I stare at him.
“What?” he says. “You’ve never heard of these big things called airplanes? Sure, first I gotta get to Dawson, and that’s a good week’s walk, which is why I don’t do it in the middle of winter, even if I’d appreciate that sun and sand even more.”
“I never knew you had a kid,” Dalton says.
“Because you never asked.” Cypher throws his hands in the air. “No one asks. I’m just the crazy ex-sheriff who lives in the forest.”
We’re in Rockton now. People have heard us coming. More accurately, they heard Cypher. He tramps out of the forest like a Norse giant, clad in fur and snow. People clear a path all the way to the police station.
The first time Cypher walked in, they’d scattered even faster, all Dalton’s bogeymen-of-the-forest stories springing to life. They’ve seen him enough now that they don’t flee; they just retreat.
I’d lit the fire in the station before I left, and when we walk in, Dalton swings the kettle over the flames. Then he helps me out of the parka and takes the baby.
“She have a name?” Cypher asks.
I glance at Dalton.
“Abby,” he says. “Or that’s what we’re calling her for now.”
Cypher takes Abby and dangles her in front of his face, his one hand supporting her neck. “You didn’t have your name stitched on your blanket? What kind of foundling are you?”
I settle in by the fire. “How much did Eric explain?”
“Just that we’d discovered a baby and a dead woman—who isn’t the mother—and we need help finding the actual mother,” Dalton says as he preps the French press. “Tyrone wouldn’t let me tell him more. His price for information is a one-night stay in Rockton, with access to food and a shower. I agreed, but he refused to talk to anyone except you. I think he figured if I got his information, I’d renege on the bargain.” He shoots Cypher a look.
“I wasn’t questioning your integrity, boy. Your voice just isn’t nearly as sweet as Casey’s. Now, what’s going on with this tyke?”
I explain. When I tell him who Edwin fingered as the family, he lets out a string of curses, and then stops short and puts his hands over the baby’s ears before finishing.
“You know them,” I say.
“Fuck, yeah.”
“And they’re not actually upstanding citizens.”
“Fuck, no.”
I rise to take the whistling kettle, but Dalton beats me to it.
“Edwin says they … sell their girls,” I say. “Prostitute them.”
“Yeah, sorry, kitten. I know you were hoping I’d say that’s a load of hogwash, but it’s not. I don’t trade with that family unless I absolutely have to—they have some items I can’t get elsewhere. And, yeah, sex might be on that list of rare commodities, but I’m sure as hell not buying it like that.”
Cypher settles in, grunting as he shifts his bulk. “I don’t have an aversion to such trade in general. If a woman’s willing, and it’s a clean transaction, well, I figure that’s better than going into a bar and ending up with a woman who drank more than you realized. These particular traders offer me a girl every time, and they get the sharp side of my tongue instead. One of the girls even asked me to take her away and marry her.”
He scratches his beard. “Shit. I didn’t know what to do. Ended up saying no, and then spent a whole lotta time feeling bad about it. It’s a complicated situation. I sure as hell don’t want some little girl who stays with me because I rescued her. I could take her to Dawson, but what then? Give her a few grand and abandon her? She’s never lived outside these woods.”
“If that ever happens again, bring her here,” Dalton says.
“It’s not that simple,” Cypher says. “It isn’t like those girls are tied to a wagon, beaten and bruised, and I’m trading with their daddy while pretending not to see them because I really need new underwear.”
I snort, and he arches his brows. “You think I’m kidding about the underwear, kitten? You try making them from deer hide. Going without ain’t an option. I tried that one summer. It was warm enough, but then you got the chafing and the hanging and—”
I hold up my hand. “I get the pict— Nope, sorry. I don’t get any picture at all.”
He chuckles. “Point is that those girls aren’t being held against their will. There’s three of them—sisters—and if I tried rescuing two of them, they’d scratch my damned eyes out. The third—the one who asked—wasn’t looking for rescue. She just figured I’d be a good provider. If I did walk her to Dawson, she’d turn around and find her way back to her family.” He waves at Dalton. “Like you did, when the Daltons brought you to Rockton.”
