Taken by the Cowboy (28 page)

"Baby, what happened to
you?" her father asked.

She shook her head. “I
can’t talk about it now. I need time to remember everything, and to
understand it. It seems like a dream.”

Her parents looked at
each with alarm.

"I just need to be
alone for a while,” Jessica said. “I'm tired. I’ll tell you more
later, I promise."

They nodded
reluctantly. "We’ll come back after dinner." Her parents gathered
their raincoats and headed for the door.

"Mom? Dad?" Jessica
called, just before they left.

"Yes?"

"I love you."

They both smiled. "We
love you, too dear. We're so glad you're home." The door swung shut
behind them.

Jessica turned onto her
side and stared at the radiator under the window. A bouquet of
daisies and pink carnations were set in a vase on the sill, but
they did little to elevate her spirits.

She'd never see him
again. The man in the black vest.

His name was
Truman
.

It was all so misty. If
only she could remember more…

She was carrying his
child, and she would never be able to tell him.

A lingering grief
washed over her.
Heaven help me
.

He died without knowing
he was going to be a father.

Jessica lifted her
wrist, examined the plastic hospital bracelet with her name on it,
then dropped her arm onto the white sheets. Rain pelted against the
window and an ambulance siren wailed outside.

For a long time, she
lay alone in her hospital bed, longing for the sounds of wagons and
the beating of hooves. Then slowly, more memories returned, until
she was certain her heart was lost forever. Lost somewhere else in
time.

She knew this familiar
world couldn’t replace what she’d found there. Her parents couldn’t
cure the pain she felt.

Where are you? If
there’s a heaven, and you’re there, please wait for me
.

With that prayer, she
drifted off.

* * *

Jessica spent only one
day in the hospital after the doctor examined her. He called it a
miracle. Considering the damage done to her car, which had been
crushed and mangled, it was astounding that she had survived.

"Your star was shining
that day," he said, pressing a cold stethoscope to her back.

Yes. That shiny star
crafted of steel....

She had not yet told
anyone where she had been. How could she possibly explain that she
believed traveled through a doorway in time to the year 1881? She'd
sound insane, and maybe she was.

So—after promising to
see a therapist to help her remember the forgotten month—Jessica
returned home.

As the hours and days
passed, and she settled into her familiar routine, it all began to
feel like a dream, as if it never really happened.

But it must have
happened, she kept telling herself, because she was pregnant.

* * *

On the third day,
Jessica decided to do some quiet investigating on her own. Her
first destination was the State Archives at the Kansas Museum of
History.

"Excuse me?" she said,
approaching the reference desk. A young woman looked up from her
work. Her brown hair and freckles reminded Jessica of a friend she
had made – a friend named Wendy. "Do you have newspapers from the
1800s?"

"Yes. We have most of
them on microfilm."

"Could I look at
some?"

"Certainly. I’ll just
need you to read our researcher policy, and I’ll need a photo
ID."

A few minutes later,
the woman showed Jessica how to find the microfilm roll numbers
using the card catalog. "Is there any particular date you're
looking for?"

"I'd like to see June
and July of 1881.
The Dodge City Chronicle
."

"You’re the second
person to come in here for those dates. Are you doing some kind of
project together?” The young woman searched for the correct rolls,
while Jessica tried to contemplate what she had just said.

There was someone
else?

“No, I’m not working
with anyone,” she replied. “Do you know who this person was?"

"I don’t know his name,
but he was very handsome. He's been here a few times. He didn’t say
what he was working on. Maybe he’s writing a book."

Jessica's mind began to
sort through some interesting possibilities. Perhaps someone else
knew about this doorway through time and was trying to learn more.
Maybe someone had followed her back. "You’re sure you don’t know
his name?"

She shook her head.
"I'm sorry." The young woman handed her the rolls of microfilm, and
showed her how to use the readers and make copies. "If there's
anything else you need, let me know, and when you’re finished,
please return to rolls to the cart by the microfilm attendant’s
desk."

