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

Once at the right door, he pressed the handle without thinking twice, and when it wouldn’t give, rammed it open with his shoulder.

The air was dense and sweaty inside, and the shriek of a woman told him the room was in use even before he spotted two figures tumbling under the sheets. The man, naked as the day he was born, rolled onto the floor, going for the side table where his things were, but the sound of a cocking gun made him freeze and raise his hands. Damn. It was the general store owner’s son.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you, friend,” said Cole’s short companion, but Ned was already on his way to the window.

“Sorry,” he muttered to the surprised couple and pulled on the curtain, tearing it off to reveal the glass pane and wooden stairs beyond it.

His skull was a pot of boiling oil about to explode.

“Come out, and we might resolve this matter like civilized people,” the sheriff roared from below, not in the mood for a confrontation, but Ned had a feeling that violence would have been inevitable if the three strangers ended up cornered. He opened the window and nodded at the wooden stairs while the prostitute and her client ran out of the room wrapped in bedding.

The roguish-looking man with spurs stood next to the exit and pointed at it in a gallant gesture. “Ladies first.”

“You’re slowing us down,” the short man said and jumped outside with the grace of a filly. Was he? A man? His smooth face and voice were everything but masculine, but Ned didn’t have the capacity to consider those facts when Cole slid outside last and glanced at Ned, teeth digging into his lip. His chest expanded when both his companions disappeared from sight, but instead of following them right away, he lost precious seconds to grab Ned’s hand.

“Name’s Cole Flores. Much obliged.”

The touch alerted Ned to the sweatiness of his own palm, but he squeezed Cole back, meeting the black gaze. “Ned O’Leary. Pleasure’s all mine,” he said. After all, he’d be going home with a fat purse.

He had no reason for it, but kept Cole’s hand in his for a heartbeat longer. The man smirked, his smoky eyes warm like the fire burning inside Ned as he let go. And then, Cole was gone.

Ned licked his dry lips, stunned by what he’d done yet not at all sorry. He closed the window at a sluggish pace, and walked back downstairs lost in thought. The yelling below sounded dull, as if Ned were submerged in water, his mind returning to the moment Cole winked at him as if they were friends.

The saloon keeper was back behind the counter, looking through the day’s earnings to make sure nothing had been stolen, but Sheriff Pattison had nothing to focus on but Ned. He rubbed his white beard and hummed. “Ned O’Leary.”

“Sir.” Ned tipped his hat, his legs hot and soft like sticks of butter. He’d never lied to an officer of law before, but it was either that or a night in the cell. “I chased ‘em up the stairs, but they’re gone.”

“Funny you say that. Jimmy Murphy claims otherwise. Told me you was scheming with those people to cheat him at cards.”

Ned scowled, outrage rising inside him as if Jimmy were lying. “Never seen them in my life. And I’m no cheater.” His attention drifted to the table, and cold sweat covered his skin when he realized that the dimes he’d won were gone. Goddamn Black-Eye Jimmy!

“Hey, sheriff, what took you so long, huh? My husband had to do your job for you, and now he might lose his leg,” cried a woman, stepping inside. It was Mrs. Smith, the butcher’s wife, and seeing her claw at her wispy hair sank a knife of guilt into Ned’s gut. Her lips trembled, and while of a stocky build, she now seemed frail and vulnerable.

“Yes! It took minutes before the law showed up,” shouted someone outside.

Ned paid it no mind and got down to his knees to search for his bag under the table. It wasn’t there, no matter how desperately he tried to find it.

The sheriff scowled and passed the distressed Mrs. Smith, walking onto the porch to address those gathered. “I’ve got bigger fish to fry than a few men brawling in the saloon. The Gotham Boys have robbed a stage outside of town just this morning. Thought the bastards were dead and gone, but here we are, so lock your doors folks, sleep with shotguns by your beds, and report to me if you see anything suspicious. There is a prize for anyone who can point me to their whereabouts.”

Ned raised his head so fast it hit the underside of a table, and swore while rubbing the sore spot.