To Love an Outlaw (Into the West #1) (A Wattpad Reading List Choice)

Chapter 6

 

“Mornin, Miz O’Malley.”

Marge jumped a near foot at the quiet voice behind her the following sunny morning. Heat shimmers already sizzled from the ground beneath her feet, promising that the wet clothes would dry in record time. Hanging laundry in the early sunlight was Marge’s moment with God she always figured, and never reckoned anyone else would follow her out to the clothesline. It was a thankless chore, and therefore her quiet time; a time to reminisce, a time to ponder deep thoughts.

But not today, apparently.

Turning with the clothespin still between her lips, Marge faced the gunslinger, Sonny McQuade. She’d seen him traipse out to the barn earlier like always, and she’d never given him a second thought. His daily habits were no concern of hers. Now here he was, standing before her with his black hat between slim fingers and a respectful look upon his countenance. Too respectful; downright innocent, if Marge were to put a word to his appearance. And that set her to thinkin’; thinkin’ real hard, since the man hadn’t been innocent in a very long time, she’d wager.

“Good mornin’, Mr. McQuade. Can I help you?”

Maintaining eye contact while removing the clothespin from between her lips, Marge nevertheless peripherally noticed the gunfighter’s blue shirt, fitted black vest, and dungarees, all clean and well-fitting. In fact, she’d never seen the man look dirty or unkempt. For a supposed outlaw he was a bit of a dandy. The thought made the widow smile slightly, though she swallowed it quickly enough when she spied those silver eyes drop to her curved lips and narrow curiously. She’d better watch her reactions around this man; he was too astute by far…

“Yes you could, Ma’am. I’d like to settle up my bill, if I may. I’m movin’ on.”

Marge’s eyes snapped back up to meet the gunman’s in surprise. Leaving? He wasn’t making the town of Round Rock his home, his starting-over place? How could that be? Granted, most of the townspeople still ignored him, but Marge was fairly sure the gunfighter was used to that sort of treatment.

Realizing she was staring, the middle-aged widow stuttered out, “Moving on? Leaving us? This town not peaceful enough?”

She watched as the gunfighter seemed to pick his words, licking those smooth lips with the blonde whiskers above them before actually speaking. Marge delivered a silky barb in the meantime.

“Or is it too peaceful?”

Their eyes met once more, his filling with as much amusement as hers seemed to hold. McQuade cocked a brow before replying.

“I don’t think that’d ever be a problem, Ma’am. Peaceful is just about what I’ve been lookin’ for. No, I found me a job that includes room and board, Miz O’Malley. Can’t pass that opportunity up.”

There came that overly innocent expression again, only this time Marge figured the gunslinger was allowing her to see it. Otherwise he’d make himself a pretty poor poker player, if she could read his face that easily. So the widow played along.

“Nooo, I reckon you can’t. Congratulations. May I ask where and what you’ll be doin’?”

McQuade shifted on his feet, glancing down the slope toward the house before replying.

“I’m horse-trainin’ for the widow West. Used to work with horses a long time ago.” At last he brought his eyes back to hers, seemingly expecting some sort of reaction from the older woman.

Now this turn of events Marge could completely understand! These two lonely people had been drawn to each other since the Fourth of July picnic, and that was a fact! Marge hadn’t been called a matchmaker for nothing, that was for sure! She’d seen the way the two of them had gazed at each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking. Perhaps no one else had, but the older widow prided herself on recognizing budding romances.