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

Ned stilled, eager to avoid the inevitable loss. The man in black embodied a life so very different from one of hard work at the ranch, but he didn’t carry himself like one of them so-called gentlemen either, so Ned wasn’t sure what he was feeling envious of. Maybe the easy-going manner proving that the stranger had no care in the world? The other two newcomers were dressed far more plainly and kept to themselves, but the dark-eyed man gave a tiny nod again, as if to signify—

Was he trying to help, or to ruin Ned for the fun of it?

A wink.

The man winked at him.

Ned’s body boiled with the thrill of the forbidden. He’d never cheated before, but if this was the only way he could stick it to dang Black-Eye Jimmy, then so be it.

He had nothing to lose with cards as mediocre as the ones in his hand, but as he followed the stranger’s cues with apprehension and excitement, the stakes rose, leading to a culmination that made Ned’s heart stop. He really would be leaving the saloon without shoes if he lost one more time. The only thing he refused to stake was Nugget.

Ned’s breath clung to his lungs when he revealed his cards, fearful of what he might see in his opponents’ clammy fists. The cards landed on the wood face-up. Jimmy’s. Arthur’s. The butcher’s. And Ned’s own.

White spots ate at the edges of his vision as disbelief gripped his chest, as if it were about to break his ribs.

He’d won.

The stranger finished his glass with a smile and petted the empty table as Jimmy stared at the table top, his face turning an ugly red shade.

Out of breath, Ned caught a glimpse of the secretive man who’d helped him for no gain other than his own amusement.

Jimmy exhaled, wiping his sweaty palms on the front of his bib shirt. His wife was a sturdy enough woman to administer a right beating once she found out how much money her husband had lost. No wonder the fella was getting hot under the collar. And then, just as Ned pulled all the money his way, drunk on victory, Lucy’s clear voice caused the whole saloon to freeze.

“He cheated!”

Ned scowled and dragged the cash into his leather bag. “Like hell I did.”

Arthur grabbed his wrist, digging his calloused fingers into flesh so hard it made Ned sneer.

“You better let go.”

Jimmy was still gathering his thoughts when Lucy pulled at his shirt, pointing her hand at the stranger while the whisky-and-smoke-scented air simmered. “They’re in cahoots with each other. I swear on me mother’s grave!”

“Slander,” the stranger said, raising his head with pride. “I’ll fight any man who accuses me of being a crook.”

Fire exploded in Jimmy’s eyes as if his pupils were sticks of dynamite. The old bastard spun around to face Ned’s helper, sending his chair to the floor, and grabbed an empty liquor bottle by the neck.

Even in his drunken state, Ned knew exactly what was about to happen and threw himself over the table to catch Jimmy’s hand in time, money and cards forgotten. His knee slid off the wooden edge before he could have reached Jimmy’s hand, so he grabbed the back of the bastard’s shirt and pulled.

Unlike him, Jimmy hadn’t cared to change his shirt before coming to town, and the smell of old sweat and tallow hit Ned like a mallet, but he held on tight even when Arthur tugged on his leg, attempting to tear him away from Jimmy’s thrashing form. Coins dug into Ned’s flesh through clothes, but he managed to kick Arthur away and climbed to his knees, roaring like a wild dog about to fight for scraps.

He vaguely heard the saloon keeper asking for peace, but liquor boiled in his veins, and he didn’t want to let it cool. Light flashed in Jimmy’s raised hand when he spun, but just as Ned saw the bottle, the makeshift weapon burst to pieces, scattering shards like tiny bullets.

The bark of a pistol echoed in Ned’s skull, then came the smell of burnt gunpowder, and he pulled away from Jimmy when it was joined by the coppery aroma of blood.

Someone shot the bottle.

Ned stared at the stranger, who stood there with the gun still in hand, but Jimmy appeared whole. The scent of blood came from Ned’s own cheek, which had been slashed by a stray piece of glass.

“The fuck you think you’re doin’?” Jimmy yelled in fury once he realized he wasn't dead. His desire to attack Ned evaporated, replaced by bloodlust for the man who’d shot at him.

The escalating violence was about to turn from ugly to brutal when the stranger’s friends approached, ready to beat at anyone who might confront their companion. Barely anything had happened yet, but the atmosphere was dense, and this time not because of the stench of a place where men abused their bodies by drinking and whoring. Danger had a smell Ned would remember until the day he died, and he was feeling its sharp, cold stab already.