Marry Me, Cowboy. Peggy Moreland

and only had about four teeth left in her head, but Cody was enjoying watching Harley squirm, so he decided to play along. “Nah,” he argued. “Widow Brown gave up on Harley years ago. I heard she was flirting with Duffy Smith at bingo last Saturday night. But there is that new neighbor of his,” he said, talking as if Harley weren’t even there. “A divorcée by the name of Mary Claire Reynolds.”

      Hank let out a low whistle. “Whooee! That is one fine-looking woman. I saw her the other day over at the Mercantile.” He cupped his hands out in front of his chest. “She’s got boobs out to—”

      Harley’s mug hit the bar with a thump, sloshing beer across the scarred wood as he bolted to his feet. “If you two don’t have anything better to do than sit around and gossip like a couple of old ladies,” he growled, “I sure as hell do!” He scraped his hat off the bar, jammed it on his head, then dug a couple of dollars from his pocket and tossed them next to his mug. He stomped out, slamming the door behind him.