Free Wicked Wyoming Nights by Leigh Greenwood

focus and she felt like she couldn’t get her breath; the room started to spin so fast she was sure her legs would buckle under her any minute.
    Then the grip on her fell away, there was a distinct thud, and the music stopped. The noise ceased just as abruptly. When Eliza’s vision cleared the men in the room were locked into place like so many wax images, a maelstrom stopped in mid-stride. Two men lay sprawled on the floor, and miraculously, Cord Stedman stood before her.
    “Are you all right, Miss Sage?”
    Astonishment held her speechless; she couldn’t even nod her head “Somebody throw these two out,” Cord ordered, and moments later the two bodies were sent tumbling into the street. “Now, if the rest of you will be seated, maybe Miss Sage will finish her song.”
    “What the hell do you mean busting in here like you owned the place?” Ira exploded, oblivious to Eliza’s effort to resume her song. “This is not Bear Creek.”
    Cord stared at him with smoldering anger. “Is this your niece?” he demanded.
    “That’s got nothing to do with it. This is my saloon and—”
    “I wouldn’t be surprised to find out you’re not related to her at all. A real uncle wouldn’t toss his own flesh and blood into a dog pit. Even dumb animals care for their young.” The audience was not misled by Cord’s appearance of calm; he never interfered, but when he did, he meant for things to go his way.
    “You can’t tell me how to take care of my kin.”
    “Somebody ought to. Seems like you can’t get the hang of it yourself.” Cord’s bushy brows almost met in the center of his head, and his eyes sank further behind their barrier, the lids lowered, his look hooded and speculative.
    “He looks like a cougar about to pounce,” one man whispered.
    “You don’t deserve a niece as beautiful and talented as Miss Sage,” Cord went on. “Protecting and providing for her should be an honor no man would lay down as long as there was breath in him. And you boys are a disgrace to the calling that gives you your name,” he said, turning to face the bemused cowboys. “Bother her again and you’ll explain it to me. Touch her and you’d better be south of Douglas before sunrise.” Cord’s left hand was balled into a tight fist, a fact missed by very few.
    Eliza knew she had to be dreaming. No one had ever said such things about her. The idea of protecting her, of providing for her, of being proud of her was almost too much to comprehend. Such things only happened in books, yet in less than three minutes this strange, enigmatic man had turned her whole world upside down, dumped her miserable existence into the dust, and handed her a new, exciting self, but one so much like a princess she could hardly believe it was real.
    “I hear tell you usually sing three songs, Miss Sage. If our manners haven’t given you a disgust of us, I’d be mighty grateful if you would oblige with another.”
    Eliza managed to nod her head this time.
    He didn’t move from his command post. The musical introduction began and Eliza struggled to gather her paralyzed wits and remember the words.
    She sang from habit alone. Cord’s presence, the rigid attention of the listeners, the atmosphere of forced courtesy made everything seem unreal. She didn’t know if she was doing her best; she was still reeling with shock, and all she wanted to do was disappear until she could have time to think.
    No one moved until the last note had died away.
    Once the applause stopped, Eliza didn’t know whether to thank Cord for his intervention, ignore the whole episode, or sing another song. Instead, after a slight hesitation, she left the room.
    “Now that you remember how to behave around a lady, see that you do,” Cord admonished the crowd, then nonchalantly walked from the saloon.
    Usually Eliza hurried to Lucy to change her clothes and go home, but she was so dazed by what had happened she retreated to Croley’s office, sank into a chair, and