He stood his ground, silently daring Lyon to come after him. To end this one way or the other. As if the man heard his thoughts, he stepped forward again.
Out of the corner of Beau’s eye, Faith shifted, as if she were trying to get a better aim. Beau steeled himself. He didn’t know how good of a shot she was—he’d never asked. But he couldn’t take the chance she’d miss.
He drew his gaze back to Lyon. The lamplight cast shadows across his face, hiding that long scar that Beau heard he’d received in a brawl that had sent two other men to their graves. Lyon had several inches on Beau, both in height and in width. It was a fight Beau very well might not win, but he’d take that chance over letting Faith shoot.
Without hesitation, he lowered his head and barreled into Lyon. He’d caught the man entirely off guard, and as Faith shrieked from behind the counter, Beau propelled Lyon backward across the floor.
It wasn’t enough to knock the man down, though—just enough to send him careening and give Beau a moment to get the upper hand. He drew back and easily landed a fist across Lyon’s face. Some part of his mind registered the stinging sensation in his fingers when he pulled his hand back. But he paid it no mind. Lyon had come here, to Beau’s home, and endangered everything he held dear. He drew back again, but this time Lyon was ready for him.
The larger man blocked the punch and, quick as a cat, struck Beau in the stomach. Pain seared through his insides as he struggled to take in a breath. He doubled over even as he told himself to stand. He was losing precious seconds to act. Just as he straightened, gasping for air, Lyon’s fist crashed into his cheek.
Pain exploded through Beau’s head. He stumbled even as he tried to force himself to remain in place. He was no match for Lyon, that much was becoming quickly clear. The man was going to beat him bloody, and if he was still alive, Lyon would haul him back to New Orleans for more.
He still had the pistol at his side, if he was capable of pulling it and firing before Lyon either did the same or knocked him off his feet. And if he was capable of doing that again.
“Beau!” Faith’s voice broke through his muddled thoughts, just half a second before Lyon hit him across the face again and a second time in the stomach. Beau’s knees buckled, and as much as he tried to fight it, he sunk to his knees. He couldn’t go down. That would be the end. Hehadto stand.
“Had enough?” Lyon said from somewhere that sounded far away. The man didn’t even sound out of breath. Beau blinked, trying to clear his vision as he pressed his hands into his stomach. Lyon had stepped back, almost as if he were admiring what he’d done.
Beau needed a moment, just a moment, to force in a breath and drag himself to his feet again. He concentrated with all his might on those goals—just as a shot sounded from inside the room.
Beau’s ears rang and he glanced down at himself. Had Lyon had enough and decided to shoot him? But there was no blood, save for what dripped from his nose. He blinked hard and looked up.
Lyon stared at Faith, who stood with the revolver pointed directly at him.
It had been Faith. She’d shot at Lyon—and missed, apparently.
Lyon took a step toward Faith and said something, but Beau didn’t hear it. Anger roared inside his ears, deadening all the pain in his body until he stood precariously, his own pistol in his hands.
“Lyon!” he managed to say, his voice garbled.
The man breathed heavily, his massive chest rising and falling as he looked between Faith and Beau who both pointed weapons at him.
“Put your gun on the table and sit,” Beau said, trying not to wince at the pain that came with speaking.
Lyon scowled, but he must have known his bulk was no match for this situation—particularly with a woman who clearly wasn’t afraid to shoot at him. After a moment’s hesitation, he did as Beau said.
As soon as Lyon was seated, Beau looked to Faith. She came quickly to his side, pistol in hand.
“Are you all right?” she asked, her eyes tracing his face.
He nodded. Everything hurt, but he could stand.
“I’ll get the sheriff,” she said. When he nodded again, she pressed her revolver into his other hand, her fingers lingering for just a moment before she disappeared out the door.
