"You sure do like to call attention to yourself, don’t you?" he said.
She sighed. "Yeah, well… I didn't start that. Virgil was the one looking for trouble."
"I'm going to have to ask you, Miss Delaney, to make a more sincere effort not to get people all riled up. I've worked mighty hard to keep gun firing to a minimum in this town."
Jessica halted. "Hey, I wasn't the one who fired the gun back there. You were."
He continued walking, as if he hadn't heard a word she said.
Thinking it absurd that she was capable of riling people up, Jessica stood for a moment and watched him walk, his spurs jingling with each uncompromising stride.
A gentle breath of a breeze blew her hair across her face. She closed her eyes briefly, then pushed the hair away, hoisted her skirt up to her knees, and hurried to catch up with him. "I can make it the rest of the way on my own,” she said. “You don’t have to escort me."
"Yeah, I do. I need to make sure you go straight home to Maxwell's, and I suggest you stay there until this gossip cools down."
The thought had crossed her mind that it would be far less dangerous to hide away in Angus's pretty blue parlor. But how would she find a way home from there?
"Look," she said, "I didn't start any of this. I did nothing wrong, so you have no authority to put me under house arrest, if that’s your intention. Besides, I have some business to take care of, and it’s important."
Wade stopped in his tracks.
Jessica continued walking until she realized he wasn't beside her anymore. "What’s wrong?”
He approached and stared at her with narrowed eyes, then removed his hat and wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. "I'd like to know more about this alias of yours – Junebug Jess. How long have you had it?"
She practically laughed. "Are you kidding me? It’s not an alias. The newspaper made that up."
Squinting into the sunshine, he placed his hat back on his head. "How about answering this, then? Where'd you come from? Home must be somewhere."
Jessica suddenly felt like the shopkeeper had tied the laces on her new shoes too tight. What should she tell Truman? She couldn't say she'd just arrived from the future. She'd end up in an asylum.
"I’m from Topeka," she casually replied and started walking again.
He walked beside her, watching her face the whole time, but she resisted the urge to look at him.
"So what are you doing in Dodge?" he asked.
"Just passing through."
“Where to next?”
She paused. “Not sure.”
"You don't know where you're heading?"
The sun beat down on the top of her head, and she could feel her nose beginning to burn. The rest of her face, she guessed, was growing redder by the second. How did these people live without sunscreen?
Wade looped his thumbs through his belt. "It's a bit odd for a young woman to be traveling alone, ain’t it?"
She removed a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at her forehead.
"You don't have a horse, and you don't have any money,” he pressed. “How did you expect to pass through here—by flapping your arms real fast?"
"No, I—"
"You needed the money so you killed Lou. You were pretty darn sharp with your aim. Who else have you killed?"
"I told you! Nobody!"
How was she supposed to answer a question like that? Sheriff Wade was wasting his time, and more importantly he was wasting hers. She needed to get the heck out of this stupid century, and if he would just leave her alone—go sign up for a high noon showdown or catch a crazy cattle rustler or something—she might be able to make some sense out of this situation.
Head spinning, she cleared her throat and loosened her collar.
"Relax, Miss Delaney,” he said. “You're not in any real trouble. At least not today.”
Jessica tensed immediately as he moved closer and removed a blade of grass that had blown into her hair. She stood very still until he flicked the blade onto a passing breeze.
Dust swirled up around them. Jessica moistened her lips, realizing she hadn't blinked or breathed while he had his hands in her hair. Finally, she regained her composure and transferred her parcel from one hand to the other.
"What are you keeping in there?" he asked.
"My old shoes. I bought new ones."
"Ah, that's right. You were wearing some strange footwear last night. Your feet looked like weapons.” After a pause, he added, "You all right, Miss Delaney? You look flushed."
"I'll be fine."
But she didn't feel fine. She felt sick to her stomach. These dizzy spells were beginning to worry her.
