Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 132512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
And a good reminder that Cole should not stay. “Of course I’m leaving. So you better dry most of that meat or you’ll lose it,” Cole said and maneuvered around the carnage in front of the barn. It was time to pack. Get away before Ned O’Leary caught him in his trap again.
“But last night—”
“I’ve been with a lot of men over the years. Bedding someone means nothing,” Cole shouted back and near-sprinted into the house, which welcomed him with heat that knocked air out of him.
Resting against the door, he let his eyelids drop and tried to focus on everything but the way Ned had held him last night. He’d lied. Nobody touched him like that. None of the strangers, and not Lars. With others, poking was about a moment of pleasure. About having a good time. But in the past seven years, he’d never been held with such fondness. As if all the kissing and rubbing weren’t only a prelude to spilling the contents of their balls, but something that mattered and offered its own kind of fulfilment.
Dog, who managed to sneak into the house after him, licked Cole’s hand, and Cole didn’t even have the energy to shove him away. With Lars dead, and from Cole’s own bullet at that, he was alone again, wanted in several states, and with nowhere to go or call home.
*
When the wind picked up, bringing more snowfall, it became obvious Cole wouldn’t get to leave yet after all. He washed as diligently as possible while Ned was busy with the meat, then dressed, and nailed Lars’s fancy hat to the cross on his grave. Lars’s saddle and bags were a constant reminder of what Cole had done to a man who had turned out to be a true friend, one to risk his own life to save Cole’s. And for all that kindness Cole had stabbed him in the back. And for what? To save fucking Ned O’Leary.
He was a fool, and the past seven years had taught him nothing.
He shouldn’t have accepted Ned’s poisonous kiss or offended Lars with lies and constant rejection. But no matter how much he convinced himself that he ought to have followed Lars’s lead and stuck a red hot poker in Ned’s eye, just the thought of metal searing flesh made his throat squeeze. He wouldn’t have let it happen, not only because he couldn’t stand the smell of burning skin since that damn rancher had branded him. Despite all the resentment living in his heart, he was still protective of Ned.
So now he was trapped in a hell of his own making.
Cole had melted water for the horses and fed them more than usual but then had left Ned in the barn, hoping for the best. The butchering was taking hours, and Cole couldn’t help but think of Ned’s past. Of the stew Ned’s mother had made. Something like that might put a man off eating meat for good, but Cole knew hunger all too well, so he understood.
When Ned came in, they didn’t speak beyond exchanging necessary words about the horses, dinner, or wood for the fire. The silence gnawed at Cole’s insides, but what was there to say?
Ned washed off the blood and its stench, then proceeded to shave and even put some oil in his hair. Was he expecting a repeat of last night?
Was he trying to entice Cole? Better not let him know how appealing he really was, or he might get stupid ideas and attempt to regain the power he’d once held over Cole.
But as the silence stretched, trapping them in the same wooden box, with unsaid things hanging in the air like an ugly stink one couldn’t get rid of, Cole found himself something to do. Once the coffee pot was on the stove, he brought some cans and potatoes from the pantry and started putting a quick meal together.
At least this way he wasn’t facing Ned anymore.
“Got us the liver for tonight,” Ned said the moment Cole set the stew-to-be on the stove, and pointed to a slab of meat marinating in a bowl with some herbs and spices.
But while Cole followed Ned’s finger, his gaze was then drawn to an open cupboard stacked with booze, which Ned had been browsing behind his back. Most of it was moonshine, but he and Lars had also found bottles with French labels, likely stolen from the same person who owned the French cookbook Ned had torn up.
Cole dropped the knife on the table with a loud clatter. “I did not sleep with you on the floor and clean up your vomit for you to reach for liquor again.”
Ned licked his lips, going stiff. “I… I just thought it would be nice to have some wine with dinner. Honor Lars, you know?”