Taken by the Cowboy (21 page)

If only she could take
him with her, but would he even want that? Would
she
? How
sensible or realistic would it be to bring a lawman from the Wild
West into the twenty-first century? How would they ever live?

She leaned up on an
elbow and looked into his eyes. “You can tell me anything,” she
said, “because I have secrets, too. Things you wouldn’t
believe.”

He touched her cheek.
“I’ve always known that, since the first moment we met.” Abruptly,
he sat up. Then he stood and rested his forehead on a low timber
beam.

Jessica rose and
approached him. "Tell me everything. I want to know all your
secrets. Then I’ll tell you mine."

A vein pulsed at his
temple. "I don’t know if I can. The words are like poison on my
tongue."

He moved into the
shadows and sat down on the chair. Jessica picked up the lantern
and set it on the dirt floor at his feet.

He leaned forward with
his elbows on his knees, his hands locked together in front of
him.

"Why don’t you want me
to love you?” she boldly asked.

He lifted his eyes, and
the malice was there again, reflecting in the lamplight. "Dorothy
loved me,” he said, “and I wish every day that she hadn't."

"Are you afraid I'll
get sick and die, like she did?"

He pinched the bridge
of his nose. “No, it’s not that.”

“What is it, then?”

There was a long pause.
“It was my fault that she died."

Jessica knelt down and
took his hands in hers. "She was sick, Truman. You can’t blame
yourself. It was no one’s fault.”

He glared at her with
dark and brooding hostility. "You’re wrong about that.”

“How?”

The flame in the
lantern sputtered and hissed. “Because I shot her."

A cold wave of shock
moved through Jessica as she digested Truman’s words.

"What happened?”

He sat forward again,
rested his elbows on his knees, and looked her in the eye as he
spoke.

"She was sick—that much
is true—and we couldn’t run the farm. We needed money, so I set out
to collect what I thought would be an easy reward. There was an
outlaw they called Big Dog. He knew I was looking for him, and by
that time, folks knew my aim was good, and I didn't miss my mark
often. I reckon he wanted to get to me before I could get to him,
so he came to the house."

Jessica swallowed over
the sickening lump of dread that rose up in her throat.

"When Big Dog walked in
my front door,” he continued, “I drew my weapon. Big Dog shot me in
the shoulder, and I shot him at the same time. He dropped his gun
but stayed on his feet, while I fell back onto the floor. He was
wobbling, and I figured he'd go down any time. So I lay there with
my six-shooter aimed at his head, not even knowing if I had any
bullets left."

Sitting back in the
chair, Truman kept his eyes trained on Jessica’s. “That’s when
Dorothy came out of the bedroom with my shotgun. I didn’t see her.
She was so quiet on her bare feet. Big Dog saw her though. He made
a move for his gun, so I fired. Dorothy stepped between us right
then and took my bullet in her back." His quiet voice shook. "She
thought Big Dog shot her, and I never told her the difference. She
died right there in my arms. The last thing she said was, ‘I saved
you.’"

Jessica got down on her
knees in front of him. “I’m very sorry, Truman.”

"I buried her on the
hill,” he continued, “and everyone in town thought..." He looked
down. "I told them Big Dog shot her. Then I took the reward money,
sold the ranch, and left town for good."

"It was an
accident."

"But I should have told
people. I should have told her folks. They were good people, and I
lied to them."

“You’d been through
hell, dealing with the worst kind of guilt. You were in no state to
think clearly.” She ran her fingers down his arm, searching for the
right words.

"I killed my wife,” he
said, shaking his head. “I’ll never forgive myself for it, and I
don’t want to lose you like I lost her."

"You will forgive
yourself,” she said. “I’ll make sure of it. And you won't lose
me."

A chill shivered up her
spine. Could she really promise him that?

Suddenly, in a rush of
movement, he stood up, pulled her to her feet, and smothered her
next words with a deep, open-mouthed kiss that left her burning
with love and desire.

