Free Taken by the Cowboy by Julianne MacLean

a buffalo, complete with
the foul odor and unsightly hump on his back.
    In the flash of a
second, one man at the table drew a weapon. By the time his gun
went off, it was flying through the air, riding on Truman's bullet,
which lodged in the wall behind them. Dust floated from the ceiling
onto the man's hat, and his gun landed in a spittoon. He swallowed
hard, then looked at Bart with eyes wide as saucers.
    Truman cocked his
weapon again. Corey's jaw clenched. He drew and fired. Half a
second later, Corey's revolver was spinning on the floor behind
him.
    Truman was getting
tired of this game. He pointed his six-shooter at each man at the
table, daring anyone else to draw. No one did.
    "Okay, Sheriff," Bart
said. "You've proved your point. That's enough boys. We don't want
any more trouble." Bart sat back down and waved at Wendy to bring a
bottle.
    Truman backed away from
the table. "I expect you boys'll be leavin' town first thing?"
    "We'll be gone before
you know it," Bart replied, without looking up.
    Turning to leave,
Truman flipped a coin toward the barkeep, who caught it in his
hand. He pushed through the saloon doors, hopped off the boardwalk,
and freed Thunder from the hitching rail.
    Just then, Wendy came
running out of the saloon. "Sheriff Wade!"
    He paused, still
holding the reins.
    "Those men in there…”
she said. “Do you know who they are?"
    "They look like a bunch
of ignorant horse thieves to me. Other than that—"
    "They used to ride with
Left Hand Lou."
    Truman glanced back
into the saloon and suddenly remembered where he had seen the one
who was rolling the cigarette—sleeping in a jail cell once, a
couple of years back.
    Truman laid a
reassuring hand on Wendy's shoulder, then turned away and hoisted
himself up into the saddle.
    "Aren't you going to
arrest them?"
    "Can't."
    "Why not?"
    "No time to explain
now. Let me know if they cause any more trouble. There's something
I gotta do."
    Wendy backed away, and
Truman galloped off. He had something to tell Miss Delaney, and he
had to tell her now.
    * * *
    From the second story
bedroom window of Mr. Maxwell’s house, Jessica saw a horse and
rider galloping up the hill, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.
She recognized that black hat and black coat sailing on the wind.
It was Sheriff Wade.
    She watched him ride up
to the house and dismount, then take Mr. Maxwell’s front steps, two
at a time, to the top. A quick second later, rapid knocks sounded
at the door. Jessica’s heart began to race. Something was
definitely wrong.
    Before she had a chance
to put on her shoes, the screen door swung open and Wade barged in.
“Anyone here?”
    Jessica called out to
him. “I’m upstairs!”
    His heavy boots pounded
up the stairs, and suddenly there he was, filling her bedroom
doorway with his striking, black-clad form. He halted when he
caught sight of her, as if he'd just walked in on a naked lady.
    "Whatever it is, I
didn't do it," she said, as she struggled to calm her raging
pulse.
    Wade glanced at the
brass bed. He went speechless for a second, as if he realized, only
then, the impropriety of where he was—but he recovered quickly, and
his eyes caught hers.
    Boldly, he strode into
the room.
    "What’s happening?" she
asked.
    “You can't stay
here."
    "Why not?"
    Tension simmered behind
those compelling blue eyes. "Because you're going to need some
protection.”
    Without another word of
explanation, he led her toward the stairs.
    "Tell me what’s
happened,” she said. “I need to know."
    They descended the
stairs together, and when they reached the ground floor, he moved
to the parlor window and peered out onto the street. "Someone wants
you dead."
    The words reverberated
off the walls before they finally settled into her consciousness.
"Who? What are you talking about?"
    "That outlaw you gunned
down had some friends,” he explained, “and they decided to pay a
visit to Dodge."
    She shook her head,
refusing to accept what he was suggesting. "Maybe they