All of his weight comes down on me and I stumble with him.
“Apologies, miss.”
“Dorothy.”
“Dorothy,” he corrects. “If you aren’t from here, how do you know where you’re going?”
“I don’t. Not really. A witch told me where to go.”
“Is she a friendly witch?”
We take one tentative step forward, back toward the Yellow Brick Road.
“She called herself a good witch.”
He laughs beneath his breath. “If you have to call yourself good, are you truly good?”
“You make an excellent point.”
“Do I?”
I crane my neck to look at him. He’s easily half a foot taller than I am, and even through his shirt, I can tell he’s corded in muscle.
He smells good too. Especially for someone who was tied to a pole in a cornfield. Something cool, and crisp, like a sharp winter morning.
“So a good witch told you to go to the Emerald City. Why did you need to be told where to go? Do you often need to be told what to do?”
I scowl up at him. “No. Absolutely not.”
He chuckles. “No offense meant, of course.”
“Sorry, I just… well, my aunt likes to say I’m stubborn and I won’t admit this to her, but she’s right. I don’t like being hedged into something, and I sure as hell don’t like to be told what to do.”
“Noted.” I can hear the amusement in his voice. “So a witch told you where to go… why?”
“Because I’m lost.”
“Perhaps us meeting was destined then.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m lost too.”
I laugh and we take a few more steps forward. “We can be lost together.”
“I’d like that, Kansas.”
“Dorothy,” I correct.
“Right.” He smiles down at me, his green eyes reflecting the light from the nearby lamppost.
The line of his body is warm against me and his scent quickly surrounds me. I immediately find it comforting.
Everything about this man is surprising and perplexing. Like a puzzle with no picture. Just a bunch of sharp and rounded edges.
We reach the Yellow Brick Road and I situate him against the picket fence while I return the thermos to the basket andretrieve a few of the potatoes that spilled out in my rush to drop it.
“We should find somewhere safe for the night,” I say. “You don’t happen to have any memories of nearby houses, do you?”