She knew she had to
tell him the truth about where she came from, but he needed her
now. He needed this, so she would confess her secrets later.
Besides, morning would be here soon, and they’d done enough
talking....

His lips seared a path
down her neck, and she threw her head back, opening herself to him
completely.

"I need to make love to
you," he growled in her ear, and just the sound of his voice fired
a tremor of relentless passion into her blood.

Jessica slid her hand
down his firm thigh and wondered how he had endured the past two
years without intimacy, hiding his secret from the world.
"Yes...."

In a reckless flurry of
movement, she unfastened his trousers and slid her hand inside. He
responded with a groan of pleasure, while she touched her lips to
the fine curve of his collarbone, tasting the delicious salty
flavor of his skin. Nipping gently, her lips followed her trembling
fingers as she undid the buttons of his shirt and kissed his chest.
He pulled his shirt off over his head, and her lips found the firm,
smooth corded surface of muscle at his stomach.

Next, with clumsy
fingers, she unbuckled his empty gun belt and dropped it onto the
ground beside them.

"Come to the blanket,"
he said, taking her hand and leading her into the shadows. "We'll
be more comfortable there."

She followed him away
from the lamplight into the darkness where he had laid their bed.
Barely able to see him, she reached out to touch him instead, her
impassioned senses shifting away from sight and becoming alert to
smells, sounds, and textures. Locked together, they sank onto the
blanket.

Truman uttered a husky
murmur and lowered himself on top of her. She wrapped her legs
around him, unable to get close enough, wanting, craving everything
she knew he was going to do with her.

His lips blindly sought
the sensitive flesh at her neck. Warm kisses journeyed to her
shoulder as he slid a hand inside her shirt. He released each
button and slid the shirt off her, covering her with his hot,
sensuous weight.

"You feel good," he
whispered, reaching down to unfasten her jeans.

She wiggled out of
them. He removed his, and as soon as he was naked beside her, she
rolled onto him. "Lie back." She pressed her palm to his chest and
guided him down. "Relax."

"That’s not possible."
His tone was low and laden with desire.

His fingers found her
breasts and inflamed her swirling senses as she eased herself down
onto him, melting around him. Slowly she moved with controlled
effort. The hard swell of him filled her with soaring pleasure.

"God," he moaned, his
hands trailing down her flat stomach and around her hips to guide
her in the directions that pleased him. Jessica tipped her head
back, swaying to his rhythm.

She went where he moved
her, learning what he liked and what worked for her. Then she
needed more, so she thrust faster, impatiently, until she was
drained of strength, her body depleted of its power to thrust any
harder.

Truman sat up and
rolled them over onto the woolen blanket. "I wish we could do this
forever," she heard herself say in a cloud of pleasure, aware that
she was denying the dangerous reality that faced them.

"We will," he
replied.

Within moments, his
hips were grinding against hers, deeper each time as she arched her
back. His name spilled from her lips, begging, pleading for
more—more of his blinding, plunging desire.

Then, just as she began
to believe there was no ecstasy more perfect than this, her body
gave way, and she bit her lip to suppress the urge to cry out his
name. All the sensual pleasures of life came to her at once, until
she was spent, collapsing upon him, her arms falling open to the
ground.

* * *

The bed above them had
creaked and squeaked during the night, giving Truman something to
pay attention to outside of his own thoughts and regrets.

Nestled beside Jessica,
who slept contentedly on his shoulder, he stared up at the
blackness above him and wondered how he could ever live his life
from this day forward without her.

He simply couldn’t. He
was devoted now, for the rest of his days. That’s the kind of man
he was. When he loved, he loved forever. It was not something he
took lightly. He loved from the deepest reaches of his soul. Not
even death would keep him from her now.

Brushing the tip of his
thumb over the soft, creamy skin at her neck, he recalled the
sounds she had made when she’d shuddered beneath him. The bliss of
that moment had consumed him so completely, he had imagined their
predicament was all a bad dream.

Lying here now, he knew
that to be a sad hallucination.

