Alone in the Wild (Rockton #5)(64)

“That’s bullshit,” I say.

“Yep, but it happens to women all the time, doesn’t it? That’s what I realized. Gene was telling me that this woman wasn’t a threat, wasn’t actually hurting anyone—including me. She just liked me a lot, as if…” He waves his hands. “As if that’s my fault, because I’m so irresistible.”

I smile. “I think you are. But yes, it’s bullshit, and yes, women hear that all the time. He just likes you. You should give him a chance.”

“Exactly. I pulled my head out of my ass and realized that when women came to us with the same problem, we didn’t do jack shit. If it wasn’t assault, then it was just a guy trying to get sex.”

“Boys will be boys.”

“Right. And this is my very long way of explaining what happened with Owen and Isabel. Iz came to Gene with her complaint. Gene told her to be firmer with her refusals.”

I snort a laugh.

“Yeah,” Dalton says. “No one is firmer with her refusals than Isabel. So I tried to handle Owen and made an even bigger enemy in the process. I also realized this wasn’t some guy being atypically aggressive with a woman. He had a past. He must. So I started digging. It was the first time I’d done that.”

“And?”

“First, I checked his reason for being here. As deputy, I didn’t have access to that, but I knew where to get it. I discovered that he’d come here after an attempt on his life. He’d had a fling with a married woman, and the husband went after Owen, who narrowly escaped. The man vowed to finish the job. So Owen came to Rockton.”

“Uh-huh. Not exactly how it happened, is it?”

“No, and Gene should have looked at Isabel’s complaint and at least wondered if there was more to Owen’s story. He didn’t. So I did some research when I went to Dawson. Turned out there was no fling, but not for lack of trying on Owen’s part. He was stalking this woman, and her husband went after him because the police wouldn’t. I also dug up his name as the defendant in a rape case. What they used to call date rape.”

“He wanted sex, and the women didn’t, so he took it.”

“I’m not even sure if he asked. It was a college thing. A frat party. She said he put something in her drink. He denied it and said the sex was consensual. It never went to court. She dropped the case and dropped out of college, claiming harassment from Owen and his buddies.”

“I wish I could say I’ve never heard that story before.”

“Yeah, so the fact this asshole has turned his eye on you has me worried. Just because Cherise has the upper hand in the relationship doesn’t mean Owen is harmless.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

“I’d never not tell you. As much as I hate making this place any scarier than it is.”

I hug him, and he pulls me into his arms as we curl up for sleep.





TWENTY-NINE


We’re asleep, and I’m dreaming of Abby. Dreaming that she’s lost in the woods, and I hear her crying, and I can’t find her. I’m running through the forest, bottle in hand, thinking she’s hungry and I need to feed her. I’m following her cries … and then she stops. Just stops.

I startle awake. Storm whines, and I realize she was already up. She’s still lying on the floor beside me, but she has her head raised, and she’s whining deep in her throat. She smells or hears something.

The cabin is silent and nearly dark, with just enough moonlight streaming in for me to see the outline of Storm’s massive head. She glances my way, and I catch the gleam of her eyes. Another whine, sharper now. She rises with the huff of propelling her big body off the floor. Her nose nudges me, and I run my hand over her head as I listen for what woke her.

A whisper of movement. That’s what I catch. The soft sound of a foot in snow. Then another. A noise follows. A grunt? I think of bears, but even if one woke from hibernation, the sounds are too soft for that. They’re too careful for that. Something is outside, and it is staying as quiet as it can.

A bump startles me. It’s a soft thud. Someone bracing against the wall? Trying to peer in a window?

I glance at Dalton, but he’s sound asleep. If I rouse him, however gently, he’ll startle awake with enough noise to scare off whoever is out there.

We’re several hours’ walk from Cherise’s camp, and I can’t imagine she’d have let Owen follow us. But they may have tracked us after sundown.

Another bump against the wall, and I peer at the window. Storm whines again. She’s rigid, staring at that wall, her tail sweeping the floor. It’s not a happy wag. It’s cautious, uncertain.

I slide out of bed and keep bent over beneath window level. I tug on jeans, a sweatshirt that turns out to be Dalton’s, and my parka. Then I retrieve my gun.

I glance at the bed again, in hopes my moving around has brought Dalton closer to waking, but he’s still dead to the world.

I head for the door. Storm follows, nails clicking. I back up and tell her to stay, adding reassuring pats. She is not reassured. When I pull on my boots, her butt bobs off the floor.

I consider. When Owen and Cherise first caught me, I’d wished Storm hadn’t been there. She was a weakness they could use against me. Yet she may have saved my life. It’s like Dalton with me. He’d love to tuck me away in a safe spot when danger strikes, but he knows I belong at his side, where we can look after each other. I need to start thinking the same with Storm. We trained her for work, and I have to let her do it, not play overprotective mom and tuck her away.