She reached for her handkerchief again, to dab at the perspiration on her forehead.
"Let’s sit down for a minute," he said. "This heat can sneak up on a person."
Wade led her to the shady side of a storage shed, removed his coat, and spread it on the grass. He gestured for her to sit down.
She knew if she didn't, she might faint into his arms, which was most definitely out of the question.
Hoping she wouldn't have to stick her head between her knees, she dropped her parcel onto the grass and settled down in the shade.
She rested her back against the wall of the shed and shut her eyes, praying for the dizziness to pass quickly.
“Ah,” she sighed.
"Feel better?” He rested his hands on his hips as he looked down at her. “Need some water or something? There’s a pump across the street.”
“No sir, not necessary. I’ll be fine in a minute.”
A horse and wagon rumbled by in the street. “Howdy, Sheriff!” the driver shouted.
Wade touched the brim of his hat, then sat down beside Jessica and leaned against the shed, his knees bent. “Wonder what the good folks of Dodge will say when they hear about their trusted sheriff lazing about in the shadows with the infamous Junebug Jess?"
She opened one eye to peer at him briefly. "You know as well as I do that I'm not what the paper said I am."
"I can't say I do know such a thing. I reckon you're keeping something from me."
Jessica shut her eyes again and wondered if he'd always possessed such a keen instinct or if she was just a terrible liar.
"I told you before. That story was completely false." She moistened her lips and squinted across the yard at two clucking chickens pecking at the dirt.
"False,” he replied. “So you keep saying."
His eyes held a cool hint of suspicion that unnerved her. Or was it concern she saw in those blue depths? Either way, he was onto her. He knew something was off its axis, and he wanted to know what it was.
Why? So he could lock her up again?
Or did he want to help her? To make it all better?
If only she could tell him the truth, but she couldn’t possibly. Who knows what he would think?
Feeling the dizziness begin to subside, she opened her eyes and squinted at him in the sunshine. "Sheriff Wade, what are you going to do about Virgil? That gun of his looked like it could put a hole in Moby Dick.”
Wade adjusted the brim of his hat. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. He couldn't hit a bull's ass with a handful of banjos. Most of the time he keeps to the saloon, gambling. Occasionally he takes one of the saloon girls upstairs—"
Jessica quickly raised a hand. "Too much information. And don’t say pretty little head."
He laughed. "Don't go wakin' snakes. I was just gonna say he likes to play the fiddle for them. That’s probably what he wanted to do with you. He's pretty harmless."
"Well, I don't trust him,” she replied. “Did you ask him where he was when Lou was killed?"
Sheriff Wade regarded her intently. "Lou was wanted dead or alive, and now he's dead. You've accepted the reward, so there ain't no more questions to be asked. Unless there’s something else you haven’t told me, which I suspect there is."
Recognizing her blunder, Jessica pushed a lock o
f hair behind her ear. She could feel him searching her face for the truth again.
"I'm feeling better, now," she said. "We should go."
Wade stood, offered his hand, and pulled her to her feet. While she brushed off her skirt, he gathered his coat and flapped it in the wind to shed the grass, then picked up her parcel. A beam of sunlight reflected off his gun and blinded her momentarily.
As they started walking again, Jessica wondered about that shiny weapon and the action it had seen. "Mr. Maxwell told me that since you've been sheriff in Dodge, you haven't had to shoot anyone. Is that true?"
He spoke with a heavy edge to his voice. "I didn't realize folks were keeping tabs on my gunshots."
“There’s a rumor going around that you killed ten men.”
Wade shook his head. “No, not ten.”
She wasn’t sure if he was quiet all of a sudden because she’d gotten the tally wrong, or if he was simply annoyed at her for asking. "How many, exactly, did you kill?”
“Six.”
His spurs clinked a steady, ominous rhythm as they walked.
“Six men,” she replied. “Holy crap.”
