Page 33 of Taming Lady Temperance

Noreen swallowed a groan, only half due to the fact that there was a better than average chance of Deputy’s Paxton’s social call making the headlines of the next edition of the Albany News. The other half was due to having to face James and try to explain why she hadn’t brought him the meal she’d promised.

One thing was certain, however. She needed to get James away from Mrs. Barker. Her landlady was an expert eavesdropper, and whatever the deputy intended to say, Noreen preferred to be the only one listening.

“Thank you, Mrs. Barker.” Noreen removed her napkin from her lap, then rose to her feet.

As she passed through the doorway, her landlady touched her arm and whispered in her ear. “Don’t mess this up, Noreen. You’re not likely to have another half-decent man show interest in you.”

She supposed the woman had good intentions in dispensing that less-than-helpful guidance, but Noreen bristled anyway. Not because of the woman’s doubt in her ability to attract a man—by Noreen’s reckoning, that assessment was accurate—but because of her characterization of the man waiting in the parlor.

“You’re wrong about him, ma’am,” Noreen whispered back. “James Paxton is not half decent. Decency fills him to the brim and runneth over. Be sure to portray him accurately when you tell your tales.”

Mrs. Barker took a step back, her eyes wide. She blinked at Noreen as if she’d never seen her before.

Taking advantage of the opening, Noreen slid through the doorway and down the hall. She paused outside the parlor to inhale a steadying breath and wing a prayer heavenward for courage, then stepped across the threshold.

Chapter

17

James shot to his feet the moment Noreen stepped into the room. “Hi. Uh . . .”

He moved toward her, then stopped, not sure of the proper protocol of a social call that fell somewhere between courtship and friendship, where both -ships were navigating rocky shoals thanks to some misdirection by an overzealous captain.

Noreen inched his direction as well, then blurted, “Would you like to take a walk?”

Anything to get him away from the ridiculous maritime analogies swimming through his head. He was a Texan, for pity’s sake. All mental comparisons should involve horses, six-guns, and stampeding cattle.

“A walk sounds right fine.”

He collected his hat from the sofa cushion where he’d left it and gestured for her to lead the way. She did, not stopping until they were a good twenty yards from the boardinghouse. At that point, she halted and spun around so fast, he nearly plowed into her front. Thankfully, he managed to rein in before he trod on her toes.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry.”

Their duet couldn’t have been more synchronized if they’d rehearsed it. They even stepped back in unison, widening the space between them to a distance more conducive to conversation than kissing.

Where in the world had the thought of kissing come from? Well, he supposed he knew the answer. Male and female lips in close proximity tended to spawn such notions, especially when the female lips belonged to a certain spitfire who had a habit of tugging on his heartstrings. James ducked his head and gave it a subtle shake, hoping to dislodge the ill-timed idea.

“James, I really am sorry.” Noreen’s voice brought his head up. “And not just about our near collision.” The small, self-deprecating smile that brightened her eyes went straight to his heart.

He’d forgive her just about anything when she looked at him like that.

“You’re not the only one with a sore conscience,” he admitted. “Mine’s been aching all week. I stuck my nose in where I wasn’t invited and overstepped the bounds of our friendship. I’m sorry for upsetting you like I did, and I’m extra sorry if my actions have caused you to want to avoid me.”

She hung her head, hiding her pretty eyes from him. “I’m the one who got defensive and stormed out. You didn’t deserve that. You also don’t deserve to go hungry thanks to my reneging on our agreement. I made beef stew and corn bread, intending to deliver them to you, but I took the coward’s way out and shared them with Mrs. Barker instead.”

James craned his neck downward, hunting for her eyes. “You know I don’t really care about the food, right?”

Her chin tipped up a notch, a vulnerability in her eyes she usually kept well hidden.

“I won’t lie, I love your cooking, but there’s no need to feel an obligation to feed me. I’m happy to help you with your rally or with anything else, free of charge. No strings or food attached.”

Her brow furrowed slightly. “So you’re not angry that I didn’t bring you supper?”

“Not even a little.” He grinned, glad he could put one of her concerns to rest. “In fact, if you haven’t eaten too much already tonight, I’d be happy to treat you to supper at the café. Seems only fair that I should feed you after you fed me. Twice. And goodness knows, you don’t want to eat anything I cook up myself.”

“Dinner? At the café?” Her expression vacillated somewhere between flustered and befuddled.