He kept his eyes closed as he spoke. "Murderers. All except for one, but I didn't take too kindly to what he was guilty of."
"And what was that?"
Truman opened his eyes. "He did some unspeakable things to a lady. Hefty price on his head, too. The woman he assaulted was the wife of a governor." Truman stopped rocking and kneaded his eyelids with the heels of his hands. He yawned again and stood, moved to the bed and lay flat out on his back—beside Jessica. Crossing one boot over the other, he added, "I would've taken him down for free, though."
For a long moment, Jessica watched Truman in the morning light.
He had just revealed far more than usual about his past, and she wished he would say more, but unfortunately, he was falling asleep there beside her, and she didn’t have the heart to disturb him.
* * *
Later that morning, after a brief half-hour nap on Jessica's bed, Truman walked into the Dodge House Hotel and took a seat at his regular table. He felt like he hadn't slept or eaten in days. He leaned back in his chair, surveying the dining room. Too early in the day for cowboys. The only people around were the good folks, and he recognized every face.
"Morning, Sheriff," Mrs. Brown said, approaching his table. "The usual?"
"Thanks, that'd be real nice. And add a slice of cherry pie to that, too, will you please?"
"Hungry today?"
"You bet."
She disappeared into the back kitchen while Truman stared out the window. He couldn’t forget the look on Jessica's face an hour ago when he opened his eyes to find her lying beside him on the bed, resting her cheek on her hand, watching him with those sleepy and seductive green eyes.
She'd probably thought it mighty strange—how he rose to his feet and left the room so fast. Hell, he had no choice, really. When he woke up and looked at her with her wild chestnut hair spilling over her shoulders in an alluring, uncombed mess—certain parts of his body arose for some earnest horseplay.
If he’d stayed, he would have done more than just kiss her up against a whorehouse door. He would have flipped her onto her back and planted himself fervently between her sweet, luscious thighs, and that would have been some seriously dangerous territory to slide into.
A few minutes later, a plate of food appeared in front of him. He hadn't even seen Mrs. Brown coming. "There you go, Sheriff. Piping hot, the way you like it."
Yeah, he liked it hot, all right.
Thankfully, the succulent aroma of spicy roasted chicken distracted him from his degenerate thoughts, and he picked up his fork and dug in.
He ate his lunch and thought more about Jessica—and worked real hard to keep those thoughts strictly professional.
Maybe he should take her away for a while, just until the gang got bored and gave up. He could lose them. He'd lost a number of men hot on his trail before, but as he began to consider a plan to do just that, he shook his head. Ideas like that didn’t come from anything professional. Truthfully, all he wanted to do was be alone with Jessica for a few days and quench his pent-up lust.
After he finished and paid for his meal, he left the dining room and walked out onto the boardwalk. Old Jimmy Clay was sitting on an upturned barrel, smoking a pipe. "Howdy, Sheriff. Swell day."
Truman settled his hat on his head and tipped it forward to shade his eyes from the blinding sun. "Certainly is. You just get here, Jimmy?"
"Been sittin' for about five minutes. Just came from Ham Bell's Livery. All kinds of commotion over there."
"Such as?"
"They had some ruffians in there last night. They were askin' about Junebug Jess. Threatened to drop a lamp in a haystack if no one fessed up."
Truman's blood began to boil in his veins. "Why didn't anybody tell me?"
"Tellin' you now."
Truman pounded down the steps and took off down the dusty street. Hell and tarnation, he was mad enough to swallow a horned-toad backwards.
* * *
By late afternoon, Jessica, growing restless and weary of the same four walls, sat forward in the rocking chair when a knock sounded at her door. "Who is it?"
"Truman."
She rose and crossed the room to unlock it. "Come in."
He entered, wearing the same clothes as the night before, but now they were coated in dust. He looked exhausted and was in bad need of shave.
"Any luck?" she asked, knowing the answer before he gave it.
"Afraid not."
"Don't tell me I have to stay here again another night."
"I don't want to risk moving you,” he replied. “The streets are filling up and you'd be seen."
She returned to the chair to sit down. "Can I at least have a visitor? I'm bored to tears."
Removing his hat, he hesitated as he studied her face for a moment. "Well, it just so happens you're gonna have company tonight. All night as a matter of fact."
"Really? Who?"
He put his hat back on. "Me."
Jessica's heart began to race, as Truman turned and headed for the door.
"Wait a minute." She sat forward in the chair. "Where are you going?"
"To get a bath and a shave."
Jessica smiled at him flirtatiously. "You don't have to smell pretty on my account."
He turned the knob and opened the door. "Who said I'd be doing it for you? My horse is beginning to give me the cold shoulder."
He glanced back and winked at her, sending a wonderful shudder of anticipation through her body.
Chapter Sixteen
That evening, after a few hours of mental preparation and soul searching, Jessica jumped when a knock rapped at her door. “Is that you?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Truman replied.
She'd been reading a book about potatoes, and at the sound of his deep-timbered voice, she accidentally dropped the wildly stimulating piece of literature on the floor.
"Come in," she called out, picking up the book and opening it at random.
