“Only once so far, but I plan to get down again this spring. Fly south with all the other snowbirds, work on my tan on Waikiki.”
I stare at him.
“What?” he says. “You’ve never heard of these big things called airplanes? Sure, first I gotta get to Dawson, and that’s a good week’s walk, which is why I don’t do it in the middle of winter, even if I’d appreciate that sun and sand even more.”
“I never knew you had a kid,” Dalton says.
“Because you never asked.” Cypher throws his hands in the air. “No one asks. I’m just the crazy ex-sheriff who lives in the forest.”
We’re in Rockton now. People have heard us coming. More accurately, they heard Cypher. He tramps out of the forest like a Norse giant, clad in fur and snow. People clear a path all the way to the police station.
The first time Cypher walked in, they’d scattered even faster, all Dalton’s bogeymen-of-the-forest stories springing to life. They’ve seen him enough now that they don’t flee; they just retreat.
I’d lit the fire in the station before I left, and when we walk in, Dalton swings the kettle over the flames. Then he helps me out of the parka and takes the baby.
“She have a name?” Cypher asks.
I glance at Dalton.
“Abby,” he says. “Or that’s what we’re calling her for now.”
Cypher takes Abby and dangles her in front of his face, his one hand supporting her neck. “You didn’t have your name stitched on your blanket? What kind of foundling are you?”
I settle in by the fire. “How much did Eric explain?”
“Just that we’d discovered a baby and a dead woman—who isn’t the mother—and we need help finding the actual mother,” Dalton says as he preps the French press. “Tyrone wouldn’t let me tell him more. His price for information is a one-night stay in Rockton, with access to food and a shower. I agreed, but he refused to talk to anyone except you. I think he figured if I got his information, I’d renege on the bargain.” He shoots Cypher a look.
“I wasn’t questioning your integrity, boy. Your voice just isn’t nearly as sweet as Casey’s. Now, what’s going on with this tyke?”
I explain. When I tell him who Edwin fingered as the family, he lets out a string of curses, and then stops short and puts his hands over the baby’s ears before finishing.
“You know them,” I say.
“Fuck, yeah.”
“And they’re not actually upstanding citizens.”
“Fuck, no.”
I rise to take the whistling kettle, but Dalton beats me to it.
“Edwin says they … sell their girls,” I say. “Prostitute them.”
“Yeah, sorry, kitten. I know you were hoping I’d say that’s a load of hogwash, but it’s not. I don’t trade with that family unless I absolutely have to—they have some items I can’t get elsewhere. And, yeah, sex might be on that list of rare commodities, but I’m sure as hell not buying it like that.”
Cypher settles in, grunting as he shifts his bulk. “I don’t have an aversion to such trade in general. If a woman’s willing, and it’s a clean transaction, well, I figure that’s better than going into a bar and ending up with a woman who drank more than you realized. These particular traders offer me a girl every time, and they get the sharp side of my tongue instead. One of the girls even asked me to take her away and marry her.”
He scratches his beard. “Shit. I didn’t know what to do. Ended up saying no, and then spent a whole lotta time feeling bad about it. It’s a complicated situation. I sure as hell don’t want some little girl who stays with me because I rescued her. I could take her to Dawson, but what then? Give her a few grand and abandon her? She’s never lived outside these woods.”
“If that ever happens again, bring her here,” Dalton says.
“It’s not that simple,” Cypher says. “It isn’t like those girls are tied to a wagon, beaten and bruised, and I’m trading with their daddy while pretending not to see them because I really need new underwear.”
I snort, and he arches his brows. “You think I’m kidding about the underwear, kitten? You try making them from deer hide. Going without ain’t an option. I tried that one summer. It was warm enough, but then you got the chafing and the hanging and—”
I hold up my hand. “I get the pict— Nope, sorry. I don’t get any picture at all.”
He chuckles. “Point is that those girls aren’t being held against their will. There’s three of them—sisters—and if I tried rescuing two of them, they’d scratch my damned eyes out. The third—the one who asked—wasn’t looking for rescue. She just figured I’d be a good provider. If I did walk her to Dawson, she’d turn around and find her way back to her family.” He waves at Dalton. “Like you did, when the Daltons brought you to Rockton.”