Free The Outlaw's Bride by Catherine Palmer Page B

followed closely by the town constable.
    “We’ve come with a warrant,” the constable announced.
    At that, the store erupted. Guns drawn, men on both sides of the room rushed toward the fray. Susan screamed. Isobel grabbed her friend’s hand and was making for the counter when Noah bundled both of them in his arms and drew them against his chest.
    “Heads down!” he growled. Barreling between two Dolan men, he kicked wide the counter’s swinging door. He huddled Isobel and Susan against the side of a three-foot-high black iron safe. “Stay here. Don’t move till I come back for you, hear?”
    As he drew his six-shooter, Noah gave the women a last glance. Cradling Susan’s head in her lap, Isobel gazed at him, her eyes deep. For the first time in his life, Noah realized, someone else’s life meant more than his own.
     
    Wishing she had a gun, Isobel held the sobbing young woman. She scanned the rows of dry goods on theshelves behind her head. Black Leaf sheep dip. Tobacco paste. Pride of Denver soap. Glass lamp globes. Tins from the National Biscuit Company. Red Cross cough drops. Chase & Sanborn’s packaged teas. She spied guitar strings, corsets, union suits, gloves and shoes. But no guns.
    “Hold on!” a voice bellowed over the rest. “I got a warrant here, and you boys better calm down and listen to it.”
    Isobel peered over the countertop.
    “This here warrant,” the constable announced, “is signed by Squire Wilson for the arrest of James J. Dolan, Jesse Evans, Jim Jackson—”
    “What fer?” someone shouted.
    “For the murder of John Henry Tunstall.”
    Voices rose again, drowning out the constable. Isobel searched for Noah among the mob, but he was nowhere in sight. If only she had her pistol.
    “As sheriff of Lincoln, I’m arresting you!” Sheriff Brady shouted. “All of you!”
    “You can’t do that, Sheriff!” the Kid protested. “We came in here to arrest these fellers. You can’t turn around and arrest us.”
    “I sure can and do.”
    “On what charges?”
    “Disturbing the peace.”
    The momentary burst of laughter was followed by a sudden scuffle. A gun went off. Susan shrieked. Isobel scrunched down, covering Susan’s head in her lap. Not far from the safe where they hid, she spotted a derringer tucked at the back of a counter behind a cigar box. No doubt Jimmie Dolan had placed it there, but Isobel knew she could put it to good use herself. Anironing board leaned against a shelf, and she dragged it closer and propped it against the safe to form a makeshift barrier.
    “Forgive me for leaving you, Susan,” she whispered, “but I must have a weapon.”
    Crawling across the dusty floor, she reached for the gun. But when a hand clamped over her wrist, she let out a gasp.
    “Isobel,” Noah hissed. “What do you think you’re doing?”
    “A woman of honor can end a lucha between cowards like these filthy vaqueros!”
    “You’re crazier than a bedbug, lady. Let go of that thing.” He pried her fingers from the pistol and tossed the weapon into an open drawer filled with packets of Putnam’s fabric dyes. “Where’s Susan? I’ve got to get the two of you out of this place before it blows.”
    “Here I am, Mr. Buchanan,” Susan whimpered.
    “It’s okay, Miss Gates,” he assured her. “Give me your hand, and we’ll head out the back way.”
    Isobel crossed her arms and watched in distaste as Noah escorted the red-haired schoolteacher from the hiding place. Tears streaming, Susan buried her head against his shoulder.
    “You’ll be all right now, Miss Gates. Come on.” Noah cast a warning frown at Isobel, then jerked on her arm and hurried the two women toward the back door.
    The hubbub grew behind them as Dolan’s men swarmed to help make the arrest. The closing door silenced the commotion inside the store.
    “Let me go!” Isobel snarled, twisting against Noah’s grip as he hurried her and Susan down the muddy road. “Where are you taking me?”
    “Santa