Taken by the Cowboy Read Free

billiard balls while a man hollered above the
music, "Twenty-five-to-one!"
    Her stomach churned
again. She really needed to find a phone.
    She decided to try the
saloon, but shrank back when she glanced at the window. June bugs.
She hated June bugs. When she was seven years old, her best
friend's little brother had planted some in her bed during a
camping trip and they’d given her the heebie-jeebies ever
since.
    Trying not to think
about that anymore, Jessica shivered with disgust, pushed through
the doors, and collided with a thick wall of cigar smoke. Her nose
crinkled. Stifling a cough, she gazed uneasily over the crowd.
    Most of the men wore
hats and looked as if they'd just walked out of an old movie.
    Focusing on what she
had come in for, she approached the bar. "Excuse me. I've been in a
car accident and I need to get to a phone. Do you have one that I
could use?"
    The bartender, who wore
a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, topped by a brown vest,
stared at her while he polished a shot glass.
    "Sir?" she asked again.
"Can you at least tell me how I can get to Dodge City? The
real
Dodge City?"
    "This is it, darlin’.
You're exactly where you want to be."
    Now this was getting
ridiculous. "No, you don’t understand. I've been in an accident and
I need a phone."
    "Don't have no phone,
but I’ve heard about ’em."
    Jessica stared at the
man for an agonizing second, then turned on her heels and walked to
the window. A snake handler wandered by carrying a lantern.
Following closely behind him was a squealing pig.
    She rubbed her
throbbing temples and squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe she did have a
head injury and this was all a hallucination, or maybe she was
unconscious and dreaming.
    She returned to the
bar. "Is there a telephone
anywhere
in this town?"
    "Not that I know of."
He turned around and placed the polished shot glass on a shelf.
    Enough was enough.
Jessica pushed a damp lock of her hair behind her ear and took a
deep breath to calm herself.
    "Are you fixin' to buy
a drink, ma’am,” he asked, “or are you just gonna stand there and
stare at me all night?"
    Jessica glanced around
the saloon at the rough and tough looking clientele, and held up a
hand. “No thanks. I’ll find help elsewhere.” Struggling to keep it
together, she walked out.
    Squinting through the
darkness, she searched for a friendly face or a shop with some
lights on, but all she saw were those same two drunken cowboys
flinging bottles, laughing uproariously and spitting tobacco.
    Suddenly a shot rang
out in the street. Panic exploded in her belly, and she ran back
into the saloon. "Is there a police station nearby?” she said to
the bartender. “I really need some help."
    "You'd be looking for
Sheriff Wade,” he casually replied. “He's just over that way in the
city clerk’s office, not far from the depot and the water tank." He
pointed a bottle of whisky toward the window.
    "Is it far? I have to
walk there by myself."
    "Not far, but a young
woman ain't safe roaming these streets alone during cattle season.
These cowboys have been on the trail a while, and have a hankering
for more than just the chuck wagon, if you understand my meaning."
He leaned over the bar and glanced down at her skinny jeans and
muddy red pumps. "They'll be takin' a shinin' to you, even dressed
the way you are in those britches."
    "I'll be fine." She
turned and walked out the door.
    She hopped off the
boardwalk and down onto the street with a splash, groaning when she
sank ankle-deep into the mud. No matter. She'd be at the sheriff's
office soon enough, and this whole thing would be straightened
out.
    She stopped, however,
when something tickled and buzzed behind her ear. She scratched and
tousled her hair, then realized with a terrible surge of panic that
a June bug was stuck in her hair!
    Jessica shrieked. She
tried to brush it away, but it was tangled in her long wet locks.
She tossed her head around, flailed her arms in all directions, and
jumped