I close my eyes.
Rook drags his fingers through my hair from root to tip, and back again.
“We shouldn’t stay long,” he tells me.
“Just a minute or two.”
He murmurs his assent and I sink into the darkness behind my lids, into the feel of his tender care.
THIRTY-FIVE
Scarecrow
T oto stares at me in the flickering candlelight.
I can almost taste his condemnation, like ash and embers on the back of my tongue.
“Say what you mean,” I tell him in a whisper, careful not to wake Kansas sleeping in my lap.
Toto blinks and huffs at me.
I will eat you alive.
“With such a tiny mouth?”
He huffs again and looks away.
I continue to stroke Kansas’s hair as the candle burns down. The minutes are ticking off in my head. How long do I wait? How long do I remain still?
Kansas murmurs and shifts beneath my coat.
I might deserve some of the dog’s condemnation.
I might have gone too far.
I lay my head back against the earthen wall and close my eyes.
But the stillness leads to thinking and thinking leads to replaying the last hour over in my head.
The feel of Kansas in my arms, filling her up, watching her take me as she took from me.
She is a force.
Maybe I should be afraid.
Maybe she should be more afraid of me.
At the other end of the tunnel, there is a rattle, a scrape. A gust of wind darts past and the candle flame goes sideways, the wick crackling.
Every muscle in my body stiffens.
My stomach drops.
He’s here.
“Kansas.” I shake her awake. “We have to go.”
“Hmmm?” She unfurls, blinks up at me as my coat pools around her waist. “What’s wrong?”
