Taken by the Cowboy (29 page)

Good God, if there was,
no matter what it took, or how long, she was going to discover
it.

Jessica pulled into the
museum parking lot at 9:45 Wednesday morning, and found it nearly
empty. Disappointed, and a great deal more nervous than she
expected to be, she adjusted her sunglasses, walked to the Visitor
Center, and waited.

She checked her watch.
Ten minutes to ten.

"He’d better show up,"
she said, feeling slightly irritable, for she had tossed and turned
all night, thinking about this moment, and she hated feeling so
powerless and unsure of herself.

A few seconds later, a
silver mini-van pulled into the lot. Jessica's nerves quivered with
anticipation, but a woman got out.

Next, a blue Accord
pulled in, but an older man climbed out.

Jessica checked her
watch again. It was five minutes to ten. She paced back and forth
in front of the entrance, her stomach burning with nervous
butterflies.

She checked her watch
one more time. It was ten o'clock. "Where is he?" she whispered,
looking around.

Just then, a shiny
black Mustang convertible with the top up drove in. She stopped
pacing and squinted, but the sun reflected off the car's
windshield, blinding her momentarily, so she couldn't see the
driver. The Mustang pulled into a spot near her car.

No one got out.

She waited.

And waited.

Finally, the door
opened. A dark-haired man wearing sunglasses, a white T-shirt and
faded blue jeans, stepped out onto the lot. Before she could get a
good look at him, he leaned into the car again to search for
something.

She could still see his
legs—clearly muscular and well-proportioned. She suspected he spent
a fair amount of time keeping in shape. Or maybe he just looked
like that naturally.

After a few seconds, he
straightened and shut the car door. When he turned and walked
toward her, he twirled and jingled his keys around on a finger,
then dropped them into his pocket.

Jessica felt her
insides zoom like a roller coaster.
That walk. That twirl of
the keys
. It was just like....

No, you’re
imagining it
.

She lifted a hand to
shade her eyes, and watched him approach. Her heart was pounding
like a big drum, faster and faster until she was sure it was
pummeling her ribs.

The man walked straight
toward her. Obviously there was no doubt in his mind who she was.
Then he removed his sunglasses, and Jessica sucked in a quick
breath. He looked so much like Truman, it was uncanny.

But he isn’t
Truman. He can’t be. Don’t even think it
.

He smiled at her with
that apologetic look Truman had given her so many times, but when
he came closer, she saw subtle differences. This man's eyes were
green, not blue, and the laugh lines around them were
different—more pronounced. He was not quite as tall as Truman, and
his hair was dark brown, not black.

He stopped when he
reached her, and stared.

His gaze traveled down
the length of her body to her black skirt and the same pair of red
pumps she had been wearing when she first met Truman.

She stared right back
at him. "Dr. Spencer?"

His eyes lifted. "Yes.
It’s nice to see you again, under better circumstances this
time."

“Indeed.”

They shook hands.

"Welcome home," he
said.

His words penetrated
her memory, curling around her emotions until she began to feel
overwhelmed by them.

What did he
mean…welcome home?

"Why did you call me?"
she asked tentatively.

"I...." A woman passed
by them, and he waited for her to enter the Visitor Center before
he continued. "Let’s take a walk."

"Sure."

He pressed his hand
into the small of her back to guide her along. The simple gesture
was so familiar, she felt hopes come at her from all directions.
Perhaps it was cowardice, but she beat back those hopes as fast as
she could focus her will-power.

"I know this may seem
strange to you," he said as they walked across the parking lot,
"but I've known you for a long time. Even before that day in the
hospital with Gregory."

Goosebumps shimmied
down her body. "I don't remember meeting you before."

"No, we hadn't actually
met...well, not really."

Jessica squared her
shoulders, gathering what strength she had left. "What are you
saying, Dr. Spencer?"

"Please, call me Jake."
He paused for a moment, staring intensely into her eyes. "I know
what happened to you. I know you traveled back in time, and I know
that you...that you miss someone."

None of this made
sense. Her head began to throb as she fought to control the
feelings she knew were illogical.

"And I know about
Truman," he added.

All her attempts to
stay calm, all her resolve to grieve silently for the man she
loved, evaporated before her like water on a hot stove.

Jake brushed a tear off
her cheek. "Please, don't cry," he said.

But she couldn't keep
her voice from breaking. "How? How could you know about him?"

"Because...I
am
him."

Shock exploded within
her. Before she knew what she was doing, she had turned and was
walking away from him.

"No, it's not
possible." She couldn't believe it. She couldn't risk another loss
like that if he were lying.

His footsteps followed,
tapping rapidly over the pavement. A familiar rhythm. Soon, his
hand closed around her elbow and he turned her around to face him.
"Jessica, it's me. You know it is.”

"No, you can’t be. "
Tears ran down her cheeks and her heart felt raw. She couldn't take
any more pain.

"Yes. It’s me."

"But you're not the
same,” she said. “You look different."

He nodded. "I know, but
you have to believe me. I was there. I was Truman, and I told you
I'd love you forever. It was the last thing I said to you. Please
remember."

Jessica stepped back,
away from him. It was impossible for anyone but Truman to know
that.

“How is this possible?”
was all she could say.

They started walking
again and paused in front of his car. "Truman died in 1881,” he
replied, “but somehow he…I…followed you here."

Jessica reached up and
touched his face. “How?”

"I know I look
different. I
am
different. Truman was born again in me,
and he lived an extra thirty years since the day you last saw
him.”

“I don’t
understand.”

“I didn’t either, not
until I was older. I always knew I was different – as a kid, I had
an obsession with the Old West – but I thought the memories were
just dreams or fantasies. Then it all started to seem very real to
me. I began to research Truman Wade, and sure enough, I found him.
I found photographs of him and newspaper articles describing things
I’d already known about. And I found things about you.”