"Thank you." Sitting
down, Jessica loaded the reel into place, pressed the forward
button, and began to search for the proper date.

The papers were
slightly out of focus, so she adjusted the knob and continued.
Pages and pages of newsprint sailed by, and Jessica stopped it
every second or two to check the dates. When she found a June
headline, she stopped and refocused her eyes. Her stomach flipped
over with disbelief.

JUNEBUG JESS KILLS LEFT
HAND LOU.

Jessica slumped back in
the chair. It was true. It really happened. She suddenly felt weak
and dizzy.

How would she explain
this? No one was ever going to believe it.

Sitting forward, she
adjusted the knob on the machine, skipped ahead a month, and
searched for the date Truman was shot. It was beyond hope, she
knew, but a part of her prayed that it hadn't happened the way she
remembered. Maybe, just maybe....

SHERIFF WADE
KILLED!

The bold headline
struck her agonizingly hard for the second time. The words were
just the same as she remembered. Nothing had changed.

Jessica read the
article, then rewound the microfilm and turned off the machine. She
couldn’t do any more research today. She needed to go home and
think about all this.

She stood up, took the
film rolls to the attendant, retrieved her purse and coat from the
lockers outside the research room, and left the building. Outside,
dark storm clouds swirled above and blew a strong, cold wind around
her. She walked slowly toward her car, pushing away a lock of hair
that had blown across her face.

Climbing into her
rental car, she turned the key in the ignition. As soon as she was
on the road again, she toyed with the cubic zirconia on her
necklace, her mind a hundred years away.

Forever certainly
didn't last very long.

When she returned to
her apartment, George was waiting at the door, wagging his tail.
"Hey, cutie." She shut the door behind her. George stood on his
hind legs, reaching up to Jessica as if he wanted a hug. Jessica
squatted down to have her chin licked, then rubbed behind his ears.
"Calm down," she laughed.

Rising to her feet, she
tossed her keys and purse onto the front hall table. The inside of
her apartment seemed dark and dismal with the curtains closed, so
she walked into the living room and flung open the drapes to looked
out over the city. The wind was picking up, blowing the clouds
across the sky at a clipped pace.

There was a time when
she loved her view from the eighth floor, but these days, Jessica
would have preferred a quiet neighborhood with a yard and a view of
the prairie. She was quite sure George would prefer that, too.

She went to the kitchen
and flicked on the overhead light. She plugged in the kettle and
dropped a tea bag into her favorite cup. While she stood waiting
for the water to boil, the telephone rang.

"Hello?" she
answered.

"Hi. It's me."

"Oh, hi, Mom." Jessica
sat down on the sofa.

"I just wanted to call
and see how you're doing.” There was a pause. “Would you like to
come for dinner this weekend and stay a few days? I could put a
roast in the oven and—"

"Thanks, Mom, but I
think I'll stay home. I'm not really in the mood to drive
anywhere."

“We could come and
visit you.”

Jessica gave no reply.
She couldn’t seem to get her mind off Truman. Sometimes it felt
like a dream. Other times, it felt more real than anything she’d
ever known.

Silence loomed at the
other end of the line. "Are you sure everything's all right?” her
mother asked. “You haven't been the same since you woke up in the
hospital. You seem sad. I wish you could talk to me about what
happened."

Tears pooled in
Jessica’s eyes, but she forced them away. "I'll be fine, Mom.
Really. Just give me some time. I start therapy on Monday, so I’m
sure that will help. I’ll talk to you soon, I promise."

"Okay, honey. But
remember, I'm here if you need anything."

"I know."

They said their
good-byes and hung up. The kettle was steaming, so Jessica hurried
to the counter to unplug it. When she tipped it to pour, the
telephone rang again. She walked around the counter and picked up
the receiver.

"Hello?" There was
silence at the other end. "Hello?

A man's voice spoke up.
"Jessica Delaney?"

"Yes."