Dalton goes still. I stiffen, looking over. He says, very softly, “I tried to get back to my parents. To my family.”
“Exactly,” Cypher says, blithely missing Dalton’s body language. “You were better off here, but you still wanted to return to your folks out there.”
Dalton’s storm-gray eyes fix on Cypher. “Better off?”
Cypher waves away Dalton’s words—he’s ready to move on. I’m trying to decide what to do when I hear myself saying, “Why did you think that?”
Dalton’s gone still again, his nostrils flaring as if he’s struggling to breathe. I could withdraw the question. Maybe I should. I don’t.
“Why do you think Eric was better off in Rockton?” I press. “Was something wrong with him? Was he sick? Malnourished?”
“Nothing like that. I’m sure his folks were decent kids. But they were already leaving him to fend for himself. That ain’t right.”
“What?” Dalton says, his face screwing up.
“Your daddy—Gene Dalton—saw you a few times out there, all by yourself. Hunting and fishing. You told him your parents had gone off to trade, and you were old enough to look after yourself. They must have taken Jakey with them. Gone for weeks, they were, leaving you alone.”
“That … no, that never…” Dalton struggles for words. “That did not happen. Yes, I was old enough to go hunting or fishing. But for a morning or an afternoon. If my parents went trading, we all went. I never spoke to anyone from Rockton before Gene Dalton captured me.”
Cypher frowns. “Maybe you’ve forgotten. Anyway, I don’t know the details, and I might not have had much use for Gene Dalton, but your momma was a good woman. She wouldn’t have kept you if there wasn’t a problem with your folks. I wouldn’t have let them keep you either.”
There’s a set to Cypher’s jaw, one that says he’s not trying to convince Dalton; he’s trying to convince himself. He believed whatever tale Gene Dalton spun, and he cannot afford to second-guess now.
“Eric?” I say. “Maybe you want to take Abby home for a nap. You could check on Maryanne, too.”
His lips tighten, and my gut seizes. I shouldn’t have asked about his parents. I should have respected Dalton’s wishes and kept out of it until he was ready. When he sees my face, he squeezes my hand and leans over to whisper, “Nothing I didn’t already suspect.”
Before I can react, he says, “Let me take Abby and Storm for a walk. I should check on Maryanne. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
When Dalton’s gone, I say to Cypher, “May I ask you a favor?”
“Sure, kitten. What is it?”
“Don’t mention his family—either one, really. He has good memories of his birth parents, and what the Daltons did is confusing. I know you didn’t mean anything by it, but I’d be very happy if it didn’t arise in conversation again.”
He looks toward the door Dalton exited. “He’s upset.”
I could almost laugh at his genuine surprise. He really did miss the clues, even as they’d flashed neon-bright. I remember who I’m talking to and limit my response to, “He’s angry about what happened back then.”
Cypher looks at me. “You can say he’s upset, Casey. I’m not one of those assholes who’ll give a guy flak for showing a bit of emotion. If it bothers him, I won’t bring it up.”
“Thank you. Now, about finding this baby’s family…”
“Yeah, that was the topic of conversation, wasn’t it?” He eyes me. “As for giving the baby back, Edwin’s right. Those traders went on a long supply run.” He stretches his legs. “Could be spring before they get back.”
“Damn. So I guess we’ll just need to adopt her.”
“Seems like it. I know you and Eric are busy with your jobs, but you’ve got a town full of folks who’ll help babysit, and you’d make good parents.”
“People keep telling me that,” I murmur. “So this family, they must have left in the last few days. You don’t think we could catch up with them?”
“They move fast.”
“Huh. Weird, though, don’t you think? That they’d decide to do a supply run at this time of year. You said yourself that you wouldn’t travel to Dawson in winter. Too hard going.”
He shrugs. “That’s me.”
“Yet they not only chose to leave as soon as the weather got bad … but they’ll be away all winter, when people would be most in need of trade goods, willing to pay dearly for food and ammo.”
