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)
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.