Page 53 of Taming Lady Temperance

She spotted her quarry trying to hide behind the bar. Narrowing her gaze, she strode for the gleaming mahogany counter. Voices ceased their prattle as awareness of her presence spread through the room.

Poised behind the bar with a towel in one hand and a glass in the other, Milton Taggert turned. His eyes flew wide a moment before they narrowed into slits.

“Get out of my bar, Noreen.” He moved down to the edge of the bar closest to her and jabbed a finger toward the door as if she might not be aware of how to find the exit.

She tightened her grip on the broom handle and glared at her nemesis. “Claude Templeton beat his daughter nearly to death today, Mr. Taggert. Because he was drunk out of his mind, thanks to your vile brew.” Her voice swelled in volume and stridency as the reins on her emotions slid from her grasp. She smacked her broomstick against the bar, and the man sitting two stools down flinched. “A child, Mr. Taggert. An innocent, loving, kindhearted young girl is lying in Dr. Perry’s clinic right this moment broken, bloodied, and bruised because of your need to make a profit.” Her voice broke and tears misted her eyes, but the weakness only enraged her further.

“Look, Noreen, I’m sorry the girl was hurt, but what a man does after he leaves here has nothing to do with me.”

“Nothing to do with you?” she screeched. “It has everything to do with you.” She wagged her broom near his face, but he knocked it aside with the side of his hand. “You fill these men up with poison day after day, then claim it’s not your fault when they sicken? Do you have no care for the destruction of our community? For the safety of our children?”

Tremors beset her, but she refused to back down. Refused to surrender.

A man came up behind her and touched her arm. “C’mon, Miz O’Sullivan. Let me walk ya ho—”

“Don’t touch me!” She whirled on him, nearly taking his head off with her broom.

“Whoa!” He lunged backward just in time to avoid her wild swing.

She hadn’t meant to attack him, but he’d startled her. An automatic apology rose to her tongue, but she bit it back. These men could overpower her at any moment. She had to take advantage of their surprise and what few manners their mamas had drilled into their boyhood brains.

Heart thundering, hands sweating, and lungs heaving, she dodged the man beside her and ran down to the end of the bar. Taggert moved to intercept her.

“Go fetch the law, Rico,” he shouted.

Using one of the bar stools like a ladder, Noreen scrambled up onto the bar and stood atop its polished surface.

“Get down from there, you imbecile,” Taggert yelled. “You’re gonna get hurt.” He reached for her ankle, but she leapt over his hand and ran down the bar as if it were the middle of the street.

Her sensible shoes and plain navy skirt reflected in the bar’s mirrors as she turned to face her Goliath. She held a stick instead of a stone, but she would bring this giant down.

Gripping the broom like a bat, she swung with all her might. Glass shattered as the broom handle sliced across a row of liquor bottles. The sharp smell of spirits hit her in the face, turning her stomach and bringing her tears back to the surface.

Taggert’s shouts barely registered.

For Luella! Swing. For temperance! Swing. For her daddy. Swing.

Tears rolled down her face, blurring her vision and obstructing her aim. Sobs wracked her body and weakened her arms as new griefs and old ones combined.

Arms grabbed her from behind and dragged her off the bar. Someone else caught her broom and wrenched it from her hands. She kicked and struggled, but most of all, she wept.

James led the unhitched Templeton team to a trough inside the livery corral, then patted the shoulder of the horse nearest him as the animal dipped his head to drink. He’d arranged for them to be boarded until closer to sundown when he would deliver them back to the homestead. He planned to make himself comfortable in Claude Templeton’s house as he waited for the man’s return. He and Claude were gonna be having some serious words.

“Deputy Paxton!”

James lifted his head at the feminine call. Martha Evans waved at him as she ran down the street. Immediately alert, James ducked through the corral fence and strode to meet her.

“Hurry! You have to stop her.” The usually unruffled schoolmarm looked about as ruffly as one of his mama’s aprons. Loose tendrils of hair flying about, petticoats exposed from her dash down the street, eyes wide and a bit wild.

“Stop who?” He purposely spoke slowly and in a low timbre to try to calm Miss Evans. Pulling information from a flustered witness was like piecing together a jigsaw puzzle. Much more efficient to spend a moment steadying the person’s pulse so he could extract the facts in an orderly fashion.

“Noreen.”

The moment he heard the name, all thoughts of calm fled.

“Where is she?” he demanded. Location was the most critical information. The why and how could wait. If Noreen was in trouble, he needed to get to her. Period. The rest could be figured out later.

“I think she’s heading for the saloon.”