Chapter Six
The storm was ebbing and darkness had fallen a long time before. Craig had tossed and turned upon his cot and hadn't slept a wink...
He had moved his cot to the farthest side of the tiny shack from Ezekiel's but it wasn't far enough. Something about knowing the other man was sleeping naked so close by had Craig feeling anxious.
He thought about his saddlebags beside the door and the whiskey he'd managed to stash away inside. He could sure use a drink of whiskey just now—just something to take the edge off so he could get some sleep.
Slipping from the bed, Craig grabbed his trousers, now mostly dry, and slid into them before walking to his saddlebags. He moved silently—as silently as he'd learned to walk while robbing rich men's ranches.
His hand itched as it closed around the bottle. He knew he shouldn't but that didn't stop him from pulling the bottle out and removing the cork.
Just as he was about to put the bottle to his lips, Ezekiel's angry voice came from behind him. "Can I ask what you think you're doing?"
Guilty fear shot through Craig like a bullet. He suddenly felt like a boy caught with his hands in the cookie jar... and it riled his temper that he felt that way!
He was a grown damn man and if he wanted a drink, he should be able to have one—he didn't have to answer to anyone.
"I'm having a drink. Want one?"
Ezekiel shook his head as he crossed his thick arms over his broad, bare chest. Craig swallowed hard when he realized that Ezekiel had not taken any time to put clothes on before confronting him.
"I'm not having a drink. And neither are you."
Craig grunted and lifted the bottle but before he could take a drink, it was jerked from his hand. "No, you're not."
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Craig demanded.
"Keeping you from getting sloppy drunk when we have work to do tomorrow."
Craig hated that Ezekiel seemed so calm when he was so close to losing his mind completely and attacking the man. "I wasn't going to get sloppy drunk. Now give me the damn bottle back."
Ezekiel raised a black brow. "Why do you want it?"
"I....uh..." Craig struggled to answer the simply question. He stomped his foot, feeling every bit a two-year old. "I just need it to sleep tonight. Just a little to help me sleep."
Ezekiel nodded and seemed to be thinking hard on what Craig had just said. Maybe the man was going to see reason and give him the bottle. "Do you need sips often to help you sleep?" Ezekiel asked.
Craig shrugged. "Sometimes. Now give me the damn bottle."
Instead of responding, Ezekiel took two steps to the door and jerked it open. Craig saw him raise the bottle and knew the other man was about to throw it.
He jumped at him, attempting to stop him while yelling obscenities. Ezekiel shook him off as if he were no more than a pesky fly and threw that bottle with all his might.
Craig watched as it shattered upon the wet, rocky ground and every bit of his whiskey was wasted. "Why you son of a bitch!" Craig exclaimed.
Ezekiel stepped back and closed the door. "You're not getting any whiskey. Not on my watch."
Craig was mad. Livid. What right did Ezekiel have to control everything he did?
"Something is wrong with you," Craig accused. "Your cart's lost a few bricks. That was my whiskey so you owe me a bottle when we get back."
Ezekiel, still completely nude, simply let out a tense breath through his flared nostrils as he turned away from Craig and headed toward his clothes.
"What do you have against having fun?" Craig demanded.
"Not a thing," Ezekiel replied, grabbing up his pants.
Craig snorted. "You could have fooled me. What do you have against a man taking a sip of whiskey now and then? All men need a sip to relax at times."
Ezekiel didn't say a word as he pulled on his long johns and trousers. Then he turned slowly to Craig and his expression was grave. "Yes, but not all men turn one sip into twenty and end up broken and bloodied."
Craig threw his hands up in frustration. "That's it! When we're done with this job, I'm out. I'm leaving the ranch."
"Why not just leave now?" Ezekiel asked, returning to his cot and sitting down.
Craig glared at him. "Because I said I'd do this job and while you might think I'm nothing but a gambling, whore mongering drunkard, I am a man of my word."
Ezekiel laid down in the darkness and put his hands behind his head. "I'm glad to hear that. Now go to sleep, Craig. If talking will help you fall asleep, I'd be more than happy to help but whiskey isn't the answer."
Craig grumbled under his breath, curled up on his own cot and turned his back toward Ezekiel. He was angry. Angry at the other man for throwing his whiskey and acting so patronizing about it—and angry at himself for feeling as if he needed the whiskey to begin with.
Why? Why did Craig insist on being his own worst nightmare?
A/N: I've had several complaints about chapter length but doing the shorter, more frequent chapters is working for me. So, I believe that will be the format for this story. I am sorry if anyone is dissatisfied with that but in order to keep myself motivated to write, this is the way it needs to be done!
I hope y'all are enjoying the story! Things are going to be picking up between Craig and Ezekiel quite soon! Just had to keep Craig's head up his ass a little bit longer!
Love y'all
~Nicole
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