I’m pretty sure my parents have resolved that I’m not be alone with Gabriel again. Since we got back from the lecture at the college last weekend, I’ve been subjected to a thousand questions about where we were, what we were doing, why I wandered off.

A woman on her own is automatically suspicious. Any time I’m not being watched, I’m susceptible to bad influences. Like I’m screwing the whole football team or something any time a family member isn’t looking directly at me.

I’m not, obviously, though sneaking out, drinking, and reading Harry Potter is almost as bad.

The day goes as planned. I’m running around again, trying to help set up, corral kids, fix ties, fetch snacks. I didn’t even bother to bring the flask.

Gabriel fades into the background, watching everything silently, and I try very hard not to think about how I want to lick the sweat off his neck, or about being in the dark behind the hedge with him two nights ago.

Really, if I could just erase that from my mind, everything would be better. My heart might stop skipping a beat every time we make eye contact. Maybe I could act normal around him.

We say another prayer as we’re all about to go on stage. I think it’ll be the same speech as last time, only with more drunk rednecks in the audience, wearing sleeveless t-shirts and waving plastic American flags. That just means it’ll take longer, since the speeches have to pause for every new bout of shouting and cheering.

Just before I’m set to go on stage, a finger taps my shoulder, and I turn.

“You remember the sniper spots?” he asks.

My mother is ten feet away, giving someone else a dressing-down because the girl’s skirt comes above her knee when she sits.

“Top of the stands,” I say, pointing. “Roof of the bathroom building, maybe even the top of the barn, but that’s probably too far away.”

“I don’t think this guy has the training for that,” Gabriel admits.

This guy? Of course he doesn’t have the training, he doesn’t exist.

“What makes you think that?” I ask.

“Just a feeling I get from the letters,” he says, glancing behind me. He drops his voice. “I’ll tell you when I get a chance.”

I glance around. For these few blissful moments, no one is even looking at us, so I take a deep breath.

“There’s no guy,” I murmur, looking away from Gabriel, like I’m not even talking to him. “It’s all fake so my father could hire someone to watch my every move.”

“Ruby!” my mother shouts, and I turn.

“It’s not,” Gabriel says, his voice hushed, low, and urgent.

I’m taken aback, and I frown at him for a moment.

“Ruby,” my mother calls again.

“It’s not your father,” Gabriel says, his voice almost a whisper. He reaches toward my shoulder but pulls his hand back, like he’s suddenly remembered where we are and that there are rules.

I give him one last glance, then turn away, following my mother’s insistent voice, Gabriel’s eyes on my back.

I’ve got a smile on my face, but there’s a cold chill in the pit of my stomach.

Gabriel doesn’t know what he’s talking about, I think.

But what if he’s right?

* * *

This time, while my father talks, I can’t stop looking at the top row of the aluminum grandstands, shining in the bright sun. I keep watching the roof of the building with the bathrooms, even the barn. Every time a car pulls into the VIP parking field I look over, nervously wondering if it’s the flash of light on a rifle barrel.

Because I believe Gabriel. Or, at the very least: I believe that he thinks the letters are real, and that knowledge sends something cold crawling down my spine.

Maybe my father’s hoodwinking him, too. This could be some kind of mind game, some sort of double-cross where he’s really working for my father and only pretending to be nice to me. But the urgency in his voice, the way he almost touched me in front of everyone — all that makes me want to believe him.

The speeches last forever. I think my father might never stop talking, all while everyone on the stage behind him slowly melts in the hot September sun. I’m pretty sure the back of my t-shirt is soaked through with sweat, and I can feel it trickling down my pantyhose-clad legs.

And I can feel Gabriel watching me from the side of the stage where he stands, huge and tall and official-looking, arms crossed in front of himself. For once I wish he wouldn’t, because by the time I get off this stage I might be a puddle. A disgusting, sweaty puddle, still wearing a shapeless khaki skirt and pantyhose.

My father finishes talking to huge applause and flag-waving. Just like every time I have to sit here and listen to him bloviate, I wonder if these people understand what they’re really voting for. They hear Return to Moral America and imagine a Norman Rockwell painting of the 1950s: Dad at work, mom in the kitchen, two perfect kids and a Golden Retriever in the back yard.

But the reality is Lucas, who suffered for years and years before finally getting disowned by his own father. The reality is Kyle, who I don’t even like, but who ended up going to prostitutes instead of having a girlfriend like a normal guy, or it’s Mason, a grown man who can barely make eye contact with a woman.

The reality is me, an adult woman who’s never had a job, who has to hide her checking account from her own father. It’s not that I don’t want a job. I’d love to get one, move away from my parents, maybe even go to college. But figuring out how to do all that is gonna be a task.

Someone else goes up to the microphone and thanks him. More applause, and then at last, amidst lots of flag and sign waving, we all finally stand and get off the stage. The moment I do, I can feel twin trickles of sweat down the backs of my legs, damp underneath the pantyhose.

It is really, really unpleasant, but I pretend it’s not happening and descend the stairs, passing by Gabriel.

“Didn’t get sniped,” I say as he falls in next to me.

“Nicely done,” he says, his voice low. Even this tiny, dumb conversation seems dangerous, because I’m afraid it makes it obvious that we know each other better than we’re supposed to.

As if on cue, my sister Grace turns and gives me a look. I just smile bigger and sweeter at her.

There’s no real backstage. The stage was set up on the same field as the VIP parking, so besides the building that houses the bathrooms and the attached sheds, it’s just grass, an area for us cordoned off with plastic tape.

People mob the plastic tape, shouting things at my father. Some of the people seem angry, but most of them are holding red, white, and blue MORAL AMERICA signs, and he’s fully in his element, shaking hands and kissing babies. The whole politician routine.

