This Fallen Prey (Rockton #3)(17)

I’m only beginning to realize the full extent of the danger the council has put us in.

We’re a couple of kilometers into the forest when I turn to Brady and say, “Enough exercise?,” and he looks around, as if he’s considering, but it’s more than that. He’s processing his surroundings, and when he shakes his head, I know it’s not that he wants more exercise—he wants to see more.

“We can go back and come out again,” Nicole says.

“Nah,” Dalton says. “We’ll walk as far as he wants. He’s enjoying the scenery. Plenty of it out here.”

Endless scenery, that’s what he means. Endless trails that go nowhere Brady will want to go. They lead to mountains and caves for us to explore. Lakes and streams for fish and fowl. Hunting blinds. Overnight campsites. Berry patches. Yes, one of those paths might hook up with a trail used by miners or trappers, which could ultimately get you to the nearest village. But Brady would still need to survive the trek with no weapons or skills.

As we continue, Nicole asks if anyone has seen our resident man-eating cougar recently. It’s a heavy-handed attempt to tell Brady what he’d face out here, but Dalton goes along with it, mostly for conversation. The silence is starting to smell of fear, as if we’re too shaken by Brady to talk around him.

They’re discussing the big cat when I see a figure around the next bend. My left arm flies up, stopping Brady. My right goes for my gun.

“It’s just me,” Jacob calls as he breaks into a jog. “I was about ready to give up on you guys. I thought we said noon . . .”

Jacob slows as he rounds the bend and sees us. His gaze travels over Brady, and I’m waiting for a What the fuck? Except he won’t say those exact words. Dalton’s younger brother does not share his propensity for profanity.

Instead, he just says to Dalton, “You forgot about me, huh?”

Now we get the “Fuck,” from Dalton, and, “Yeah, sorry.”

We’re close to the spot where Dalton and his brother trade, and I’m guessing that’s what they had scheduled for today.

I wave at Brady. “We had a situation.”

“I see that. I heard Eric and Nicki talking, and I thought maybe she’d come along to help him carry supplies.”

“Or to visit,” Nicole says. “I hope I’d be more than a pack mule in that scenario.”

“Course,” Jacob says, his cheeks flushing over his beard, which I do not fail to notice has been trimmed short. His hair is tied back neatly, and he’s dressed in the new jeans and new tee he’d requested at their last trade. Which isn’t to say that Jacob normally looks like he’s just crawled from a cave after a winter’s hibernation. But he does live out here, without access to showers and department stores.

This extra effort was in hopes Nicole would accompany Dalton, as she often does, part of the slow dance between Jacob and her. They’ve been circling each other, not unlike a couple of fifteen-year-olds, trying to figure out if the other is interested before making any embarrassing moves.

“Eric did forget,” Nicole says. “Otherwise, I’d have expected an invitation. But, yes, as you can see . . .” She nods at the man beside me. “We have a situation.”

Jacob nods.

“You’re not even going ask why we’re walking a bound and gagged man through the forest, are you?”

Jacob shrugs. “Figure he pissed Eric off.”

Nicole laughs at that.

Jacob looks at his brother. “You want me to store the game?”

“Nah, we’ll take it off your hands.”

We walk around the bend to the spot where Jacob left his trade goods—a brace of rabbits, one of ducks, and one of pheasants.

“Good hunting,” Dalton says.

“ ’Tis the season, as Dad used to say.”

Dalton nods, expressionless, as he always is when his brother mentions their parents. When Dalton was nine, the former sheriff of Rockton “rescued” him from the forest. And by “rescued,” I mean kidnapped. So Dalton went from one loving set of parents to another. And the first set never came after him, while the second never realized that what they’d done was wrong. It’s an impossible situation to reconcile, and Dalton refuses to even discuss it.

After Jacob mentions their dad, Dalton just bends to examine the game and discuss the price. If there’s any haggling involved, it’s Dalton trying to get Jacob to take more. Another impossible situation—Dalton wants to help his brother, and Jacob sees that help as charity.

Dalton has tried to get Jacob to come to Rockton. Jacob refuses. I wonder sometimes how much of that is choice and how much is fear that he won’t fit in, that he will be seen as a freak. Dalton already feels that about himself. But if I presume Jacob chooses the forest out of fear, then am I any different from the women who presumed Dalton stayed in Rockton out of fear he wouldn’t fit in down south?

Those women meant well, but in their way, they were no different from Dalton’s adoptive parents. The Daltons found a boy living in the forest and decided no one could voluntarily want that life, so they rescued him. When Dalton and I look at Jacob’s life and wish for better, we fall into that same trap of thinking what we have is clearly superior.

When Dalton and Jacob finally agree on a price for the game, Jacob says, “You can get me your stuff next week. If the weather holds, I want to head north for a few days. Got a spot up there that’s all-I-can-haul hunting.”