“We’ll confirm it, like Felicity says,” I counter. “Now—”
Two sharp knocks at the door, and I see Dalton through the front window, something in his hands. Petra calls a welcome, and the door clicks open and then smacks into the wall, as if he has his hands full.
“You breaking down my door, Sheriff?” Petra calls as she walks into the front hall. “Ah, you come bearing gifts. You’re forgiven. You will have to pay the toll, though.”
“Better ask Casey. I promised her a whole batch.”
He walks in with an insulated box and a thermos. Abby has her head up again, wobbling toward him.
“Someone hears you,” I say. “Trade?”
He takes the baby, and I get the treats. The thermos holds spiked coffee, and the box is stuffed with chocolate chip cookies, warm from the oven.
“Oh my God,” I say. “I love you.”
“I keep my promises.” He hefts Abby, talking to her. While I know it’s gas, I swear she smiles up at him. “How about you, kiddo? You want a cookie? Irish coffee? Make you sleep really well tonight and let us get some rest?”
Abby coos at him.
“She has parents,” Felicity says.
“Everyone does. I’m hoping that means you can help us get her back to them?”
Felicity hesitates. There’s annoyance in her gaze, offended on her friend’s behalf at this man who’s playing with Abby as if she’s his. Not unlike Petra eyeing Felicity, ready to defend my claim on the baby.
I tell Dalton about Sidra and Baptiste as I pass out cookies. Felicity examines hers and then takes a tiny bite, startling at the taste and pulling back as if poisoned.
“What is this?” she says, touching her fingertip to a gooey chocolate chip. “Fruit gone bad?”
“Does it taste bad?” I say.
“Don’t say yes,” Dalton says. “Or she won’t let you finish that cookie. Casey is very protective of her chocolate chips.”
“This is chocolate?” Felicity touches it again. “I’ve heard of it in books.” She puts her fingertip in her mouth, tasting it and then nodding. “It’s good. I just didn’t know what it was.” She lifts the cookie. “And this is a cookie?”
“Yep.” I take a mug from Petra as she brings them. “This is coffee. Spiked with brandy. Alcohol. Which you are, by Yukon law, one year too young to drink.”
“We don’t drink it anyway,” she says. “It is forbidden.”
“Well, you can try it or we can brew you a regular cup.”
She considers and then accepts a quarter cup. We sit and make plans for tracking Abby’s parents. It’s too late to head out today, so we’ll start before dawn. Felicity will come with us. She insists before I can offer. She’s making sure her tip is the one that leads us to Abby’s parents and there’s no wiggle room to claim otherwise. Or that’s what she says. The truth, I suspect, is that she wants the excuse to reunite with her friend.
Stubborn pride. The kind that only hurts yourself, that stops you from having something you really want because God forbid anyone should think you want anything.
I understand that. I understand it all too well.
“You can stay in my old place,” I say.
Felicity shakes her head. “I have a tent and blankets. I will camp outside your town.”
“Yeah, no,” Dalton says. “First, you don’t trust us to play fair with your lead, and we don’t trust you not to send us on a wild-goose chase like your granddaddy did.”
“I would not—”
“Second, I cannot allow anyone to camp outside our town. You are a guest here, but you’re also an intruder. You’ll sleep where I tell you to sleep.”
“She can stay here,” Petra says.