While Mary did have numerous admirers within the camp, Ned was positive some of them only pretended to fall for her tricks, because anyone got more obliging once their pride got stroked.
Sarah had a bite of fry bread, her dark brows lowering farther as she listened on. “Everyone sees that you’re a beauty, but San Francisco isn’t some little town. They call it the Paris of the West for a reason. Plenty of people also means plenty of pretty, starry-eyed girls. If you’re tired of living on the road, perhaps a smaller town where you wouldn’t have to share gentlemen’s attention would be a better place to start?”
It wasn’t a slight, but the way Mary stiffened her shoulders told him that was how she understood it. “I see why someone in your situation would say such things. If I were you, I’d hold on to the good man I found too,” Mary stated, casting a glance at Sarah’s brown hands.
The heat of the fire suddenly felt choking, but it wasn't scorching enough to make Ned flee the cooking area of the camp. He needed to wait Cole out and sit among people until his lover understood the topic of Ned’s rear was not to be discussed again.
Cole’s black-clad form drifted around the camp like a vampire lurking in wait for his blood, but Ned wouldn’t give in to his charms. He’d keep his gaze away and avoid meeting the hypnotic eyes that would inevitably make him comply with Cole’s pleas. And if he stayed away long enough? Cole should understand that he better not address their morning failure ever again.
“My situation?” Sarah inquired, her voice level yet tense, as if she didn’t want to stoop to Mary’s level despite very much wishing to yank at her hair.
“Word of advice, Mary,” Bertha said, looking up from above the pot heating over the fire. “Better find another use for that fine mouth of yours if you want any meat in your stew. I hear some of the bright young men at the back of the camp have empty pockets but will gladly pay for your attention in compliments. That is a currency you accept, is it not?”
Mary’s face was as pink as creamed beetroots, but she said nothing and walked off, knocking over a stack of cans on the way. Sarah and Bertha glanced at one another and sniggered, sharing their victory in pleasant silence, but Ned remained unfocused and disconnected from their exchange.
A nasty voice deep inside him whispered that what they’d attempted was Cole’s greatest desire. That by not being able to give in, Ned had proved to be lacking in terms of compatibility. That he couldn’t give Cole everything when he’d shoot a fucking star down from the heaven if Cole asked him to. That maybe he was just being selfish for not wanting to put up with a bit of pain.
With Cole drifting wherever he was, Ned ended up by the cooking fire, peeling potatoes while Bertha fried onions in the huge cauldron she used to make all the evening meals. At least in her presence, Cole wouldn’t dare accost Ned about the topic that should not be broached. She would have told Zeb of whatever secrets she picked up on, and Zeb would have passed them all to Tom. Ned was safe for as long as he helped out with the food.
Sarah wiped her hands on a towel, patted Ned’s shoulder and walked off without the kind of fears that kept Ned in one place all evening.
Another damn crow caw.
The broken sound was an accusation, and it pushed needles straight into Ned’s heart, making it bleed with each beat. This forced separation reminded him how tight he and Cole had gotten over the weeks. They slept in the same tent and were never far from one another, unless forced apart. And while not much time had passed since they talked, Ned already missed his man.
“Why is he makin’ that damn noise? If he wants to lure in animals, he should do it elsewhere,” Bertha complained, wiping sweat off her forehead with the sleeve of her blouse.
“Cole! Bertha doesn’t want to hear you practicing anymore,” Ned said without looking up. “Come sit here and help me peel,” he added half a second later, because he didn’t want Cole to give up on him. They both craved companionship, but sitting nearby would have to suffice when talking was out of the question.
Everything had been fine just that morning, and he needed to go back to how he’d felt right before descending from the mesa. The sky above was still the same intense blue, with barely any clouds to muddle its color, and the heat of the afternoon sun scorched the rocks above, perfuming the air with the scent of clay, which lingered despite the delicious aroma of onions simmering in the pot.