Alone in the Wild(52)

I return the smile. “He did indeed.”

“Well, presuming you have historical romances and weren’t just teasing me, I’ll take some of those. Maybe fantasy, too. And mystery. Oh, and nonfiction, textbooks or whatever…” She waves a hand. “Honestly, you can do exactly what Eric would. Just get me a random selection of everything. I’ll be like a kid in a candy store.”



* * *



Despite his presumably good night, Cypher isn’t any easier to deal with than he was yesterday. He does not want to tell us where to find Abby’s mother, and Jen isn’t helping. She hovers with the baby until she overhears the situation, and then it’s “What kind of monster are you, Casey?” in far more profane language. And also “If you don’t want the baby yourself, at least give her to someone who does,” until I snap.

“Come on, kitten,” Cypher says when I tell them off. “We’re only trying to help.”

“By accusing me of wanting to turn this baby over to a family who’ll whore her out when she’s twelve?”

“Jen didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, actually, she did. You might want to get to know someone before you sleep with her, Ty. We’re on a schedule here. I’ll take Abby with us, and we’ll see if we can track down Jacob and get his help finding this family. Because I will find them. I will evaluate the situation. If there is no way to resolve it, then I will keep this baby.”

Both of them look over my shoulder. I turn to see Dalton standing there.

My cheeks heat. “I didn’t mean— Obviously, I wouldn’t decide on my own to…” I swallow. “I was only reassuring them that I wasn’t trying to get rid of Abby.”

Dalton glares at Cypher and Jen. “What the fuck?”

“Yes,” Jen says. “We upset your princess.”

“Hey,” Cypher rumbles, turning a look on Jen. “I figured you were just sounding off. If you were really accusing Casey of wanting to get rid of this baby, maybe you oughta head on home, ’cause that’s some world-class bullshit right there.”

I expect Jen to tell him to go screw himself and storm off. Her mouth does set in a firm line. Then she says, still glowering, “Casey knows I didn’t mean it. She’s a bit sensitive.”

“Yeah, I’d be sensitive too if you accused me of that.” He turns to me. “I will take you to this trader family, kitten. I’m trying to make the situation easy for you, but that’s not my place.” He turns to Jen. “We’ll be back before dinner. Can I ask you to join me? Or did I just blow my chances?”

Jen’s eyes widen, as if she’d figured she’d blown her chances. Then she shrugs and says gruffly, “I guess so. Better be back by seven, though. I need to eat.” She hesitates, considers. “If you’re late, we can grab a drink.”

“If I’m not late, then we’ll do both. Now, you mind taking the tyke from Casey? I think we’re best leaving her behind for now.”

I agree. Unlike with the First Settlement, I will definitely want time to evaluate the situation before I hand Abby over.



* * *



We are gone before dawn … if not quite as early as we anticipated. As we’re slipping into the forest, I swear I see Phil standing at his bedroom window, watching us with disapproval, as if we’re teens who promised to leave the house quietly and did everything short of setting it on fire as we went.

I walk up ahead with Storm and Cypher. That gives Dalton time to talk to Maryanne. Cypher regales me with tales of life in the wilderness. He goes overboard being entertaining, as if that’s an apology for earlier.

Usually Jen’s insults slide past, but sometimes they cut a little too close to truth. I’m not trying to get rid of Abby, but I’m susceptible to the charge because I want to believe Jen’s right—that the proper and humane thing to do is keep Abby here and give her the kind of life every child deserves.

But isn’t that what Gene Dalton thought when he saw Eric? That child deserves better … and I can provide it. Classic white-savior syndrome. I see this child who comes from a place I deem less “civilized,” and I will save her, and the world will throw laurels around my neck for my selflessness.

Pimping your child goes way beyond “less civilized.” Few people would say, in that situation, that I should mind my own business. But if I don’t confirm the situation, how different am I from Gene Dalton? Yet if I do evaluate, where do I draw my line? That I will return her if her mother agrees to come to Rockton? That I will return her if they promise—cross their fingers, hope to die—never to prostitute her?

It’s not as if I haven’t considered this. The problem is that I can’t stop considering it. My brain is a gerbil in a wheel, squeaking endlessly and getting nowhere. Having Jen act as if I’m blithely going to hand Abby off is like slamming a sliver deeper into a festering infection.

As we walk, I watch Storm explore and let Cypher’s tall tales clear my mind. Then we near Brent’s … and my mood stumbles as I realize I’m going to a place where I lost a dear friend, where I held his hand as he died.

Dalton catches up then. He gives Maryanne’s supply pack to Cypher with, “You can carry it uphill.” He leans in to whisper to Cypher. “Maryanne’s getting tired. She won’t say it, so tell her you need a rest. Casey and I will go in first.”