Tommy would be fine here.
“Sure, go on,” Ned said to Tommy who whistled at Dog and walked along the tall bars of the fence, looking in with an unreadable expression.
Ned rested his forehead against the metal with a deep sigh, and Cole hated that even with his hair out of place and a dull complexion, he was handsomer than the most dashing actors in New York City.
“Here we are,” Cole said, staring at Tommy’s small form, and then past him, at the children working to produce their own food. Discipline was a healthy thing to instill in young minds. Way more difficult yet infinitely better than teaching those same children to steal.
“Look at the face of that nun,” Ned pointed out with his head. “Like she’d sniffed some manure.”
She did have a big scowl, and Cole found himself chuckling the very moment her severe eyes settled on them. A blink of an eye later, she moved toward them in a robe so somber it absorbed all sunshine and joy.
“Yikes. She must have heard you,” Cole said, and as he leaned closer to Ned, he smelled last night’s sweat and straw. Had he slept with the horses?
Ned’s frown was more intense than hers. “It’s not funny. We don’t know what she’s like. What if she disciplines the children too harshly? Who knows what goes on behind this facade?”
Cole stilled, and his gaze wandered to Tommy, who sat in the dirt and hugged Dog. The tiny fingers tightened in the mutt’s fur, as if he were ready to cling to his friend for dear life, but the boy’s gaze wouldn’t rest and darted left and right.
The smile dropped from Cole’s mouth. “They’re nuns… aren’t they good people by definition?” he asked even though he’d seen enough of the world to know faith guaranteed nothing. There was a surprisingly thin line between goodness and terror, and the black habits shouldn’t be any more reassuring than the smiles of the brothel madam who’d put Cole to work once his mother had died and scarred his face with the mark of a whore.
“I haven’t done many things right in my life, but this feels especially wrong,” Ned said grimly, cooling his skin against the gate.
Cole gritted his teeth. “Take him then.”
“Let’s face it, I can hardly take care of myself. I’ve got no money, no family, and I’m a wanted man.” He didn’t sound sorry for himself, just tired of it all. “It’s no amendment for my sins, but once I get my life in order, I’ll come back for him.”
For all his faults, it seemed Ned was the better man. Cole couldn’t imagine living with the responsibility of caring for a child on his own, yet here Ned was, already making plans for the boy’s future. And if he succeeded, if he set himself up with Tommy somewhere safe, he’d have more than enough reason to continue staying off the drink.
The nun was ever closer, staring at them as if she were about to accuse them of upsetting the peace of her home, but Cole ignored her and shifted toward Ned, dropping his voice to a whisper. “He can’t speak. And he has six fingers. What if the other orphans don’t accept him? We could leave him with Judith, and I’d pay for his keep until you feel ready.”
It was as if a weight had fallen off Ned’s shoulders, and he stood straighter, finally looking back at Cole. Yesterday's fight weighed on both their minds, but neither would mention it, as if their hearts were too fragile to handle that conversation. “You’d do that? I’m sure I could pay back with time.”
Cole shook his head, staring into the treacherously green eyes for the first time since last night. “No. He’s as much your responsibility as mine. I’ll continue paying my due for his keep for as long as I can.”
This meant he’d have to stay in touch with Ned. That the ties that bound them would never be cut clean. The truth behind his offer made the air between them tremble like the horizon on a hot summer day. It was only fitting that Butcher Tom's blood would end up binding them together.
But Ned didn’t step closer or attempt to touch Cole’s hand. He just nodded. “It’s up to you, but if that’s your choice, you have my thanks. It’s been a while since I actually had to think about a future beyond the next few days, but I will make it work. The kid deserves it for what I’ve done.”
Cole was surprised by the choking sensation in his throat, and stuffed his hands into his pockets when they trembled with the need to adjust the front of Ned’s leather jacket. “He already loves you like an older brother.”
“Hey, Tommy? Come over here!” Ned yelled, and Cole half-expected the sour-faced nun to scold them, but all of a sudden, she spun around and ran.
Ghostly fingers raked down Cole’s back, but Dog noticed the danger first, his front sinking lower as he barked in warning. Cole grabbed Ned’s vest and pulled without checking what the threat was. There was no time to waste on looking over his shoulder when bullets swished through the air. The produce seller screamed out, and ran off without her stock, but that was the last Cole saw of her as he ducked into the dry dirt.
He managed to shove Ned behind the plinth of St. Nicolas’s statue and scrambled to grab Tommy’s coat, dragging him into safety just as a bullet shattered the edge of the stone block that had become their shelter.
The boy gave a loud shriek, trying to get away, but Cole pushed his little head down even before he produced his own pistol and peeked past the saint’s stone form to see a familiar silhouette.
Back from his mausoleum of fire and dirt, Zeb stood in the middle of the road, a carbine repeater clasped in both hands as he grinned, teasing the gap in his front teeth with the tip of his tongue. His face was still discolored after the beating he’d gotten in the mountains, and unless it was a trick of the light, there was a large scar on his forehead, crudely mended with black thread.
“Surprise, roaches. I’m here to deliver some poison!”
Cole’s head became empty when he met Ned’s gaze, and they likely had the same question: how in the world had the bastard found them?
They might’ve been Zeb’s target, but every person in this street was at risk. A stray bullet could find its way through the bars of the fence and hit a child, or one of the nuns. Most people had the good sense to run for cover, but a fancy-looking horse had gotten spooked close by and reared, tossing the rider off its back.
Shutters closed. A woman ran into the yard, where the three girls had been playing, and chased them back indoors. The scene deserted within the blink of an eye.
“I let you live!” Ned yelled, stiffening at Cole’s side as if he were an animal chased into a corner. “You should have taken that opportunity!”
Zeb laughed, but he wouldn’t have been fooled, and surely kept his finger tight on the trigger. He stood in the open, but had always been a good shot, and if Cole leaned out to take his aim, he might end up with his hand in pieces.
Sweat beaded on his back, and he pressed Tommy lower to the ground as his skull hummed with the echo of the blood pulsing in his veins. Risks had been so much easier to take without Ned and Tommy to care for. He had too much to lose to recklessly face danger.
“Whatever happens, don’t show yourself,” he whispered to the boy, but it wasn’t him Cole should have said that to.
A bell rang somewhere down the street, and Ned bolted. Cole inhaled the floating dust in silent horror as Ned rolled away from him, shooting with his unsteady hands. Zeb answered in kind, and the fact that none of his bullets put Ned down before he reached the abandoned fruit cart was sheer luck. But there was no way of telling whether he’d been hit or not, which pushed all kinds of insults to Cole’s lips.