Bodyguards Boxed Set

by Julianne MacLean

  Slowly, with a wildly sexy lawman’s swagger, he walked toward her.

  A dizzying current of heat shot through her veins, and she took an instinctive step back, forgetting for a moment that there were bars between them.

  “Blue’s your color,” he said, his voice silky smooth.

  Jessica tried to ignore the sudden rush of adrenalin that fired her blood. “I appreciate the compliment,” she said. “But I have a question for you, Sheriff Wade.”

  He lounged casually against the bars and waited.

  “Are you a gentleman?”

  He paused. “I like to think so.”

  “Then how about looking the other way?” she suggested. “I’d like a little privacy before I unbutton my blouse, if you don’t mind.”

  For a brief second, his eyes seemed playful. Then he chuckled. “Everybody wants privacy tonight. What a shame, in your case.” He politely fingered the brim of his black hat, then turned to go. “I’ll be right outside.”

  Jessica paused a moment, her mood softened by the warm blush of heat that rose to her cheeks.

  Sheriff Wade was one seriously handsome man—and as she’d just discovered, a bit of a flirt, too.

  She had best be careful around him, because she always did have a thing for gorgeous hunks in cowboy boots.

  “No peeking through the window,” she said.

  “I’ll try to restrain myself.”

  When Sheriff Wade stepped out, Jessica watched him through the open door. He hooked his thumbs in his belt and pushed back the long slicker. He looked up and down the street as if to ensure there were no vandals causing a ruckus, then shut the door behind him, and stomped down the stairs with those heavy black boots.

  As soon as he was out of sight, Jessica quickly shed her twenty-first century clothing and slipped into his wife’s dress.

  Which fit perfectly.

  * * *

  “GOOD MORNING. HOPE you slept well.” Sheriff Wade lowered his legs from the desktop and slammed his black boots onto the floor.

  Still half asleep, Jessica sat up and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. She felt like she’d slept for days. Remembering what had happened the night before, she shook her head in disbelief. Was this for real? Had she really traveled back in time?

  If she had, she needed to find a way to get home. Her parents needed to know she was all right.

  “How long have you been here?” she asked, smothering a yawn with her hand.

  “All night.”

  He stood and jingled the keys in his hand as he made his way to the cell door. “Normally, Dempsey would’ve stayed, but I told him it wasn’t necessary. You wouldn’t be going anywhere.”

  “And what makes you so sure of that? How do you know I don’t have a gang of outlaws waiting to break me out of here?”

  He inserted the key into the lock and pulled the cell door wide open. “Hope you’re joking about that, Junebug. Wouldn’t want to change my mind about releasing you.” He gave her a heated look that made whole body tingle.

  “No need to change your mind,” she replied, as she balled up her twenty-first century clothes and sauntered out of the cell.

  “Your reward money will take a few days,” he told her. “Do you have a place to stay?”

  “Yes, with Mr. Maxwell.”

  “That’s mighty neighborly of him.” He crossed behind her, stopping there for a few seconds.

  Jessica turned her head, wondering what he was doing back there—sizing up her derriere?—but in the space of a single heart beat, he re-appeared in front of her. “You’re free to go.”

  “Thank you.”

  She turned to leave, but Wade stopped her.

  “I’d be careful if I was you. Folks’ll be staring.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “There’s a story about you in The Chronicle this morning. The editor must have been up all night setting that type. I doubt the ink had a chance to dry.”

  “Let me see it.”

  He gestured toward the newspaper on the desk. Jessica went to pick it up and began reading:

  Jessica Delaney, more widely known as Junebug Jess, fired the shot that killed Left Hand Lou, notorious bank robber. Known for her quick draw and deadly aim, Junebug Jess travels about the West wreaking fear and havoc. Folks say she’s killed more men than she cares to count, but her blinding beauty keeps her out of the noose. While the usual plea for killing a man is self-defense, Miss Delaney travels with the story that a giant insect frightened her into firing her gun by accident, hence her name. While Dodge City is tense with the presence of Junebug Jess, the citizens are relieved to learn that the notorious Left Hand Lou is no longer a threat.

