Lars bit his lip as they both filled their arms with firewood. “Won’t lie, I’m looking forward to some privacy and warmth.”
“It’s snowing,” Cole whispered to change the topic, and looked past Lars, at glinting dust lazily falling to the thick layer that already covered the clearing. “They won’t track us down now.”
“Good, we won’t have to rush then. It’s been a while since we enjoyed some rest.”
The snowfall became denser as they made their way back to the cabin, and Cole promised himself to melt snow for Nugget and clean his stall as soon as he managed to get the fire going.
Ned sat tied to a chair in the middle of the main room, with Dog licking a bowl at his feet. The filthy mutt was still wearing the damn costume of strings, bone, and rattlers, but since it was in Lars’s care, Cole ignored it and carried the wood straight to the hearth.
“We could use that thing to guard our camp at night. Maybe we should take him with us once we hand O’Leary to Thaddeus Craig?” Lars asked, surely planning to annoy Cole yet again.
“He’s a good dog,” Ned mumbled, watching the beast with tenderness in his eyes.
Lars scooted next to the fireplace and picked up a piece of black leather. When he swung it in the air with a grin, Cole realized it was a glove. “Look. It’s got six fingers.”
Cole dropped whatever he still had left in his arms.
The bastard had kept a trophy. A memento of the man he’d murdered in cold blood, because Cole had been too blind to see the signs.
With the buzz of a hornet swarm echoing in his head, he spun on his heel and punched Ned’s face so hard the scumbag dropped to the floor along with the chair.
Fury burned down any illusions the past two days had woven through his mind. There would be no reconciliation. And if Ned O’Leary refused to give Cole what he wanted, then Cole would force him.
“You will talk. Sooner or later, but you will.”
Chapter 8
The bed hadn’t been used for quite some time, so Cole went ahead and hung the deer skulls on the wall above it, and then filled the limp mattress with fresh straw as soon as he was done cleaning up the stable. The physical effort had been just what he needed, and he’d fallen asleep the moment his head had touched the pillow.
By the time they awoke on their first morning at the cabin, the snow that had fallen throughout the night reached up to Cole’s knees and was hard as one of the meringues Cole had enjoyed in a fancy Omaha cafe last year.
It was March already, but nature had special plans for this homestead so high up in the Rockies, and Cole resigned himself to staying put until thaw. He found out halfway through the day how taxing that would be.
Lars decided Ned ought to be locked in the pantry, and since the dog wouldn’t stop whining by its door, it had been lured outside with a piece of rabbit meat. It had only recently stopped howling, once Lars let it into the barn and left it some more snacks.
Since they’d have to stay in the neglected cabin for the foreseeable future, Lars and Cole spent the rest of the day making it habitable. By late evening, two chairs faced a crackling fire, the floor had been swept clean, and another pot of water for their bath was about to boil on the stove.
With the house in a state that made it feel halfway like a home, this could have been a pleasant evening. If it wasn’t for Ned roaring from the pantry as if cockroaches had chewed through his stomach and were now making a nest in his gut.
Lars leaned toward the fire with his hands extended for warmth. “Are you sure it’s risky to gag him? I’m so sick of this yowling.”
Cole squeezed the armrest, shivering from the cold despite the fire burning two steps away. The ungodly noises took him to that time many years ago when Tom and Zeb had ‘taken care’ of the cabin’s owner. Instead of finishing him off, they’d taken their time, unreasonably offended by his lack of hospitality. He couldn’t believe fate had led him all the way back there.
“I’ve seen men trying to get off booze, and it wasn’t pretty or safe.”
“Maybe we should give him something to do.” Lars pointed to the collection of hand-carved cowboy figurines which had prevented them from sweeping the floor until Lars had lost his patience and gathered the whole wooden army in two buckets.
Cole flinched when Ned’s moan turned into a cry of fear. “He’s here! He’s back. Oh Lord!”
Lars screamed out and jumped to his feet. He crossed the room and banged on the pantry door with both palms. “You’re not getting booze by trying to scare us with ghost stories! Shut the fuck up!”
A dull sob came from behind the painted door, and Cole found himself rising from the chair with a sinking sensation deep in his gut. “I’ll check on him.”
Lars spread his arms and approached Cole with a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He looked good with his pants hanging low on his hips and the shirt open halfway to reveal the glint of pale hair on his chest. “How about some fun first? It’ll be easy enough to ignore him if we close the bedroom door.”
Cole’s mouth twisted. He was tired after the lengthy journey through the snow, and all the work they’d done upon reaching their goal. Where was Lars getting all this energy from? “We both stink. You do remember how much time I spent shoveling horse manure?” It was an exaggeration, but as good of an excuse as any.
Lars pointed to the steaming tub. “We can wash together.”
Cole’s thoughts instantly flew back to the one time when he and Ned had shared a proper bath. It was after the first time Ned had let Cole fuck him, and he’d been so drunk on love he’d spent an outrageous sum to have the tub filled with fresh water for their exclusive use. He’d been so reckless then. So blind.
“Look, I’m real tired and I suppose… just not in the right mood.”
Lars’s smile turned into a scowl and he walked back to the chair in front of the fireplace, as if Cole had slighted him. “Suit yourself.”
Cole dragged his hand down his face. This was the negative side of having a partner. There were always expectations, and when those weren’t met—bitterness. But lone survival was no easy feat, and Ned’s mind was the perfect example of what solitude could do to a man over the years.
He rested his hands on his hips and faced the pantry, which yet again emitted a howl that finished in a bone-melting shriek. “No, no, no, don’t come any closer!”
Were there rats in the pantry? Cole hadn’t seen any in the house, but it was time to make sure their captive wasn’t bleeding out from bites.
Opening the dark room was like stepping into the cold outside. Its ceiling hung low over Cole’s head, as if it were about to drop and squash him, and for the blink of an eye he was again the twelve-year-old boy who’d found another child hiding in the cupboard—in this very pantry. His throat tightened with emotion as he lifted the kerosene lamp he was holding, looking for a sign of Ned but only saw the source of a sickly, acidic odor hanging in the air—a bucket they’d left for him to use as a latrine.
The warm glow licked the floor, but their captive was only revealed once Cole’s gaze slid to the very end of the interior where two legs stuck out from between the cupboard’s open doors.