Page 28 of The Outlaw and the Heir

"Good luck, I know how to ride. You're more likely to upset the horse than get me out of the saddle, and we both know you aren't going to risk upsetting the horse."

"And if I just...left you the next time we take a break?"

"You wouldn't. You might think you hate me, but you'd never do something that cruel. Your conscience would never allow it."

"You would?"

"Depends if the person deserved it."

"Person?"

At that, I chuckled. “If you think women are incapable of being as cruel and vicious as men, then it's probably a good thing you've never looked twice at one for a wife."

He shot me a sharp look. “And if I did feel inclined to leave you?"

I shrugged. “I'd hopefully find my way back to town, plead my case that the heat and thirst drove me so mad I couldn't figure out which way to go, and that's what led me away fromyou. Even if you got there first to say I betrayed you or tried to hurt you, there's not many that would deny this heat could drive one mad."

"You're that confident you could find your way back?" he asked in one of the rare moments where he sounded genuinely curious.

"Places out this way don't venture too far from water, even if they lay roots a bit away. Rapture isn't far from a river. I know that much from when I was taken there. And if they're smart, they did it down river, so follow the river down and eventually...I’d find a way."

"Doesn't do much for your 'mad from no water' story, though."

"True. But water is more important than food, and maybe I wouldn't have to go into town. Just live long enough to figure out the next step."

At that, he grew silent. I thought maybe I’d found some unexpected way to piss him off before he looked at me again. "Is that how you live? Going from one step to the next?"

Against my better judgment, I bristled indignantly. "And how do you live? Living from day to day, following the same routine? Following what's given to you instead of what you can make?"

"And what have you made?" he shot back with surprising speed. "You're stuck here with me. With a man who don't like you and will shoot you dead if you try anything funny. So tell me, how are you doing any better?"

"And how are you? You can't find it in yourself to say anything that isn’t what you think your daddy might like," I shot back because, surprised as I was, words and the barbs that came with them were natural to me. "All you do is live under his shadow and hope your brother doesn't find a way to drag you down."

I wasn't surprised to see his eyes flash with a sudden spark of rage, mouth twisting in fury, lips parting. Only for his lips to press into a thin line as he jerked his eyes away to look anywhere but at me. What surprised me was the moment right before he looked away. It had been just a spark, but it hadn't been of hate or fury...it had been hurt. I had absolutely intended to cause pain with my words, but knowing I had left my gut squirming and pressure in my chest that I didn't like.

I was left not only with the silence but had to live with the fact that it existed because I’d let my anger get the better of me. If there was one thing my mother had chided me on most, it was my barbed tongue, or more specifically, how quickly I let it loose. 'A quick temper and a sharp tongue are a nasty combination,' she scolded whenever something mean flew from my lips.

Not that I had any reason to feel bad about what I’d said. I knew better than to pass it off as 'the truth' because, in my twenty-seven years, I knew the bite of truth was often meaner than the nip of a lie. What it really came down to was that I owed himnothing, not even kindness or the effort not to be cruel. Plus, it wasn't like he’d tried to put the same effort into showing me the same courtesy.

And yet, the uncomfortable wriggle in my gut was still there despite my self-assurance. Sinking my metaphorical teeth into someone who hurt me felt good, but the vast majority of the time, that feeling faded quickly and left me with guilt that sat with me for quite some time. It was only when someonetrulydeserved what I said that I never felt a moment's disquiet over how badly I'd hurt them.

As the minutes ticked by, with only the sound of the wind rattling dry branches and our horses' hooves on the hard-packed dirt, I knew that for all his insufferable failings, Ambrose hadn't deserved it. He was unbearably judgmental, irritatingly stubborn, and so proud it was a wonder his back could bend topick anything up. And yet, he had never been cruel to me or spiteful. Hard and unrelenting, yes, but never outright mean.

I opened my mouth. “I?—"

"There's a river not far from here," he interrupted, then glanced over, brow furrowing. "What?"

"Nothing," I said, feeling like a coward as I backed away from the apology I damn well knew he deserved. "A river?"

"You can smell the water from here. I would've thought you could."

"Er...can't say I have."

"Didn't you mention spending a lot of time in the wilderness?"

"Well...let's just say I haven't been around long enough in these parts to know what the water smells like."

Unable to help myself, I tipped my head back to sniff the wind. I tried for a while but caught only the familiar smell of the dirt, which was dry and harsh to my nose. There were a few other things on the wind, something a little unpleasant but familiar. I strained to make sense of what I could be smelling when I remembered the first time I’d been caught in one of those rare rainstorms in the desert. I had been under a tarp, traveling with some traders, and the smell of the rain hitting the desert had filled the air and made me wrinkle my nose.

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