  Wade raised an eyebrow at her. “Care to tell me about anybody else you killed by mistake?”

  Chapter Four

  * * *

  JESSICA’S PULSE QUICKENED at the note of accusation in the sheriff’s voice. “I didn’t lie to you last night,” she assured him. “I swear on my life.”

  His expression remained relaxed and casual, as if it were nothing at all for a person to gun down another in the street—as long as the victim had a reward on his head.

  “I reckon that remains to be seen,” Wade said, “so don’t leave Dodge. I still have some checking to do on you, but I don’t expect that to be a problem. You want your five hundred dollars, don’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  When he sat down at his desk, Jessica hesitated a moment. “What about the dress? When should I bring it back?”

  His gaze lifted briefly—as if to look at the dress one last time. “Keep it,” he said. Then he dipped his pen in an ink jar and set to work.

  She wondered curiously what could have happened to his wife—if he was willing to give her clothes away to a stranger—but thought better of asking.

  Once outside, Jessica squinted into the bright morning sunshine. A buckboard and team rolled by, its driver bouncing about like a Mexican jumping bean. She recoiled in disgust as the stink of pigs assaulted her nostrils. Two large, snorting hogs scurried past, but stopped to sniff a few randomly spread cow patties. Did they actually herd cattle through here?

  She made her way down the stairs, carrying her only possessions from the twenty-first century—her blue jeans, her pink scarf, and her favorite jacket—then crossed the street and stepped up onto the boardwalk.

  A large clock in a shop window ticked away the seconds. A display box contained a few publications, Peterson’s Ladies’ National Magazine and Harper’s Bazaar. She searched longingly for a high color, glossy magazine with Jennifer Lopez on the cover, or wedding pictures of William and Kate. No such luck.

  She walked on, stopping at each window along the way. A barber advertised a shave for five cents and a haircut for ten. This whole experience was far too real to be a hallucination.

  Soon, Jessica reached the end of the boardwalk and had to step onto the street again. Retrieving Mr. Maxwell’s card from her pocket, she stared at the address written in black ink. She was thankful to have somewhere to go, and asked a young woman for directions.

  When she arrived a few minutes later, he welcomed her with a smile. “My dear, where did you get the dress?”

  “Sheriff Wade gave it to me,” she replied as she entered his house. “It belongs to his wife.”

  Mr. Maxwell frowned. “His wife? Sheriff Wade has never been married. Not that I know of.”

  She looked down at the skirt’s tiny floral print against the blue background. “Why would he lie?”

  “Who knows? Sheriff Wade keeps his personal life to himself, which is why I’m surprised he mentioned anything at all. But he can shoot straight—that’s what counts. They say he’s killed ten men.”

  Ten men .

  “That’s supposed to impress me?” Jessica asked.

  He studied her intently. “I suppose not, but keep in mind, things are different here compared to what you’re accustomed to.”

  She followed him into the parlor. �
�Doesn’t anyone around here worry that he might be dangerous? Anyone who could kill ten men without thinking about it has to have some personal issues. And how do you know what I’m accustomed to?”

  He didn’t answer the question. Instead, he gestured for Jessica to sit down. “I’ve been here since Wade took the job, and I have no complaints,” he said. “I like him a whole lot better than that Wyatt Earp fellow. Now there was a man who attracted all kinds of problems.”

  “You met Wyatt Earp?”

  “Certainly did. He was deputy marshal in ‘76 and deputy sheriff as well. Would you like some tea?”

  Jessica nodded. While he went to fetch it, she gazed around at the Victorian furnishings and paintings on the walls, and felt wildly displaced.

  “I suppose you saw The Chronicle?” Mr. Maxwell shouted out from the kitchen.