Truman shot her a surprised look, then stopped and removed his hat. Combing his fingers through his dark, wavy hair, he said, "Look, Junebug. I don’t like to share details about my personal life. Not with you or anyone else, and I sure as hell ain’t trying to impress you with my killing record." He started off again, walking faster this time.
“Trust me, I’m not impressed.”
When he didn’t look back, she hurried to catch up. “What I meant to say is, have you ever talked to anyone about...” —How could she phrase it?— “the things you’ve done?”
He frowned at her. “What do you mean—talked to anyone?”
“Well, you know...really talked about it.”
She might as well have suggested he stick his head in a brick oven.
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Sometimes it helps.”
He patted his six-shooter. “I got all the help I need right here.”
Jessica continued to hurry along beside him.
When they reached Angus's gate, he held out Jessica’s parcel. She slipped her fingers under the tight string just as a sudden gust of wind lifted her skirts.
“Geez! Close your eyes, Sheriff, before you get an eyeful.”
Slapping her free hand on top of it to hold it down, she felt the sheriff's curious eyes on her, and reluctantly looked up.
"I know you're hiding something," he said in that low voice that had a way of making her melt into a loose puddle of infatuation. "And your meddling questions and flying skirts aren’t gonna distract me from finding out what it is. In fact, the way you're asking about my shooting record, Miss Delaney—if that's your name—is beginning to make me suspect the worst." He drew his eyebrows together and rested one hand on his gun. "You're not itchin' to put my name on one of your bullets, are ya?"
* * *
It was a ridiculous question and Truman knew it, but he wanted to shake her up a little. Apparently, it was working. She looked like he'd just flung her into the middle of next week.
“Now that is just plain ridiculous,” she replied. “I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.”
She turned her back on him and struggled with the gate latch, jiggling it to and fro. Clank, clank, clank!
If he didn't do something soon, she was going to damage the hardware. He reached around her to release the latch, and breathed in the clean scent of her chestnut hair, just as she grew frustrated with the latch and bumped him twice - fast and firmly in the pelvis - with her soft, sweet bottom.
"Oh!” She whirled around. Then she surprised him yet again by laughing infectiously. “You’re certainly getting your jollies with me today, aren’t you, Sheriff?"
Hell and damnation. What a smile she had.
He took full advantage of her enticing nearness by allowing his gaze to wander over her creamy complexion, her tiny sunburned nose, and those full, cherry lips. He loved the way she smelled and wondered how long it had been since he’d enjoyed rubbing and bumping up against an attractive woman like her.
What the hell was he thinking? He knew exactly how long it had been.
Adjusting his hat on his head, he took a step back. "Just trying to be of assistance." He leaned forward again and effortlessly unlatched the gate. "Gently next time."
Miss Delaney turned and entered the yard. “Thank you, Sheriff,” she said with a proud, exaggerated lift of her chin.
Truman rested his hands on his hips and watched her walk up Angus's porch steps, wiggling her little bottom as she went. He had half a mind to follow her in and ask her some more questions-like why she wore her hair down long and loose like that without a single pin, much less a hat or a bonnet.
Or why she always bit her lower lip just before she lifted her right hand to push her hair behind her ear. He'd seen her do it at least four times since he’d met her.
And what a mouth on her….
The things she said….
Truman exhaled sharply when the front door slammed shut behind her.
If he had any brains in his head, he'd beat himself to a jelly for getting all hot and bothered by her cute little backside, because the last thing he wanted to do was get all tangled up with a tempting fireball like Jessica Delaney and repeat past mistakes.
If he was ever going to heed his own advice and avoid getting into a barrel of trouble, now was the time, because this particular fireball was quite possibly a killer, and at the very least, a liar.
Lucky for him, she was a lousy one.
Bringing his fingers to his lips, he whistled hard. A few seconds later, Thunder came trotting up the street.