Truman walked in and removed his hat. His hair was wet and slicked back, and he wore a clean white shirt and black vest, along with a pair of freshly laundered trousers. "Are you hungry?" he asked. "Because I just told Rosie to bring up a couple of plates."
He crossed to the window, as he did every time he entered the room and pulled the curtain aside with one finger. Outside, it had begun to rain. "Kind of dark in here for reading."
He casually glanced down at the book on her lap.
Jessica admired the way his holster hung loosely at his hip. The leather was soft and well used.
“You’re right,” she managed to reply as she gladly closed the book.
He moved to the bedside table and scraped a match along the wall. It flared and illuminated his face as he lowered the flame to the wick of the kerosene lamp.
"Truman...."
"Yeah?" He glanced at her only briefly as he moved across the room.
"Why are you staying here tonight? Did something happen?"
He withdrew his revolver and checked the chamber for bullets. "I paid a visit to Ham Bell's Livery today and found out that Lou's gang doesn't plan on leaving Dodge until they find you and take what's rightfully theirs."
She bristled at the subtle note of accusation in his voice. "Does anyone know what they want from me?"
"No one seems to have the faintest idea. Funny, isn't it?"
Jessica, growing frustrated, met his stare. "You sound like you don’t believe me again."
Truman moved toward her and lifted her chin with one finger. "Whatever this secret is that you’re keeping, are you ever going to share it with me?”
She hesitated while she imagined how he would react if she told him the truth. Would he think she was off her rocker? “I might, one of these days…”
“Does it have anything to do with Lou's gang?" he asked, studying her intently.
"I already told you—no."
He backed away. "Well, if you don't have whatever it is they want, who does have it?"
"How should I
know? I wasn't a close, personal friend of Lou's. All I know is that he was an unlucky brute."
Truman fell silent for a moment and sat down at the foot of the bed. "Back to your earlier question. I'm staying because I reckon they'll be looking everywhere for you. It might get rough tonight."
A knock sounded at the door, and Truman drew his gun. "Who is it?"
"Rosalie."
He holstered his weapon and went to open the door.
Rosalie entered with supper on a large tray. "Hey, Truman. I brought you and your lady some grub."
"She's not my lady."
Jessica squirmed inwardly at the cool tone of rancor in his voice.
"Either way,” Rosalie said, setting the tray on the table, “there's enough food here to keep both of you busy for a while. When you're done, you can set the tray out in the hall. One of the girls will get it eventually."
"Thanks, Rosie," Truman said.
She ran her hands over her skirt. "I'll be right back."
"This looks delicious,” Jessica said, looking at the plate of roast beef, baked potatoes, corn, and gravy. A fat buttered roll sat squarely on top of the beef, its bottom soaked with the dark brown sauce.
Rosalie knocked again, but Truman drew his gun just to be sure.
"It's only me."
He opened the door, and she swept in carrying two plates of chocolate cake and a bottle of wine. "I'll be next door if you need anything."
"Rosie?" Truman said.
"Yeah?"
He spoke quietly in her ear. "Try and keep it down tonight, if you can manage it."
Rosalie leaned out from behind Truman to peer at Jessica, who shrugged with casual indifference.
After the door clicked shut behind Rosalie, Truman locked it and sat down to eat. Silence followed, interrupted only by the clinking of forks against plates, the occasional squeaking of the bed when Jessica shifted around, and the rain pelting on the slanted roof above them. About halfway through the meal, Jessica rose and popped the cork on the wine bottle. She splashed some into a glass and raised it to her lips.
Truman looked up, but spoke too late. "Uh, careful.…"
Good God! This wasn’t wine! It tasted more like petroleum gasoline! "What is this stuff?" she asked, half choking on the words.
"I tried to warn you."
"No, you didn't!" She waved her hand in front of her open mouth, trying to fan the flames on her tongue.
He laughed quietly. "Yes I did. And it's moonshine from Ol' Bob Stafford. You gotta sip that stuff slowly."
Jessica made her way back to the bed with as much dignity as she could muster. Sitting down again, she lifted her fork and continued eating, using her meat to swab up the thick pool of gravy. That liquor must have seared her taste buds. She couldn't taste a thing.
Truman finished, licked his lips, and leaned back on the wrought iron bed frame. Self-consciously, and fully aware of his eyes on her, Jessica stuffed the last bite into her mouth and took another drink of the high-spirited alcohol. When the scorching sensation passed, she smiled crookedly. "I'm getting full." She dabbed at her lips with the napkin.
"I hope so. The town paid well for it."
"The town paid?" She felt her eyebrows lift involuntarily, and thought back to the night she’d seen him hand money to Rosalie. "At the dance?"
"Yeah."
"I thought you were..."
"You thought I was what?"
She shook her head, feeling like a complete fool. "I thought maybe you were paying for other types of services."
The smile in his eyes contained a sensuous flame. "I don't ever pay for that, Junebug."
"Ah—then I stand corrected." She reclined leisurely on the bed.
He stood and brought two slices of chocolate cake from the table, setting one down in front of Jessica. "Besides, women like Rosalie don't do much for me."
