Read Taken by the Cowboy for Free Online

the dress one last time. “Keep it,” he
said. Then he dipped his pen in an ink jar and set to work.
    She wondered curiously
what could have happened to his wife—if he was willing to give her
clothes away to a stranger—but thought better of asking.
    Once outside, Jessica
squinted into the bright morning sunshine. A buckboard and team
rolled by, its driver bouncing about like a Mexican jumping bean.
She recoiled in disgust as the stink of pigs assaulted her
nostrils. Two large, snorting hogs scurried past, but stopped to
sniff a few randomly spread cow patties. Did they actually herd
cattle through here?
    She made her way down
the stairs, carrying her only possessions from the twenty-first
century—her blue jeans, her pink scarf, and her favorite
jacket—then crossed the street and stepped up onto the
boardwalk.
    A large clock in a shop
window ticked away the seconds. A display box contained a few
publications,
Peterson's Ladies' National Magazine
and
Harper's Bazaar
. She searched longingly for a high color,
glossy magazine with Jennifer Lopez on the cover, or wedding
pictures of William and Kate. No such luck.
    She walked on, stopping
at each window along the way. A barber advertised a shave for five
cents and a haircut for ten. This whole experience was far too real
to be a hallucination.
    Soon, Jessica reached
the end of the boardwalk and had to step onto the street again.
Retrieving Mr. Maxwell's card from her pocket, she stared at the
address written in black ink. She was thankful to have somewhere to
go, and asked a young woman for directions.
    When she arrived a few
minutes later, he welcomed her with a smile. "My dear, where did
you get the dress?"
    "Sheriff Wade gave it
to me," she replied as she entered his house. "It belongs to his
wife."
    Mr. Maxwell frowned.
"His wife? Sheriff Wade has never been married. Not that I know
of."
    She looked down at the
skirt's tiny floral print against the blue background. "Why would
he lie?"
    "Who knows? Sheriff
Wade keeps his personal life to himself, which is why I'm surprised
he mentioned anything at all. But he can shoot straight—that's what
counts. They say he’s killed ten men."
    Ten men
.
    "That’s supposed to
impress me?” Jessica asked.
    He studied her
intently. “I suppose not, but keep in mind, things are different
here compared to what you’re accustomed to.”
    She followed him into
the parlor. “Doesn't anyone around here worry that he might be
dangerous? Anyone who could kill ten men without thinking about it
has to have some personal issues. And how do you know what I’m
accustomed to?”
    He didn’t answer the
question. Instead, he gestured for Jessica to sit down. "I've been
here since Wade took the job, and I have no complaints,” he said.
“I like him a whole lot better than that Wyatt Earp fellow. Now
there was a man who attracted all kinds of problems."
    "You met Wyatt
Earp?"
    "Certainly did. He was
deputy marshal in '76 and deputy sheriff as well. Would you like
some tea?"
    Jessica nodded. While
he went to fetch it, she gazed around at the Victorian furnishings
and paintings on the walls, and felt wildly displaced.
    "I suppose you saw
The Chronicle
?" Mr. Maxwell shouted out from the
kitchen.
    "Yes,” she replied,
“and I know we said I killed Lou to get me out of jail, but I hate
the idea of people thinking I killed a man. And what if someone
else comes forward to collect the money?"
    "I reckon they would
have already done so by now,” he replied. “I suspect whoever did it
is an outlaw, too, and was long gone by the time Sheriff Wade got
there." Mr. Maxwell returned, pushing a teacart into the middle of
the room. “It would be foolish to change your story now.”
    “But we could try to
prove I didn’t do it.”
    He shook his head as he
picked up the teapot and poured her a cup. “That would be
pointless. They don't have pathologists to retrieve bullet
fragments and prove you didn't do it. It's best if you stick with
the story that