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)
Dust rose under the wheels, prompting Ned to remove his hat and wave off the white cloud, but once the wagon stopped by a set of troughs for the horses to rehydrate before the journey back to camp, he jumped off, eager to stretch his legs.
The telegraph office was the first thing he spotted, since it spat out wires stretching all the way to a wooden pillar just beyond the fence and farther northeast, connecting this isolated outpost to Iron Trail City. Chicago. Even New York and Boston—a meager window into the wide world.
His mouth dried when Cole stood next to him, the side of his foot pressing against Ned’s. Three horses were hitched at the front of the wooden building with furs and blankets hung at the porch. The signpost above the entrance designated it as a general store, and whoever came here to trade might see them touching through the tiny windows. So Ned pulled away and rested his hands on his hips in time to hide their closeness from a thick-boned woman whose apron dress was the same color as the parched dirt at her feet. She emerged from behind a small stable at the edge of the post and made her way across the yard, dragging a besom behind her as an excuse to gawk at the strangers.
She offered them a brief nod and squeezed her red, worn hands on the handle of her broom. “We can feed you if you’re hungry. And bunk space has freed up too. The next stage only arrives tomorrow,” she said, gesturing at a large cabin nailed together out of timber and pieces of scrap wood. It looked more like a shed than a house for people to live in, but Ned rather liked the faint scent of fresh bread coming from its direction.
He made himself ignore the tasty aroma and took in the walls of the telegraph office, which had been covered with a single layer of white paint. The true color of the wood shone through, resulting in a grimy shade, but that hardly mattered as long as the clerk knew how to do his job. Ned would have to wait until Cole was busy, but it was high time he contacted the Pinkerton agents.
Or was it? He’d already decided to protect Cole from the fallout of his ratting, but so much had happened since. That telegram might tear him away from the one man who could give Ned what he needed, and Cole would not want to have anything to do with someone who’d betrayed him. Maybe the timing wasn’t right after all?
“I need to go ask about something first,” Cole said with a wink that made Ned’s heart skip a beat.
Just like that, the opportunity Ned needed presented itself and there was no way he could lie to himself and avoid his moral duty any longer. “Sure. They sell cigars at the telegraph office. Never had one, and I’d like to try,” he said in a light tone despite his guts twisting with the anxiety of what he was about to do.
Unaware of the upcoming treachery, Cole grinned and slapped Ned’s back, keeping his hand between his shoulder blades way longer than necessary. The familiarity of the touch had Ned’s blood running quicker, but he couldn’t react the way he truly wanted to with the woman watching them from where she pretended to sweep the dust off the store’s porch. A man as handsome as Cole was surely a rare treat around there, so no wonder she couldn’t stop herself from having a glimpse of such fine features. Ned couldn’t help but grin at the fact that it was his lips Cole wanted around his cock, not hers, and not Mary’s. nor Judith’s.
Cole was off before Ned could have said or done anything.
There was no time to waste.
He stepped into the telegraph office with half his mind still indulging in the memory of what they’d done an hour ago, and he could only hope the lusty satisfaction wasn’t plain to see on his face.
The smell of sweat and stale fruit filling the small interior brought him right back to a reality where he was in a hurry to do his job and leave the office before Cole caught wind of rat fur.
The clerk, a dried-out man with sunken cheeks covered by white stubble, looked at Ned from beyond his green eyeshade. “Yes?” he asked, wrinkled lips curling over toothless gums.
Only then did Ned spot another man sitting in the shadowy corner of the small interior, behind a tall oak cupboard. His frowzy top hat, which had turned gray from dirt and sun exposure, was pulled low over his face and adorned with a bird skull at the side. The curved tip of its beak helped Ned recognize its species—vulture.