Read Online My Darling Gunslinger by Lynne Barron - Free Book Online
Authors: Lynne Barron
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scalding hot.
Mr. Chang had shaved him every day, all the while studying him through black eyes. Occasionally he’d asked Ty a question about his experiences as a hired gun, to which Ty had mostly shrugged and remained silent. When he’d grilled him as to his knowledge of ranching, he’d grudgingly admitted his ignorance.
Magnus McDonough came by most nights after the house had settled into the silence particular to homes surrounded by nothing but rolling hills, distant mountains and millions of stars in an otherwise black sky. He’d offered scotch whiskey and regaled Ty with stories of his travels. Magnus had seen damn near all of the world and bedded every kind of woman imaginable, to hear him tell it.
Mrs. Chang and Miss Daisy had taken turns bringing him his meals. At first it had been simple broth, then thick, rich chicken soup. Just last evening he’d graduated to mutton stew. Jasper Heimlich had not lied. Miss Daisy made a mean mutton stew.
Of Charlie Green, otherwise known as Mrs. Charlotte Green, Ty had seen little beyond the shadow of her lithe form passing in the hall and the occasional glimpse of her bright eyes peering around the doorframe when she thought he might be asleep.
So it came as something of a surprise when she strolled into his room just after Sebastian departed to join Magnus and Ken Chang in rounding up sheep for sheering.
She looked as fresh as a spring morning in a yellow, gingham dress with a satin ribbon tied into a big bow at her waist. On her head, she wore a wide-brimmed straw bonnet with matching ribbons trailing out behind her.
“If you feel up to it, Mr. Morgan,” she called out cheerfully as she rounded the corner of the bed, “I thought we might take a constitutional about the ranch.”
“A constitutional?” he repeated, his voice unnecessarily harsh. What the hell was a constitutional?
“A promenade,” she clarified, which only confused Ty further.
He itched to dig through the drawer of the nightstand beside his borrowed bed for his dictionary. The only thing that kept him sitting still was the suspicion she’d laugh to learn he hadn’t a clue what she was talking about.
“A walk, Mr. Tyler,” she offered, her smile stiffening.
“With you?” An image of her tucking her soft, pale hand into the crook of his elbow and smiling up at him sent heat rushing up his neck.
Her smile dimmed then disappeared altogether. She seemed suddenly uncertain, her gaze skittering away to rest somewhere over his right shoulder. “I thought you might like a bit of fresh air and exercise. Pardon my presumption.”
Before he could find voice to speak, she spun about, her full skirts swirling around her, and glided from the room, yellow ribbons floating on the breeze left in her wake.
“Damn.” He’d somehow managed to offend her. And he’d barely spoken half a dozen words.
He debated whether to follow her for all of two seconds before gingerly scrambling off the bed. He found his boots lined up in the corner and his hat hanging off the footboard. He’d searched the unoccupied rooms of the house the night before. His gun was nowhere to be found.
He tugged on the cuffs of the soft, white cotton shirt Miss Daisy had sewn for him and brushed his hands over his worn dungarees.
When he recognized the nerves skittering up his spine, he muttered an oath.
He wasn’t going courting. Hell, no.
As if he had any notion how to go about courting a lady. As if the lady would allow it. Hell, she’d likely run screaming if she knew the images that drifted through his head every time he remembered her whispered words.
Do you want to kiss me?
Charlotte Green of the soft hands and crisp, foreign speech would have been sorely shocked by what she’d have gotten if Ty had taken her up on the offer.
Tyler Morgan was the son of a whore. He’d been raised in a brothel. He’d seen things no boy had any business seeing. Hell, he’d done things no boy had any business doing. He’d known
Mr. Chang had shaved him every day, all the while studying him through black eyes. Occasionally he’d asked Ty a question about his experiences as a hired gun, to which Ty had mostly shrugged and remained silent. When he’d grilled him as to his knowledge of ranching, he’d grudgingly admitted his ignorance.
Magnus McDonough came by most nights after the house had settled into the silence particular to homes surrounded by nothing but rolling hills, distant mountains and millions of stars in an otherwise black sky. He’d offered scotch whiskey and regaled Ty with stories of his travels. Magnus had seen damn near all of the world and bedded every kind of woman imaginable, to hear him tell it.
Mrs. Chang and Miss Daisy had taken turns bringing him his meals. At first it had been simple broth, then thick, rich chicken soup. Just last evening he’d graduated to mutton stew. Jasper Heimlich had not lied. Miss Daisy made a mean mutton stew.
Of Charlie Green, otherwise known as Mrs. Charlotte Green, Ty had seen little beyond the shadow of her lithe form passing in the hall and the occasional glimpse of her bright eyes peering around the doorframe when she thought he might be asleep.
So it came as something of a surprise when she strolled into his room just after Sebastian departed to join Magnus and Ken Chang in rounding up sheep for sheering.
She looked as fresh as a spring morning in a yellow, gingham dress with a satin ribbon tied into a big bow at her waist. On her head, she wore a wide-brimmed straw bonnet with matching ribbons trailing out behind her.
“If you feel up to it, Mr. Morgan,” she called out cheerfully as she rounded the corner of the bed, “I thought we might take a constitutional about the ranch.”
“A constitutional?” he repeated, his voice unnecessarily harsh. What the hell was a constitutional?
“A promenade,” she clarified, which only confused Ty further.
He itched to dig through the drawer of the nightstand beside his borrowed bed for his dictionary. The only thing that kept him sitting still was the suspicion she’d laugh to learn he hadn’t a clue what she was talking about.
“A walk, Mr. Tyler,” she offered, her smile stiffening.
“With you?” An image of her tucking her soft, pale hand into the crook of his elbow and smiling up at him sent heat rushing up his neck.
Her smile dimmed then disappeared altogether. She seemed suddenly uncertain, her gaze skittering away to rest somewhere over his right shoulder. “I thought you might like a bit of fresh air and exercise. Pardon my presumption.”
Before he could find voice to speak, she spun about, her full skirts swirling around her, and glided from the room, yellow ribbons floating on the breeze left in her wake.
“Damn.” He’d somehow managed to offend her. And he’d barely spoken half a dozen words.
He debated whether to follow her for all of two seconds before gingerly scrambling off the bed. He found his boots lined up in the corner and his hat hanging off the footboard. He’d searched the unoccupied rooms of the house the night before. His gun was nowhere to be found.
He tugged on the cuffs of the soft, white cotton shirt Miss Daisy had sewn for him and brushed his hands over his worn dungarees.
When he recognized the nerves skittering up his spine, he muttered an oath.
He wasn’t going courting. Hell, no.
As if he had any notion how to go about courting a lady. As if the lady would allow it. Hell, she’d likely run screaming if she knew the images that drifted through his head every time he remembered her whispered words.
Do you want to kiss me?
Charlotte Green of the soft hands and crisp, foreign speech would have been sorely shocked by what she’d have gotten if Ty had taken her up on the offer.
Tyler Morgan was the son of a whore. He’d been raised in a brothel. He’d seen things no boy had any business seeing. Hell, he’d done things no boy had any business doing. He’d known
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