Page 13 of Taming Lady Temperance

One corner of her mouth twitched upward at his teasing, and his entire chest lightened at the sight.

“No, sir. Someone once warned me that offended gentlemen were likely to become obstinate. You’re mulish enough already.”

He chuckled. “Fair point.” Thankful to see some of the sass and spark returning to her eyes, James tipped his head back toward the heart of town. “I’ve got a skillet full of poorly cooked potatoes and a ham sandwich I’m happy to share if you haven’t eaten. Nothing fancy, but it will keep your stomach from rumbling.”

She hesitated, so he leaned close and offered the first enticement that came to mind. “I’ll let you look at the new wanted posters that came in the mail yesterday.”

Even as he dangled the ridiculous bait, it surprised him how much he hoped she’d agree.

A genuine smile blossomed on her face, banishing some of the red from her eyes. “How could I possibly resist the chance to ogle two-dimensional felons?”

A laugh burst from him. The woman sure had an entertaining way of stringing words together. “Well, they do tend to behave themselves better than the three-dimensional variety.”

She snickered softly, and James counted it as fine an accomplishment as when he’d captured his first cattle rustler.

“I’m glad to know they won’t disrupt our meal.”

James held his hand over his heart. “I’ll be sure to keep them in line.” After dipping his head in what he hoped was a gallant manner, he gestured toward the road behind them. “May I escort you to the Jailhouse Café?”

Noreen nodded, one of her dark curls springing free of its pin to bounce behind her ear as her chin bobbed. “You may.”

They walked back to town at a relaxed pace, a nice change from the frenzied scurry that had brought them to the millpond. Neither of them spoke during the return trip, but the silence between them radiated more peace than awkwardness. He rather enjoyed it. Once they made it back to the jailhouse and she saw the state of his potatoes, however, her tongue loosened.

“Oh dear. This is worse than I anticipated.” She fingered the skillet handle as if afraid she might be contaminated by the contents.

Heat flared in James’s face, but he hid it by turning to the wall to hang up his hat. “You can take the sandwich,” he said. “I didn’t make it, so it’s bound to be edible. I’ve got an iron stomach after years of eating my own cooking.”

“Don’t worry. I can fix this.”

Without asking permission, she started rummaging through the shelf that held his meager cooking supplies. She also unwrapped his sandwich and started dismantling it. He opened his mouth to stop her from destroying the one edible item in the room, but then he recalled that she worked in the kitchen of the Albany Hotel. Maybe she could salvage something from his mess.

In truth, she did more than salvage. She created a masterpiece. After removing the burnt edges of his potatoes, she added some bacon fat, chopped ham from his sandwich, and fresh onion slices. She stirred and flipped with magical precision until everything was golden-brown and sizzling. She portioned the hash onto a pair of tin plates he’d wiped down for her, then surprised him by grabbing the sandwich bread and laying it flat in the skillet drippings and taking it back to the stove until it formed a delicious crust. He dipped out water for her and poured himself a cup of overly strong coffee, then sat down for a meal that would have warranted a white tablecloth had they been anywhere but the jailhouse.

“This looks amazing.” His stomach growled in agreement, earning a delighted laugh from the chef.

“I couldn’t let you eat half-cooked potatoes. Not after you’ve been so kind to me.”

James pulled the desk chair over to the worktable for her and held it while she sat. “I’m not sure that chasing you down and infringing on your privacy merits such tasty favor, but I’m not fool enough to turn down a well-cooked meal. Or the pleasure of sharing it with such a lovely companion.”

She blinked at him as if he’d taken her aback, but before he could figure out how to get his foot out of his mouth, she gestured for him to sit and folded her hands as if waiting for him to say grace.

He cleared his throat, a jolt of nervousness zipping through him. He didn’t usually pray aloud with anyone but family, but he supposed he could manage something simple. Bowing his head, he closed his eyes and spoke from his heart. “Thank you for this food, Lord, and for sending someone with the skill to prepare it properly. We’re grateful for your provision, not only to satisfy our physical hunger but our spiritual and personal hungers as well.” Heal Noreen’s hurt, Lord. Fill the empty places in her heart with your Bread of Life. “May we honor you with the lives we live and the choices we make. In your holy Son’s name, amen.”

“Amen.” Noreen’s soft echo of his closing settled on his heart like butter soaking into warm bread.

Not wanting to consider the ramifications of that particular observation, he grabbed his fork and tucked into his food. Salty, crunchy goodness filled his senses, and a moan escaped him before he could rein it in. “This is delicious!”

A pleased smile lit her face as she raised her own fork. “Glad you like it.”

She didn’t say more until he’d cleaned every bite from his plate and leaned backward in his chair to pat his satisfied belly. Man, but the woman could cook. He muffled a contented belch, then reached for his coffee.

“I could cook for you on my nights off, if you like. I don’t work Sundays or Wednesdays.” Why was she dipping her head as if she were suddenly feeling shy?

“Miss Noreen, I’d eat your cooking any day of the week.”

“Perfect,” she said as she reached for his empty plate, her eyes gleaming. “That will give us plenty of time to strategize my new approach to closing the saloon.”

And just like that, the savory meal he’d consumed turned to rocks in his gut.