Page 107 of Turn That River Red

“Are you comfortable?” Ambrose squats down and weaves a smooth, silky rope around my wrists. Max sniffs around us and licks the sweat off my knee. Roxi, as usual, keeps her distance, pacing back and forth like she’s holding watch.

I nod, swallowing a lump of fear. He keeps the rope loose, though, and doesn’t tie it off.

“All right.” He stands up and takes a step back. “Practice run.”

I strain against the rope. It catches for a moment—but only a moment. Then it unravels and I hold my hands up triumphantly.

“Good girl.” Ambrose winks and kneels back down to redo the rope. “You remember what we talked about.” He looks at me, expression serious again.

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

His eyes are as black as night as I repeat the plan back to him, all the details of our little ruse. And even though I’m sitting in the dirt, my hands behind my back, gazing up at a murder, I feel an immense surge of power.

“Perfect,” he breathes when I’m done, and then he kisses me, slow and hard and deep, his hand curling around the side of my neck. It’s the kind of kiss that sends heat flooding between my legs, and when he pulls away, I whimper at the loss of his mouth against mine.

“When you get scared,” Ambrose tells me, our foreheads pressed together, “I want you to imagine me kissing you, okay? Can you do that for me?”

“I’m not going to be able to concentrate if I think about that.” I try to laugh, but it comes out strained and nervous.

Ambrose doesn’t laugh along with me. He just pushes my hair back, kisses my forehead. “Then think about how I’m going to kiss you like that when we’re all done.”

“Yes, sir.”

I know the effect those two words have on him, and I smile, seeing it now: the hot surge of desire in his eyes, the way he darts his tongue out to lick along his lips.

“Be careful,” he says. “Or I’m going to do more than kiss you when this is over.”

I smile coyly at him. “I was hoping you would,sir.”

Ambrose grins, and for a moment, he doesn’t look human at all. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Then he stands up, the desert wind blowing hotly around us. He shoulders his duffle bag, the contents clanking ominously, and gives a short, fluttering whistle. Both of the dogs trot over beside him.

“See you soon, humanita,” he says, right before he turns and walks away, his steps quick and self-assured. I watch him and the dogs go, fear pounding in my chest. He says he can sense my fear, and I’m sure he senses it now.

But I wonder if he senses the other things I’m feeling, all this confused blend of emotions. My attraction to him. My worry for him. My?—

Myloveof him.

I slump back against the post, lifting my gaze to the pale sky. I can’t love him.

Can’t I?

When I look back to my left, Ambrose and the dogs are gone. My fear quickens. But he said he would be watching me from his blind, and I believe him. I trust him.

I love him.

I squeeze my hands into fists, careful not to move them too much so I don’t disturb the ropes. It needs to look convincing when Reverend Gunner gets here.

The wind blows dust into my eyes.

The sun beat down on the top of my head.

And I wait.

It’s miserable, the waiting, although I am prepared for it.The heat is as bad as Ambrose said it would be, especially since I’m out in the open, without any shade. Even this early in the morning, I can feel it scorching the bare parts of my arms and the tops of my thighs.

---