  “Yes,” she replied, “and I know we said I killed Lou to get me out of jail, but I hate the idea of people thinking I killed a man. And what if someone else comes forward to collect the money?”

  “I reckon they would have already done so by now,” he replied. “I suspect whoever did it is an outlaw, too, and was long gone by the time Sheriff Wade got there.” Mr. Maxwell returned, pushing a teacart into the middle of the room. “It would be foolish to change your story now.”

  “But we could try to prove I didn’t do it.”

  He shook his head as he picked up the teapot and poured her a cup. “That would be pointless. They don’t have pathologists to retrieve bullet fragments and prove you didn’t do it. It’s best if you stick with the story that you did it for the reward.”

  Jessica frowned up at him as she accepted the cup and saucer. “How do you know about pathologists and bullet fragments?”

  He stared at her a moment, then shrugged.

  “Ah, I get it,” Jessica said, pointing a finger and smiling. “You’re from the future, too, aren’t you? That makes perfect sense.”

  He nodded. “I was wondering how long it would take you to figure that out.”

  Relief poured through her. She wasn’t alone here, nor was she completely delusional.

  “When did you get here?” she asked.

  “Almost ten years ago.”

  Her relief went sour. “Ten years? Didn’t you want to go home?”

  “Yes, I did. I had a successful law practice back in the twenty-first century.”

  “Then what kept you here?”

  He poured himself a cup of tea and sat down. “Jessica, I don’t know how to tell you this, but there’s no way back.”

  She shifted uneasily on the sofa cushion. “There has to be.”

  “There isn’t. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  A slow panic began to mushroom inside her. “Well, you didn’t try hard enough. We managed to get here. We’ll manage to get back.”

  There was no way she was staying here in this smelly old cow town. Especially with the sheriff thinking she was a killer.

  “I’ve looked everywhere,” Mr. Maxwell said. “I don’t know how to do it.”

  “But how did you get here?”

  “I had a car accident,” he replied.

  “Was there rain and lightning?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “The same thing happened to me,” she told him, “so there has to be a connection.”

  He considered it for a moment, while he raised the teacup to his lips and took a careful sip. “Perhaps,” he said at last, “but you can’t just buy a ticket home. I don’t know how to do it from this end. We don’t have cars here.”

  She couldn’t just give up. How could she accept never seeing her family again, or her dog, George? And what about her fitness column? She had deadlines.

  Jessica stood up to pour herself another cup of tea. She took one step forward, but her stiletto heel caught in the petticoat beneath her skirt. She stumbled and nearly fell into the teacart. These long skirts would take some getting used to, she thought with frustration as she steadied the tray. In fact, everything here would take some getting used to.

  Mr. Maxwell regarded her with sympathy. “You should get that hemmed and buy more practical footwear. Those shoes will attract far too much attention. There’s a tailor not far from here. I could lend you some money until your reward arrives...if you’d like.”

  She managed a melancholy smile. “Thank you, Mr. Maxwell. I’d appreciate it.”

  “Call me Angus. I just wish I could do more for you.”

  “Maybe you can,” she said. “Maybe we could work together to find a way out of here. Will you try to remember what happened to you when you came here?”

  “I suppose. I could search the house for the things I was wearing. That might help, but don’t get your hopes up. You may have to accept that you’ll never get back.”

  Jessica sat down with her teacup, glanced out the window at the outhouse in the yard, and shook her head at him. “No, Mr. Maxwell, I could never accept that—because I’m not the sort of woman who can go long without indoor plumbing.”

  * * *

  JESSICA SPENT THE morning with the tailor who hemmed her dress, then she went straight to Wright’s Store and purchased a new pair of more sensible shoes. Afterwards, when she stepped outside with her red pumps packed in a box, the heat, mixed with the stench of cow dung, stifled her mood beyond comprehension. All she could think of was what Angus had said: There’s no way back.

