The Man Who Hated Ned O'Leary (Dig Two Graves 2)

Ned had been special to him, and if they’d gotten a bit more time together, he’d have let Ned take him, even if just because it was another experience to share. He glanced to Ned’s powerful form in the nightshirt, the long johns, the woolen socks… The mountains had to be affecting Cole’s sanity too, because in no world should he be finding this traitor and murderer adorable. But Ned was. Like a grizzly bear wearing a knitted sweater—no less deadly, and yet so endearing it was easy to believe that its claws wouldn’t rip him apart.

Ned was cooking a simple meal of meat and vegetable stew, as if life really did go on. When Cole smelled the flatbread baked on a hot griddle he could almost pretend the seven years apart never happened, and they were back at the Gotham Boys camp, awaiting their food by Bertha’s cooking fire.

After the outpouring of words in the tub, neither of them spoke, and that was for the better, because it allowed Cole to indulge in his fantasy of a life he could have had with Ned.

If Tom hadn’t gone mad in Three Stones. If Zeb had accepted them, even if reluctantly, the others in the camp would have followed their example, and with time, Cole would have opened up to the idea of letting Ned on top of him.

Only that had never happened, and by the time Cole had discovered a whole world of men like him living in all the towns, cities, and trading posts of the West, he’d been a different person than the one who’d let Ned O’Leary plant sweet kisses on his neck.

After their meal, Cole washed his teeth, and stood in the open bedroom in his gray union suit. The door had been left open, and as he faced away from the kitchen, a tingle of heat on his nape made him wonder whether Ned watched him prepare for bed. The thick fabric of the underwear clung to Cole’s back, and the back flap was held up only by a pair of buttons. Did Ned imagine coming over and touching Cole? Kissing him like he used to? Cole chewed on his lips, breathing slowly as the cabin sank into perfect silence. He wasn’t certain if he still hated Ned, but he sure as hell hadn’t forgiven him.

Why couldn’t he just seek revenge like any other outlaw and live on simple human needs like: hunger, lust, and anger? If he weren’t such a disastrously indecisive man, he’d have found Ned, shot him dead, and moved on with his life, all the happier.

It was past midnight, but they’d eaten, and talked, and had a fight, and Lars was dead, and this day and night had already turned upside down, so it made sense that when he set his grooming bag on the bedside table and lay down, his eyelids were light as butterfly wings.

Lars’s hat, the one with the fancy pheasant feather, still hung off a nail like a silent reminder that nothing would be the same. The charming Norwegian windbag with a mean streak and a bad temper would never annoy Cole again, and never make him laugh despite better judgement. Once again, O’Leary disrupted his life, but this time Cole had himself to blame as well.

He was alone.

Only that wasn’t quite true, because Ned was still there, playing pull-the-rope with his dog, as if the two of them were beasts, not master and pet. Both grunted, snorted, and as Ned’s knees banged against the floor when he moved on all fours, Cole found himself getting annoyed. How could one man be the person he loved and the person he hated all in one body?

Couldn’t fate have given him one night with the Ned from years ago instead of the half-crazed beast with unsteady hands who talked to himself? If he could go back to that wonderful night in Three Stones wiser by the experience of the past seven years, he wouldn’t have chickened out. He’d have rolled back against Ned’s chest and kissed him. As it was, he’d missed out on something many found wonderful, and now that Ned was again in the picture, the thought of returning to that moment before everything had gone to shit kept buzzing at the back of his head, like a starved mosquito.

But could he? Could he simply imagine that they were still close? Still in love?

A rock slowly formed in Cole’s throat and, after a final glance at Ned, he shut the door and rested against it, staring at the bed. He’d be sleeping in it on his own tonight, with no one to share warmth with, unless—

Cole pressed his forehead to the door and listened to the noise coming from the room next to his. There was some shuffling, so maybe Ned was preparing to settle in for the night too?