Home > The Man Who Hated Ned O'Leary(2)

The Man Who Hated Ned O'Leary(2)
Author: K.A. Merikan

“Can we go?” he asked, glaring at Lars, who hadn’t yet finished spinning his ridiculous stories about a Norway that didn’t exist. He may have missed his calling.

“Oh, yes, I must excuse you, ladies, there’s business we need to attend to here,” Lars said and put his hat back on.

The younger of the two women had flushed cheeks by the time he nodded at her. “But please do call on us, Mr. Enevoldsen. I’m sure my son would want to hear all about the Vikings and their journeys.” She nodded so enthusiastically, a flower fell off her hat.

Like the gentleman he wasn’t, Lars picked it up for her with a smile. “I will, and I hope Mrs. O’Leary brings her famous porter cake.” He tipped his hat to the older woman, and even she smiled this time.

Cole’s stomach sunk, weighed down by all the lead he’d ever shot from his revolvers. “Mrs. O’Leary?”

The woman faced him with a squint, adjusting the woven basket she was holding. “That is me.” Her gaze slid over him like a rattlesnake, and he wished he’d cut off his own dumb tongue long ago. He could still excuse himself and spin around, but they’d only seen one another for a couple of seconds seven years back, and if he hadn’t recognized her, then she surely couldn’t see the young man he used to be beneath the beard either. He was dressed in different clothes too. Since the bounty posters stated he always wore black, he’d long given up that habit and now sported a dark brown hat, and a white shirt peeking out from under a worn maroon vest. His duster was still his preferred shade, but that was hardly a crime.

For all he knew, Mrs. O’Leary was ignorant of his identity, so he spoke with confidence despite sweat beading under his shirt. “I’ve known your nephew, I believe. Been with him on a cattle drive some years ago. Does he still live around here?”

Her lips pursed. “You must mean a different O’Leary. I don’t have a nephew. Good day to you. Come, Susan.” She urged her friend to move, but the younger lady wouldn’t stop looking at Lars over her shoulder even as she walked off. Cole had been guilty of flirting with women in the past, but that had been before he realized only a man could give him what he wanted. Lars on the other hand claimed to have never touched a cooch yet indulged in kindling romantic feelings in every town they passed through.

Maybe the answer was simple and lay in his vanity?

“We’ve resupplied, you have your photograph. No need to overstay our welcome. One more hour, and you might attract the attention of someone’s husband,” Cole said, but Lars grabbed his shoulder.

“Are you saying my handsome face makes me a threat to the men of this town?” Lars wiggled his eyebrows and patted Cole on the cheek, which earned his hand a slap, just like it did every time. Yet Lars still did it, as if he couldn’t help himself.

“You’re like a lion who wants a pride of his own just so the lionesses can admire his mane.”

Lars laughed. “A lion needs to eat. Let’s have dinner first.”

Unless something had changed, there was only one place a worn-out traveler could pay for lunch in Beaver Strings, and Cole did not want to show his face there. “I’m not hungry. We have enough provisions to last us a week. Why waste time when we could finish the day up there?” Cole said, indicating snow-capped mountaintops emerging beyond the gorge.

“No. Why eat beans and jerky when we can have a nice meal neither of us has to cook? Let’s treat ourselves.” Lars grinned and dragged Cole forward by the arm. “Better yet. My treat.”

Cole scowled, but if he were too strongly opposed to something as normal as enjoying food in relative peace, it would have made Lars suspicious, especially after the conversation Cole had struck up with Mrs. O’Leary. Cole didn’t owe Lars the truth about his past vulnerabilities.

So he grabbed the reins of his new horse, Carol, and led her along the road, tipping his hat at townsfolk as he and Lars passed the church and then crossed the wooden bridge on the way to the Beaver Tail.

“You never told me you were on a cattle drive. I find out more every day,” Lars mused with eyes sliding over a shirtless young man who split wood in front of his home. “What next? Will I find out you cook well, but kept that skill to yourself?”

“Secrets make life spicier.” Cole stared ahead where the wooden facade of the saloon emerged like a bad memory that would attach itself to him and choke him deep in the night.

“Is that why you’re so excited about the Wolfman?” Lars asked with a grin, knowing damn well Cole had little enthusiasm for the search. It would be yet another wild goose chase. Only this time, they’d be freezing their balls off for two weeks to establish that the ‘Wolfman’ did not exist. Alternatively, they might end up ripped to pieces by a grizzly bear, and knowing Cole’s luck, he’d be the one left dying for hours with his guts hanging out while Lars managed to flee by the skin of his teeth.

It would have been a fitting end for someone like him. He was almost surprised he’d managed to last this long. “Perhaps. Might just make a winter coat out of him,” Cole said, ignoring the way his mouth dried when he saw the saloon’s porch.

That was where he’d first laid his eyes on Ned O’Leary. Cole had been smoking when the man destined to change his life had ridden up to the saloon on a beautiful palomino Appaloosa. The afternoon sun had shone through his auburn hair and made his complexion so bright under a dense scattering of brownish freckles. His muscular thighs had been tight against the sides of his steed, and he’d held himself straight despite the frown pinching his brows. Ned’s expression had only brightened once he’d spotted Thunder, and Cole had always liked a man who could appreciate a good horse.

It was one of the things that had always played in Lars’s favor, though his white Arabian, Galahad got anxious over near nothing and had already tossed Lars off its back a couple of times. It was a miracle no bones had been broken, but Lars had always been a lucky bastard, and if he’d rather have a fancy horse than a useful one, then who was Cole to scold him? It was because of him that Cole didn’t have to live as an outlaw anymore, and therefore he could pick up the slack where his partner couldn’t succeed with wit and charm.

Every time Cole looked at Galahad’s snow-white coat, he remembered poor, brave Thunder the color of tar, and gritted his teeth over the man who’d brought doom on his horse. Thunder had been a damn fine animal, the best Cole had ever had, and a stunner too, but now he was gone, along with Cole’s old life.

And despite hatred for Ned scorching Cole’s gut with acid each day, he couldn’t help but think back to the first time those green eyes had met his. Back then, Cole hadn’t yet learned to recognize men like him, yet when he and Ned had seen one another, they’d both stilled, as if struck by the same lightning, and Cole had immediately known something was different about the handsome man. That maybe if he tried his luck with that one, the dice would fall in his favor.

He should have never taken that gamble.

“Adam?” Lars snapped his fingers in front of Cole’s face. They used a moniker for Cole in public, in case someone got suspicious about his identity. “I’m talking to you. What are you waiting for?”

“I was just thinking… of what food they might have,” Cole lied and hitched Carol at the post in front of the saloon. It wasn’t too busy yet, with most of the men still working, but he shook his head at a young woman who smiled at him from behind a full glass. She was starting out early, that one.

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