  There had to be, she thought, as she walked past the saloon. She couldn’t live the rest of her life without seeing her family again. She might as well have died in that accident. Or her entire family might as well have died. Lord, she didn’t need this kind of pain again. None of them did. Not after losing Gregory last year.

  Just then, a towering brute stepped into her path.

  Jessica stopped. She stared at his belly, then looked up at his double chin and flaring, hairy nostrils. He smelled like a stale, sweaty barnyard, and was in desperate need of a shave.

  “Excuse me.” She stepped to the side, but he did the same.

  She stepped the other way, but he blocked her again.

  The stench of tobacco escaped his mouth as he spread his narrow lips over his rotten teeth and spit through the gaps. Jessica leaped back to avoid the stream of brown juice before it plopped on the ground at her feet.

  “So this is the little lady that’s got this town’s ropes in a knot?” he bellowed. “She don’t look like much to me. Why, she ain’t even carryin’ a weapon.”

  Laughter erupted behind Jessica, but she kept her eyes fixed on the jackass in front of her. “Move it, buddy. I need to get by.”

  He chuckled. “Not just yet, little lady. I want to buy you a drink.” He motioned toward the saloon doors.

  “Not interested.” I’d rather stick needles in my eyes.

  She made a move to continue on her way, but he blocked her again.

  “I don’t think you heard me, Junebug. You’re comin’ inside and havin’ a drink and a meal.” He glanced over his shoulder toward his drunken pals. “I’m so hungry, I could eat the arse end off a dead horse!” Laughter exploded all around them.

  Jessica was beginning to perspire. What was it about this place that always turned her into a spectacle?

  “It seems you know my name,” she said, determined to stay cool and collected, “but I don’t know yours.”

  If she could just get around his big fat ass....

  “The name’s Virgil. Virgil Norton.”

  “Well, Mr. Norton,” she replied, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, but I can’t join you for a drink today. Maybe some other time.”

  She took a quick step around him, but he followed. Jessica quickened her pace, hoping that if she ignored him, he might simply give up, but his beefy arms snaked around her waist, and he lifted her up, squeezing the air out of her lungs until her feet dangled like two balls on string.

  “Let go!” She dropped her parcel onto the boardwalk and struggled to pry his thick fingers off her waist.

  Vi
rgil carried her toward the saloon doors. “This here’s a spirited filly!”

  He kicked the doors open, so they banged against the inside wall, and hauled Jessica toward a table. Hopes of talking her way out of this in a polite manner began to vanish, especially when the men in the saloon began to hoot and holler.

  As soon as they reached a table, a gunshot fired in the street, followed by some shouting. Virgil dropped Jessica onto the floor, and she landed hard on her tailbone.

  It took a second or two to gather her wits and comprehend what had happened. Virgil was now storming through the swinging saloon doors, so Jessica scrambled to her feet and dashed outside to make her escape.

  She stopped dead on the boardwalk, however, for perched high on his black horse in front of her, looking as gorgeous and intimidating as ever, was Sheriff Wade.

  He looked down at Virgil suspiciously. “There a problem here, Virgil?” he asked, his blue-eyed gaze shifting instantly to Jessica. “You just can’t stay out of trouble, can you, Junebug?”

  She regarded him with frustration. “No, Sheriff. Trouble seems to find me wherever I go, but I’m not about to apologize to you, of all people, because this cattle town of yours is more messed up than my daddy’s junk drawer.”

  She was surprised when a flicker of amusement touched the corner of his mouth. He was so handsome in the high noon sunlight, so dangerous and virile towering above her on that big black horse, that she nearly lost her breath.

  To make matters worse, she was practically spellbound as he leaned back in the saddle, twirled the revolver in a few relaxed circles around his finger, and dropped it easily into his holster.

  Ah, crap, she thought with a great wave of heated exasperation.

  This is exactly what I don’t need: a hot crush on a gorgeous gunslinger.

  Somebody, just shoot me now.

  Chapter Five