Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 165476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 827(@200wpm)___ 662(@250wpm)___ 552(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 165476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 827(@200wpm)___ 662(@250wpm)___ 552(@300wpm)
“Ever been so far south?” Cole asked and rested his knee against Ned’s as he chewed the fatty bacon.
Ned shook his head. “I’m no worldly traveller. I’ve only been on two cattle drives, but that was east.” He mashed the eggs together with the potato, surprised how everything tasted better today. “What are the plans now that we succeeded with the train job? We've got to leave the area, right?”
Cole rolled his head to Ned’s shoulder. “Tom wants to take us south. Through southern Utah and into Arizona. You’ll see real desert down there. With rocks like you’ve never seen before. Huge red or orange mountains shooting up from flatland like the fists of a giant.”
“There’s a lot of Apache territory down there. And hot as a griddle pan. That really such a good idea?”
Then again, what alternative was there to leaving? Fighting bounty hunters each time their identity came under suspicion? He stroked Cole’s thigh to sweeten his words, but nerves curled up in his stomach. The trip could last a month and take him farther away from Iron Trail City. He’d be forced to rely on the support of the gang in a place where he knew no one, and with time, the Pinkertons would surely give up on him too. There had to be a way to let them know he was still working for the law.
Cole shrugged. “Good place to lie low for a while.”
Ned pondered that in silence, eating the breakfast brought to him by this wonderful man who could flash bright smiles and stab people in the same night. Laying low farther west was most likely the reason why Ned hadn’t heard about the Gotham Boys for years before one of them crashed into his life. He had to admit that it was a smart policy for survival. And living without roots anywhere fostered loyalty within the gang.
“I guess Tom knows best. And… you’ll be there too, so I’m good.” Ned gave a sheepish smile, provoking Cole to attack his ear with teeth.
“Oh, I’ll take good care of you, greenhorn.”
Ned cocked his head to rub it against Cole’s. “Don’t know if I’m still such a greenhorn after that train job.”
Cole bit his lip, grazing his cheek against Ned’s. It felt like getting affection from a tamed mountain lion. “Made my blood run faster to see you pull that stunt with jumping on the moving locomotive.”
Pride swelled in Ned’s chest, and he couldn’t swallow fast enough to speak. “Couldn’t have done it without my Nugget’s bravery.”
“You trained him well.” Cole leaned in, about to press his bacon-tasting lips to Ned’s when someone’s hand patted the front of the tent, sending them a foot apart, with heavy heartbeats.
“O’Leary, Tom wants to speak with you. You too, Cole,” Pearl said from outside. “You fine or have you two broken the floor and are suffering from trench foot already?”
“It was the cot, you saphead,” Cole said, rolling his eyes.
Ned shoveled down the last bit of his food, and grabbed the pot of strawberries to take with him. “Any idea what he wants?” He got up and didn’t even bother to dress, other than adding boots to his union suit. What would have been unacceptable at his uncle’s ranch was the norm here, so he had no reason to worry about propriety.
Cole shrugged before offering Ned a full-mouthed smile. “Maybe we had so much fun it disturbed his sleep.”
Ned shoved at him. “It’s not funny.” But he grinned anyway and raced to the tent entrance as if there was a prize for getting out first.
Cole joined in, and they stumbled into the sun, with Cole having to save Ned from a fall after his toes hit a rock embedded in the dirt.
A couple of people still ate their breakfast, but they did acknowledge Ned’s presence with nods as Cole led the way to Tom’s quarters.
Mornings were Ned’s favorite time at the camp. With some still asleep or too ill with last night’s drink to make noise, those were times of peace that allowed him to forget what company he was keeping. Like that of the brown-haired man sitting in a rocking chair at the entrance to his tent. Just like Cole, Tom dressed in black, though white was his prefered shirt color, and where Cole liked things featuring unique designs, Tom’s taste was way simpler. Only the black bandana he wore to complete his outfit had embroidery, which appeared hand-stitched rather than like something out of a mail-order catalogue. Lotta’s work?
“O’Leary, I think you might need more money,” Tom said right away, pointing his pipe at Ned’s chest. Lotta sat on a box nearby, polishing silverware and watching her reflection in each piece of cutlery. She knew how to read, and Ned had the sense that she’d gotten an education of sorts, but those members of the gang who knew how to write rarely bothered to communicate with her beyond what could be signified with simple hand gestures. Then again, she didn’t seem so keen on it either, content with her books, needlework, and the expensive tea she had twice a day in a cup of fine china. Maybe she simply didn’t need anyone other than Tom, Pearl, and, occasionally, Cole, who also knew the basics of sign language.