Jessica felt unsteady
on her feet. She was still having trouble believing all this. Or
maybe she was afraid to believe it.

“Do you remember all of
Truman’s life?” she asked uncertainly.

He shook his head. “Not
all of it. Only certain things later on. I remember Dorothy, and I
recall things about bounty hunting, but most of all, I remember
you.”

Her heart warmed at the
words. “You’re a doctor now.”

“Yes. I did things
differently this time, and now my life makes more sense to me. You
have to believe me, Jessica. I've been waiting such a long time for
you to come back."

Suddenly she was filled
with a hopefulness she never imagined she would feel again. “But if
you’ve known about me for so long, why didn't you find me sooner?
I've been right here in Kansas for years. I almost married someone
else."

"I was afraid of
altering fate,” he replied.

She shook her head with
disbelief. "How long have you known who I was?"

"About five years. I
came to Dodge City when I finished my residency. To wait for you.
But I didn’t remember anything about you having a brother. I was
shocked to see you that day, and I tried so hard to save him. If I
could have foreseen what would happen to him, maybe I could have
done something to prevent it, but you were all I saw."

Jessica touched his
cheek and felt a lump form in her throat. "No more regrets,” she
said. “We can’t change the past. I don’t think we’re meant to. All
we can do is build the future.”

Jake nodded and kissed
the palm of her hand.

“When I first met
Truman,” she said, “I knew he looked familiar, but I couldn't place
him. Now, I remember. He reminded me of
you
. I remember
that day in the hospital. The day Gregory died. You knew my
name."

"Of course I did.”

"But," she said,
pulling away so she could look at him, "what have you been doing
all this time?"

"We have a lot to catch
up on," he told her with a smile. "Now I save lives, instead of
take them."

"Truman said that to me
once," she replied. "I dreamed he was a doctor, but he laughed at
the idea. I told him he could be anything he wanted to be."

Jake smiled. “I
remember that, too. It was the last day we were together. We were
riding on my horse. Maybe you planted the idea in me.”

A horn honked
somewhere. Such a modern sound.

"It is you, isn't it?"
she finally said, in a quiet, shaky voice.

"Yes."

Without hesitation she
wrapped her arms around his neck, laughing and crying at the same
time. Could she believe him? Could she really trust him? Dear
Lord...she had to. Nothing would ever mean anything to her again if
she couldn't have this. Again.

Jessica's feet came
clear off the ground as he lifted her and swung her in a
circle.

“I love you,” she
whispered in his ear, astonished by how quickly she could utter
those words to a man she thought she barely knew, but now it felt
so right, and so comfortable.

“I love you, too.”

When he set her down,
he gazed into her eyes for a second, then pressed his lips to
hers.

In that instant,
Jessica knew it was true. His lips were the same. The kiss was the
same.

He was Truman. Her
Truman.

He brushed her hair
away from her face. Jessica touched her necklace—the one Truman had
returned to her just before he died.

The pain of that day
still ached inside her, but as she looked at this man before her,
she realized it was fading fast. Truman had indeed come back to
her. He had promised her forever, and he had kept that promise.

She reached up and
touched Jake’s cheek. In his eyes, she saw the ageless connection
they shared.

He held his hands out
in front of him, turned them over and looked at his palms. "These
hands…they've never held a gun, and they never will."

She trembled with joy.
Everything that had happened made sense now.

"It's not going to be
just us, you know," she said, grinning mischievously, resting her
hand on her belly.

The news registered on
Jake’s face, and Jessica saw the faint memory of his own demons
disappearing. “I know.”

“How do you know?”

He gave an apologetic
shrug. “I’m a doc. When they brought you in, I was involved. I
followed your progress, but I couldn’t say anything to anyone. And
I knew I had to give you time to recover before I dropped this on
you.” He pulled her close and buried his face in her hair. "I'm so
happy," he said. "This time, I promise, everything really is going
to be all right."

A gentle sigh of a
breeze blew across their faces, hinting at hope and
contentment.

Jessica stepped back
and nodded. "I think it’s going to be better than all right."

Then her cell phone
rang, and his BlackBerry vibrated at his belt. They reached for
them quickly, then looked at each other and laughed.

“Let’s shut these off,”
he said, moving close to her again. He slid his warm hand up under
the hair at her nape and whispered in her ear. “It’s high time we
got out of here, don’t you think?”

She glanced up at him
flirtatiously as a delicious rush of desire shivered through her.
“That depends. What did you have in mind, Sheriff? And dare I
ask—will handcuffs be involved?”

He smirked and led her
toward his Mustang. “I’m game if you are.”

He opened the door for
her and waited until she was comfortably seated on the leather
upholstery before he shut the door, circled around the front, and
got into the driver’s seat. He slid the key into the ignition,
started the engine, and pushed a button to lower the top.

“Do you remember Angus
Maxwell?” he said, while the top retracted and folded away.

“Yes, of course. Why?
Is there some news about him?”

Jake turned down the
volume on the radio. “Nothing recent, but when I was researching I
came upon some announcements in the old newspapers. He married
Wendy Smith, and they had three children. All of his descendants
are living right here in Dodge.”

A tiny thrill moved
through her. “Have you tried to contact them?”

He shook his head. “No,
but I’ll be willing if it’s something you want to do.”

Jessica smiled at him
as a fresh breeze blew through her hair. “We’ll have to think about
that.”

He revved the engine
and adjusted the rearview mirror.

“Did you know I’m a
writer?” she asked.

“Of course. I read your
column religiously. I especially liked the one about how to train
for the New York Marathon. I’m thinking about doing that.”

“Yeah?” She sat up
straighter as her passion for running sparked in her veins. “Me,
too. But we’d have to qualify.”