Chapter Six
The next day, Jessica walked into Sheriff Wade’s office and dropped the Wednesday issue of The Dodge City Chronicle onto his desk in front of him.
"Miss Delaney," he drawled. "What a surprise."
He sat with his long legs stretched out on the desk, a battered tin coffee cup in his hand. The instant Jessica met his devilishly handsome blue eyes, she forgot the function of that important organ inside her head and had to work hard to remember the reason for her visit.
Ever since yesterday’s titillating encounter by the gate, she’d been in a constant state of frustration, for immediately after learning that Sheriff Wade had killed six men in cold blood, all she’d been able to think about were the naughty little thrills that had wracked her body when her rear end collided with his manly parts.
How could she blame herself, though? Really. He was a gorgeous hunk of manhood, in every sense of the word - a hottie from all perspectives, and he had a way of switching on her engine lights every time he spoke.
He lifted the paper and read the headline aloud. "The Shocking True Tale of Junebug Jess, Famous Gunslinger and Killer of Soft-shelled Insects." He set it down again and inclined his head at her. "Let me guess. You're here to file a complaint."
Jessica - distracted briefly by the hand-stitched designs on his black leather boots - somehow managed to meet his gaze head on. She noticed a flirtatious glimmer in his eyes this morning - the kind of look that makes a woman check to make sure all her buttons are fastened – and she felt a stirring of satisfaction.
"Yes,” she replied. “That is exactly why I am here. This is getting out of hand."
Sheriff Wade finished his coffee and set the cup down on the desk. "Now, now. Don't get your knickers all in a twist. There's no harm done."
"No harm done? Not a shred of this is true, and my knickers are not in a twist."
"At least they got your name right,” he mentioned. “And look - they even managed to spell Virgil's name correctly."
Jessica sighed. "They didn't even mention you. They said I fired the gun and scared Virgil off. I wasn't even armed." She picked up the newspaper, crumpled it in her hands, and threw it into the empty waste can. When she looked up, Wade was leaning back in hi
s chair, watching her with narrowed eyes.
"Is there nothing you can do?" she asked, finally. “I don’t want any more trouble, and I don’t want people thinking I’m a killer, especially if I end up staying here a while.”
He dropped his long legs to the floor. "I thought you were just passing through.”
“Well, I’m not sure yet,” she said. “I hope to be on my way soon.”
Wade tapped a finger on the desk. “What does it matter what’s printed in the paper anyway? It's just a few details they got wrong. It'll all be forgotten by tomorrow."
"But people think I drew a gun on Virgil when I wasn't even carrying one. It says I sent them all scattering like a flock of frightened chickens. What if this causes more problems for me? I can’t imagine Virgil will be too pleased when he reads it. If he can even read."
"The editor just stretched the truth a bit, that's all,” he replied. “Besides, folks in Dodge don't care about a minor incident like this. It's just another ruckus to them."
"Minor incident? There was gunfire…and running and screaming."
He chuckled. “Now who’s stretching the truth?” Wade stood and walked to the window. "Nobody pays much attention to this paper anyway,” he said. “The editor's a strange one. Folks around here read The Times for the real news."
Jessica sat down on the edge of the desk. Wade glanced at her briefly, then looked down as if he mulled over what to do. "I'll tell you what-I’ll talk to Gordon today. I'll see that he gets his stories straight about you from now on."
"Thank you, Sheriff,” she replied, rising to her feet. “And while I'm here,” she added, not quite ready to leave just yet, “has my reward arrived?"
She wasn't sure how long it would take to find a way home, and some ready cash would come in handy.
"Not yet. It'll take a few more days, at least."
"You'll let me know right away?"
"Of course."
Wade crossed the room and began sorting through some papers on a small wooden cabinet. His long fingers moved one page aside, then another. Jessica found herself staring transfixed at those big, rough, callused hands. She knew they were a killer’s hands, yet at the same time she remembered how gently he had stroked the lace on the dress she was wearing.
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