Trying not to react too strongly to this intriguing piece of information, Jessica took another gulp of the moonshine. "What about your wife?” she asked curiously. “What happened to her, if you don’t mind my asking?"
He hesitated. "Consumption."
Jessica set down her glass. It was a one-word answer, yet there were still so many things she wanted to know.
"How long were you married?"
"Less than a year, but we knew each other since we were kids. Grew up in the same town, went to school together. My pa was a farmer. Her pa owned the dry goods store."
"You must have been very close, then,” she said. “Very much in love."
How she envied that woman.
"I’m sorry that you had so little time with her,” she added.
He nodded. “Yeah, it all happened pretty fast, especially the getting married part.”
“How so?”
He kept his gaze lowered as he ate the cake. “I left home when I was sixteen. Wanted to work and earn my own way in the world. Then I came home ten years later when my pa died, and he left me the farm. I hadn’t seen Dorothy in all that time, though she wrote me on occasion. When I saw her at my pa’s funeral, she was already sick. She knew she was dying, and all she wanted was to be married before she left this world."
"So you stepped up to the plate…."
He finished his cake and nodded, while the rain came down harder on the roof. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
“You must have loved her very much."
"She was a good woman."
A gust of wind rattled the six panes of glass in the window frame, and a draft slipped between the creaky, unpainted wallboards.
"Maybe this weather will keep Lou's gang home tonight," Jessica said, staring up at the wood ceiling and trying to mask the contentment she felt from being alone here with Truman, learning about his past, even though it was a painful one. "This seems strange," she sighed.
"What does?"
"Us. Being here. Doing nothing, just waiting for them to find us. It’s like we’re sitting ducks."
"I don't see it that way," he said.
"No? How do you see it?"
He tilted his head to the side. "I’d call it an ambush."
Jessica laughed. "An ambush?” She poked her cake with her fork. “Sheriff, I admire your confidence.”
Truman swung his legs down and stood, causing the bed to squeak and bounce. Jessica watched him cross to the window.
Thunder boomed and the light flickered in the lamp. Then he looked at her. Deep in the blue of his eyes, a heated expression lingered—one she had not seen before.
She blinked slowly, as all the hazy hours and minutes leading up to this moment smudged together in her mind like a shifting fog.
Jessica swallowed and inched forward to touch her feet to the floor. Rising, she moved slowly toward him and stood before that shiny star on his lapel as it reflected the lamplight. Then she reached out and ran a finger lightly across the engraved letters.
"Careful,” Truman said in a low voice. “I'm not made of steel."
She looked up at his face, disregarding everything else. "I don't want you to be."
“Are you sure about that?”
Their eyes locked for a full ten seconds before he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, the gesture inflaming her desires to a shocking level of intensity. She ached to touch him, to kiss those soft full lips.
Turning her cheek into the warmth of his hand, she kissed his palm and sighed with pleasure.
"I've got to stay sharp," he whispered. "I can't be distracted."
He stopped talking all of a sudden. Then his lips covered hers in a hot and devouring kiss that took her breath away.
Chapter Seventeen
Truman's hands on her body and his mouth playing upon hers smothered the last shred of self-restraint Jessica possessed. She burned with desire as he swept her into his arms, carried her to the bed, and laid her softly onto the mattress. Their mouths met briefly. Then he came down beside her, his hand roving the length of her body.
"Jessica..." His breath was hot and m
oist against her cheek, and it sent a flurry of delicious sensation through her. "I can't protect you this way."
"No… please, don’t stop. I’ll die if you do."
He shut his eyes. "I’ve tried to get you out of my head, but I can't. Every time I close my eyes, there you are, and all I want to do is find you and touch you. Do this to you."
He rolled on top of her and settled his hips closer to the warmth of her jean-clad legs.
Jessica moaned, unprepared for the immediate intimacy as he kissed her deeply.
In a swift and smooth movement, he reached down and unbuckled his gun belt and tossed it onto the bedside table with a heavy clunk.
Down he came again, lowering his full weight upon her, thrusting, stroking, groping. They kissed roughly and tugged at each other’s clothes, while the passion sparked and flared into something unmanageable. There was no turning back now. She simply had to have him.
Truman reached to unfasten her jeans, but stopped in confusion. "What’s this?"
Jessica lifted her head off the pillow. "Nothing. It's a zipper."
"How does it work?"
“Like this.”
With crazy impatience, she unzipped them herself, and he slid his hand inside. She gasped with pleasure at his touch, while the fevered pounding of her heart sent her body over the edge.
"Take them off me…"
Needing no further bidding, he sat back and helped her tug the tight jeans down over her hips, while she unbuttoned her shirt with fumbling, trembling fingers.
He stared at her black bikini panties for a second or two, but thankfully disregarded whatever he was thinking and quickly removed his vest and shirt while he watched her remove hers.
He gazed with heady desire at her black lacy bra.
“It’s something new,” she explained. “It unhooks in the front. See?”
In a flash it was gone, tossed to the floor.
With equal haste, he unfastened his trousers and pushed them down over his hips, then settled himself between her parted thighs, looking down at her with sweltering, potent desire. "It's been a long time since I’ve—"
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