Alone in the Wild (Rockton #5)(47)

I smile. “No, I suppose not. But yes, back to nature can mean plant-based methods of communing with the forest. Early settlers probably did experiment with what they found out there.” I turn to him. “What is out there, anyway?”

“Fuck if I know. We still get residents poking around. They end up in the clinic for smoking all kinds of shit.”

I laugh.

He shifts Abby to his other arm. “No one’s ever found anything that’ll send them on a drug trip. My guess is that whoever concocted this tea knew exactly what they were doing. They didn’t just randomly throw plants into a pot.”

“The inventor and their fellow settlers get into it, and everyone likes how it makes them feel. It makes them more comfortable with violence, more fixated on daily survival and less concerned with everything that gets in the way of it.”

“The tea hones their survival instincts and dulls their self-awareness.”

“So they don’t sit around moaning about wanting a shower.” I remember what Maryanne said, about how that was the big concern with her parents’ hippie friends. Scarcity of creature comforts is the thing people complain about most in Rockton. I’ve learned to live without a microwave and internet access, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel the lack of them. That’s where Dalton has the advantage.

It would be simpler if we could temporarily forget the lack of comforts. That’s why we control alcohol so tightly. It’s also why Rockton had a hellish problem with a homemade drug when I arrived. Drinking the hostiles’ tea would be rewarding in so many ways.

I reach for my wine and sip it, thinking. “I feel like there’s more to it, but we have a good starting hypothesis. We know at least some hostiles are there against their will, and we’ll need to decide what to do about that. For now, in regard to Abby, we know she isn’t a baby hostile, and we know the dead woman—Ellen—was a former hostile. She wasn’t shot by one, though, so it seems any connection to the hostiles is only tangential. Our goal is finding Abby’s family.”

I tell him what Cypher did—and did not—say on that matter.

“Yeah, fucking complicated,” Dalton mutters. “Everything always is. He’ll tell us where to find these traders, though, especially if he gets laid tonight.” He looks at me. “So Jen, huh?”

I sputter a laugh that startles Abby. She cranes her neck, looking toward the source of the noise. Dalton hands her to me, and I expect her to complain. Instead she snuggles, cheek on my bare skin, chubby legs and arms drawing in like a frog’s.

I stroke her back. “Yep, Jen. Gotta give him credit for keeping his aspirations reasonable.”

Dalton throws back his head and laughs, and Abby makes a chirping noise, but only snuggles more, as if she can burrow into me. I tug up a blanket.

“Isabel and Phil, Cypher and Jen…” I say. “Spring must be just around the corner.”

“Nah, up here, it’s winter that gets them. Long, cold nights.” His gaze travels over me, still in my panties and bra. “Speaking of which…” He leans toward me. “I was kinda thinking we might spend our evening playing a game.” He waggles his brows.

“Uh-huh,” I say.

He leans to whisper in my ear. “I swiped Scrabble from the community center. You in?”

I grin. “Totally.”

“How about you bring Abby’s bed downstairs so she can hang out with us. I’ll start coffee and break out the homemade Irish cream.”

“And cookies?”

He smiles. “I believe I can find cookies.”



* * *



It’s just after eleven when a familiar pound on the door has Dalton calling, “Come in!”

A moment later, Anders steps around the corner, his hand over his eyes.

“Ha ha,” Dalton says. “We’re decent.”

Anders walks in and looks at the Scrabble board. “You guys know how to rock an evening in, don’t you?”

I lift my cookie. “We do indeed.”

Anders shakes his head. “It’s been, what, a little over a year, and you’re already an old married couple, spending your one evening off playing Scrabble and drinking coffee.”

“It’s spiked coffee.”

“Oooh, living it up. Better be careful. Too much of that might lead to the proper definition of couple’s night in.” His gaze travels over to my shirt and jeans, crumpled on the floor, and he glances back at me, realizing I’m wearing the shirt that Dalton is not. “Ah, no, Scrabble is the afterglow. Carry on, then.”

He reaches down to scoop up Abby. As he does, he gets a look at my tiles. “Boss? Better block ‘phone.’ Casey’s about to change it to ‘xylophone’ for a gazillion points.”

I smack his leg.

“Hey,” he says. “Baby on board. Careful.”

Dalton alters “phone” to “telephone.” I smack Anders again.

“I like you just fine, Case,” Anders says. “But he’s the boss. Now he owes me at least two days off for helping him win.”

“He was already winning.” I wave at the board. “House rules allow profanity, and he’s really, really good at it.”

Anders laughs. Then he hunkers down. “So, as much as I’d love to share one of those spiked coffees, I’m not interrupting your evening merely to be annoying.”