Alone in the Wild (Rockton #5)(53)

Cypher heads back to Maryanne as Dalton and I carry on. After a few steps, I glance over my shoulder.

“Maryanne’s fine,” Dalton says. “I just figured we might want to go up alone.”

I squeeze his hand. “Thank you.”

His hand moves around my waist. “You doing okay?” He pauses. “That’s a rhetorical question—I know you’re not okay, and I know you’ll tell me you are. Not sure why I bother asking.”

I lean my head against his shoulder. “I’ll be fine. It’s tough coming up here, but it’s amazing that we have this place for Maryanne. I like knowing Brent’s cave and his things will help someone.”

“Yeah, I was thinking that, too. I also meant, though, that this morning’s bullshit is bugging you. But I get the feeling you don’t want to hash that through with me.”

“I didn’t mean—”

He bumps my shoulder. “It’s fine. I get it. We’re stuck in a loop we can’t escape until we have additional information, which we’ll get soon, I hope.”

“Yes.” I move behind him as we start the ascent. “Also, about earlier, when you walked in on me with Jen and Cypher.”

He chokes on a laugh.

I slug him in the ass. “Not like … Damn it, don’t put that in my head.”

“I didn’t say a word.”

I grumble under my breath. “You knew what I meant. But what you heard me say, that I’d take Abby myself, I wasn’t making a statement. I wouldn’t do that without talking to you.”

“I know. You were just telling Jen that she’s full of shit. Which, personally, I think we should tattoo on her forehead.”

“True. But I know it sounded bad, when that isn’t something we’ve discussed.”

He shrugs. “It is, though. I said the baby ball is in your court.”

“I’d rather it wasn’t. If it comes to that, I’d like us to discuss it. I honestly don’t know what I want. I’m not considering the options because I don’t want that to influence my decision about giving her back.”

“We need more information.”

“We do. So let’s get Maryanne settled, and then we’ll go get it.”





TWENTY-FIVE


Maryanne is thrilled with her new lodgings. It’s a cave. Literally a cave, and not the kind we see in depictions of Neolithic humans, some massive cavern that opens on ground level. This is up a mountainside, where we need to crawl through an opening that Storm no longer fits. From there, we climb down into a cavern the size of a small room. There’s an even smaller one for sleeping. The main room has a natural chimney, which is what made Brent choose the spot.

It’s the sort of place I’d consider a wonderful weekend adventure. A truly unique experience. But, well, it’s a cave. There’s a limit to how comfortable and well-appointed it can be. For Maryanne, though, it’s ten times better than where she’s lived for the past decade. So we settle her in and leave her happy.

We put on our snowshoes after that. Cypher wore his own homemade ones on the way to Rockton, so all three of us are outfitted. He’s as proficient as Dalton and finds much amusement in me toddling after them like a two-year-old.

Cypher knows where the trading family winter camps. When the weather turns bad, they switch from traveling salespeople to pop-up store.

It is not an easy walk. I’ve always kept myself in good shape—it helps combat the muscle aches of my old injuries. I have never, though, been as physically fit as I’ve become up here. Amazing what an outdoorsman lover, an energetic dog, and a lack of couch-suitable entertainment will do for your fitness level. Yet despite all that, by the time we near the spot, I’m ready to collapse. Fortunately for my ego, Cypher is the first to say, “Now this is a workout,” as he starts lagging behind with me, huffing and peeling off his parka.

Storm feels it, too, giving me her are-we-there-yet look. I don’t suggest a rest. We’ll barely make it by midday, and we already got a brief rest at Brent’s. We stop to give Storm water breaks—and take long pulls at our own canteens—but nothing more.

“You don’t feel this at all, do you?” I say as I move up beside Dalton.

“Feel what?” he says.

At my scowl, he grins and says, “Nah, I feel it, and I’ll feel it a helluva lot more tomorrow.”

“You’ll be wishing you installed that hot tub,” I say.

He laughs. “Fuck, yeah.”

Last year, a group of residents had written a request for a hot tub. It had been posted, along with Dalton’s creatively profane response. Then, a couple of months ago, we went to the hot springs outside Whitehorse, and Dalton discovered the appeal, particularly after a long day of winter work. Curious, I’d gone online and found a radio clip about a guy with a hot tub who lived off-the-grid in the Yukon wilderness. His was modeled after a hot spring—a big barrel of hot water, rather than the modern Jacuzzi-style tub with jets. So, while I may have said earlier that I wanted gift ideas from Dalton, I was totally lying. Kenny’s working on a hot tub for our backyard. If other residents want one, they can commission their own. This one’s ours.

Cypher tramps up to tell us we’re getting close. We’d guessed that from the faint smell of smoke. When I crane my neck, I see it spiraling up a few hundred feet away.