The Man Who Loved Cole Flores (Dig Two Graves 1)

“And if none of them will have me?” he asked in a grim tone.

Uncle Liam pushed his hat lower on his forehead so that Ned couldn’t see his eyes. “I’ll give you a month’s wages in advance, and you can sleep in the log cabin with the ranch hands for a week or two. There’s a mining town in the mountains south from here. It’s hard work, but I know the foreman and could put a good word in for you. You could start a life of your own.”

A start of his own death. Like fuck was Ned about to breathe in dirt all day away from any sunlight, then drink all night, looking for a fight.

“Would you send your own sons there?” Ned asked, gritting his teeth.

Uncle Liam glanced into the sky, his cheeks sinking as he sucked in air. “Ned, try to understand. You need to be your own man. For your own good. You don’t want to be a miner? Fine. There’s jobs at the railway, and you could always seek employment in one of the local businesses.”

Ned took a deep breath to calm himself, because if he didn’t, he’d be smashing the mallet into his uncle’s head. Which wouldn’t have been fair to a man who’d taken him in, given him skills, food, and a good word now and then. Yet Ned still ached at being cut loose this way, like a wild animal one cared for enough to heal, but not keep.

So those were his options. Finding a wife within the month, toiling at the mine, or trying his luck where no one knew him or cared for him.

“Am I off for the day?”

Uncle Liam’s mouth turned into a pale line, and he nodded, avoiding Ned’s gaze as if he knew he wasn’t doing right by his late brother. Damn hypocrite.

Ned stormed off, only realizing he still held the mallet after several paces. He dropped it to the ground and continued toward the house while cold wind shoved him away from Uncle Liam and the conversation he already wanted to forget. And forget it he would.

He knew just the way.

Ned didn’t need to change, since he’d cleaned himself up for Aunt Muriel earlier, so he went straight for the stable where his favorite horse waited in a stall at the back—a beautiful, tall palomino Appaloosa which he’d helped deliver six summers ago, and trained himself. Nugget’s coat shone like a gold coin, while his mane and tail were delicate pale silk Ned brushed every day. The horse wasn’t Ned’s own, since it belonged to Uncle Liam’s ranch, but everyone acknowledged Ned’s right to Nugget to the point that even Dylan would ask when he wanted to ride him.

“Ready to head out, boy?” Ned patted Nugget’s rump, instantly calmed by the animal’s presence.

The golden dots on the ivory patch were a whole galaxy of stars, with the distinct pattern of the Leo constellation making up the largest speckles. Aunt Muriel once joked his love for the young stallion predicted the sign of Ned’s future wife. As of yet, he was still to meet a woman he’d want to make his.

The horse whinnied in excitement when Ned walked off to get the saddle and the rest of the tack he’d bought out of his own pocket after saving money for many months, and considering the painful conversation he’d just had, it had been a good investment.

The ranch was quiet when he left the stable, as if even Dylan couldn’t face him now that the O’Leary family had shown their cards, and Ned found his own hand lacking.

He rode off as a thick cloud covered the sun and blocked out its golden glow, turning everything a dreary shade. At least on the horse, he knew his place. He’d ride to Beaver Springs and indulge in his one vice. Aunt Muriel was right about Ned visiting the local saloon from time to time, even though his weakness was for cards and gin rather than female flesh.

Riding out into the wilderness brought Ned peace, but also left him with way too much time to think, so when he itched to take his mind off things, gambling always did the trick, putting him squarely in the here and now.

He could breathe again once he passed through the simple wooden gate at the entryway to the ranch and took the trail leading through a landscape of rocks and evergreen trees scattered across grassy hillocks. It would allow him to avoid looking at the scene of this morning’s crime again, because shudders went down his spine every time the old man’s face, with neither lips nor eyes, passed through his mind.

He eventually joined the main road and followed it into a gorge. He tipped his hat to a local beet farmer who was travelling in the opposite direction. No words were exchanged, and Ned went on his way, still bristling like a dog that had been kicked one time too many. The murmur of the shallow creek where he would sometimes wash his hands and face before entering the town sounded like Aunt Muriel’s nagging, and he shook his head, speeding up between the rocky slopes. He only pulled on the reins to slow down his steed when they reached the mouth of the gorge. Wooden houses, peppered on either side of the creek, and the archway symbolized where wilderness stopped and civilization began.