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)
Ned was already halfway through the water when Cole found the chain and pulled, cutting the bastard’s legs from under him in one clean yank. Ned let out a choked grunt as he fell with a splash that soaked Cole too. Some of Ned’s auburn hair stuck to his face, covering his eyes, but he still pulled on the collar, pathetic like an injured salmon trying to jump upstream.
“Live your life and leave me to rot, for fuck’s sake!” Ned yelled, but Cole was already on him, already sinking to his knees to straddle Ned in the shallow water, which reflected the sunlight into his eyes. He grabbed Ned’s jaw and pushed, forcing his mouth and nose underwater to show him what might happen if he didn’t comply.
“I have no life. I only exist to come after you. To punish you for what you’ve done. You destroyed me, Ned O’Leary, and I deserve the truth!”
Blood buzzed in his ears, dulling even the fervent splashing. The peaceful day around them was as fake as Ned’s facade had been, because Cole’s world would never be at peace. Facing those green eyes again opened up the wound that had barely stopped bleeding after seven years. He’d never be fine. He’d forever remain a wreck of the man he used to be, living a painful existence devoid of warmth and trust, because he couldn’t make himself offer those to anyone ever again.
Cole yanked on Ned’s hair to pull his head out from under the water and allow him a gasp of air. “Ready to talk?”
Ned spluttered, coughing loudly, but when his gaze gravitated to the side, the thudding in Cole’s head quieted down enough for him to take note of voices. There couldn’t be any witnesses to what he’d wanted to do, so when he saw a small crowd of people, two of whom wore tin badges on their vest lapels, disappointment punched him in the gut. Even in his death, Ned O’Leary would have the last word.
His shoulders sagged, and energy only kicked in when Lars made a face from beyond the sheriff’s back, tapping his head in warning. Cole felt cool air on his forehead. His bandana must have slipped off during the scuffle, revealing the marking identified on his bounty posters.
But he needed to play it cool. He hadn’t been in the area since his chance meeting with Ned O’Leary, so perhaps new information about Cole Flores the outlaw hadn’t yet reached these parts. He just ought to stay calm and find his hat.
“The fugitive tried to make a run for it,” he said and stood in the water, only now realizing how thoroughly soaked he was.
He shivered as he pulled on the lump of gasping flesh that was Ned O’Leary. His hat lay at the shore, picked on by a bird too small to take it to its nest. All Cole needed to do was casually pick up the head covering as he made his way back. For now, he let his damp hair fall forward to obscure the mark.
“Good thing you caught ‘im!” yelled the graying man with lush whiskers, who had to be the sheriff, because Cole assumed the young lanky fellow with the big nose was a deputy.
Cole relaxed, dragging Ned behind him to the shore, where he picked up the fallen hat and covered the old burn mark. The cattle rancher and his hands had paid with blood for marking the wrong man with a cattle iron, but his initials, AB, would be forever etched in Cole’s skin.
“I’m just a concerned citizen.”
“So this is our Wolfman,” the sheriff said with a curious glance at Ned as he extended his hand to shake Cole’s freezing fingers.
Cole was about to speak, but as soon as their hands met, the sheriff pulled with a force Cole didn’t expect from a man his age, and twisted Cole’s arm back. At the same time, the deputy beat Cole’s other hand to the holster at Cole’s hip and pulled out his gun.
As the sheriff pushed Cole to his knees, the deputy aimed at Lars. “Stay where you are!” he yelled, even though his voice trembled a little.
Lars paled and showed his palms. “What is the meaning of this? We’re two honest bounty hunters bringing you the Wolfman of the Rockies.”
The sheriff scoffed. “You might be, but this friend of yours is a wanted man, so don’t make no sudden moves. Wouldn't have recognized him if it wasn’t for my deputy’s keen eye,” he said, and the gathering people murmured to each other as the young man stood taller and gave a quick nod.
“Cole Flores. Murderer, horse rustler, outlaw, train robber, took part in the Three Stones poisoning, and is accused of the stagecoach atrocity near Beaver Springs. Wanted dead or alive. Half-Mexican, black hair, an AB mark on the forehead, and a star-shaped scar under the eye,” he recited from memory as if he were some outlaw encyclopedia.