Page 20 of The Outlaw and the Heir

"Heathen, you mean the natives?"

"Yeah."

"No, I don't believe...whatever it is they believe. Most of them around here would see my pale skin and yellow hair and decide I was more trouble than I was worth, let alone teach me their beliefs."

"Okay, but?—"

"I said one question."

He rolled his eyes. “First one didn't count. It waspartof the whole question."

I snorted, kind of appreciating the slickness. "Fine, what?"

"Do you believe in God? Like...the Almighty, Christian one."

I remembered my mother's tears, wet and shining on her face after she'd tried to have another child but had lost her halfway through and was forced to bury her. Then there was the acrid smell of smoke burning my nostrils as my leg was in agony, the heat of flames coming from the broken windows burning my face. There had been a moment of hope months later when I thought I might have found friends, only to wake up weeks later to an empty camp and meager rations left for me. Ten years since I'd left my hometown, and I could still remember every pain, every betrayal, disappointment, the taste of bitterness on my tongue every time people proved to me that they weren't as good as they pretended.

"I do," I said after a moment. "But I don't think I like him very much. Don't know if you could call it hate, what I feel, because you can't hate something you've never truly loved, but it's as close as it can get, I think."

I spared a glance upward, expecting to see righteous indignation or at least disappointment. To my surprise, he had a thoughtful expression as he stared at me. After a few heartbeats,I expected that to change or for him to ask me why I felt that way. Instead, he looked back at his food and began eating again.

I didn't know what was more uncomfortable for me, that I had been so open and honest without a trace of obfuscation or that he had taken my answer with such grace. Most people on this side of the country made attempts to seem pious, refusing to accept even the slightest hint of blasphemy or sacrilege. Most I had known would have accepted that I didn't believe in God more gracefully than the idea that I could believe in his existence and not only actively deny his love but actively despise Him.

"You ain't stupid," Ambrose said after a moment, pushing his empty bowl away and looking up toward the canvas strung up above us.

"I'm aware," I snorted, deciding it was probably time to finish my food before it grew cold and even more unpleasant. "Thanks, I guess."

"But you don't always seem that smart."

I squinted at him. “I can't tell if you're trying to compliment me, insult me, or get me to talk."

"Getting you not to talk is the real trial," he said so blandly and tiredly that I couldn't help but snort.

"That's...true," I admitted with a chuckle. "Now, since you went and asked me one question for free, let me do the same to you?"

He looked up, brow inching upward. “Why?"

"Because it's fair?"

"Since when should I worry about fair with you?"

"I don't know. You honorable types seem to believe in fairness, even when you're dealing with someone who probably doesn't have the same kind of honor."

His brow fell into its customary and expected scowl. “So you're admitting you don't have it?"

"I already admitted I see honor differently than you," I shrugged. "Now, do I get the question or not?"

"Yes, I believe in God the Almighty," he said in the same angry, irritated voice he seemed to reserve especially for me. The difference was in the small way his eyes darted away, not just from me, but in the opposite direction of anyone nearby who might so much as glance at his face.

"Okay," I said slowly, mind racing as I realizedhe was lying. He certainly sounded like he believed it, and maybe he believed that he believed, but some part of him deep down didn't believe or at least severely doubted that he believed.

I had to stick that into the same place as many of life's other ironies. Here was this God-fearing man, or so it seemed, who lived his life honestly and by the law yet wasn't nearly as God-fearing as he seemed. Yet a proven outlaw, a breaker of the peace, was the one who admitted to believing in the Almighty. Sure, it came with the caveat of having complaints for the Lord, but at least there was some genuine belief.

But it probably wasn't the best time to point out that reality, so I pushed it down to clear my throat. “That wasn't going to be my question, though."

He glanced back toward me, narrowing his eyes. “Fine, ask your question, I suppose."

"How gracious of you," I said with a heavy snort but then quickly scrambled to continue as I saw his annoyance returning. "What's your family like? And remember, I want the genuine answer, not the one you'd give to someone at the saloon or wherever you go to lay down your worries and woes."

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