Chapter 33
Chapter
The jailhouse felt empty without her. James sat at the office table sipping coffee and pushing his sorry excuse for scrambled eggs around on his plate.
Back to eating his own cooking on Sunday and Wednesday nights.
Yet it wasn’t Noreen’s culinary talents he’d missed most this past week. It was her company.
Setting aside the half-finished plate of overcooked eggs and burnt toast, he hunched over his coffee mug and sighed like a lovesick polecat.
Shoot. No like about it. He was a lovesick polecat.
If Jethro and Josh could see him now, he’d never hear the end of their ribbing.
Judith, though . . . Judith would tell him to quit moping and do something about it.
Either get on with his courtship or pick a new project to pursue.
No lollygagging in the middle. Decent advice.
Just one problem—he wasn’t ready to pick a new project, and Noreen wasn’t ready to accept his courtship.
Which left him stewing in the inescapable middle.
He’d helped Noreen move out of the jail last Friday, carting her things over to the boardinghouse after her sentencing, but the hug she’d offered him in appreciation of his friendship during her incarceration had felt an awful lot like a good-bye sort of hug.
He’d told her straight out that he still intended to pay court to her, but she’d shook her head and said something ridiculous about not wanting to be the millstone around his neck that drowned his career.
The worst thing about it was that it was his own blasted fault.
When she’d first come to him for assistance, he’d tried to put her off, reciting his goal of being sheriff and explaining how allying himself with her temperance mission would likely turn voters against him.
Now that their relationship had taken an intimate turn, she was trying to give him what he’d said he’d wanted.
But his goals had changed. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted that sheriff’s badge.
A fact she refused to believe. Obstinate woman.
It didn’t help matters that finding time to talk to her had proven nearly impossible.
Noreen had taken on extra shifts at the hotel to increase her earnings.
Those extra shifts came mostly in the evenings as she filled the vacancy left by Luella Templeton.
Working such long hours left her exhausted by the end of the day, so even when he paid a late call at the boardinghouse, she turned him away.
He had half a mind to trump up a false charge so he’d have an excuse to arrest her again.
Get her alone. Make her see the truth about his intentions.
The situation might even call for some radical convincing techniques.
He could think of a few he’d like to try.
None of which involved talking, though lips would definitely be required.
Shaking his head at himself, James got up from the table, scraped his cold eggs into the scrap bin, then washed his dishes.
Maybe tomorrow he’d buy dinner at the hotel and see if he could wrangle a conversation with a particular staff member.
At least he wouldn’t be stuck eating his own cooking that way.
He couldn’t afford to let her out-stubborn him.
Not with something as important as their future on the line.
He’d just have to find creative ways to circumvent her defenses.
Not that different from laying siege to an outlaw den.
With a much better reward waiting at the end of the operation.
Any ideas you’d like to offer would be much appreciated, Lord.
A Jericho walk around the boardinghouse. A parting of the millpond. A pair of stone tablets appearing on his doorstep with inspired instructions. He’d be open to any of it at this point.
Unfortunately, by the time he turned in for the night, he was no closer to finding a solution than he had been hours before.
He fell into an uneasy sleep, dreaming of trying to find passage across an ever-widening chasm, until the clanging of a loud bell jerked him awake.
He sprang from bed, threw on his pants and boots, and grabbed his gun belt on the way to the door.
The instant he stepped outside, his gut knotted.
A dreadful glow lit the dark sky as the acrid smell of smoke filled his nostrils.
Ducking back inside, he dumped the contents of his slop pail onto the floor, then grabbed the handles of both it and the water bucket in the corner.
These weapons would serve him better against tonight’s enemy than his gun.
James ran down Second Street, past the courthouse, then cut the corner to Main, thankful that the fearsome glow led him away from Noreen’s boardinghouse. A man ran down the street in the opposite direction shouting news that choked James as much as the thickening smoke.
“The Salt Fork’s on fire! Save the saloon, save the town!”
