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)
A scream. Ned’s own? Cole’s? Or was Zeb about to finish him? The ground and sky spun before settling back in their designated places. By the time Ned realized what had happened, Zeb had already rolled away and was pointing his revolver at Ned’s head.
“Zeb. Calm. Down. He didn’t mean nothing by it. An accident, is all,” Cole said in an even tone, and it only then occurred to Ned that the warmth he could sense around him came from Cole’s arms. Their breaths were an erratic mess, but neither moved as the numbness in Ned’s face turned into a growing ache. He tasted blood, but it rolled down his cheek unhindered, sticky as sap.
Zeb snarled, showing the gap at the front of his teeth, but aimed away from Ned’s head and shot into the air, as if he needed to unleash his frustration somewhere. “Next bullet’s for you if you don’t behave. Got it?”
Ned sucked on the coppery taste of defeat in his mouth. “Got it.”
Zeb made a show of slowly placing his gun into the holster before speaking again, more content than when he’d first come over, as if the violence had improved his mood. “Tom’s lookin’ for you, Cole. You gotta venture out tonight. Be quick or I might just run my mouth about this misstep of his. Better shorten his reins or my knife might just slip over your pretty face.”
Cole exhaled, his body relaxing against Ned’s despite the threat. “Will do.”
Zeb nodded at Cole and didn’t spare Ned another glance before walking off, away from the camp. One of his spurs left a bloody trail in the dirt, reminding Ned of the throbbing wound on his face. His heart sank when he reached up to his cheek to find it gaping open at the cheekbone far more deeply than he’d thought.
“Not with dirty hands,” Cole growled and slapped Ned’s fingers away.
“Fuck. How bad is it?” Ned asked, but as soon as he spoke, more blood gushed down his skin.
Cole rolled out from behind him so fast that, left without the support, Ned went limp and hit his head on a rock.
“Pretty fucking bad! What the hell did you do that for? You have a death wish?” Cole hissed and smacked the top of Ned’s head the moment he tried to pick himself up again.
Ned had to stop himself from smacking Cole in return. He’d done enough damage for today. “It was a reflex!” He got up but bent in half from the pain in his stomach. Fucking Zebadiah.
Cole swallowed, but his facial muscles twitched as if he were keeping himself from opening his mouth. There was a gray undertone to his flesh now, but before Ned could have asked if he wasn’t about to faint like a damsel, he pulled a folded white handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it to Ned’s wound. It hurt like a bull kicking the family jewels.
“Can’t have no reflexes that get us killed. You understand me?” he asked and applied more pressure to Ned’s swollen flesh, as if he wanted to force a reaction.
Ned clenched his teeth. “It was just Zeb. God knows he would’ve deserved it.” He couldn’t meet Cole’s eyes, but grabbed the handkerchief to hold on to keep it against the split flesh as the other man urged him to walk toward camp.
“What is it about Zeb, huh?”
This time, Ned bit his tongue and thought through his answer, because he could almost hear Cole’s teeth sharpening. He even grabbed Ned under the arm and made him move faster.
“He’s a mean motherfucker with a grudge against me for no reason is all I’m sayin’.”
“So what? Your skin ain’t that thin, O’Leary! And for the record, same thing’s been said about me more times than you can imagine. I’m a mean motherfucker with a quick gun and a bad temper, so don’t you get on my bad side or I might shoot your ear off.”
The scolding from someone he considered a friend hurt more than getting his cheek split open. Cole was right, and Ned kept forgetting who he was dealing with.
They entered the camp to curious glances, but Cole marched Ned straight to Doc’s tent.
Sarah, who sat in Doc’s lap, staring at an illustration in a book he was reading, covered her lips with one hand the moment the two of them stepped in.
“I… I’ll leave you boys to it,” she said and squeezed past Ned, looking away from the wound. She tolerated the faint smell of iodine way better than the sight of blood, it seemed.
Cole pushed Ned forward, as if their camaraderie had been wiped out by Ned’s single mistake. “Won’t you patch him up, Doc? He had an unfortunate meeting with Zeb’s spur. Need to see Tom.” With that, he walked off, leaving Ned with Doc, who shut the book with a loud clap and got up from a fancy red chair. His quarters were of a similar size to Cole’s, but he slept in a bedroll, which had been put away, freeing up space for walking. Since he wasn’t a man who favored trinkets, the shelves with jars and bottles of medicines were the tent’s most distinguishing feature. If Ned hadn’t known the truth, he’d have taken Doc for a learned man, not an outlaw.