“I didn’t say they were good traders.”
“You and Edwin have decided the baby would be better off with us. I get that. Under the circumstances…” I exhale. “Well, I don’t know what’s going to happen under the circumstances, but I’m not about to hand a baby girl back to a family who’ll prostitute her when she’s old enough.”
“They don’t really wait until they’re old enough.”
“And you think I’d return a child to that? All I want is to assess the situation. Maybe they abandoned the baby. Edwin thinks so. Maybe the woman who died found her in the snow. Or maybe the mother is frantically searching for her child and can be convinced to leave her family and raise Abby in a safe place. I have no idea what our next move is, but I’d like you to trust us.”
He sighs. “Don’t get your back up, kitten. I know you and Eric gotta do the right thing, but sometimes, doing the right thing isn’t really doing the right thing, if you know what I mean. You tie yourselves into knots weighing the ethical and moral bullshit, when common sense says ‘Fuck that.’ If a kid has a choice between growing up with good parents who’ll give her the best fucking life they can … and parents who’ll whore her out before she’s old enough for high school? Pretty sure no one sees much of a decision there. It just seems best to me if I say the family’s long gone, and any fault for a fib falls on me. I won’t lose a moment’s sleep over it.”
“True, but now that I know you’re fibbing, I will lose a ton of sleep over it, wondering if I should tell Eric my suspicions, wondering if I stole a baby from a young woman needing rescue herself, wondering if—”
“Life would be a whole lot easier if you could just shut off that brain of yours. Same with Eric. Yeah, what happened to him was messy, but he’s fine now, and the Daltons are down south, and his parents are dead, and he’s still got Jacob, so what good does it do to dig up the past?”
I ignore that and say, “This family of traders didn’t go to Dawson. So the question is whether you’re going to help us get to them, or we’re going to track them down on our own.”
He sighs and grumbles and says, “We can talk about that over dinner. I’m hungry, and I want a shower and a proper sit-down meal in your restaurant.”
TWENTY-ONE
Dalton returns with Abby and Storm just before we head out. We’re putting Cypher up overnight in one of the empty apartments, and he wants to shower before dinner. He also wants clean clothing and a full line of toiletries, including beard scissors.
“You’re going to dinner with us,” Dalton says. “It’s not a date.”
Cypher doesn’t respond to that. I glance over, and he’s scratching his beard. When he catches my eye, he looks almost sheepish.
“So,” he says, clearing his throat. “Earlier, I might have said I don’t have any problem with the concept of … purchasing the time of … ladies…” He glances over, clearly hoping to be freed from this conversation with a nod of understanding. I frown, pretending I have no idea what he’s talking about.
He clears his throat again. “Last time I was here … I overheard a comment that led me to asking your deputy a question, which he confirmed.”
Another look my way. Again, I offer Cypher no sign of rescue. Dalton’s busy murmuring to Abby, who is awake and trying to look around.
Cypher continues, “It seems you have legalized the, uh, sex trade in Rockton. So I thought, maybe, if I cleaned myself up, one of your, uh, ladies might consider…”
Dalton looks over, brows raised, as if he caught just the end of that conversation.
“He’s getting himself dolled up because he is hoping for a date,” I say. “A paid one.”
Cypher glowers at me.
“What?” I said. “Did I misinterpret?”
He mutters under his breath.
“You can try,” I say. “But we’d need to front you credits. They don’t take hides in trade. Probably best if I speak to Isabel, and she can have a word with her girls, and they can get a look at you over dinner and let her know what they think. It’s entirely up to them.”
“As it should be,” he says. “But, well, while I’m open to possibilities, there was one lady in particular who caught my eye. That’s what led to the conversation with Deputy Will. She came by to give him shit about something, and he made a comment, and after she left, I confirmed the sex-trade thing. I’m presuming, from his comment, that she’s one of the … ladies for hire.”
“Ah, you already have your date picked out. I’ll ask Will who—”
Before I can finish, Jen marches over. “You steal my baby, and you don’t bring her back? I said her feeding time was six, and it’s already ten after, and I see you just waltzing around with her, while she freezes her tiny ass off.”
