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

Chapter 13

 

“Is Mr. McQuade around?”

Having heard the rattle of an approaching wagon and Miz Callie West’s abruptly called question, Marge O’Malley stepped back out onto her wraparound verandah, wondering at all the activity her humble home seemed to be inviting these last few days. Travellers passing through were a normal occurrence; a chance to fatten her purse. But the resident gunfighter? And now the young widow, the woman for whom he’d recently been working? Something definitely had happened between the two, and it was high time Marge found out what. And here was her chance, since Mrs. West seemed more ruffled and willing to talk than Mr. McQuade had been. Perhaps.

So thinking, the older widow moved to the top porch step, wiping her already dry hands on her starched apron and waiting for Callie West’s wagon to come to a complete stop at the bottom of the stairs.

The younger widow looked flustered; anxious; worried, as she hopped down from her wagon and tied off the horse. Only after that did she look up at the patiently waiting Irish woman, repeating her question while remaining at the base of the porch.

“Is Mr. Sonny McQuade here, Mrs. O’Malley?”

“Good morning, Miz West,” Marge prevaricated, gently nudging Callie in the direction of good conduct. Naturally the younger woman flushed once she realized how rudely she’d just behaved by not addressing the older woman first before making her inquiries.

“Excuse me, Mrs. O’Malley. I’m forgetting my manners. How are you today?”

Marge barely suppressed a grin. Callie West was strung tight as an overplayed violin, standing there in her well-washed calico dress, the gunfighter’s whereabouts seeming to be the reason for her agitation. Interesting, especially since Mr. McQuade had arrived loaded for bear just the other day. These two seemed to be the sources of each other’s distraction.

Leaning against one of the white porch posts, Marge assumed a non-threatening, friendly stance, replying with a smile, “I’ m quite fine, Miz Callie. You just missed Mr. McQuade, I’m sorry to say.”

The woman’s face fell like a cake ripped from the oven too early. Her eyes shot from side to side, down to the dusty ground, before returning to Marge’s with abject misery shimmering in their depths. Oh, my, she must have really needed to see the man! Corralling her curiosity, Marge O’Malley prodded solicitously, “Come on up here and sit a spell, Miss Callie. Let me pour us some lemonade.”

“Oh. Well, thank you, Ma’am, but I really need to get into town…”

“Mmm-hmmm. If it’s Mr. McQuade you’re needing to see, I sent him to town for supplies. Whether you catch up to him on the road or not, he has to come back the same way, since he took the wagon. You’ve got time to cool off, I dare say.” In more ways than one, Marge slyly reflected. Acquiescing gracefully, Callie West climbed the porch stairs and flopped into one of the wood rockers with a beleaguered sigh. The Irish woman’s words rang true enough.

“Thank you, Ma’am. Don’t mind if I do, after all.”

Marge bustled into her house, eager to return with the pitcher and glasses. Once she had, she poured a tall drink and handed it to Callie, who swallowed deeply and silently. Marge sat across from her guest, sipping in a more lady-like fashion. And waiting. Patiently.

Within minutes she was rewarded for her tolerance. After guzzling her fill, Callie West sat back against the rocking chair’s back and complained, “Oh, Marge, I’ve been such an awful person!”

Marge had not expected to hear those words coming out of the young widow’s mouth. Callie West always maintained a sweet, kind nature, heavily laced with concern on behalf of her fellow man. For her to think she was “an awful person” simply didn’t sound right. So Marge prodded.