Truman shifted. His arm
was falling asleep, but he didn't want to wake Jessica. Her
breathing had grown steady quite some time ago, and she had not
stirred except for a slight twitching of her cheek where it was
snuggled against his shoulder. Her heavy hair lay across his chest,
tickling him each time it fluttered against the light breezes of
her sweet breaths. He touched her lightly, but noticed the back of
her arm seemed cold. He covered it with his hand.

A few moments passed.
In the quiet, he felt her awakening, by the change in her breathing
and the subtle movement of her head as she swallowed. Then a sweet
whisper floated into his consciousness. "Do you think we'll be all
right tomorrow?"

Truman hugged her.
"Yes."

They had discussed
their escape strategy in great detail after they’d made love.

If only he had his gun.
The sorry events of the day before made him want to lash out and
smack that overhead beam. He'd been foolish to ride up to that
wagon without thinking. He should have slept at some point. He
shouldn't have believed he could stay alert.

Pins and needles
tingled up his arm, so he tried to move. Jessica, so incredibly
attuned to his needs, lifted her cheek, sat up, and watched him
roll his shoulder to get the feeling back.

"Maybe we should get
dressed," she said.

"Yeah. It must be
almost dawn." He reached across her and picked up her clothes,
holding them out to her. "Do you remember what to do?"

"I think so," she
answered, wiggling into her jeans.

He stood to pull on his
clothes. "It would be best to let me do the talking."

He buckled his empty
gun belt and shook his head at the foolish comfort he took from the
ritual.

"What should we do
now?" Jessica asked, combing her fingers through her hair.

"There's not much we
can do but wait."

Truman looked into her
eyes and wondered how they had come to this. "I'm sorry," he said.
"I promised I'd protect you, didn't I?"

Just then, the cellar
door burst open.

* * *

A shot of panic fired
into Jessica’s blood as she was blinded by the bright sunlight
cascading down the cellar steps. Reaching for Truman's hand, she
knew this was the moment that would decide their fate.

He squeezed her hand,
then moved protectively in front of her. Two dirty boots stepped
into view and stomped down.

"Howdy," Corey grunted,
sucking on a cigar. He pulled it from his thin lips and tapped
ashes onto the dirt floor.

Jessica wanted to dash
forward, throw her body into him, and punch him repeatedly in the
head, but one look at the revolver in his belt told her that would
not be a wise move.

Truman spoke daringly.
"What do you want, Corey?"

"You know exactly what
I want." He placed the cigar between his teeth and walked into the
shadows. "You two have been spending an awful lot of time together
lately."

Jessica bit her lip,
wondering how in the world they were going to make their plan
work.

"Get to the point,"
Truman demanded, his eyes narrowing.

"Bart wanted to kill
you, Wade, but I told him not to. I knew you was worth
keeping."

Calmly, Truman removed
his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. "Why’s that?"

Corey pointed his cigar
toward Jessica. "It don’t take a fool to see that you and this
little lady are workin' together, maybe even enjoying a little
naughty business on the side."

"What's your point?"
Truman replied.

"Well," he said,
tapping more ashes onto the floor. "That makes things easier. You
see, if one of you was to be in a whole lot of pain—"

"Touch her, and you're
a dead man," Truman ground out.

Jessica felt the heat
of his fury in the pit of her stomach and was glad she wasn't on
the receiving end of it. She took one look at Corey and guessed he
felt the same way. He cleared his throat nervously, and then
continued as if he hadn't been interrupted.

"If one of you was in
pain,” he continued, “maybe the other might think more carefully
about givin' us what we want. Love is funny like that, ain't
it?"

Jessica touched
Truman's shoulder. "Maybe we should give it to him."

He shook his head. "No,
because he won’t let us live anyway. If we’re going to die, we’ll
die together—right here."

Jessica's hand dropped,
certain that her contribution to the discussion had moved things
along. It was a good thing, too, because she sure as hell was tired
of wasting time, and she wanted to beat this ass to a pulp.