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

“There was this fellow at the telegraph office. Looked real shabby in a torn duster and a vulture skull on his hat for decoration. Maybe I should have spared him a dollar,” Ned mused, still baffled by the fortune they’d acquired.

Cole stalled halfway to the wagon, and his gaze darted for the office. Wind swept pale dust from under his feet and pushed it into the folds of Cole’s black coat, but he was too focused to notice.

“Are you sure it was a vulture skull?”

Like two cats teased with thread, they both glanced at the three horses hitched by the store. Ned pointed to the saddle on the first one. “I’m pretty sure. See? There’s another on the horn.”

“Fuck. You’re better with a rifle. Take one from under the driver’s seat,” Cole said, backing toward their wagon.

“What?” Ned asked with widening eyes, but he still followed Cole’s lead. In the past few weeks he’d learned it was safer to grab a gun first, expect answers second.

“All three of those saddles have vulture horns. Goddamn it. I should have noticed,” Cole said, stepping onto the wagon to open the box under the seat. He handed Ned the shotgun and looked around, wary like a wolf that had picked up the scent of a bear den.

“What’s it mean? An enemy? They don’t know we’re here, the man was sleeping. Let’s just leave.” But the weight of the shotgun in his hands suggested that wasn’t about to happen.

The lady who had earlier spied on them, rushed inside as soon as she spotted the firearm.

“We’re not leaving,” Cole said, pulling out his revolvers and cocking them both. His jaw was set as he scanned all the buildings. “The Vultures and I once got real personal. I’ve meant to deliver some payback ever since,” he said, jumping off the wagon. “Remember this scar?” he asked, tapping the barrel of his gun against his side, where clothes covered a long, pale line left behind by an old injury. “Bastards almost took my life.”

The cogs in Ned’s brain finally moved, and he remembered the story Zeb had told him just yesterday. Of Cole being locked in a coffin underground and screaming for help through a thin pipe and an ordeal he’d survived by the skin of his teeth. “Vultures. Right. Fuck.” Rage burned through his veins, and he wished to stroke Cole’s face to show his support, but he had no doubt they were being watched. “Let’s come back with more men.”

“No fucking way,” Cole said, and stormed toward the small gray building like a fury about to be unleashed. “I bet they came here to fence their shit, so they’ll also have cash on them.”

The sun hid behind a cloud, turning the light less vibrant, but by the time Cole was halfway to the office, Ned hurried after him despite the rock growing in his throat. If the man in the office was an outlaw, he could have feigned sleep and heard Ned’s secret message. It was less than ten words and devoid of context, but the telegram could still become the nail to Ned’s coffin. And if Butcher Tom found out who the message was for, he’d plunge his additional fingers into Ned’s eye sockets to blind him first.

The shotgun was heavy in his sweating hands as he ran to face Cole’s enemies. If there was no way to convince him that flight was the better choice, he’d be there to assist him, but also save his own hide. Because regardless of how sweet their kisses were, Ned had no doubt Cole would turn all teeth and claws, were he to discover what Ned had done behind his back. They might have an intense carnal connection, but Cole had been friends with Adam Wild for over a year and had stuck a knife into his neck all the same.

“At least cover your face,” Ned muttered and pushed his own bandana up his nose. The less people could recognize them, the better.

Cole showed his teeth in a snarl. “Oh no, I want them to see who’s putting a bullet in their guts.”

With that, he ran up the porch, a rabid dog that hadn’t eaten for days and had finally spotted an animal it could hunt down, already salivating for blood. He kicked in the door and shot, only to roll his back against the wall when whoever was inside responded in kind.

“Goddamn it,” Cole hollered as Ned’s shoulder hit the wood on the other side of the gaping doorway.

The air tasted of dust and fire, and when Cole attempted to lean inside, he had to pull back before the wood exploded in splinters.

“Is that you, Flores?” called out someone inside.

“Told you it was a bad fucking idea!” Ned rasped through clenched teeth, squeezing the shotgun in his hands in an effort to keep them from shaking.