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 outho
use 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.
Virgil 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
"This ain't none of your business, Sheriff," Virgil said. "Me and the boys were just havin' a little fun. That's all."
"Yeah?" Sheriff Wade turned to Jessica. "The lady seems to think otherwise. She thinks this town is messed up, and that don’t reflect well upon me."
Without a word, Jessica picked up her parcel and moved as far away from Virgil as possible.
"I think you boys better be gettin' along," Wade suggested. "I need to have a few words with Miss Delaney." He inclined his head at her and touched the brim of his hat. She hopped off the boardwalk and stood next to his horse.
"Just a minute there, Junebug," Virgil said. "I ain't finished with you yet."
One of the boys in his gang stepped forward. "Virgil, I think you oughta’—"
"Shut up, Lewis." Virgil hawked and spit into the street. "I said I ain't finished with you, Junebug."
Jessica was about to step up and give Virgil a few lessons in twenty-first century manners, but before she could utter a single colorful oath, Sheriff Wade's hand came down to rest on her shoulder.
‘Let me handle this’ was his message, and she received it loud and clear.
Casually dismounting, he moved to stand in front of her. Jessica rose up on her tiptoes to see over the broad shoulders of his coat, at the same time taking in his subtle, masculine scents—leather, a faint hint of shaving soap, and...horse.
"Go home, Virgil," he said.
A curious audience began to gather on the wide street. Two wagons had come to a full stop. The drivers sat forward with their elbows perched on their knees. A stray dog tilted his head to the side, watching while he panted in the hot sun.
Virgil's boys backed away.
Sheriff Wade pushed his slicker back to reveal his heavy gun belt loaded with bullets.
Jessica moved to the side, her uneasy gaze roving from his shoulder down to where he tapped his thumb against the ivory handle of the revolver.
“Listen fellas,” she said. “Why don’t we just call it a day? No harm done.”
Virgil’s cheek twitched. His beady eyes traced a path from the sheriff's steady trigger finger up to his clean-shaven face.
"You ain't so tough, Wade. I ain't never seen you kill nobody. I bet you never killed a man your whole life."
"Think what you like, Virgil, but you won’t put another hand on this lady. She’s a guest in this town."
Relieved that Sheriff Wade was finally laying the blame where it belonged, Jessica nevertheless took another step away from him.
Virgil slowly reached for his revolver. "I ain't gonna shoot," he said with one hand out in front, fingers spread wide.
Jessica glanced at the sheriff's angled profile, then down at his gun. He was still tapping his thumb on it.
The whole town fell silent. Folks cleared off the boardwalk and moved sideways and backwards to stand our crouch behind wagons or barrels or whatever else they could find. Sheriff Wade didn't move a muscle...except for that thumb.
Virgil set his revolver on a wooden barrel, then stepped off the boardwalk to
face the sheriff. "Let's see how tough you are, Wade. Man-to-man. Without your gun."
"A lawman doesn’t give up his gun," Truman replied in a slow, menacing drawl.
"Well, I'll just have to trust you not to shoot me then…while I'm whippin’ your ass."
Sheriff Wade moved forward to stand nose-to-nose with Virgil. "Give it your best, Virgil, but be quick about it, because I got more important things to do than knock your drunken arse around Front Street."
Virgil’s bushy eyebrows pulled together in outrage. Then he swung his arm back and threw a punch.
Sheriff Wade ducked, and his hat flew off.
The horse backed up at the commotion, while Wade pivoted on the spot, kicked his leg out and caught Virgil in the knee. The heavy brute dropped to the ground with a groan and a thump, holding onto his leg.
It was the fastest move Jessica had ever seen.
Sheriff Wade scooped up his hat, wrapped his hand around her elbow, and led her down the street. She followed, but glanced back at Virgil, who was still groaning and rolling around. One by one, folks popped up from behind hay bales and barrels, and scuttled into the street with caution.
"Sheriff Wade...your horse," Jessica said.
“He’ll follow."
They hurried down Front Street, and Jessica had to scramble to keep up. When at last they turned the corner towards Angus's house, Truman finally slowed his pace.
"You all right?" he asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine.” She brushed some dirt off her shoulder. “He was a real butthead."
Wade glanced at her with amusement again, and Jessica found herself staring at him in fascination, trying to understand what lay behind those deep turquoise eyes of his. With the strong noon sun overhead, she was able to take in the finer details of his profile—the square, chiseled jaw and full lips over a dimpled chin, and the straight, patrician nose. Her eyes dipped to the gun belt at his hips and the loose fit of his black trousers, visible when the wind blew his coat open.
There was no point denying it. He was by far the most incredible man she’d ever met.
Or maybe that was just a reaction to the way he helped her back there. In a place where she had no friends or family to call upon, besides Mr. Maxwell, it was nice to know someone was watching out for her.
Taken by the Cowboy Page 4