Ned spread his arms and smiled, slipping into his role with ease. “Don’t even have a tent of my own anymore.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. Can’t have my savior rotting on someone’s floor,” Tom said and placed a rough gray stone in his lap.
Ned popped a strawberry into his mouth and nudged Cole with his elbow. “Don’t worry. I broke Cole’s cot, so we’re both on the floor now.”
Tom’s eyes glinted, but when he reached back and produced a large blade, the sweetness of fruit turned bitter at the back of Ned’s throat. It was the cleaver. The same that had ended the life of two innocent passengers on the train. It was clean now, but no less deadly because of it. Ned couldn’t stop thinking about the things he’d seen that thing do.
Tom picked up a cup of water and splashed some on the stone, uncaring that a few droplets rolled to his pants, and he rubbed the wetness over the surface. “I like you. A few more months, and it’ll feel like you’ve ridden with us since the start. Isn’t that right, Cole?” he asked, shooting Cole a sharp glance that had Ned’s friend straightening like a soldier in front of a general.
“Sure is. He’s a good fit, this one,” Cole said and gave Ned’s chest a gentle slap.
Ned was a good fit to Cole’s body, but not the Gotham Boys. What he would do about that was still a question, but at least he knew where they were going now and could consider his next move.
“I can only hope it doesn’t mean I will have to race a train again.”
“Not today,” Doc said, appearing out of nowhere at the side of Tom’s tent and tossing Cole an apple. How did the bastard always manage to surprise Ned like that? It was almost as if he were a ghost, and Ned sure hoped Doc wasn’t a peeping Tom too, because if he crept up on his and Cole’s tent, they’d be up to the ears in shit.
“So? What do you want?” Cole asked, biting into the apple, unbothered by the sharp creak the cleaver made when Tom carefully slid the cutting edge over the abrasive surface of the rock. Back and forth. Back and forth.
Was that the noise the poor woman’s throat made as the sharp edge of Tom’s cleaver jabbed against bone? He didn’t remember anymore.
Ned was going to be sick. He shouldn’t be thinking about it, but the damn cleaver blade kept making that ungodly scrape. The image of sharp blade sawing into bone took him out of this warm morning and plunged him back into the freezing night in the Rockies. He’d never forget it.
“Time to send the train loot into the world,” Tom said with a glint of sharp teeth. “Take O’Leary with you, since you hate driving the wagon so much. A farm boy should be good at that.”
Ned straightened. “Where are we to go?”
Cole raised his eyebrows at Tom. “McGowan’s trading post?”
“Off you go. I’ve had Craw and some of the other boys load it all for you,” Tom said and rose from the chair, inviting Doc in with a gesture. That concluded the conversation.
Ned’s throat tightened at the increasing speed of his stumble off the righteous path, but Cole was all smiles while they dressed for the day.
“I worry we might take longer than expected,” he said, winking at Ned as he combed the oil into his hair. “Might run into a herd of buffalo and get stuck for a couple of hours…”
Now that Ned’s reasons to look attractive ran beyond simple civility, the sparsity and shabbiness of his wardrobe became a new worry. His pale brown pants were comfortable, just like the green shirt he paired them with and the leather suspenders holding the outfit together, but were they nice enough? After a moment’s hesitation, he put on a vest, since that piece of clothing looked so good on Cole, but then remembered it was missing a button. Idiot. Why had he been so brash to snap it off?
“Is this a good vest?” Ned asked.
Cole glanced his way, his brows wiggling. “It’s a bit big on you. A hand-me-down?”
Ned’s shoulders sagged. That wasn’t the answer he was hoping for. “Oh. Well, it is what it is. You ready?”
Cole grabbed his hand. “Hey. Your clothes don’t make you, but you asked for an opinion. I could fit it to you if it’s special. Or we could get a new one.”
It only now hit Ned that he could actually afford one. Hell, he could probably afford any clothes he liked with the takings Pearl had handed him after the robbery. “I knew you can stitch together a rip, but now you’re telling me you can actually make something fit better? Wouldn’t you rather have one of the women do it for you?”