Dalton sets out, and I fall in behind, covering him. He places each step with care, and I follow in his literal footsteps. When we’re close enough to see the fire—and two figures sitting by it—the smell of cooking meat wafts over, along with … Is that coffee?
Dalton tilts his head and inhales as he considers. He peers into the bush, and we both look for other figures. There appear to be none except the two at the fire.
He gestures for me to circle while he takes the straight-on approach. I keep my eye on him as we creep toward the campfire. Halfway there, I pause and motion to Dalton. He hesitates and then nods.
Unnecessary risks are not my thing, but in this case, I’m compelled to make an exception.
I take it slow, easing through the forest until I’m directly behind the two. A man and a woman, pressed as close as Dalton and I had been, sharing a log and body heat in the chill morning.
The woman talks as the man eats. While she’s speaking, I step from the forest. Five paces separate us. I eye the rifle at the woman’s side. Another rests within the man’s reach.
I pause when the
woman stops talking to sip from a tin mug. Then she resumes the one-sided conversation about plans for a trip into Dawson next month.
Two more steps. One …
I press my gun to the woman’s blond hair. “Hello, Cherise.”
Her partner, Owen, gives a start.
Cherise doesn’t even flinch. “Hey, girl. Wondering when you’d join us. Coffee?”
Owen and Cherise. Or, more accurately, Cherise and Owen, because in this relationship, there’s no question of who is in charge. Also no question that Owen likes it that way.
Owen is a former Rockton resident who took off after one too many clashes with Dalton. He went into the woods and met Cherise, the oldest daughter in a family of traders. Her mother died last year, and she took over the clan, despite being younger than me.
When I first heard about this family, I’d had a very clear idea of what they would be. Downtrodden women enslaved by a patriarch. After all, they were best known for their particular goods—three pretty blond daughters who’d been available for rent soon after they passed puberty.
What I found was … I’m not even quite sure what I found. Dad was clearly not in charge. Mom had been, and now Cherise is, and she’s a viper of a woman, whip-smart and deadly. The middle sister clearly aspires to Cherise-hood, but lacks the intelligence. The youngest is the only one who seems in need of rescue, but when I quietly offered it, she was insulted. She accepts her lot until she can find a settler to marry and start her own trading clan. I don’t know what to do with that. I really don’t.
I lower the gun and step back. Cherise only sips her coffee. She’s mid-twenties, and model-pretty in a cool, Nordic way. Her partner is my age, dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a scar across his nose.
Dalton strides from the forest, gun still in hand.
“Hello, Sheriff,” Cherise says. “Coffee?”
“What are you two doing here?” I say.
“Waiting for you. I knew you’d smell the smoke eventually. Or the coffee. I should thank you for the coffee. It puts him in a much better morning mood.” She hooks a thumb at Owen.
“Why are you here?” I say again.
“Hoping to hook up with you guys.”
Owen waggles his brows. “You must be getting tired of this stick-up-his-ass by now.”
Dalton tenses. Owen is a sexual predator. Oh, I’m sure he doesn’t see himself that way. His type never do. Good-looking former frat boy known to slip a little something extra into a girl’s drink to ensure his evening ends with a bang. Owen came to Rockton claiming to be a victim and very clearly was the perpetrator. It doesn’t help that I’m apparently Owen’s type.
What would help is if Cherise took offense and shut him down. She couldn’t care less. If it’d help foster a valuable trade relation, she’d gladly loan me her partner. Yet that same shark instinct means she doesn’t fail to miss Dalton’s reaction, which does jeopardize this trade connection.
“Casey has made it abundantly clear she is not interested, Owen.” She pats him on the back, like a friend offering sympathy for a strikeout. “Now stop embarrassing yourself.”
His mouth opens.
“Stop embarrassing me,” she says, meeting his gaze.
He nods. “Sure, babe. I ain’t trying to cause trouble. Just goofing around.”