Slowly, we make our way to the fairgrounds, my father glad-handing the whole way. Someone hands out tickets, and then we finally enter the fair proper.

“This is great,” Gabriel says.

I look over at him, raising one eyebrow. I hadn’t expected him to be the county fair type.

“I didn’t know you were a fair enthusiast,” I say.

“I have a soft spot for them,” he says, grinning. “Where else can you see enormous pumpkins and eat funnel cake?”

I think for a moment as we walk on a wide boulevard between a row of shiny new agricultural equipment — the latest models, all for sale — and a huge red barn, animal noises issuing forth. Someone’s kid sprints toward a tractor and starts to climb, only for his mom to pull him off, shouting.

“I don’t know that I’ve seen funnel cake for sale anywhere else,” I admit.

Up ahead is a small fenced-off area, and inside it, someone’s riding a small tractor around in circles, doing some sort of demonstration.

“That’s what makes it special,” Gabriel says.

“Maybe there’s no funnel cake anywhere else because funnel cake isn’t actually—”

There’s a huge bang up ahead. Someone screams, and I jump backward, scraping my arm against the tractor.

Then there’s another bang, this one bigger and louder and longer. A puff of smoke rises into the sky, and I’m standing there, frozen, mouth open.

“RUBY!” Gabriel shouts, and I realize he’s got his hand on my arm, pulling me as the scene breaks into pandemonium. I swear everyone is screaming and running, men shouting and pulling guns out of holsters, pointing them around wildly.

His grip tightens until it hurts but it’s effective. I nearly trip over my own feet but I follow as he practically drags me ten feet into the barn, around the wall and into a dark corner.

“Get down,” he growls, yanking me again until I half-crumple to the ground, straw and dirt sticking into my knees.

It’s dark. It smells like cows and earth and wood, but Gabriel’s on his knees in front of me, my back against the rough wall of the barn and he’s got one forearm against the wall above my head, leaning over me.

There’s another bang from outside the barn, and I shut my eyes. More shouting.

Someone’s finally tried to kill my father.

My heart just about stops. For all his talk about terrorists and suicide bombers in our midst, I never took him seriously.

“Are you okay?” Gabriel asks, his face inches from mine. I’ve still got my eyes closed and I just nod, scraped knees aside, his hand still on my arm.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

There’s a long, mechanical grinding sound outside. The shouting dies down, and I hold my breath, bracing myself for another horrible sound.

Instead, I hear someone laugh.

“Well, shoot,” a voice says. “You all right?”

I can’t make out the answer, but it gets another laugh.

“…in the tailpipe? What on earth?”

“Must have…”

I release a long, shaky breath and relax against the wall.

Not terrorists. Not an assassin, not my stalker.

Voices rise again, a tangle of people saying are you okay and what on earth was that and I got mud all over this shirt. After a moment I open my eyes again.

Gabriel’s face is inches away from mine, his huge form still leaning over me. He softens his grip on my arm.

“Sorry about that,” he murmurs. “Are you okay?”

I’m still breathing hard, adrenaline rushing through my veins, but I nod and swallow.

“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Gabriel doesn’t answer, just looks at me, his eyes searching mine, his face inches away as my heart slams in my chest, the two of us huddled on the ground in this dark corner of the dairy barn. We’re frozen like that for a long moment, my breath suddenly caught in my throat as I forget about everything that just happened, about the tractor and my father and the state fair.

All I know is he’s here, right in front of me. Closer than he’s been, closer than he should be, and this time I don’t stop myself.

We both lean in and then his mouth is on mine, firm and soft all at once. A thrill like an atomic explosion sizzles through me, my nerves crackling and jangling, and he slides his rough hand behind my neck and pushes me back until I’m pressed against the wall of the barn.

I snake one hand through his hair, pulling him against me, desperately, needing this. I have no idea what I’m doing but it feels so right that I can’t stop.

Gabriel pulls away for half a second, tilts his head, kisses me again. I open my mouth under his as he grabs my waist, pulls me in, his big hand sliding around me until his fingers are against my spine, four points of pressure sending an electrical charge through my whole body.

We kiss furiously, ferociously, like this is the only chance we’ll ever get. All I want is him, his mouth on mine, his hands on my body after what feels like years of frustration, and he’s pulling me into him and pushing me back against the wall all at once, his lips rough on mine as our tongues tangle together.

I shift on the ground, unfold one leg, stretch it out to one side so our thighs are touching. His grip on my back tightens and his hand moves down until it’s squeezing my hip, right above my butt. I tighten my hand in his hair, the other on his shoulder.

Gabriel groans. It’s barely audible, but the sound sends a thrill through me, from my toes to the top of my head.

“—you seen Ruby?” a voice asks just outside the barn.

We both jerk back instantly. I hold my breath, and for an instant, we stare at each other.

Then Gabriel rocks to his feet. He clears his throat and offers me his hand, helping me off the ground.

“I’ve got her,” he calls as I stand.

For one more moment, we lock eyes, neither of us saying a word. I’m still too surprised to even think.

“You in here?” Ray’s voice calls, and then I see his silhouette at the barn entrance.

Gabriel’s fingers on my lower back nudge me forward, and then, just like that, it’s over. I’ve got my smile on again, I brush the dirt and straw off myself, I smooth my hair against my head.

“Oh, phew,” Ray says when he sees us. “I thought we might have a situation on our hands for a second there.”

I swallow, then widen my eyes, blinking as innocently as I can. Like I wasn’t just making out with my bodyguard, ready to wrap my legs around him in a dairy barn.

“What happened?” I ask.