There was a click, as
if she’d just been taken off speakerphone. "Hi,” he said. “I’m
sorry. This may seem strange. We don’t actually know each other,
but we have something in common, and I’m wondering if we could meet
to talk. I understand you just got out of the hospital."

Her heart began to
race. "Who's speaking, please?"

"My name is Jake
Spencer."

Jessica sat down on the
sofa. George hopped up beside her. Stroking the soft hair under his
chin, she tried to speak in a calm and steady voice.

“How do you know I was
in the hospital?”

“I work there.”

She paused. "Have we
met before? Your name sounds familiar.”

"Yes," he said, slowly.
There was another long, drawn-out silence. “I’m the surgeon who
operated on your brother last year.”

Nervously, Jessica bit
her lip. She wasn’t sure what, exactly, was going on here, and why
she felt like she was going to drop the phone. All she knew was
that she wanted desperately to learn more about Dr. Spencer, and
meet with him as soon as possible.

"What is it that you
want to talk about?" she carefully asked.

His voice was husky and
low. "Do you remember what happened to you after your car
accident?"

Jessica sat forward,
resting both elbows on her knees, while she grew more uneasy and
restless by the minute. "How do you know about that?"

"It's common knowledge
around here. Your parents conducted quite a search."

She glanced at George
beside her on the sofa. The dog was trembling for some reason.
"What do you want?" Jessica asked.

"I need to talk to you.
Do you remember where you were while you were missing? Jessica? Are
you still there?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"I need to know. Do you
remember anything about what happened?"

She hesitated, afraid
to trust anyone with this information. Fighting the urge to hang
up, she decided to take a chance and answer. "Yes."

He said nothing for a
long, tense moment.

"But I don't think I
can discuss it with anyone," she added, losing her courage all of a
sudden.

"Yes, you can,” he
replied. “I'd really like to talk to you about it. I've done some
research on...." He stopped.

Jessica’s heart thumped
madly in her chest. "Go on."

"I've done some
research on time travel, and I'd like to ask you some
questions."

A wave of panic rolled
over her. Did he know about the spot on the highway? Did he know
how to use it? Could he help her go back and save Truman’s
life?

She’d tell him not to
give up his gun when Henry demanded it. Or better yet, she’d never
ride out to Henry’s house in the first place.

Or if they did, they’d
take a posse.

"When would you like to
meet?" she asked.

"How about Wednesday
morning? I can come to Topeka, if that’s more convenient for
you."

"No, I’ll come to
Dodge. I need to visit my parents anyway. Where should we
meet?"

"How about the Boot
Hill Museum? In the parking lot adjacent to the Visitor
Center."

Jessica's palms were
clammy. She was breathing very fast.

Did he know? Did he
know about Truman?

"That would be
fine."

"Ten o'clock?"

"I'll see you then."
She hung up.

George rested his front
paws on Jessica's lap and stared up at her, whimpering. "Don’t
worry. I’m not going away again."

She patted him until he
stopped shaking.

A few minutes later,
she stood and returned to the kitchen for her tea. Plugging the
kettle in again, she leaned against the counter to wait.

Did Dr. Spencer know
how it worked? Maybe the same thing happened to him. After all, she
wasn't the only one. It happened to Angus as well. Who knew how
many others?

The kettle began to
steam. Jessica poured the hot water into her cup and plunged the
teabag on its string.

While it steeped, she
stared blankly at the wall, thinking about Truman and the child she
was carrying, and how desperately she wished she could tell him
about it.

The fact that she
traveled through time to find him somehow made his death more
difficult to bear. There were too many bizarre factors to accept it
like a normal passing. Before her car accident, he had been dead
for a hundred years, but she was still able to touch him, talk to
him, fall in love with him. Death had no meaning, and for that
reason, she just couldn’t seem to let go. Hope still lived and
breathed formidably within her.

If she could do it
once—meet him after he’d already died a century earlier—why
couldn't she do it again? Perhaps there was a way—a way to go back
and change what happened that day.