Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 165476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 827(@200wpm)___ 662(@250wpm)___ 552(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 165476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 827(@200wpm)___ 662(@250wpm)___ 552(@300wpm)
Ned’s body was covered in sweat from the heat of the twin lamps, but Cole wouldn’t look away, his eyes dreamy while he worked his fingers through the hair at the back of Ned’s head as if he were petting a cat. It made Ned want to purr.
They wanted a copy each, but both had grown tired of the one position, and Cole ended up pulling out his gun and resting the muzzle against the underside of Ned’s jaw for the second one. The nickel was cold against heated skin, but it wasn’t what had Ned’s stomach tighten. Cole wouldn’t stop smirking for that photo, even though his face surely hurt from it by the time the photographist ushered them out of the tent so he could treat the tin plates and finish his work.
“Don’t wanna waste time waiting. We should go dancing, see if there’s any ladies up for it in the tent,” Ned said, bursting with enthusiasm at the creaking sound of the accordion. His heart sang when Cole squeezed his hand in agreement. He’d drank enough to not care if his feet knew rhythm or not.
The dance was slowly winding down, because only a couple of pairs remained swirling across the wooden floor, leaping from spot to spot like fleas on the back of a mangy dog. The small band of three had bags under their eyes, and some of their notes didn’t quite hit the correct pitch, but the men were way too drunk to care at this point. Most of them didn’t have a lady partner anyway, since only three whores in lush clothes were present.
The golden light of the gas lamps trembled from the impact of so many feet shaking the wooden supports of the tent, and they cast circular patterns on the canvas walls. It was as if the town’s life had retreated here for the night, but once people’s legs grew tired and eyelids heavier, even the last of the light would dim.
Cole gave a low exhale, taking in the scene. “Looks like you’re my one choice of dance partner,” he said and offered Ned his hand, with the palm facing upward.
Ned scratched his forehead, unsure, yet eager to just enjoy himself and forget the cruel world he was now a part of. “I’m bigger. Why am I the woman?”
Cole’s brows lowered. “Have you ever danced with a lady?”
Ned swallowed, feeling silly. “No.”
The roguish smile that never failed to stir a tightness in his throat was back.
“That’s what I thought. I lead,” Cole said, once again offering his hand. “Or am I not pretty enough for you?”
Ned hesitated, but then remembered that hesitation was death, and grabbed Cole’s fingers. “Depends how much I gotta pay for your time.” He wiggled his eyebrows to tease his unexpected dance partner.
Cole let out a bright laugh and pulled him inside, past two dancing pairs and into the very middle of the floor. Ned’s head spun from the sudden movement, but then Cole’s hand rested on his hip, the other gave his fingers a gentle squeeze, and he felt grounded again.
“Don’t fight me, and you’ll be as graceful as a stag,” Cole said into Ned’s ear as they moved to the joyous trill of the accordion. His palm was hot to the touch, eyes darker than usual, and Ned could have sworn he smelled the smoke of burning ylang-ylang.
He didn’t dance—he’d never learned—yet when Cole guided him, he was like a locomotive. Despite its size and hard demeanor, it cut through the landscape with ease, led by tracks the same way Ned allowed his partner to lead his subsequent steps, whether it was forward, backward or sideways.
Cole was no longer unstable on his feet, and his grip grew steadier with each moment. The rhythm sped up, as if the musicians were set on tiring out the stragglers to finish the night’s festivities, but Cole wouldn’t let them rest. Ned laughed as if there was no tomorrow, jumped as if his shoes had firecrackers in them, and sang the Norwegian song from the saloon to the wrong melody. He didn’t care about doing things right or wrong when Cole was at his side. Their connection really did go beyond brotherhood, even though he couldn’t name it.
The other dancers spun around them, but they didn’t matter when at the center of the tent, in the golden light of the shaky oil lamp, Cole Flores pulled Ned closer before dipping him back with a mischievous smile. Ned’s head buzzed with heat as it hung above the wooden floor, with only Cole’s strong arms preventing it from hitting the floor, but before Ned could have protested, Cole pulled him back, laughing as if he’d just made the funniest joke.
“You should have seen your face! Oh no, am I gonna die now?” he mocked, widening his eyes comically.