As she talks, Cypher steps away—quickly. I don’t blame him. I’d like to escape, too. But something in the way he quickly sidesteps catches my attention.
Jen sees him. “Oh, it’s Grizzly Adams. Come down from the mountain, did you? You don’t need to jump. I don’t bite.”
“I wasn’t jumping, miss. I was moving downwind so you don’t smell me before I get a shower. Which I was just about to do.”
“I’ve spent the last two days changing shitty diapers. You can’t smell any worse than that.” Jen reaches for Abby. “Gimme.”
I catch the look Cypher is giving her, and I accidentally say “Jen?” aloud, and she turns on me with a snapped, “What?”
I motion to Dalton, whose eyebrows disappear under his hat. He looks from Cypher to Jen.
“What?” Jen repeats.
“I think we’ll keep the baby for now,” I say. “We’ll feed her, and then Petra wanted a visit. We’ll leave her and Storm there over dinner. Would you mind doing us a favor, though? Tyrone’s going to get cleaned up and grab dinner at the Lion, and I’m not sure we’ll be done with the baby in time. It’s probably best if he doesn’t walk into the Lion unescorted.”
“You want me to eat dinner with Grizzly Adams?” She looks over at him and shrugs. “Fine with me, but you’d better make sure he wants to have dinner with me. He looks ready to bolt back into the forest.”
“Like I said, miss, I just don’t smell too good.”
“It’s Jen. I haven’t been a ‘miss’ for a long time. If you’re okay eating with me, then sure, go get your shower. I’ll come by in thirty minutes. Just don’t make me wait. I’m hungry.”
She leaves before he can answer. I call after her, “Thanks, and dinner’s on us!”
“It better be,” she calls back.
When she’s out of earshot, I say, “That’s all we’re paying for, too.”
Dalton watches Jen. “She’s the…?”
“Can’t even get the rest out, can you?” I murmur.
“She’s a little rough around the edges,” Cypher says. “But I’m not exactly smooth myself.” He eyes her re
treating form. “You think I have a shot? I mean, if I pay, obviously.”
“Here’s the thing,” I say. “When Will said we have sex workers, he didn’t mean Jen. Yes, he may have made a smart-ass comment to her. That’s because she’s been known to moonlight, which is strictly prohibited. As far as I know, she hasn’t done that in a while. So my advice is to have a nice dinner, see how it goes, and if she makes you an offer, I’ll tell Isabel it’s a special case.”
“A charity case,” Dalton says.
Cypher pokes him in the chest. “How about you just go back to not trying to be funny, boy. I don’t need charity. I just need a long shower, some good soap, and clean clothing. And beard trimmers.”
“Or hedge clippers,” I say.
“Oh, you too, huh? I clean up just fine. As you will see.”
“Actually, we won’t. You get Jen all to yourself. Tell her we decided to eat in with the baby tonight. Go have your date, and try not to spend too much of our money.”
* * *
We’re at home with Abby and Storm. Dalton checked on Maryanne earlier, and she’s fine. He sensed she’d had enough company for the day, so he had Anders take her dinner and a few supplies, and she’s in for the night. Anders will keep an eye on the place and make sure no one goes nosing around. He’ll also let us know if Maryanne gets skittish and bolts.
I feed Storm and then Abby while Dalton makes dinner. He’s better at that. It wasn’t a skill I developed at home—we had a housekeeper who cooked. That’s no excuse, I know. It just always seemed like there were other things to do, and it was easier to buy takeout or cook a pot of pasta or slap together a sandwich. I can cook—I’m just not very good at it, and the limited ingredients here frustrate me. Dalton’s never known anything else.
Tonight, he’s making venison cutlets with a mushroom ragout on a bed of egg noodles. Everything is fresh—the meat hunted, the mushrooms picked and dried, the egg noodles handmade. We may not have a supermarket’s worth of variety here, but the food is worthy of a posh Toronto eatery.
Alone in the Wild Page 13
