Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 132512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
The house, while solid enough, had boarded-up windows, as if it had been long deserted. Both a barn and a nearby shed had traces of recent repairs, but Cole spotted no smoke coming from the dwelling, nor any signal of human activity. He wouldn’t have put it past Ned to have a secret accomplice he lived with but had conveniently failed to mention. Only a loud bark echoed in the woods around them, and a ball of fur sprinted toward them from behind the house, making a terrible noise with the trinkets and bells attached to it.
The horse must have heard it too, because it let out a faint whinny somewhere in the barn. The poor thing was lucky to still be alive. As much as Ned had talked about Nugget on the way, Cole imagined that Ned had just called a different horse by the same name, but a wave of tenderness hit him at the thought that the golden stallion could have survived the past seven years.
Ned whistled at the dog, which dashed in circles, creating a racket so ungodly it spooked even Carol, who was the calmest steed Cole had ever owned.
The large wolf-like mutt with perky ears stopped in front of them, its dark eyes wide, and tongue hanging out in glee as it sat, presenting its dense brown fur, which had been stained with ash to create the disguise of a hellhound.
Ned’s features relaxed into a smile Cole no longer thought him capable of, and he made little clicking noises, which had his pet shifting in anticipation. “Hey Coley! Good boy!”
“You can’t be fucking serious!” Cole roared when it occurred to him that the damn bastard named the mangy creature after him. Ned froze and looked back at him from the back of Lars’s horse like a boy caught with his hand in a cookie jar.
Lars whistled, and his mouth stretched to reveal his even teeth. “That’s just precious!”
Ned hung his head and mumbled something.
“From now on, we call him ‘Dog’, understood?” Cole said through clenched teeth, still stunned with disbelief. “You call him by the old name once, and I swear I’ll put a bullet in his head.”
Ned ignored him, busy scrambling off Lars’s mount. On the way here, he’d fallen off horseback so many times they ended up shackling his hands at the front, and he made use of the privilege by sliding into the snow and reaching out to his pet.
The dog yelped and rested its front paws on Ned’s shoulders, licking his face as if it were his job to keep his master clean. No wonder Ned smelled like old fur, booze, and sweat.
“I know, boy. You’re hungry. But you were still better off than Nugget. Bet you’ve gotten yourself a nice, fat rabbit, eh?” Ned said, rubbing his bound hands against the beast’s side.
Cole walked past him, exhaling vapor as he labored through the snow, toward the wooden door at the front of the cabin. The fire needed to be lit as soon as possible, because after days without it the interior was likely not much warmer than the frosty wind swiping Cole’s cheeks, even with all windows nailed shut.
He didn’t expect it to feel like a coffin.
Cold, dark, and lifeless, it oppressed Cole with its emptiness from the moment he let himself inside.
Whatever was left of furniture had been stacked on one side of the main room, and before it stood an army of wooden figures on horseback, presented in even rows as if they guarded the tub, chairs, and tables from beasts Cole couldn’t see.
He took a deep breath, shaking off the uneasy feeling of having all those little faces turned his way. If this house reflected the state of Ned’s mind, then he did not want to go any further on his own.
There were two more rooms, but he ignored them for now and turned his attention to the stone fireplace. As he approached a pile of cut wood resting next to the hearth, his gaze settled on the mantelpiece, and his heart dropped like a lead weight.
Framed in wood and leaning against the wall behind it was the twin of the photograph he’d carried with him for the past seven years. In the tintype, he sat in Ned’s lap and pressed the muzzle of his gun to the other man’s unprotected throat in mock-threat. This younger version of him leaned against Ned’s chest, held close by strong hands placed on his knee and back. They both grinned like idiots, on the cusp of happiness, and ignorant of the misery future would soon unleash upon them.
Before the night it had been taken, Cole had made several attempts to kiss Ned, but had given up each time, fearful of losing their friendship even though he’d been sure Ned’s heart beat to the same rhythm as his. It only happened once they were on their own, drunk as two sailors on leave. When Ned had reached for him with passion and tenderness that mirrored Cole’s own, their future seemed set to a common course.