Alone in the Wild (Rockton #5)(94)

“Hostiles stole my wife?” Petra says.

I let her have that one, and I watch Baptiste as he snaps, “No. I understand you’re blaming me, but it doesn’t appear to be wild people. One person took her. One pair of tracks. They didn’t leave behind anything as they did with Summer. I followed the tracks, but whoever took her knows how to cover a trail.”

“Of course they do,” Petra mutters.

“So first you lose your baby,” Felicity says, “and then you lose your wife.”

Dalton rolls his eyes my way. I know exactly what he’s thinking: Well, at least neither of us needs to play bad cop here. We have Petra and Felicity for that.

Felicity keeps going. “And you didn’t even lose them to the same people. That would make sense, if the hostiles kidnapped Sidra to feed the baby. But no, it was different attackers.” She meets his gaze. “Or was it the same attacker? You wanted Sidra, and the only way you could have her was to run away with her. The next thing you know you’re stuck with a wife and a baby—”

“Stuck?” His voice rises. “Stuck? I would happily be stuck with Sidra for the rest of my life. I’d happily be stuck with her and twenty children if that’s what she wanted. And before you accuse me of not wanting Summer, I did. It was our decision to keep her, and I never regretted it. I want my baby and my wife back, and I’m trying to be patient here, but the longer you keep accusing me of hurting them, the longer someone is actually hurting them.”

“We have Summer,” I say.

“What?” He turns on me, blinking as if he’s misheard.

“Summer is in Rockton, and she’s safe.”

He teeters, eyes shut, relief shuddering through him. Then his eyes snap open. “You took her? Someone from Rockton stole—”

“No, you dolt,” Felicity says. “Why would they be here if they stole your baby? I brought them to you.”

“I’m not a dolt,” he says slowly, as if restraining his temper. “I had to ask. The same as you had to ask whether I hurt Sidra, when you know how much I love her.”

“And I had to ask that because I know you have experience faking deaths. Also experience behaving like utter fools, reenacting Romeo and Juliet.”

He sputters for a moment before facing me and saying, evenly, “If you suspect me because of that, let me assure you that Sidra and I are not children who thought faking our deaths would be romantic. Has Felicity told you why we did that?”

“Because the settlements would have forbidden your marriage,” I say.

“Yes, but we had a plan for dealing with it, one that wouldn’t have left our families grieving for us. We planned to leave together, with notes to explain, and then we’d return in a few years, after we had a child so they could not separate us. Sidra wanted to ask Felicity for help. I argued, but she trusted her friend. She didn’t even get a chance to explain the plan. As soon as she said she wanted to leave with me, Felicity threatened to tie her up and keep her from making such a terrible mistake. Threatened that if she ran, the whole settlement would come after us, and if something happened to me in the pursuit, well, that wasn’t Felicity’s fault.”

I turn slowly on Felicity.

Her cheeks are bright red. “I didn’t mean it like that. I was only trying to make Sidra listen to reason. I just wanted her to slow down and let me negotiate with my grandfather.”

“All right,” I say. “Felicity? Please join Petra in staying out of this. You’ve voiced your suspicions. That’s enough. Baptiste? Your baby is fine. We didn’t take her—we’re trying to return her. I’m not sure who did take her. We found her with Ellen. And I’m very sorry to say, Ellen is dead.”

Baptiste freezes, his color draining. “Dead?”

“Which is also not our doing,” Dalton says. “Casey and I were out camping last week. She heard your baby crying and found her under the snow.”

“Wh-what?” His eyes round. “Summer was—”

“She’s fine,” I say. “Ellen had her. She’d rescued her, and she was on the run, and someone killed her. She died clutching Summer to her, keeping her warm. She saved her.”

“You both saved her,” Petra says. “You’re the one who found the baby before—” She stops, as if realizing Baptiste doesn’t need that image. “Before anything happened.”

“Thank you,” Baptiste says. “I’m not sure how we can ever repay you, but we will. Thank you for finding her, and thank you for finding us. Ellen…” He slumps as the news of her death penetrates the relief at his daughter’s survival. “She only wanted to help. She only ever wanted to help. I shouldn’t have let her go after Summer. I knew it was dangerous, and we already owed her so much, and I should have said no. I was desperate, and now…”

“She’s gone,” Felicity says. “Falling apart isn’t going to help you find Sidra. You’re soft, Baptiste, too soft to—”

“Enough,” Dalton says, the word harsh enough to make Felicity give a start. “A woman is dead, Felicity. A woman who died helping your friends, and Baptiste is allowed a moment to feel bad about that. It isn’t weakness. It’s called being a fucking human being.”