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)
Ned could barely breathe, overcome with rage. “And you’re a real sloven. Maybe that’s why the ladies don’t want you,” he spat, unable to organize his messy thoughts. Even though this whole trip was about avoiding Cole, now he wanted nothing more than to be back with his lover and hug him tightly, kiss his neck and smell his lovely hair. Make him feel that he was special and didn’t need to be ashamed of anything that might have happened in the past Scotch was alluding to.
Scotch glanced at him over the shoulder, grinning with yellow teeth which had been ground down to two even surfaces in his mouth. “You mean the same ‘ladies’ who complain the dear boy lost all interest in their parts since you joined us? You do him dog-fashion or horizontally?”
Ned had thirty bullets waiting for use in pockets along the belt Cole had gifted him, and each one itched to burrow in Scotch’s forehead.
They were just words. The words of a disgusting old brute who breathed only to spite Ned. They meant nothing yet enraged Ned to the core, because Cole was Ned’s sweetheart, no matter how sappy that was. He was respite in a world filled with betrayal and cruelty, a glimmer of honesty and real emotion. He did not deserve the contempt of a man who represented the very worst of humanity.
“You seem to know a lot about fucking rears,” Ned said through clenched teeth.
“And you’re awfully close to a man who left Three Stones with a star on his cheek. Now, why’s that?”
Ned might not have been as good of a shot as Cole, but there was no way he’d miss Scotch’s face from so close. Loathing scorched his chest like wildfire, but reason triumphed over passion, and he stopped his hand before it darted to the holster. “I’m done with you, old man. I’ll meet you at the Red Lily in a few hours.”
Ned pushed his horse forward without waiting for an answer, but he still heard Scotch’s mocking cackle over the thumping of hooves.
The setting sun prickled Ned’s face as he rode toward it, eventually forcing him to lower his head and hide behind the brim of his father’s hat. With the town looming just below the bright disc in the sky, he resigned himself to watching the clouds of dust rise from beneath Nugget’s hooves to hopefully choke Scotch.
Maybe the bastard was already dead? What a blessing that would have been.
Shrubs stretched across the surface of dry earth and climbed rock walls wherever the eye could reach, as resilient as Cole was, set on surviving even the harshest of conditions. Nobody should begrudge them for that. Especially not a waste of air like Scotch.
Ned followed a path around Three Stones, as instructed by Pearl, crossed the rail track, and headed north, but while he was relieved over leaving the old drunk behind, he could have handled that disturbing conversation better. Brushed off the accusations as a joke instead of jumping to Cole’s defense as if he had a stake in another man’s reputation. Scotch knew he’d gotten under Ned’s skin, and he’d spin it into yet more vile talk on their way back to camp.
Could this be something other gang members gossiped about in private? Maybe he’d become too careless in showing Cole his affection, or spent too much time with him after Cole had stopped chasing tail so abruptly? The longer he thought about it, the more certain he became that their friendship must have aroused suspicion already.
The ride to the doctor’s home gave him more time to ruminate than he would have wished, and he couldn’t help thinking that he’d been cruel to Cole earlier. He could have said it plainly that he didn’t want to discuss the shameful thing that happened any longer. Instead, his insecurity pushed him to say mean-spirited things. Cole should have stopped pushing, but Ned could only change his own behavior, so he vowed in his heart to be kinder to the one man he could rely on, and who never failed to make his heart flutter.
The doctor’s house was less grand than he’d expected. In Beaver Springs, the physician was also the town’s mayor and lived in a house with walls painted a pretty green. The cabin ahead was made of raw wood, and while it had windows in its roof and stones laid as foundation under the roofed porch, it was a more humble abode, with a barn on the other side of the fenced-off property, and some chickens pecking on grain in the dusty yard around a well.
Something moved on the porch as he rode past a gate topped with the symbol of a snake climbing a staff, and when he was close enough to see what it was, a girl of around eight years old stood at the top of the wooden steps and stared at him, holding a doll to her chest.