Page 34 of The Saloon Girl's Only Shot
“Sit down,” one of the men said, offering his knee.
“I have someone buying me a drink at the bar. I’ll come back in a moment.”
Good grief! She looked for Jane who was being cajoled into yet another polka. It had to be draining the life out of her.
“Hello,” Temperance said when she hurried back to the bar. “I’m Rose. And who might you— Oh, sir. That drink was meant for me.”
He shot her glass of watery tea and frowned at it.
“What the hell is this?” He clapped the glass onto the bar and glared at her. “You charged me for bourbon.”
“Um—” She hadn’t. Mr. Fritz had taken his money and poured the drink, but it didn’t seem prudent to say so.
Her vision was suddenly filled with the back of Owen’s jacket.
“I know you.” Owen’s voice was barely audible over the din of men’s voices and the off-pitch notes from the squeezebox. “Sureshot. That’s what you call yourself, isn’t it?”
Did he jab the man’s chest? She tried to peer around Owen to see what was going on.
“That’s my name, yeah. But I don’t know you.” Mr. Sureshot tried to brush Owen aside to continue confronting Temperance, but Owen kept himself between them.
“Quail’s Creek. You rode in two months ago looking for a gold watch. You owe my partner twenty dollars for it. Pay up.” Owen stuck out his hand.
“The hell I do. Now git out of my way. That woman is trying to cheat me on a shot of bourbon, and I won’t stand for it.” He tried again to come around Owen to confront her.
Owen side-stepped, keeping himself between her and the other man. He wound up wedging Temperance against the bar and into the man standing on her other side.
That man decided to take advantage of her pressing up on him to grope her bottom.
“You fresh bastard!” Temperance jabbed the man with her elbow.
“Hey!” he grumbled.
“What—” Owen sent a murderous look over his shoulder.
The bum pincher sensed trouble and dodged to his left, knocking straight into the man next to him who bumped the next.
The whole drunken line staggered over, clinging to the bar like sailors falling overboard. As glasses tipped and spilled, one cried, “I’m not paying for that.”
Sureshot took advantage of the commotion to take a swing at Owen.
Owen evaded the blow, and Temperance cringed into the bar, tray raised as a shield, certain the flying fist would strike her. The next thing she knew, Owen had hold of Sureshot and propelled him across the room.
He crashed into one of the empty barrels being used as a gambling table. The barrel toppled. Cards, chips, and coins flew. Men leapt to their feet with a clatter and shouts of anger. Sureshot was turtled on the overturned barrel, trying to find his bearings while everyone else shoved and scrambled after the scattered coins.
“You’re gonna be sorry.” Sureshot rolled onto his hands and knees. He flattened one hand on the floor to push himself upright. His other hand reached for his holster.
Temperance reacted on instinct. She was still holding her tray and spun it at Sureshot, the way she and her younger siblings threw a pie plate on a fine day when Adelaide wasn’t around to stop them. The tray chopped Sureshot right in his throat.
“Gack.” He clutched his neck.
Owen had his own pistol in hand, but that didn’t stop another man from shouting, “Hey!”
The man who had been dancing with Jane thrust Jane away so abruptly, Jane staggered into the man playing the squeeze box. A discordant wheeze of the accordion resounded in a room that grew quiet as everyone realized Owen had his pistol drawn.
Temperance watched in astonishment as Jane’s partner charged toward Owen—who could have shot him! But Owen swung out his fist. The other man ran straight into it, landing on the floor on his backside. He sat blinking and holding his jaw, seeming confused by what had just happened. Everyone was.
“Enough!” Mr. Fritz had his long gun pointed it at the ceiling. “Take it outside.”