Taken by the Cowboy

by Julianne MacLean

  His boots whisked over the grass and came to a halt beside her. "Are you hurt? What are you doing out here? Are you okay?"

  Jessica sat up. "I think the more relevant question is what are you doing out here?"

  "I followed you."

  She laughed. "Well, that’s quite obvious, but something tells me you weren't concerned for my safety. Otherwise, you simply would have made your presence known."

  Truman ripped off his coat and tossed it onto the ground. "You didn’t answer my question, Jessica. I asked what you were doing out here."

  "It’s none of your business."

  “No? I saw you walk into Zimmerman’s, and I know you pawned a necklace. That wouldn’t be what Lou’s gang was after, would it?”

  “No!”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me about it?”

  She laughed with disbelief. “You never mentioned you wanted an inventory of all my worldly possessions.”

  He shook his head. “It was more than a worldly possession. You parted with a fortune this morning, and you seem to be taking it pretty lightly. You could've at least gone down the street for a better price. Why were you in such a hurry to get rid of it?"

  Jessica wasn’t sure if she should tell him that the stone was a cubic zirconia that Liam had given her for Christmas. She explained that it was a fake to the clerk, but she doubted he’d revealed that to Truman.

  “I just needed some cash,” she told him. “I didn’t want to keep borrowing from Mr. Maxwell.”

  "So you practically gave away something worth a fortune? Makes me think you didn't care much about that necklace. I'd hate to think you got it through some unscrupulous means."

  Jessica frowned. "You think I stole it?"

  "I didn't say that."

  "Good, because it's not true. If you must know, my ex-fiancé gave it to me, and it really wasn’t worth very much."

  Truman paused. "You didn't give it back to him?"

  "No. He didn't want it. The necklace was a fake, just like everything else in our relationship."

  Truman raked his fingers through his hair. "A fake?”

  “Yes.”

  He sat down in the grass beside her and said nothing for a long time.

  “When was the last time you saw him?" Truman asked.

  "It’s been a number of months."

  He looked at her intently. "Do you plan on seeing him again?"

  She laughed bitterly. "Trust me, with the way things are going, it’s not likely to happen. Not in this lifetime."

  She and Truman sat quietly on the grass while Jessica considered the situation. With all these personal questions about her fiancé, she was beginning to wonder if he was as obsessed by last night’s kiss as she was.

  Part of her was excited by the possibility, but another part of her didn’t want anything to distract her from finding a way home.

  "There’s one question you still haven't answered yet," Truman said.

  "What’s that?"

  "You haven’t told me what you're doing out here."

  She searched through the chaos in her mind for a reasonable reply. "I just wanted to go for a walk."

  "A walk… Then what was all the dancing and spinning?"

  Jessica began to smile. "I suppose I looked quite outrageous." She couldn’t help but laugh.

  Truman regarded her with puzzled dismay, then shook his head in resignation and lay back in the grass. “I give up. You are crazier than a waltzing pig.”

  She chuckled at that. "So why were you following me?" she finally asked.

  He tossed his arms up under his head. "I wanted to know where you were going."

  "Why? I’m not your prisoner. I’m free to leave town if I want to."

  “Is that what you were doing?” he asked with suspicion. “Leaving town?”

  “No. I wasn’t sure I could even get out of here.”

  His chest heaved with a sigh. “You don’t always make a lot of sense, Junebug.”

  “I’m quite aware of that,” she replied, squinting toward the horizon.

  “Are you also aware that when you’re cryptic,” he said, “it only makes me more suspicious? More intrigued?”

  She didn’t answer. How could she? She didn’t know if he was speaking professionally or personally, or if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

  "Well..." He rose to his feet and offered his hand. "Time to head back."

  She was eye level with his belt buckle. She gazed at his hips and muscular thighs, and was half tempted to ask him to stay a while longer and talk. She might not always like his questions, but she did enjoy the anticipation she felt whenever she was alone with him.

  "Coming?" he repeated.

  Jessica shook herself out of her infatuation and accepted his hand. He pulled her to her feet, and she lifted her skirts and hiked ahead of him through the tall grass toward the road.

  "Jessica!"

  Heart thumping a rapid rhythm in her chest, she stopped and turned. "What is it?"

  He glanced at her feet. She looked down and realized she was holding her skirts clear above her knees.

  Knowing a thing or two about the times, she guessed Truman had never seen a woman do that. She quickly dropped the skirt and shrugged, as if to say, ‘what does it matter anyway?’

  “You’re different from most women,” he said.

  “I know.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, then kept this eyes trained on the ground as he walked past her. “And you ain’t easy to be around.”

  “I know that, too,” she casually replied.

  While they walked side by side back to town, they talked about simpler matters – like Dodge City’s cattle trade and the occasional scuffle that kept Truman busy in his job.

  When they reached the bridge, Jessica cleared her throat. "Truman, I hope from now on you won't waste any more time trying to investigate my past. I guarantee there's nothing to find."

  "Model citizen?"

  "You could say that."

  Truman’s gaze roamed leisurely down the length of her body, and she felt another stirring of excitement as she remembered the kiss, and wanted very much to do it again.

