City of the Lost (43 page)

I think of all the times I’ve been with him in the forest, and how different he is there. All the times he’s sat out on the back deck at the station, and we joke that he is an outside cat. But it isn’t really a joke. He
is
that feral cat who’d been brought indoors, and maybe life is easier inside, but he’ll never stop feeling the pull of the wild. But he’ll never quite be able to live out there again, either.

“That’s why the council’s threat is such a big deal, Casey. When I say I couldn’t live down south, I’m not being difficult or stubborn or dramatic. I
could not
live there. I’d go back into the forest first. But it’s not just the council. What if I meet someone here? Someone I want to be with? Someone from down south, who’ll expect me to go with her after her term’s up, but I can’t, and if she wants me, she has to stay here and live a life that’s as wrong for her as hers is for me.”

“And that’s happened,” I say. “In the past.”

“I met someone, fell madly in love, and then she left and broke my heart?” He snorts a genuine laugh. “Fuck no. Might make a better story. But no. When I was a kid, the women here…” He looks at me. “Maybe this is more than you want to hear?”

I tell him to go on, and then I shift back and motion for him to come sit on the bed with me, and that seems to surprise him, as if maybe I’d want him out of the room, across the town, somewhere far, far away. But he sits beside me, and relaxes against the pile of pillows.

“When I was a kid—teenager, young adult—well, there are women here, obviously, and like you’ve seen, things are different, freer or whatever.”

“Despite the overall lack of women, I suspect there were still some who were happy to teach a young man a few things about sex.”

“Yeah. When you’re eighteen, nineteen, that’s pretty much heaven. Considering my age, the women never expected more than sex. But then I got older, and they started wanting to help me. Fix me. Like the poor guy who’s never been off the farm, and they’re gonna give him the confidence to get out there and make his way in the world.”

“Which couldn’t be further from what you wanted.”

He nods. “I’d keep it casual, but they’d still start talking about how I could go back south with them, how they’d help me adjust. A few years back, I had a rough time with a woman who misunderstood, so I said fuck this shit. I’ve got more important things to do anyway, with being sheriff now and…” He scratches his chin. “And that’s not what I’m trying to say at all. Where was I?”

“Thinking that the second tequila shot was a bad idea after all?”

A laugh. “No shit, huh? Okay, so … Right. I can’t leave, and I’m not ever going to fit anyone’s definition of normal, and that’s what I meant when I kissed you.”

“Uh-huh.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and gives his head a sharp shake. “Let me untangle that. When I said I didn’t want that kiss to turn into sex, I didn’t mean I didn’t want sex.” He pauses. “That didn’t untangle it at all, did it?”

“Not really.” I sit up a little more. “You don’t need to explain—”

“I’m going to. It just might take some time. Sex, yes. With you, yes. But not like that. Not first-kiss-to-sex in sixty seconds flat, and then that’s it and that was fun and let’s get back to work.
That’s
what I didn’t want. The way it was going. Where it was leading. Not the sex part but the…” He struggles for a word.

“The
casual
part.”

“Exactly. Right. Thank you. Yes. That’s not what I wanted with you, and if I start there, how do I go back and say I want more? And, fuck, I can’t want more, because I can’t give more, and if I can’t give more, then it’s not fair to say I want more and…” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “And I really shouldn’t have had that second shot.”

I rise to my knees, ignoring the pain in my leg. Then I lean in and kiss him, just a quick press of the lips.

“Let’s simplify this,” I say when I pull back. “If you’re ever forced to leave Rockton, you’ll go into the forest or you’ll build a new town up here. Not south. Never south. And anyone who wants to be with you has to understand that.” I kiss him again. “I understand that.”

He puts his hands to my cheeks and pulls me in for the sweetest kiss, slow and gentle and hungry, that hunger growing as his arms go around me, and he eases me back onto the bed and—

And I yelp in pain.

