When we arrive, I greet Cherise while Dalton assesses their reactions. Her attention will be on me—it always is, as if she knows no other dynamic than a female-led relationship. Owen’s is also on me, though I never know whether that’s genuine interest or him just goading Dalton. Meanwhile, Dalton studies them for signs of apprehension. Do they seem nervous? Concerned by what we might have found in examining those bodies?
I pull out the coffee and a bulk box of condoms. She lifts the latter and peers at the item count with a smirk. “That’ll keep us going for a month or two.”
“I couldn’t get the money just yet,” I say. “We don’t keep much cash in town. Eric uses the bank machine in Dawson.”
That’s a lie. There’s a safe filled in town so we don’t leave an ATM paper trail. They don’t need to know that.
When Cherise opens her mouth to protest, I take five twenties from my pocket. “Here’s a hundred. And we have something to offer in potential trade for the rest.”
From the bag, I pull out a gun case and two boxes of ammunition. I open the case to reveal the spare 9 mm from our locker.
“Holy shit, yes,” Owen says, reaching for the case. “Come to Daddy, baby.”
Cherise smacks his hand, as if he’s a misbehaving child.
“Oh, come on, babe,” Owen whines. “That sweet piece of steel would make me a very happy man.”
“And what will you use it for? Strutting around like him?” She waves at Dalton. “If you want to play sheriff, I’ll buy you a hat.”
“His gun is a revolver,” Owen says. “Like something out of the fucking Wild West. Antique piece of shit. That”—he points at the box—“is a fine piece of modern weaponry.”
He’s right on one out of four here. Yes, Dalton carries a revolver, but it’s hardly an antique and certainly not what they’d have used in the Old West. As for the Smith & Wesson I’m pretending to offer, if Owen thinks it’s the latest in handgun technology, he’s been up here far too long … or knows very little about guns. From the way he’s salivating, I’m going with option two. I’ve seen that look on far too many guys down south when they saw my service weapon.
“Again, I ask, what the hell would you use it for?” Cherise says.
“Hunting?”
The inflection at the end makes her snort.
“The only thing these hunt is people,” she says. “You just want one because you want it, and the answer is no. The deal was for two hundred and fifty dollars more, not a gun we can’t use, with ammunition we don’t stock.”
I hold up the boxes of ammo.
Cherise shakes her head. “Sure, let me take that gun. Owen can go shoot some birds and bunnies, and when he’s out of bullets, you can find something else to trade for more, overcharging me so my husband can amuse himself with a toy.”
She turns to Owen. “Remember that knife you liked in Dawson? With the fancy handle? I said no because it’s just a knife, and I can get them a whole lot cheaper. It’s yours on the next trip.”
His eyes light up. “Seriously?”
“You aren’t a child, Owen. I don’t promise you things to quiet you down and hope you’ll forget later. You found the bodies.” She hands him the hundred dollars. “Yours. For that knife or whatever else you want … as long as it doesn’t require special ammunition. I’ll give you fifty more after Casey pays it.”
She shoves the gun back at me. “Because Casey is going to pay it, with ten dollars interest for every week she delays.”
“You’ll get it after our next trip to Dawson,” I say.
I try not to glance at Dalton as I put away the gun. Our first question has been answered. They don’t have a handgun, meaning they didn’t kill the settlers, which is a relief. There’s manageable trouble, and there’s the kind of trouble I don’t want to get near.
“So you found the bodies,” I say, turning to Owen.
“Yep,” he says as he pockets the money, the gleam still in his eye.
/> “Tell me about that,” I say.
He shrugs. “Not much to tell. I was out hunting. Shot a bird, went to fetch it, and the bodies were there. Cherise wasn’t far off, so I called her over.”
“The family was in their camp?”
He nods. “Looked as if they’d been eating when they were attacked.”