Alone in the Wild (Rockton #5)(87)

I doubt Sidra forgot Felicity. It just feels that way.

As much as I value my friendships, no one can ever be as close to me as Dalton. We work together, play together, live together, plan our futures together. That doesn’t mean I fail to understand Felicity’s hurt. I felt it myself every time Diana swanned off with a new lover, forgetting me until a hole in her social calendar needed filling.

I could give Felicity advice. But she won’t want it. She needs to work this out for herself. Instead, I ask if she has any idea where to find Sidra and her partner. She doesn’t know exactly where they’re camping, but she has a rough idea. The region is about a half day’s walk from here … in the direction of where we found Abby.

“May I see the baby?” she asks.

“Of course.”





THIRTY-SIX


Petra has Abby while Jen naps. We pass Dalton, who strides by with a gesture that I think means he’ll catch up with us, but he’s moving too fast for me to be sure. I call after him that we’ll be at Petra’s, and he lifts a hand in acknowledgment without slowing.

When Petra opens the door to Felicity, she does a subtle shift into the young woman’s line of sight, as if blocking her from seeing Abby.

“This is Felicity,” I say. “She’s Edwin’s granddaughter. She’s a friend of the baby’s mom.”

Petra nods, but she’s still wary as she escorts us in. We find Abby in a wooden cradle that someone has painted with a carousel of wild animals.

“We’re gone three days, and you guys have built her a cradle and decorated it.”

“She was in a box,” Petra says. “A cardboard box.”

I lift a fur teddy bear from the floor and sigh, shaking my head. Abby’s eyes open, and her head rolls as her lips purse in what threatens to be a wail if I don’t pick her up in the next two seconds. I scoop her out of the cradle and hug her, crooning under my breath. She snuggles in and then stops, head rolling again.

“No, Eric isn’t here,” I say. “You have to make do with me.”

“Daddy’s little—” Petra begins, and then her gaze shunts to Felicity and she stops herself. This isn’t our baby. She has parents, and unless they abandoned her, she’s going back to them. Still, Petra’s lips tighten as she assesses Felicity again.

I turn to Felicity, who hasn’t said a word. I hold out Abby, and she just stands there, looking at her. Then she touches one finger to the baby’s cheek.

“Does she look like your friend?” Petra asks, and there’s challenge in that, as if she’s going to make damned sure we aren’t being misled.

“She looks like a baby,” Felicity says. “My friend does not.”

I smile at that. “True.”

“Sidra has skin the color of mine,” she says. “Her grandmother was Arab. That’s what Grandfather called her. Sidra has dark hair and blue eyes. The boy—Baptiste—is French. He also has dark hair, but lighter skin and brown eyes. I see nothing that says this baby is not theirs, but they will need to confirm that, of course.”

I explain the full situation, and Petra only says, “So you don’t even know if your friends had a baby?”

“We’ll confirm it, like Felicity says,” I counter. “Now—”

Two sharp knocks at the door, and I see Dalton through the front window, something in his hands. Petra calls a welcome, and the door clicks open and then smacks into the wall, as if he has his hands full.

“You breaking down my door, Sheriff?” Petra calls as she walks into the front hall. “Ah, you come bearing gifts. You’re forgiven. You will have to pay the toll, though.”

“Better ask Casey. I promised her a whole batch.”

He walks in with an insulated box and a thermos. Abby has her head up again, wobbling toward him.

“Someone hears you,” I say. “Trade?”

He takes the baby, and I get the treats. The thermos holds spiked coffee, and the box is stuffed with chocolate chip cookies, warm from the oven.

“Oh my God,” I say. “I love you.”

“I keep my promises.” He hefts Abby, talking to her. While I know it’s gas, I swear she smiles up at him. “How about you, kiddo? You want a cookie? Irish coffee? Make you sleep really well tonight and let us get some rest?”

Abby coos at him.

“She has parents,” Felicity says.

“Everyone does. I’m hoping that means you can help us get her back to them?”

Felicity hesitates. There’s annoyance in her gaze, offended on her friend’s behalf at this man who’s playing with Abby as if she’s his. Not unlike Petra eyeing Felicity, ready to defend my claim on the baby.

I tell Dalton about Sidra and Baptiste as I pass out cookies. Felicity examines hers and then takes a tiny bite, startling at the taste and pulling back as if poisoned.

“What is this?” she says, touching her fingertip to a gooey chocolate chip. “Fruit gone bad?”

“Does it taste bad?” I say.

“Don’t say yes,” Dalton says. “Or she won’t let you finish that cookie. Casey is very protective of her chocolate chips.”

“This is chocolate?” Felicity touches it again. “I’ve heard of it in books.” She puts her fingertip in her mouth, tasting it and then nodding. “It’s good. I just didn’t know what it was.” She lifts the cookie. “And this is a cookie?”