Page 63 of The Saloon Girl's Only Shot

With a small scream, she fell into a cataclysm far more powerful than any she’d ever felt. This was not the cresting of a hill to see a pretty valley beyond. This was a plunge off a cliff only to be caught by a hawk and carried away. She was dimly aware of his guttural shout and the way he pulsed in her hand, but she was twisting in the fires of her own release. Wave after wave of acute pleasure swept over her, causing her whole body to shudder in ecstasy.

She wanted to bite him. To pull him inside her skin. To cleave herself to him for all time, so long as she could feel like this forever.

“Owen, Owen,” she moaned against his throat, aware her hand was wet with his release.

“So good,” he murmured against her jaw, gently withdrawing his touch, but staying to caress and soothe her quivering flesh. “Oh, Temperance, that was?—”

Glass shattered. Something loud and heavy hit the floor in the parlor. Clarence leapt up to bark wildly, scaring a fresh scream out of Temperance.

Owen covered her as though protecting her from the roof caving in, shouting, “Fuck!” too loudly at her ear. “Wrap yourself in the blanket and get to the door.”

He threw back the covers and left the bed.

Owen fixed his drawers and picked up the six-shooter from the table by the bed where he always left it. Fumbling through the dark, he found the parlor door and cracked it.

“No fire.” That was a small relief. “Clarence, shut up.” He blocked the dog from pushing past him through the door.

“Clarence, come,” Temperance commanded in an undertone. “Do you want a candle?”

“Yeah, light one.” Owen kept his focus through the cracked door into the parlor, not seeing any movement or hearing any noise. There was a distinct draft from the smashed window, though.

The match caught, and Temperance brought him the candle.

“Stay here. Don’t let the dog in.” He slipped into the parlor, but there was nothing to see.

The gown she was sewing was on the table where she’d left it. The stove was cold because he’d only used it when he and Emmett were sleeping in here. Shards of glass glinted on the floor by the broken window, but there was no one in here.

Watching his step since his feet were bare, he checked the doors behind the black drapes. They were securely locked. So was the front door. There was no sign of movement outside. Whoever had done this was gone.

Owen picked his way to the horseshoe in the middle of the floor. There was nothing special about it except that it was well-worn and rusted, perhaps retrieved from the blacksmith’s pile of discards on the way here, since there was one up the street.

Swearing under his breath, Owen brought the shoe into the kitchen and latched the door.

Temperance had the kerosene lamp lit. Her eyes were wide as he showed her the horseshoe before hooking it on the handle of the kindling rack.

“The door is still locked. The only damage is the window.” Which would cost him a pretty penny to replace. He imagined that was the point.

“Who—?”

He snorted. “Make a list. Dudley. Fritz. Elmer. Sureshot.” He pulled on his trousers, then his shirt.

“Where are you going?”

“To check the horse. I won’t be long.”

“Take this.” She offered him the lantern.

He left her the candle, but the dog insisted on coming with him.

A quarter hour later, he returned and shrugged. “Quiet.”

She was at the table, pensively chewing the corner of her mouth.

“Temperance.” He waited until she looked at him. Her eyes were wide with distress. “I’m not leaving tomorrow.” He couldn’t do that to her.

Her shoulders sloped. “Thank you.” Her voice was shaken.

He nodded jerkily, but he couldn’t help wondering if this was Elmer’s doing. Was he keeping Owen here, so he had time to get his own cash together and buy him out?