Page 90 of The Saloon Girl's Only Shot

Through her ringing ears, she heard a huge thump, staggering footsteps, shouts of alarm followed by crashes and grunts and things being knocked over.

Just as she gathered her limp muscles to start running for the back door, she heard Owen shout, “Temperance!”

“Y-yes?”

“Get me a string of rope from the wagon house.”

“Okay.” She was going to faint, she was pretty sure, but the bracing cold outside rejuvenated her. Clarence had retreated into the wagon house and hesitantly waggled up to her.

She patted him briefly, then grabbed the first bundle of rope she saw before staggering back to the house, feet slipping in the uneven snow.

When she entered the parlor, she found Owen sitting on top of Elmer, who was face down on the floor. Owen held one of Elmer’s arms twisted into the middle of his back.

Elmer was swearing, but Owen gave his arm a little wiggle and said, “Clean it up. There’s a lady present.”

“Is that what you’re calling her?”

“I don’t need any more reasons to kill you, Elmer. Start looking for ways to convince me you should live. Thanks, Rosie. Good job keeping a cool head.” He started roping Elmer like a cattleman with a yearling.

“I couldn’t shoot him.” Her head was no longer attached to her body. Her knees were so loose she could barely stand.

“I didn’t expect you to.”

“I mean, I couldn’t get him in my sight. I had to aim for his gun when he put it on the bar.”

“You got it. Left a crease in the bar that’ll make anyone think twice about robbing this place. You also busted the hell out of my mirror, which is seven years bad luck. Good thing I have a horseshoe to cancel that out. Was that you, Elmer?” Owen gave a final loop of the rope around Elmer’s ankles and stood over him, nudging his hip with the toe of his boot. “Did you throw that horseshoe through my window? Because I’m going to charge you for that.”

“It was his m-mom.” Her lips felt numb. Her vision was blurring.

“Ivy Greenly broke my wind— Whoa.” Owen caught Temperance by the upper arms as her knees gave way. “So, you’re a fainter.” He gathered her up and sat her in a chair but he didn’t let go of her. That was a good thing since she felt limp as a ragdoll, held up only by his grip. “We all react differently to danger. I like to make jokes. Elmer wets his drawers.”

“I did not. Fuck you.” Elmer turned his head to glare at them.

Owen ignored him and knelt in front of her, holding her upright while hugging her and kissing the side of her bonnet.

“Are you going to faint? Because as much as I’d like to cuddle you until you feel better, I have to call the manure wagon to scrape this shit off my floor. You want me to put you on the bed first?”

She gave a little sob-laugh, reaching for her bearings now that she could see Elmer was hogtied. “I could make some coffee?”

“Could you? I’d like that. You want a shot of whiskey first?”

“I really do.”

“Stay right here. I’ll get it.” He kissed her once on the lips and walked away.

Owen had nearly died of fright when he’d been standing trapped in his cellar with an empty pistol and an empty strongbox, and heard Clarence bark, telling him that Temperance had arrived.

He didn’t care if Elmer took a couple of pounds of gold. Well, he cared, but he could track that fucker the rest of his life to get it back. There was no getting Temperance back if something happened to her, though. That had been the thought that had nearly popped his heart out his throat.

He had shouted at her to run, trying to keep her from walking up on a desperate man—and Elmer had to be desperate, given he had such a low chance of getting away with his ill-conceived crime.

After pouring a drink for Temperance, Owen downed two himself, then he leaned out his front door. He whistled sharply to Frenchie, who was up the street, smoking and leaning on a shovel. Two other men stood by. They were all looking this direction.

“You got trouble, Owen?” Frenchie called. “We heard a shot.”

“Tell the marshal I stopped a robbery,” he called out.

“Merde. Anyone killed?”