  "I'll tell you what,” he said in a low, husky voice. “I'll stop trying to dig up your past, if you promise to keep a close watch over your shoulder."

  A surge of apprehension moved through her. "Why? Do you think the gang will come back?"

  "Don't know. But if you didn't kill Lou, somebody else did, and there's probably a damn good reason why they haven't come forward for the reward." He leaned even closer and whispered hotly in her ear. “And I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  She thanked him politely, but inside, she swooned.

  Chapter Eleven

  In the days that followed – while Jessica waited for a rain and lightning storm so that she could go back out onto the prairie and try spinning again—she saw Truman only once. Passing him on the boardwalk, she smiled politely after he tipped his hat at her, and when he was gone, she had to fight a hot and lusty compulsion to chase after him, grab him by the hand, drag him home to her bed, and get naked in a frenzied hurry.

  If only she could conquer those heady urges. She was lonely; there was no denying that. There was also no denying that she was lonely for her home and family. The thing that worried her, however, was the sense that Truman could make it hurt less if he made wild, passionate love to her for about ten days straight without stopping, except to eat and take short naps. Together of course.

  That evening she tried to sweep thoughts of him and her family from her mind by focusing on dinner preparations for Mr. Maxwell. She wanted to cook something delicious for him in return for his many kindnesses, so she prepared a hot supper of roast beef, turnips and gravy, and cherry pie for dessert.

  After dinner, they retired to the parlor to sip apple brandy.

  "Jessica," Angus asked, “is Wendy as nice as she seems?"

  "Yes. She's a lovely person."

  "I thought s
o." He looked down at his crystal glass. "She always looks happy. Will she be going to the circus next week?"

  "I have no idea."

  "Will you be going?"

  "I’m not sure." A wagon rolled by outside, and Jessica could hear the driver talking to his mules. What she wouldn’t give to hear the sound of a modern day police siren or the ring of her computer to let her know that she had email…

  She waited until the wagon passed. "Would you like me to invite Wendy to go with me?”

  Angus’s face lit up. "Would you?"

  "Of course. We can all go together." She finished her brandy and stood to go to bed, but stopped in the doorway when that sinking feeling returned. "Angus? Do you even care if you ever go home? Do you miss it at all?”

  He sighed heavily and with obvious compassion. "Not much anymore. It’s been so long. I’ve grown used to this place. It would be very strange to go back now.”

  “What about your family? Don’t you miss them?”

  He gazed wistfully at the window. “Of course I do, but I suppose I’ve learned to accept that I won’t ever see them again.”

  “But how can you just accept that? I don’t think I ever could. It would mean giving up.”

  His eyes glimmered with sadness, or maybe it was simple wisdom. “It’s no different from losing a loved one,” he said. “You grieve, but then you have no choice but to go on living your life. You find a way to be happy again. It’s not impossible. You just have to decide when you’re ready to accept that they’re gone.”

  She nodded and understood that after ten years, Angus had grown comfortable in this century and wasn’t as eager as she was to find a way home.

  As she climbed the stairs, she decided that she was going to have to stay on top of this, before she grew too comfortable herself.

  * * *

  Two days later, Jessica knocked against the jailhouse door until her knuckles burned. When no one answered, she cupped her hands to the window and peered inside. The cabinets were locked, there were no troublemakers in either of the cells, and the coat rack was bare of hats, gun belts, and coats.

  Turning to face the street, Jessica heard a hammer cracking, a man's deep voice shouting orders, and a dim yet constant screech of monkey laughter. It then occurred to her that the circus was setting up in town. Perhaps that’s where Truman was this morning.

  She picked up her skirts and walked along the railroad tracks, past the windmill spinning steadily in the breeze and the water tower beside it. She walked up Railroad Avenue where she stopped to watch a gigantic white tent blooming like a flower from the ground. Its sluggish movement resisted the push to rise as the wind blew hard against the tarpaulin. Men tugged and shouldered the poles to launch them to an upright position as the canvas billowed and fought against their thrust. It was a magnificent sight against the bare, flat prairie beyond, where everything seemed still and lifeless.

  She drew in a breath when she spotted Truman lending a hand. This morning he wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a brown vest. His dark hair was blowing in the wind.

  He gripped a corner post and tested it to ensure it stood firmly.

  Slowly she approached, watching him the entire way. Each time he checked a post, the muscles in his forearms tensed and relaxed. Jessica stopped not far away, staring at those bronze, sinewy forearms. He took a step back, looked everything over, and wiped the sweat from his brow.

  All around him, others milled about—men and women, dogs and chickens. Large cages rolled by containing tigers and giraffes, but Jessica watched only Truman. He stood alone at the far side of the tent, his eyes following the broad side as if surveying it for weaknesses.

  Jessica rested a hand on her belly to quell the nervous knots. She hadn't spoken to Truman since the day they parted on the prairie, and she woke this morning knowing she had a good reason to see him again—for the reward – and she’d been looking forward to this moment more than she cared to admit.

  Long, eager strides carried her across the windy prairie toward him, and she was only halfway there when he looked up from his work and met her gaze. He watched her for a moment, then released his grip on the post, wiped his hands on his trousers, and headed in her direction. They met in the middle of the circus yard, not far from an elephant.

