Page 5 of Taming Lady Temperance

As he’d hoped, she tossed a glare over her shoulder at him. He smiled, grabbed the brim of his hat, and dipped his chin.

She made no comment, just disappeared into the house and closed the door with unladylike force.

James shook his head as his grin stretched wide. The man who hitched his wagon to that spitfire would never be bored, that’s for sure. ’Course he’d have to tame her first. An unlikely prospect when the filly in question would rather trample a man than sacrifice her freedom.

Good thing he was too busy building his credentials as a future sheriff candidate to bother with unbroke fillies, or he might actually be tempted to try his hand at gentling that one.

Chapter

3

The nerve of that man! Interfering in her business. Restricting her freedom. Smiling at her as if he actually liked her. Despicable, deceitful man. He might bamboozle other women with his calm demeanor and dry wit, but she saw through his façade. Deputy James Paxton had cared about one thing tonight—getting her away from the Salt Fork and preserving the peace for Milton Taggert and his saloon full of liquor lovers. And he’d succeeded, dragging her away like some kind of criminal.

Noreen wiped her shoes on the rug inside the boardinghouse entryway as if trying to wear a hole in the weave.

“You better not be in trouble with the law again.”

Noreen swallowed a gasp as her chin lurched upward and her gaze landed on the disapproving frown of her landlady. “Mrs. Barker, you startled me.”

The woman prowled around the lower floors of the house with the stealth of a cat. And with her teacup in hand, and her mention of the law, Noreen had no doubt she’d been sitting by the front parlor window, spying on whomever happened by. Especially her tenants.

“Maybe you’d hear better if you didn’t slam doors and attack my rug like a grater on cheese.”

Noreen swallowed the sarcastic retort that sprang to mind and forced an apology through her tight throat instead. “Sorry, Mrs. Barker.”

She couldn’t afford to lose her room here. It was the only respectable place in town for female boarders and therefore the only alternative to her stepfather’s home. Her mother might have chosen to tie her life to Arthur Clevenger, but Noreen had made no such vow, and the moment she’d found employment, she’d escaped from under his roof and under his thumb.

Mrs. Barker raised a brow as if doubting the sincerity of Noreen’s apology, not an unwarranted reaction. “I only rent to women with good morals, Miss O’Sullivan. You run afoul of the law, and you’re out on your ear.”

Oh for pity’s sake. “I am not a criminal, Mrs. Barker. I’m a reformer endeavoring to make this community a better place. A safer place. All within the bounds of the law, I assure you.”

“If that’s so, then why did Deputy Paxton deliver you to my door? And don’t try to feed me any nonsense about him courtin’ you, ’cause I won’t believe it.”

“Of course he’s not courting me.” Though an inexplicable pang jabbed her chest at her landlady’s assumption of the impossibility of such an occurrence. Was she really so repellent that the idea of a man wanting to woo her was unfathomable? Noreen shoved the depressing notion aside and focused on the issue at hand. “Deputy Paxton happened across me in town.” No need to specify where. “And being the gentlemanly type, he insisted upon walking me home.”

Mrs. Barker sniffed. “That does sound like something the deputy would do. He’s such a nice young man. Always ready with a smile and a willingness to lend a hand.”

Her expression softened into something that almost looked . . . dreamy. Noreen couldn’t recall ever seeing such a wistful look on the middle-aged woman’s face.

“Reminds me of my Percy, God rest his soul. That man had a heart of gold. Needed it to put up with my persnickety ways.” Her mouth curved at the corners, and a shadow of a dimple appeared in her left cheek.

Noreen nearly lost her balance while standing on flat feet. Mrs. Barker had a dimple?

The miraculous dent disappeared in the next heartbeat, however, returning the widow to her normal prudish state.

“Well, get on with you, then.” Mrs. Barker shooed her toward the staircase with the hand not holding her tea. “You’re the last one in, as usual. I need to lock up for the night.”

More than happy to escape the judgmental glances and unflattering repartee, Noreen bid her proprietress a tepid good-night and hurried up the stairs to the small room with the slanted ceiling next to the bathroom. It was the cheapest space in the boardinghouse, cramped and noisy when water ran through the pipes, but it was home, and the moment Noreen crossed the threshold, a layer of stress fell from her shoulders.

No critical attitudes could find her here. No whispers of pity or condescension could penetrate the walls. No maternal disappointment or paternal bullying would spring at her from behind the dresser, and no angry saloon owners with fisted hands stood ready to silence her with physical force.

Here in the privacy of her room she could drop her bravado and admit that if Deputy Paxton hadn’t been there to intervene, her debate with Milton Taggert could have ended very differently. Noreen sighed as she crossed to her washstand and unfastened the top few buttons on her high-necked blouse.

Growing up with a drunkard father who possessed a mean streak that could slice with cruel words or bludgeon with backhanded blows depending on his mood, she knew the dangers of pushing too hard. Of making herself a target. But coming away from the spinster society meeting, she’d been too full of renewed zeal to exercise caution. She couldn’t imagine Frances Willard backing down. She’d stand for what was right, no matter the personal consequences.

As Noreen poured water from the ewer into the chipped porcelain basin, Deputy Paxton’s voice rang through her memory.

“How many men did you keep from entering the saloon tonight?”