Page 54 of Taming Lady Temperance

James didn’t wait for more details.

“She has a weapon,” Miss Evans called after him.

That tidbit turned his jog into a run. A half-formed prayer for her protection shot from his soul as his feet pounded the street. A dozen scenarios played through his mind. None of them good.

As he turned down Main, he nearly plowed into Rico Travers.

Rico grabbed James’s arm. “You gotta get to the Salt Fork, Deputy. The woman’s gone plumb loco.”

“That’s where I’m headed.” Shaking off the man’s hold when he didn’t release him fast enough, James took off again, his gaze locked on the saloon at the end of the block.

He plowed through the batwing doors at the same time that Old Coop dragged Noreen off the bar. Jude Barlow helped, grabbing some kind of stick from her hands. A fire ignited in James’s belly as he witnessed the woman he loved struggle against a gang of men twice her size. Her anguished sobs flayed him like a whip upon his back.

In an instant, his gun was in his hand and aimed at the men who dared lay hands on Noreen. “Let her go,” James roared. “Now!”

Jude Barlow dropped the broom with a clatter and shot his arms straight into the air. Old Coop’s reaction was slightly slower but no less emphatic. He released Noreen as if she’d suddenly morphed into a pile of hot coals, opening his arms and holding out his palms while Noreen crumpled to the floor.

James expected her to jump to her feet and start railing at the men, but she didn’t. She just huddled on the floor, sobbing. Ice crystalized in his veins. Had she been hurt? Abused?

“Back away,” he barked as he marched forward. He waved his gun in case the men standing around were too drunk to understand his command.

They cleared a path. All except Taggert.

“They didn’t hurt her, Paxton,” the barkeeper said. “They just—”

“Move.” James pointed his gun at Taggert’s chest. Now was not the time for explanations.

Taggert raised his hands and stepped out of the way, offering a clear line of sight to the woman lying on a floor covered with tobacco spittle, spilled beer, and mud from the bottoms of men’s boots. The sight tore his heart in two.

He hurried to her side, holstering his weapon as he went. “Noreen?” He crouched beside her, gently resting his hands on her shoulders. Prepared for her to try to fend him off if she thought him another drunken cowboy, he wilted a little when she didn’t so much as lift her head. Her fire had been extinguished. “It’s James, honey. I’m here.”

Still no reaction. His gut tightened.

“Are you hurt, sweetheart?” He exerted a little pressure on her shoulders, trying to help her unfold so he could scan for blood.

Finally, she turned her face up to his. “James?”

Swollen red eyes peered at him through wet, spiky lashes. But it was the raw grief in her gaze that told James what he needed to know. She was hurt all right, but not from her scuffle with the Salt Fork patrons. Her wounds ran deep into the crevices of her spirit.

She reached for him, twisting her body to face his as she clasped his neck with enough force to nearly pull him over. His arms circled her and pressed her tightly against his chest as he steadied them both. Slowly, he pushed to his feet, and when she sagged against him, he swung her up into his arms.

He wanted to carry her back to his quarters, hold her, and soothe her until the storm bedeviling her passed. But he had a duty to perform as well, one that couldn’t be ignored.

He met the eyes of each man standing around gaping at Noreen. “I’ll be back to collect statements from each of you as soon as I get Miss O’Sullivan settled. Don’t be going anywhere.”

Taggert scoffed as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You coddle all your criminals this way, Paxton? Or just the ones you’re courting?”

James ground his teeth. “Miss O’Sullivan is no criminal.”

Taggert’s eyebrows rose to sarcastic heights. “No? Here I thought vandalism and destruction of private property were crimes. But I guess the high and mighty James Paxton knows the law better than a lowly tavern owner.” His gaze hardened. “Or maybe that skirt you’re holding has pulled the wool over your eyes and blinded you to actual evidence.”

Noreen gave a tiny moan and buried her face in his coat. James tightened his hold on her, but he also lifted his head and scanned his surroundings, taking in the broken bottles behind the bar, the cracked mirror, and the smell of alcohol emanating from Noreen’s clothing.

His gut soured at the evidence he could not deny.

“She traipsed in here, wielding that broomstick like a cudgel. Took a swing at Rico and another at me before she scrambled onto the bar and started smashing bottles left and right. That’s at least a hundred dollars’ worth of damage, if not more!”

“The little gal was upset, Milt,” Old Coop said.