Cole hummed and retrieved a bottle from the saddlebag. “Me and my friends… we wanted to express gratitude for the help you offered us yesterday. You acted so fast I find it hard to believe it was your first time in a fight,” he said, stepping so close Ned smelled the unusual flowery scent on him again. It was faint, just like the rosemary aroma infusing Ned’s hair oil, but prominent enough to aggravate Ned’s already erratic thoughts.
This visit wouldn’t have made him so flustered if he hadn’t known who Cole Flores was, but he had found out the truth and now shivers tickling his ribs wouldn’t stop their insistent gallop. “That why you came over? To offer me a gift?” Ned smiled but didn’t step back toward the door, because Cole would have taken it as an invitation, and for all Ned knew, the agents were still in the house. Was it an outlaw’s prerogative to enter a man’s personal space like this?
Cole leaned against the wall, unscrewing the bottle. “Maybe. Smell this. Would go well with that heavenly cake I’ve seen in the kitchen window,” he said, and tapped Ned’s toes with the very tip of his boot. From up close, it became clear that the star-shaped scar on his left cheekbone wasn’t the only imperfection on his handsome face, but the pale blemishes and a patch of red skin left behind by recent sunburn added a masculine edge to his young features. Ned imagined women flocked to a man like him even if they knew of his disreputable so-called profession.
Ned cocked his head and leaned forward to get a whiff of the brandy. It was sharp enough to clear a man’s airways. “This is good quality booze. But that’s just an excuse, isn’t it? You came here for something else.”
Cole’s nostrils widened, but he didn’t stir otherwise. “That depends on you.”
Ned pulled back with a studied sigh. Hook. Line. Sinker. “I’ll be frank. I lost my job yesterday, and maybe we were meant to meet last night. If you can think of any work you could offer me, I’ll be your man.”
Had Cole’s eyes gone from smoky to black, or was it just a trick of the light? “Funny you’re asking. We’re always in need of strong men such as yourself. To move cargo and do various such things in camp.”
“And what is it that you do, Mr. Flores?” Ned asked, but to put across that he was no pussycat and had an idea how Cole had earned his golden pocket watch and fine shoes, he smirked and pulled the bottle out of Cole’s hand for a sip. He was as out of his depth as when he’d had the not-so-smart idea to jump down a waterfall the day after he’d learned how to swim. The swig of liquor was needed for courage, but Ned’s resolve was as strong as ever. He’d avenge his family and his own suffering no matter the cost.
Cole hummed, biting his lip as he moved closer to Ned and whispered. “This and that. Some might call me a crook. Some might call me a thief. I call myself a man who’s truly free in a land where most people are sheep. The question is, what you would call me, Mr. O’Leary,” he said in a dark voice.
Ned hummed, taking his time while the brandy infused his tongue. He had to act as if this wasn’t a convenient opportunity falling into his lap. “I’d call you my one way ticket to jail, but at this point, I’m willing to take it.” There was a thrill to this new turn in his life. With Pinkerton money, he wouldn’t have to choose between wooing a bride for the sake of staying at the ranch, or working his skin off in a mine shaft. He’d be free. Just like Cole claimed he was.
“You sound like a man after my own heart.”
“We’ll see about that. What does the job require?” Ned shrugged and handed Cole the open bottle, as if the other man needed to drink from it to seal their deal.
But Cole hugged the bottle to his chest and watched him for the longest time. “One needs to be dedicated to the kind of life I offer. Or else death comes quickly.”
Ned dropped his smile, unable to take his eyes off the man who’d already changed his life once and didn’t even know it. If Cole had alerted Butcher Tom to his presence in the cupboard all those years ago, Ned would have been dead the same night as his father.
“I can take care of myself, Mr. Flores. I might not own a gun as sleek and fast as yours, but I know how to handle my fists, and… to tell you the truth, I’m sick for a change.”