Alone in the Wild (Rockton #5)(41)

Dalton approaches with a guy half a head taller than him, a burly bulk of a man with a snow-crusted beard halfway down his chest.

As I stand, Cypher says, “Either that’s a baby under your coat, kitten, or you’ve taken up serious snacking.”

“My snacking habits are none of your concern,” I say. “But yes, it is a baby.”

Cypher gives me a one-armed hug, which I return. Then he peers down at the baby, who whimpers in alarm.

“Still scaring dogs and small children,” Dalton says. “You might want to trim that beard.” He pauses. “No, I guess at her age she can’t see more than shapes. It must be the smell.”

“Ha!” Cypher jabs a finger into Dalton’s chest. “You’re getting better at the jokes, boy. They’re even close to being funny. Also, you really gotta stop letting this girl of yours wander around the woods. If she’s not tripping over dead bodies, she’s rescuing wolf pups and throwing bear cubs, and now she’s bringing home lost babies. Must be a talent.”

“I don’t find the dead bodies,” I say. “I make them, to liven things up.”

“Hey now, that’s my line.”

“You make any dead bodies lately, Ty?” Dalton asks as we head for home.

“Just the kind I can throw into a stew. And, before you ask, that doesn’t include people. My hit-man days are behind me … unless you need someone put down, and then I’ll make an exception.”

“For a lifetime supply of coffee creamer?” I say.

“Hell, no, kitten. I want the coffee, too. I’m a skilled tradesman. I don’t come cheap.” He looks over at the baby. “Mind if I hold the tyke when we get inside where it’s warm?”

Dalton and I exchange a look. Cypher sees it and sputters. “What? You think I’ll drop her on her head? My own girl grew up just fine. Twice as smart as her old man.”

“You have a daughter?” I say.

“I do indeed. She’s a lawyer down in Hawaii. Not the profession I would have chosen, but she isn’t fond of mine either, so we agree to disagree. She married a few years back, and she’s got herself a pair of twin babies. I haven’t broken them yet.”

“You’ve … seen them?” I say.

“Only once so far, but I plan to get down again this spring. Fly south with all the other snowbirds, work on my tan on Waikiki.”

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.”