Dalton jumps back so fast he drops me, and I let out a hiss, my eyes shut, wincing as pain rips through me.

“Sorry, sorry, fuck—” he begins.

I open my eyes and stop him as he moves in to fuss with me.

“I’m fine,” I say, through my teeth. “Just … I may need more painkillers before we try that again.”

“Or we may need to not try that again until you
don’t
need painkillers.”

I purse my lips. “No, I’m okay with the painkillers.”

He chuckles and adjusts my pillow, and I pull him down. He resists until he realizes I’m pulling him beside me, not on top, and he stretches out and I ease onto my side, body against his, put my arms around him, and kiss him.

We’re still kissing—very sweet, very careful kisses, keeping the temperature low—when footsteps pound up the stairs, and Dalton’s on his feet, cursing and saying, “I locked the fucking door,” when the bedroom one flies open and Anders stops short.

“Uh…” he says. “The doors…”

“—were locked?” Dalton says. “Suggesting I was trying to let Casey have a quiet dinner?”

“Right. Sorry. I came by a few minutes ago, and I knocked. Then I tried the door, and when they were both locked, I kinda panicked and went back to the station for the master key.”

I look at Dalton. “There’s a master key?”

“Yeah, in the safe.”

“Can someone explain why we even bother with locks in this town?”

“Fuck if I know. Makes folks feel better, I guess.”

I shake my head and turn to Anders. “What’s the emergency?”

“Uh…” He takes a deck of cards from his back pocket.

When I lift my brows, he says, “I thought you might be bored, so I was coming by to see if you wanted company and entertainment.”

I pause, because I’m thinking that I had both, a few minutes ago, and I’d been very much enjoying them. However, given the fact I’m supposed to be recuperating … Yes, I suspect there’s a limit to how much longer we could have gone before we hit stitch-ripping territory.

I look over at Dalton. He sighs, ever so softly.

“Go make coffee,” he says to Anders. “And grab the rest of the pie.”

We play cards for a couple of hours, up on my bed. We talk about the case, too—about my interviews that day.

I can’t mention Jacob with Anders there. I’m glad of that, because even thinking about him reminds me of what Dalton’s told me about his past, and I’m trying not to dwell on that. He says he doesn’t talk about it because he doesn’t want to be treated like more of a freak than he already is. But I think there’s more to it. He doesn’t want anyone looking that deep.

I suppose hiding his past is easy enough. No one in Rockton was around when Dalton was brought in from the forest. People have cycled through many times since then. The Daltons must have made sure the story didn’t circulate beyond those who’d been present. Dalton got to keep his secret and put forward the face he wants seen: born and bred in Rockton. The truth is so much more complicated. To even think of it—a boy ripped from his family, ripped from his life …

It was kidnapping, pure and simple. Yet not pure and simple, because the Daltons honestly thought they were doing the right thing, saving a wild boy from his savage family and giving him a better life. And it was, in some ways, a better life, and that’s part of the complication. What was it like for Dalton? To realize now, as an adult, that he’d been kidnapped … and that he’d come to love his kidnappers and consider them his parents.

So, yes, complicated. For now, I’ll stick with mindless card games. Of course, that has to come to an end—along with the pie and a pot of coffee. Anders leaves, and when he’s gone, Dalton heads out of the bedroom, saying, “I’ll lock the front door.”

“After you leave, right?”

He turns slowly, looking at me as if he’s really hoping I’m joking. When I say, “I think you should go,” he stands there, not moving, then he runs one hand through his hair as he says, “Fuck, I thought we were…”

He tries to straighten, to pull his usual don’t-give-a-shit attitude back into place, but he doesn’t quite manage it and finally shakes his head and says, “Took a few rounds of cards to sink in, huh? Okay. That’s…” He exhales sharply, his eyes finding their steel. “Goddamn it, Casey, don’t fuck with me. I don’t know those games, and I sure as hell don’t care to learn them. If you don’t want me—”

“Oh, but I do, which is the problem.” I stretch out on the bed. “Three problems, actually.” I point to my injuries. “I’m ordering you out because I don’t want to explain to Beth how I ripped my wounds open without getting out of bed.”

