Taken by the Cowboy Read Free Page B

hadn't actually looked at his feet, but as he walked, the
sound of the spurs jingling alerted her senses to everything about
him.
    Someone moved aside,
and a gentle stream of light reflected off the shiny star pinned to
the man's lapel.
    It read: Sheriff.
    Thank God
.
    He angled his head and
spoke in low voice – sort of like Clint Eastwood, but not exactly.
"Ma’am, you look a little distressed. Can I be of some
assistance?"
    His observation, which
couldn't have been closer to the truth, melted all her cool bravado
in an instant, and she was so relieved, she could have grabbed hold
of his shirt collar, pulled him toward her, and kissed him square
on the lips.
    "Yes, you can,” she
replied. “I’m so glad you’re here. Thank you for coming so
quickly."
    He chuckled softly, but
the smile in his eyes was cold and calculating.
    “I wouldn’t thank me
just yet,” he drawled, as he wrapped his big hand around her arm
and tugged her closer. “Because by the look of things here, missy,
you’re gonna be spending the night in my jailhouse.”
    The crowd murmured
approval, while Jessica glanced up at his ruggedly handsome
features, bronzed by wind and sun, then cautiously lowered her eyes
to the gun at his hip.
    He shook his head at
her, as if she’d been a very naughty girl, and said, “Tsk tsk tsk,”
while she paused to think carefully about the best way to handle
this.

Chapter Two
     
     
    Wetting her lips and
clearing her throat, Jessica managed to muster some dignity from
somewhere inside, and proudly wiped her mud-splattered cheek with a
finger.
    Without a word, the
sheriff reached into his pocket and handed her a crisp white
handkerchief.
    “Thank you,” she coolly
replied, while she proceeded to clean her face and wipe her
hands.
    "She just killed Left
Hand Lou, Sheriff!” someone said. “Imagine, a pretty little thing
like that—"
    "I see what happened,
Matthew," the sheriff said, without taking his eyes off her. "But
I’d like to hear the whole story from the lady."
    With calculated
decorum, Jessica finished wiping the mud from her hands and passed
the kerchief back to him. He shoved it into his coat pocket.
    "Is that the gun that
killed this man?" he asked.
    "Yes, sir, it is,"
Matthew replied as he bent to pick up the revolver at her feet.
    Proudly he raised the
revolver for everyone to see, and there was no shortage of more
'oohs' and 'ahs' from the crowd as muddy water dripped from the
barrel.
    This was getting worse
by the second.
    "Hand it over,” the
sheriff said to Matthew. His inquisitive eyes studied Jessica with
intentional detached interest as he took the wet revolver, shook
out the excess water and shoved it into his belt.
    "You haven't told me
your name yet," he said.
    “Jessica Delaney.”
    “Well, Miss Delaney,”
he replied, “I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. The name is
Truman Wade.” He tapped his thumb against the ivory handle of his
gun.
    It was clear he held
the silent crowd's respect. Or maybe they feared him. Judging by
the way Jessica felt at the moment, it was probably the latter.
    “Are you going to tell
me what happened here,” he asked, “or am I gonna have to ask the
dead man?”
    Jessica turned to
examine the corpse behind her. "You don't understand. There's been
a mistake."
    The sheriff's quiet
laughter made her clench her jaw in aggravation. Wondering what the
joke was all about—when a dead man lay two feet away—she faced the
cool lawman again.
    "You mean to tell me,"
he drawled, "you shot this man square between the eyes by
mistake?"
    The crowd jeered until
Sheriff Wade cast his steely gaze in their direction. He turned
back to her, an eyebrow raised as he waited.
    "No. That's not what
happened—"
    "So you did it on
purpose, then."
    She shook her head,
struggling to play it cool, and decided a casual chuckle might, in
fact, be apropos. Glancing around at the nosy spectators, she tried
to smile and said, "No, of course not. I don't even know how to
shoot a