  "Mornin’ Junebug," he said.

  "Mornin’ Sheriff. I see you're busy."

  "I reckon so." A drop of perspiration rolled down the side of his neck, and she watched it until it disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt.

  "I guess this circus is a pretty big deal, huh?" she said, laboring to make polite conversation.

  "You could say that. It's one of the few things around here that gets the Front Street rowdies and the finer folks of Dodge all under one roof. You going?"

  "Yes. I might ask Wendy to go with me. And Angus of course.”

  Truman pointed toward the tent. "Normally Wendy would sit on that side with the rowdies, but if she's with you and Angus, she’ll sit on this side."

  He faced her again. His eyes were so blue they outshined the sky, and Jessica had to struggle to remember why she had come. "The reason I'm here, Truman, is—"

  "You want your reward money."

  "Yes. How’d you guess?"

  "It arrived this morning. It's at the bank."

  Jessica knew it was time to leave, but her feet were glued to the dirt.

  She stood a moment, fiddling with the heavy cotton fabric of her skirt, then took a deep breath and said, "Would you walk with me?"

  "I’ll get my hat," he replied, needing no further bidding.

  * * *

  Truman couldn't help thinking that Jessica looked different today. She'd pulled her hair up like the other ladies in town. At the same time, there was nothing in her appearance that could compare. Even from a distance, she was a strikingly handsome woman, her chestnut hair contrasting sharply with her creamy white skin. Add to that a pair of full red lips the color of ripe raspberries and those legs he had been fortunate enough to observe through the binocular lenses, and he had to work hard to keep from pulling her behind a monkey cage and behaving quite unlawfully.

  They walked together into town, talking mostly about the weather and other mundane things. It was nice for a change, Truman thought—to be discussing normal everyday things instead of his work, because few folks wanted to talk to him unless they had something to complain about. A broken window. Too much noise on a Sunday morning…

  When they reached the bank, Truman held the door open for Jessica, then accompanied her to the wicket. Mr. Webster, the banker, stood behind the bars. He was a fat, balding man, and his suit bulged at the buttonholes. Truman said a silent prayer that Jessica would keep her mouth closed, not because of what she might say, but in case one of those stressed buttons decided to spring off Webster’s vest.

  "Sheriff Wade," he said. "You're here to pay out that reward, I presume?"

  "That's right. This here's Miss Jessica Delaney."

  “Ah, yes, it is an honor indeed,” he said. “I’ll be right with you.” The banker finished writing something on a slip of paper, placed it a drawer, then went hunting through another drawer for the reward information.

  Truman turned his back on Webster, leaned both elbows on the counter and looked out the window. He felt Jessica’s arm next to his, and a sudden ripple of sexual awareness rushed through him, but he did his best to focus on the wagons rolling by in the street.

  "Would you like to open an account, Miss Delaney?" Webster asked.

  "Uh, no. I'd like to have it all in cash."

  Truman suddenly lost interest in the morning traffic. "You're not planning to carry that around with you, are you?"

  “No, I’ll keep it at Mr. Maxwell’s.”

  “It would be safer here at the bank.”

  “But I don’t know how long I’m going to be staying in Dodge,” she replied. “I may need to leave town on a moment’s notice.”

  Mr. Webster peered at them o
ver the gold rims of his spectacles. “Perhaps I’ll give you two a moment to discuss it in private while I go fetch the money.” He turned to go into the back room.

  "What's the hurry?” Truman asked. “Is Dodge not good enough for you?"

  "It’s not that,” she replied. “It's just not my home, that’s all."

  "Home." He studied the green hue of her eyes. "Topeka, right?"

  "That’s right," she firmly substantiated.

  Truman shook his head. "You oughta’ know I did some checking, and there ain’t no record of any Delaney’s in Topeka. I sure as hell would like to know where you really come from."

  "Is that why you haven’t talked to me in the past few days? Are you mad about that? And I thought we agreed you’d stop trying to investigate my past."

  Truman wanted to kick himself for having promised the impossible, and wished he didn’t care either way, but he had no excuse to give. He was a hot-blooded man who hadn’t been with a woman in three long years, and Jessica was a spirited creature with a voluptuous figure and legs like he’d never seen – smooth, contoured and golden from the sun. He wanted to do things to her that he shouldn’t even be thinking about, because he was a lawman who had enough commotion in his life.

  He really needed to stop thinking about her legs.

  And stop checking into her past.

  “I’m not investigating,” he said. “I’m just making conversation.”

  Maybe it was a good thing she wanted to leave town.

  Jessica began to twirl a silver ring around on her middle finger. Truman stared down at her tiny pale hands, then followed the line of her narrow wrists covered by lace cuffs, upward to her arms and gently rounded shoulders, then to her face. His blood grew hot with the shock of wanting her, and it annoyed the hell out of him.

  She sucked in a breath as their eyes met.

  Mr. Webster returned and counted out five hundred dollars. Truman shifted his gaze to the window again.

  Jessica shoved the money into a blue velvet pouch and drew the string. "Thank you, Mr. Webster. Have a very nice day."