Alone in the Wild(43)

“Thank you. Now, about finding this baby’s family…”

“Yeah, that was the topic of conversation, wasn’t it?” He eyes me. “As for giving the baby back, Edwin’s right. Those traders went on a long supply run.” He stretches his legs. “Could be spring before they get back.”

“Damn. So I guess we’ll just need to adopt her.”

“Seems like it. I know you and Eric are busy with your jobs, but you’ve got a town full of folks who’ll help babysit, and you’d make good parents.”

“People keep telling me that,” I murmur. “So this family, they must have left in the last few days. You don’t think we could catch up with them?”

“They move fast.”

“Huh. Weird, though, don’t you think? That they’d decide to do a supply run at this time of year. You said yourself that you wouldn’t travel to Dawson in winter. Too hard going.”

He shrugs. “That’s me.”

“Yet they not only chose to leave as soon as the weather got bad … but they’ll be away all winter, when people would be most in need of trade goods, willing to pay dearly for food and ammo.”

“I didn’t say they were good traders.”

“You and Edwin have decided the baby would be better off with us. I get that. Under the circumstances…” I exhale. “Well, I don’t know what’s going to happen under the circumstances, but I’m not about to hand a baby girl back to a family who’ll prostitute her when she’s old enough.”

“They don’t really wait until they’re old enough.”

“And you think I’d return a child to that? All I want is to assess the situation. Maybe they abandoned the baby. Edwin thinks so. Maybe the woman who died found her in the snow. Or maybe the mother is frantically searching for her child and can be convinced to leave her family and raise Abby in a safe place. I have no idea what our next move is, but I’d like you to trust us.”

He sighs. “Don’t get your back up, kitten. I know you and Eric gotta do the right thing, but sometimes, doing the right thing isn’t really doing the right thing, if you know what I mean. You tie yourselves into knots weighing the ethical and moral bullshit, when common sense says ‘Fuck that.’ If a kid has a choice between growing up with good parents who’ll give her the best fucking life they can … and parents who’ll whore her out before she’s old enough for high school? Pretty sure no one sees much of a decision there. It just seems best to me if I say the family’s long gone, and any fault for a fib falls on me. I won’t lose a moment’s sleep over it.”

“True, but now that I know you’re fibbing, I will lose a ton of sleep over it, wondering if I should tell Eric my suspicions, wondering if I stole a baby from a young woman needing rescue herself, wondering if—”

“Life would be a whole lot easier if you could just shut off that brain of yours. Same with Eric. Yeah, what happened to him was messy, but he’s fine now, and the Daltons are down south, and his parents are dead, and he’s still got Jacob, so what good does it do to dig up the past?”

I ignore that and say, “This family of traders didn’t go to Dawson. So the question is whether you’re going to help us get to them, or we’re going to track them down on our own.”

He sighs and grumbles and says, “We can talk about that over dinner. I’m hungry, and I want a shower and a proper sit-down meal in your restaurant.”





TWENTY-ONE


Dalton returns with Abby and Storm just before we head out. We’re putting Cypher up overnight in one of the empty apartments, and he wants to shower before dinner. He also wants clean clothing and a full line of toiletries, including beard scissors.

“You’re going to dinner with us,” Dalton says. “It’s not a date.”

Cypher doesn’t respond to that. I glance over, and he’s scratching his beard. When he catches my eye, he looks almost sheepish.

“So,” he says, clearing his throat. “Earlier, I might have said I don’t have any problem with the concept of … purchasing the time of … ladies…” He glances over, clearly hoping to be freed from this conversation with a nod of understanding. I frown, pretending I have no idea what he’s talking about.

He clears his throat again. “Last time I was here … I overheard a comment that led me to asking your deputy a question, which he confirmed.”

Another look my way. Again, I offer Cypher no sign of rescue. Dalton’s busy murmuring to Abby, who is awake and trying to look around.

Cypher continues, “It seems you have legalized the, uh, sex trade in Rockton. So I thought, maybe, if I cleaned myself up, one of your, uh, ladies might consider…”

Dalton looks over, brows raised, as if he caught just the end of that conversation.

“He’s getting himself dolled up because he is hoping for a date,” I say. “A paid one.”

Cypher glowers at me.

“What?” I said. “Did I misinterpret?”

He mutters under his breath.

“You can try,” I say. “But we’d need to front you credits. They don’t take hides in trade. Probably best if I speak to Isabel, and she can have a word with her girls, and they can get a look at you over dinner and let her know what they think. It’s entirely up to them.”