Taken by the Cowboy (26 page)

* * *

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 telling 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."

Henry Gordon was a
loner. He lived in a small rented house on the side of a hill,
overlooking a narrow, winding creek.

When Truman and Jessica
trotted into the yard, the curtains were drawn. The door was
shut.

There was a goat tied
to a post out front, complaining with a noisy bawl.

Truman dismounted and
helped Jessica down. "Maybe we missed him. He's probably at the
office by now."

They climbed the steps
to the small, covered porch and walked to the front window. "Try
knocking, Jessica."

She raised a fist and
pounded on the door. "Mr. Gordon? Are you home?"

Only insistent
complaints from the unhappy goat filled the silence.

"He must have left for
work," Jessica remarked.

"Looks like it."

"And we wasted all this
time coming out here."

Just then, the front
door ripped open. Mr. Gordon reached out, grabbed Jessica by the
wrist, and hauled her inside.

Truman drew his gun and
was aiming by the time she whirled around in the open doorway to
face him. But Gordon was shielded behind her, holding a gun to her
head.

"Drop your gun, Wade,
or I'll shoot her!” he shouted. “I swear on my life! I'm scared
enough to do it!"

Truman was only four
feet away, but in Jessica’s eyes, from where he stood, it seemed
more like a mile.

Her heart was pounding
so fast, she could barely breathe.

Truman gave her that
apologetic look. His voice was low and dangerous. "Drop it,
Gordon."

"No, you drop it, or
I'll kill her!"

Truman shut one eye to
look down the long barrel of his Colt .45. "Drop it, I said."

Jessica felt Henry
begin to hyperventilate behind her. "I'm gonna shoot her!” he said.
“I swear! I can’t take it anymore. I'm gonna shoot her!"

"No! Please!" Jessica
screamed. "He'll do it, Truman!"

The little man flicked
his gun around. "You heard her! Drop your weapon."

Jessica met Truman’s
gaze. She saw helplessness in his eyes—a look she'd never seen
before.

It spooked her.

Like death.

His forehead creased
with silent rage, then slowly, he lowered his six shooter.

No one said a word for
a full ten seconds.

Henry nodded his head.
"That's better. Now drop it and kick it behind you, down the
stairs."

‘I don't give up my
gun,’ Truman had once said.

Jessica’s breath caught
like a stone in her throat.

Then
slowly…carefully…Truman bent down and set his weapon on the porch
floor.

Jessica felt her hopes
sink as he kicked it away. It clattered down the steps and landed
not far from the goat.

"Let her go, Gordon,"
Truman said.

"Not yet."

Truman raised his
hands. "What do you want? We can talk about it."

Jessica suspected this
was the first time Truman had ever tried to handle a situation like
this, without shooting first.