The Rebel by Julianne MacLean Read Free Book Online Page A

was part of the Dodge City Museum—a re-creation of historic Front Street, mostly visited by tourists. But this didn’t look anything like that.
    It seemed far more real. Almost too authentic.
    She backed into a post to let a group of men in tattered cowboy costumes pass by, then glanced at the swinging doors. From where she stood, she could hear glasses clinking and dice rolling. There was a click and clatter of poker chips and 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