliant escape strategy
failed to materialize.

Jessica strained to
listen for anything that might give her some ideas. Above her, the
lantern hissed and sputtered.

And someone on the
other side of the cellar was breathing.

She struggled in a
panic to comprehend the possibilities—perhaps this anonymous
breather was one of the gang members guarding her. Or maybe it was
the owner of the house, the poor soul. Or a huge, ferocious dog
that hadn't been fed in days....

Eventually Jessica
summoned her courage, and then she inched her way on her back
across the dirt floor.

The sound was coming
from the other side of the cellar, behind the thick stone support
wall in the center. She wiggled her way around the wall, where it
was much darker. Slowly her eyes adjusted, and she focused on a
man, but it was too dark to see his face. He was tied to a chair
and slumped forward.

Jessica nudged her
shoulder against his leg. She tried to speak, but only grunts and
gibberish broke through the gag. Bumping and prodding, she uttered
words as best she could. "Wake up, wake up!"

Suddenly, the man
jerked wildly like a bucking stallion. It was a fit of anger, the
likes of which Jessica had never seen. She flipped over and rolled
across the floor to escape the unpredictable path of the thrashing
chair.

After a moment, he went
still, seemingly spent of energy. Jessica lay there in fear,
listening to the violent rush of the blood in her veins.

The man seemed unaware
of Jessica's presence on the floor not three feet from his boots.
He began to tug against the ropes that bound him. Sitting up again,
Jessica uttered a sound as best she could to let him know he wasn’t
alone.

There was a pause.
Silence. Then, "Jessica?"

She recognized the
voice. It was Truman’s.

Dizziness swarmed in
her head as she rose up onto her knees and touched her forehead to
his chin. He nudged her with his face, burying his nose into the
crook of her neck. “Thank God you’re alive,” he whispered. “Did
they hurt you?”

“No.”

The ropes at her wrists
and ankles felt like shackles now. She tugged and pulled, ignoring
the chafing pain.

“Wait,” he said. “Try
to get behind me and untie my hands.”

She nodded and inched
along the floor, so they were back-to-back. She then wiggled her
cold fingers to find the ropes in the dark. She felt the leg of the
chair, but she was too low to reach his hands.

Jessica grunted as she
pushed upward with all her might. She used Truman's weight as
leverage, balancing as best she could. The ropes around her ankles
pulled tightly as she tried to stand.

She fumbled as she
untied the knots at his wrists. After a considerable struggle, she
loosened them, and Truman pulled a hand free. He untied the rest of
the knots, and then released her as well.

They each untied their
ankles, and Jessica rose to her feet. In one swift motion, she was
in his arms. "I didn't know what happened to you."

"I was on my way to
you, and they caught me off guard. I was tired...I should've known
better."

His mouth covered hers.
He crushed her body to his and pulled her close. His lips were warm
and moist as he kissed and caressed her, and she sighed with a
pleasure that seemed impossible under these circumstances, but
there it was. They were together. Nothing else mattered.

He drew away and
whispered faintly, "I was in hell today. It was all I could do to
keep from following you after you left Rosie’s. Then when they
ambushed me, I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again."

Jessica took his hand.
"Come over to the lamp, so I can look at you." He followed, but
when she caught sight of him, she gasped, a sharp sound in the
bleak silence. "Oh, God."

He was black and blue,
one eye swollen shut. Blood matted his hair close to his temple.
The skin over his cheekbone was cut. Blood stained his black shirt
and dripped down his neck.

"Oh, Truman." Jessica
reached to touch his face, but he jerked away.

"Don't," he said.

She wanted to pound the
disgusting thugs who brought them here. "How could they do this to
you?"

"They’re cowards. They
knocked me out before they took their punches. I don’t remember any
of it."

Jessica wished there
was something she could do to clean his wounds, but they didn’t
even have any water.

"I need to get you out
of here,” he said, looking around. “Do you know where we are?"

"About a half-hour ride
west of the Russells’ place."

He frowned. "That's not
good. If they let you see where they were taking you, I doubt they
plan to let us out of here alive."

She shut her eyes and
tipped her forehead against the solid wall of his chest. "This
really sucks."

He gathered her into
his arms again, and Jessica knew that while he held her, he was
thinking and plotting.

"We have to find out
what it is they want from you,” he said, “then tell them you have
it, but not with you. We’ll try to bargain."

"Will it work?"

He gazed down at her.
"I don’t know. They seem pretty ruthless."

“I can be ruthless,
too,” she assured him.

If one of them came
down here now, she was quite sure she would beat him insensible
with her own hands.

"Maybe Dempsey will
find us,” she said, working hard to restrain those feelings of
aggression—at least for now. “Angus told him you were missing.
Soon, he'll discover I’m gone and…"

She watched Truman
beneath the orange glow of the lamp, thinking back on everything
that had brought them here and wished in vain that she'd never
stopped to fight with that Junebug.

Truman looked at the
stairs. "Have you tried the door?"

"No."

He brushed by her and
climbed the cellar steps. He listened at the top and jiggled the
latch, but the door was bolted shut. When he heard nothing from the
other side, he began to slam his shoulder against it.

A voice shouted. "Give
it up, Wade! It's locked tight with a few extra boards nailed on
just to be sure."

Truman uttered an oath
and stepped back down.

The voice called down
to them again from behind the locked door. "You two might as well
relax. Bart'll be down in the morning to have a little chat with
you." His footsteps started away and then stopped. "Oh," he added,
as if he'd just thought of something clever. "Enjoy your last night
together."

Jessica listened to the
heartless laughter and felt breathless with rage. Then she began to
tremble. If only she would wake up in her own bed with Truman
beside her and find the television on....

Footsteps pounded
across the floor overhead; bedsprings creaked and bounced. Then
silence.

"I guess we're stuck
here until morning," Truman said. "Do you have any idea how late it
is?"

"It must be after
three. Maybe four."

"We should get some
sleep." He unhooked the lamp, carried it to the other side of the
cellar, and found an old blanket from behind one of the crates.
"You can lie down on this."

Jessica glanced up at
his bruised face. "We'll share it. How about over there?" She
pointed toward the far corner where they would be out of sight if
anyone came down the stairs. Truman set the lamp down and spread
the blanket on the ground.

"I don't want this to
be our last night together," she whispered as she lay down.

"It won't be."

Curling up beside him
on the blanket, she hid her face in his shoulder while he stared up
at the ceiling, blinking.

"What if
tomorrow...?"

Truman leaned up on his
side and draped one arm across her stomach. "Everything will be
fine."

"You always say that,
but what if it isn't? What if tonight really is our last
night?"

He touched a finger to
her lips.

"Make love to me," she
said.

His expression grew
strained. "Jessica...."

"Why not? I’m in love
with you. There, I’ve said it.” Relief flooded through her, but his
reaction crushed it instantly. His eyes turned cold, and his voice
was dark and almost threatening.

“I don’t want you to
love me.”

“Why?"

Lying back, his hand
slipping from her stomach onto his own, he said, "There are things
you don’t know about me. Things no one knows.”

She wanted to tell him
that it didn’t matter. There were things he didn’t know about her
either, like the fact that she came from another century and still
wanted to return home. She felt torn, yes…because of how she felt
about him, but this was not her world, and when the time came –
if
it came – she would leave him. It would kill her
inside, but she would do it.