James couldn’t claim any particular fondness for Milton Taggert, but the man had certainly had more than his share of trouble lately. Praying that there would be no loss of life this night, and minimal loss of property, James charged toward the fiery furnace.
A pounding on the boardinghouse door awakened Noreen from a deep sleep. Rubbing her eyes, she pushed back the covers and rose to a sitting position. The pounding came again, and Noreen’s heart adopted the thundering cadence.
“The Salt Fork’s on fire! Save the saloon, save the town!”
Fire. Noreen’s stomach clenched as the deadly announcement swiped the cobwebs from her mind.
She had to help. It didn’t matter that she wished the saloon gone.
Fire was no respecter of persons. Sparks could jump from building to building, taking out homes, churches, or schools.
The Albany Hotel where she worked stood only a few buildings away from the Salt Fork.
If the fire reached the hotel, she could lose her livelihood.
And what of the people staying there? She prayed they were being roused from their sleep as well.
That no lives would be endangered by the fire.
Noreen hurried to the armoire, grabbed her oldest work dress, and pulled it on over the top of her nightgown.
After snatching a pair of stockings from a drawer and her shoes from the end of her bed, she sat on the edge of the mattress and attired her feet.
Once shod, she hurried to the dresser, where she shoved the items she always kept with her into her pocket.
Her key, coin purse, and handkerchief. She flinched a bit when she grabbed the plain white cotton square.
She still couldn’t believe that she’d misplaced her spinster society handkerchief sometime over the last few days.
She kept hoping it would turn up, but even after a thorough search of all her drawers, pockets, and handbags, it remained missing.
Probably a casualty of her longer work hours combined with the mental stress of trying to discourage James’s attention when, in truth, she craved his company.
James. He was probably already out there, organizing a water line and making sure everyone was safe. He’d need help, and she intended to see that he had it.
Leaving her sleeping braid to flop against her back, Noreen exited her room and ran down the stairs.
“Somehow I knew you’d be fool enough to charge into the fray.” Her landlady met her by the door, a white sleeping cap covering her hair. She clutched a robe closed beneath her chin with one hand.
Noreen bit back a groan. She didn’t have time for a lecture on propriety or the unsuitability of women in firefighting endeavors. James needed her. The town needed her. And she’d not let a stuffy old busybody like Mrs. Barker stop her from—
“Here.” Mrs. Barker extended her arm toward Noreen, a milk pail dangling from her fingers. “Can’t have ya showin’ up empty-handed.”
“Thanks.” Noreen clasped the pail’s handle, though it took a moment to get past the shock of her landlady’s unaccustomed charity.
“Just don’t lose it, or I’m adding the cost to next month’s rent.”
And just like that, the world tilted back onto its normal axis. Noreen smiled. “I won’t.”
“Go on with ya, now.” Mrs. Barker opened the front door, and the chill of the night air sent a shiver coursing down Noreen’s nape. “Just mind yer skirt,” Mrs. Barker called as Noreen hurried down the porch steps. “Don’t let a stray spark catch hold of ya.”
It was almost as if her landlady cared.
Now that she thought about it, Mrs. Barker had made no protest when Noreen returned to the boardinghouse after her stint in jail, either.
She’d fussed at her about not letting her rent payments slip now that she had additional bills to pay, but she’d not made good on her oft-made threat to toss Noreen out if she ever ran afoul of the law.
Could it be that the woman’s starchy manner hid a kind heart?
Noreen paused at the street and turned to lift a hand in parting. “I’ll be careful.”
“See that ya are” came the crotchety response.
The faint smell of smoke in the air urged Noreen not to linger.
Turning in the direction of the saloon, she set off at a trot, her bucket swinging at her side.
The air thickened as she passed the hotel, and shouting voices drew her closer to the building that seemed to glow from within.
She’d often thought of the saloon as an evil place, but tonight it looked truly demonic.
Fiery eyes taunted from broken-out windows.
Undulating creatures locked inside hissed and snapped as they demanded release.
God help us.