The Bone Orchard by Abigail Roux Read Free Book Online

see Jennings. Ghost to ghost.”
    Ambrose was nodding, but he looked grim.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “I’m the only one can see Jennings. You’re the only one can see me. Means . . . Well, it means you may be the only one can put Jennings in the ground for good.”
    Ezra swallowed hard against a suddenly dry throat. Ambrose Shaw was said to be one of the fastest shootists in the West, and he’d been gunned down in a fight with Boone Jennings. Ezra’s specialty was investigation, not putting people in the ground. “Oh, dear.”

    “This feels like a bad idea,” Ezra whispered in Ambrose’s ear.
    Ambrose shivered, even though he couldn’t feel the cold or the breath of Ezra’s words on his neck. “This was your idea.”
    “Yes, but now I’m having doubts.”
    Ambrose chuckled softly. They were hunched together at the base of the gallows, leaning against a bale of hay. It was a good thing it wasn’t a cool night, or Ezra would have been out of luck. It wasn’t like Ambrose was keeping him warm or anything. They couldn’t even lean against each other because when Ezra had tried roughly an hour before, he’d fallen right through Ambrose’s body and sent Ambrose zipping through a whirlwind of confusing sights and sounds that landed him at the saloon of the Continental Hotel, looking for a light.
    Ezra had retrieved him, giving the bartender a sheepish look when he didn’t buy a drink, and they’d returned to the gallows for their vigil.
    “We both know he’ll have to turn up here eventually,” Ambrose said, keeping his voice low and soothing. “It’s as good a plan as any.”
    “But if he’s not loitering around here or the jail, then he’s off . . . hunting someone.”
    “You can’t think about that.”
    Ezra looked up. The flickering light of a distant streetlamp reflected off the glass of his spectacles. “How do you not think about that?”
    Ambrose fought to swallow past the tightening of his throat. He met Ezra’s eyes, his frown deepening the more he thought of it. “When I was on his dust, thinking about who he might be hurting kept me up at night. It damn near drove me crazy.”
    “Did you learn to cope?”
    Ambrose had to look away from Ezra’s brown eyes. They were so sincere, so hopeful. The answer hurt Ambrose’s heart to speak. “No,” he whispered. “That’s what drove me here, to do what I did. I was so desperate to know he would never hurt someone else while I was trailing after him, it got me killed.”
    Ezra didn’t say anything. He just reached out for Ambrose’s hand and gripped it. To Ambrose’s surprise, it felt solid in his, not the gauzy inconsistency of the other touches they’d shared, or even the kiss they’d managed. It felt warm and solid and real.
    Ambrose’s eyes shot up to meet Ezra’s, who looked just as surprised. They held up their hands, joined together. As soon as they did, though, that odd feeling began to return. Ambrose let go before they could lose the contact, or worse, before it exhausted him to the point that he’d return to the hotel.
    “I suppose any sort of emotion is effective,” Ezra said. “Even sadness.”
    “I’m beginning to wish I was more excitable, then,” Ambrose joked. He’d always been on an even keel, never getting too worked up about anything, never nervous, giddy, or overly angry, never losing himself in sadness or loneliness. People had gone so far as to call him emotionless, but he’d never paid them much mind. He just considered himself steady.
    Ezra stared at him, blinking rapidly when Ambrose looked into his eyes. The rise and fall of his chest was more noticeable, and his breaths were harsh to Ambrose’s ears.
    “Will you try to stay?” Ezra whispered. “When he’s gone, I mean.”
    Ambrose’s heart stuttered. Or it felt like it had. He wasn’t even sure it was still ticking in there. He ran his teeth over his lower lip, fighting his instinct to touch Ezra’s face. He finally did anyway, trailing his