Alone in the Wild (Rockton #5)(31)

She takes a slow step back.

“Yeah, that’s great,” Dalton says, tossing my backpack down. “Turn tail and run, like you do every time we say something you don’t like. And next time we see you, it’ll be your frozen corpse in the snow. Or maybe we won’t find that until spring thaw. That’ll be fun. Casey will blame me for not letting her give you stuff. She might even dump me for being such an insensitive ass. Imagine how we’ll both feel, knowing we couldn’t help you. But we can’t keep doing this, Maryanne. A pair of mittens isn’t going to get you through this winter. You need proper shelter. Like a cave.”

Her brows rise at that, and I see a flash of the woman she was. “A cave?”

“It belonged to a friend of ours. He…” His voice catches before he pushes on. “He passed away this spring. I sealed it up, so all his stuff is still in there. It’s nice, for a cave.”

“It really is,” I say. “It has a couple of rooms, plenty of skins, a firepit, preserved meat and food, weapons. He was living better than most settlers.”

“Yeah,” Dalton says. “It’s fully stocked, and it’s secure. It’s not exactly warm when the fire goes out, but it isn’t freezing either. The temperature in a cave—”

“—is consistent year-round,” she says, her voice scratchy, unaccustomed to more than a word or two at a time. “It’s approximately the same as the average temperature in the region.”

Dalton allows himself a smile. “You remember. Good girl.”

He gets a look for that, definitely the Maryanne she used to be.

“I would like that, Eric.” She speaks in that same rusty voice, faltering and hesitant.

“All right then. Let me give you directions—”

I lay my hand on his arm. “I’d like to take her to Rockton to see whether she can identify…”

“Shit. Yeah. Okay.” We exchange a look that says, Yes, I really do want to see if she can ID our victim, but I also want April to take a look at her, and this is a good way to go about it. A solid reason for Maryanne to come to Rockton.

I turn to Maryanne. “We found a dead woman with a baby.”

She inhales sharply. “A dead baby.”

“No, the baby’s fine. But the woman shows signs of having once been … what you were.”

“A hostile. You can say the word, Casey. I knew it, and it is not wrong. That’s what we—I…” She swallows. “It’s accurate, and yes, I will look at this woman, though I’m not sure I’d be able to identify her.”

“Whatever you can give will help. Will you come? Please?”

Maryanne nods.

Dalton reaches to take the dog from me. “You two go back to town. Storm and I can talk to Ty.”

When I hesitate, he says, “I have Storm and two guns. I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe we can walk partway with—”

“We’d be heading off the path soon. I’d rather you went back while we’re still on it.”

He’s right—that’s safer, with a straightaway to Rockton. He gives me a one-armed hug and leans over as close as our snowshoes will allow. His lips press against my forehead, and he murmurs, “I’ll be fine.”

He will be. Before I came, he spent most of his alone time in the forest. I nod, and he gives me another quick hug and then heads off.

“You’re lucky,” Maryanne murmurs as he leaves.

“Yep, I am,” Dalton calls back, not turning.

I smile. Then I dig in my backpack for the extra mittens and an extra scarf, and hand them to her, and we head out.





FIFTEEN


I’m not much for initiating conversation. I’m fine with joining it or even sustaining it, but put me in a group and I keep quiet until I have something to say. One on one, I’ll talk, but even then, I prefer an easy rhythm, with room for comfortable pauses, like I get with Dalton or Petra. I’m also fine with someone who picks up the slack and keeps me entertained, like Anders or Diana.

People have called me reserved, even standoffish. They chalk it up to my Asian ancestry—clearly, I’m playing to type. That’s bullshit. My mother had no problem talking. It was my Scottish dad who’d been content to listen and let her fill the silence. I don’t tell people that. If they want to cast me into an “inscrutable Asian” stereotype, then it keeps me from having to speak to them.

It isn’t long into the walk with Maryanne before I’m really wishing I’d let Dalton walk back with her. He knows Maryanne. All I can think of are the questions I want to ask, and as a scientist, she’ll be the first to realize I’m treating her as a subject rather than a person.

So I offer her things, like an overexuberant puppy dropping gifts at a stranger’s feet. Would you like to wear the snowshoes? No? Are you warm enough? I’ve got a hood, so I don’t really need my hat. I’m wearing an extra sweater—would that help? Oh, I should have offered food and water. I have both. Okay, well, just let me know if you get hungry or thirsty or you need to stop for a rest …

It’s a wonder I don’t drive her off, screaming into the forest.

I do mention that I’d like our doctor to take a look at Maryanne. She tenses, and I can tell she’d like to flee, but she’s a smart woman and she knows a checkup is in her best interests. When she agrees, I seize on a topic of conversation and tell her all about my sister—her name, her specialty—and that gets her interest, as a fellow scientist, but it’s still awkward, as if we’re both fumbling for common ground.