Page 16 of Taming Lady Temperance

James met Carlson’s gaze. “I could use the help.”

The rancher nodded and immediately took charge. “Brent! Leonard!” He signaled his nearly grown sons by raising a hand above his head and rotating it in a circle. “Time to turn the stampede. Drive ’em back to the square. Deputy’s orders.”

James winced a bit at the loud dismissal of Noreen’s role, but she didn’t react to the announcement. Instead, she’d worked her way over to an imposing older woman actively shooing one of the Carlson boys away from her.

“I am not a heifer to be herded, young man.”

“No, but you are a leader in this community, Miss Lockwood,” Noreen countered as she stepped in front of Brent, freeing him to round up other strays. “Your example will be a powerful force for good. The last thing we need is for another weapon to discharge in this crowd. Think of the children. We must minimize their danger. Will you help me? Mothers will listen to you more readily than to me. Please. Deputy Paxton will soon have things in hand. Let us not add to his burden.”

Her voice faded as James wended his way through the crowd, but he glanced back into the throng once he pushed his way onto the hotel boardwalk and picked out her face from the dozens swimming through his field of vision. Once he caught her eye, he nodded his thanks. She dipped her chin in return even as she steered Hortense Lockwood back toward the square, a handful of other ladies following in their wake.

He’d told her to stay behind, but for once, he was glad she’d ignored his advice. Noreen possessed steady nerves and an abundance of common sense, two critical assets in a crisis. She’d assessed in a heartbeat what needed to be accomplished and unabashedly delegated assignments to those well-qualified to carry them out. Undaunted by those who might discount her efforts, she waded into the fray anyway, not looking for commendation, only results. Precisely the type of unselfish, level-headedness a man in his line of work appreciated.

What he didn’t appreciate was half a dozen people swarming him as he stepped back down into the street, all flappin’ their gums and pointin’ fingers at someone else in their hurry to justify themselves.

“His dog attacked my chickens . . .”

“. . . came out of nowhere . . .”

“Someone’s gotta pay for my busted window!”

“. . . them flutterin’ flappers spooked my . . .”

“That ain’t how it happened . . .”

“I could have been killed!”

James holstered his revolver and whistled with earsplitting precision. The people hovering around him backed away a step and fell blessedly silent.

“You will speak one at a time and not until I address you, is that understood?”

The three youngest of the bunch responded to his authoritative demand with humbled nods, but the others went right back to pleading their cases. James slashed his hand through the air like a butcher wielding a cleaver and narrowed his gaze.

“Enough!” The clamor died. “Test me again, and I’ll throw you all in the clink, where you will stay until Judge Lynch can sort out this mess.” He drilled a look into each person, and while Mr. Gaines, the hotel manager, looked disgruntled and Mr. Freeman glowered back while clutching his blacksmith’s hammer, they all managed to hold their tongues.

“Good choice. Now, first order of business. Freeman, has anyone been injured?”

James had examined the street while being harangued upon his arrival and hadn’t noticed any obvious casualties. Not of the human variety, anyway. Four or five crates that had once housed chickens had toppled from the back of an overloaded farm wagon and broken open. Hens of all colors and sizes squawked and fluttered about while a pair of boys who likely belonged to the wagon ran around trying to catch them without much success. Boards from the lumber shed lay scattered in the road in front of the carpentry shop across the street as if they’d been dropped in a hurry. Unsettled by the chickens, the wagon’s team stomped and snorted, as did a pair of saddle horses hitched at the hotel rail.

The blacksmith met James’s gaze and shook his head. “Naw. The fool woman managed to miss anything vital.”

“The hotel’s front window is quite vital,” Mr. Gaines muttered.

James chose to ignore him. Instead, he turned his attention to the one female in their midst, a gray-haired woman who stood barely five feet tall. Her weathered skin and chapped hands bespoke a life of hard work, and the shotgun gripped in front of her warned she’d not be one to back down without a fight.

“Ma’am? Did you discharge your weapon within city limits?”

“I did.”

“Endangering public safety in such a manner is a jailable offense, ma’am.” He extended his palm toward her. “I’m afraid I need to confiscate your weapon.”

She held tight to the gun. “Thievery’s a crime, too, ain’t it? By law, I got the right to protect my family and my belongings. That’s all I was doin’.”

“Hand me the shotgun, ma’am, then tell me what happened.”

Reluctantly, she loosened her grip on the weapon and allowed James to take possession of it. The barrel was still warm. One shell spent, the other waiting in the chamber. James removed the second shell and stuffed it in his coat pocket as the woman started recounting the events that led up to the shooting.

“This fella’s dog ran out into the street and startled my team. The horses bolted, and we hit a rut that nearly threw me outta my seat. Bounced my hen crates right outta the wagon and busted them all to pieces. Poor birds were in a panic as it was, then that thievin’ hound come back around chasing and snapping, stirring ’em up even worse. I hollered at him to leave them be, but he paid me no mind. Well, I wasn’t about to let him eat my chickens. Not with my grandchildren lookin’ on. So I grabbed my shotgun and aimed for the sky, hopin’ the boom of the gun would scare the varmint away.”