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

Ned bumped his shoulder into Cole’s. “Not so scrawny anymore. You’d be of use at my shop in California.” He stopped counting the glasses he’d already drunk, but the pleasant warmth in his veins replaced the chill of death, which had come too close to his neck. The soft yellow glow of the lamps hanging from the beams made everyone more handsome, and even the liquor tasted a bit sweeter in good company.

“See, that worries me. What if I put all my funds into a shop, and it burns down. I’d be left with nothing. At the mercy of strangers.” Cole shook his head with a small smile. “I’ll only think about settling somewhere once riding strains my old bones. You’re never really safe because of a roof over your head. But good friends, ones who share your secrets, can be for life,” he whispered so quietly Ned had to lean closer to hear him over the noise in the saloon.

“Hope I’m no stranger after today…”

When had Cole rolled up his sleeves? The hairs on his solid forearms were so dark, Ned was tempted to explore their trail all the way to the veins on Cole’s long-fingered hands.

Silly thought.

Cole smirked. His calf slid against Ned’s, and like a match rubbing a coarse surface, it sparked fire. Ned stared back at him, mouth dry, heart racing toward the finish line, but where it lay, he didn’t know. Either way, his compass pointed to Cole.

“Brothers,” Ned rasped and clinked their glasses.

Cole shook his head, and when he smiled, making his stubbly skin stretch, Ned found himself staring at where the corner of his mouth seemed to dig into the cheek. “More than that.”

Ned bit his lips. What could be more than brothers?

He didn’t find the breath to ask before a tall miner walked up to them and clinked his own bottle to theirs.

“Strangers, how about a friendly game?” he asked in an accent that was foreign to Ned’s ears, but while the man’s tone sounded stilted, Ned could understand him well enough.

Cole snorted. “What are the rules?”

The miner looked back at a table where several friends of his sat over a game of dice. When the men grunted and tapped their hands against the wood in encouragement, the miner spread his arms wide. “The man who drinks most wins.”

Ned got up from his stool, already grinning. “I’m in,” he said, lightheaded from the sudden change in position. He couldn’t wait to make the whole world blurry. And if the game involved dice? All the better.

He had no idea how long he and Cole sat by the miners’ table, drinking whenever the dice said so, but by the time the saloon spat them out into the street, they were both full as ticks and needed to hold on to one another for balance. The crowd outside had thinned, but some of the men who’d been on their feet earlier had collapsed in random places, too deep in liquor to make their way home. Music still called out to them from the large tent on the edge of town, and Cole swung his hips left and right, humming the Norwegian song they’d learned to bumble their way through alongside the miners.

Neither of them had the vaguest idea what it was about, nor if it was decent enough to sing in mixed company, but the two girls leaning out the brothel window wouldn’t have been offended by any indecencies that might pass through his lips.

As they neared the temporary dance-hall, watching blurred shadows pass behind the canvas at speed, he crooked his head, peeking into the gap between the folds at the entryway, barely managing to hold Cole’s weight when he stumbled.

“Look at the… y’know, the dancing.” He smiled and pulled Cole's arm, no longer caring that Cole’s hair oil might rub off on his coat. In fact, he liked the scent so much he wouldn’t have minded ending up covered in it.

“No, look at that,” Cole said, pulling Ned toward a smaller tent, which was so brightly lit they could recognize the shape of a man inside. He let go of Ned and scooted in front of a signboard standing in front of the entrance. “P-O-R-T-R-A-I-T-S,” he read, spelling out the word with a low slur. “Let’s do that, Neddie. I want a picture with you.”

Ned pulled him up so rapidly Cole spun to face him, silent as he stared back at Ned. It was too dark to see color, but the heat of Cole’s body suggested a flush coloring his angular cheeks.

No one had ever called him Neddie before. Not even his mother. Such a silly thing, yet the intimate friendship it implied warmed his heart. Maybe once his brains recovered from tonight’s drinking he could come up with a fitting nickname for Cole too. “With me? Ah! Proof. Proof we were here all night!” He grinned and patted Cole on the back for such sober thinking.