It takes a moment to sink in. Then he grins. “Okay, then. I’ll behave myself.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about.”

He turns then, and his grin is something new, a little bit wicked and a whole lot pleased.

“I suppose my stitches can be re-sewn,” I say.

“And add a few more days onto your recuperation? No. I’ll stay in my chair. You stay in your bed.”

“All right, then.”

I start to peel off my shirt. I get it halfway over my head and he’s there, tugging it back down.

“None of that,” he says.

“You don’t think I sleep in my clothes, do you?”

“Tonight you will. I’ll keep mine on, too.”

“Mmm, you don’t have to do that.” I reach over and slide my hands under his shirt. I have it off before he realizes he should probably stop me. Then I chuck it across the room, tug him onto the bed, and straddle him, my hands on his face, tilting it up.

“No…” he says.

“What? I’m just getting a look at you.” I run my fingers over his beard shadow. “You’ve stopped shaving.”

“Yeah, got a little busy. I’ll do it in the morning.”

“That wasn’t a complaint. I was really hoping clean-shaven wasn’t a new look for you.”

His brows crease and then he grunts and says, “Right.”

“I’m guessing you did it for our trip.”

There’s this long, awkward pause, his gaze shifting from mine. “Yeah, I just … I wanted to look more…”

“—presentable for going to town.”

He exhales, and nods quickly. “Right.” And I realize that wasn’t the reason at all, and I think of that trip, of the drive up to the lookout, with the bonfire, and I realize he sure as hell wouldn’t have taken Anders up there.

“Well,” I say, “if I have any say in the matter, I like you this way.”

I bend and kiss him, and he kisses me back, a kiss that gets deeper by the second, until I accidentally wince as my chest wound stretches.

“Goddamn it,” he says, backing up.

I start to slide out of my shirt again. He hesitates and then yanks it down, growling under his breath.

“Am I being difficult?” I say.

“Yes. Very.” A mock scowl as he moves me off his lap.

“Huh. It’s been a long time since I’ve been difficult. You’re good for me, you know that?”

He shakes his head and retrieves his shirt. When he comes back, I whisk it out of his hands and sit on it.

“I like you better
that
way, too,” I say.

He gives a growl of frustration.

I widen my eyes. “What? You’re always telling me I should want more. Now I want something. Badly.”

He picks me up. Carries me to the balcony and deposits me on the mattress.

“Mmm, even better,” I say. “Fresh air and—”

“Your neighbours are out.”

“Ask me if I care.”

He tries to give me a stern look and then bursts into a snorting laugh, sits down beside me, and pulls me over to him.

“The answer, Casey Butler, is no. You know it is, and you’re having some fun with me, which is…” He lowers his face until it’s right in front of mine. “Fucking wonderful to see. Also, very hot. But the answer is still no. Now, do you want me to finish my story about the fox?”

“Um, no, I want you to—”

“After.”

I lift my brows. “After as in ‘after the story’? Or as in ‘at some distant point in the future’?”

“After the story. Not sex, either, because once we start that, as gentle as I might plan to be, there are going to be stitches ripped. Guaranteed.”

I grin. “Oh, I like the sound of—”

“No. But if you’re still interested after the story, I’m sure I can find something less strenuous to help you sleep.”

My grin grows.

“I take it that’s a yes,” he says. “Good. Now lie down and get comfortable. And not one word—or anything else—until the story is done.”

I wake on my balcony with the birds singing, sunlight streaming down, a brisk breeze bringing the tang of evergreens and another smell, an unfamiliar one, the sharp smell of soap, from the arms wrapped around me and the bare chest against my cheek, and I stretch smiling, only to realize my sweatpants are still on, which means …

“Fuck,” I whisper.

“Mmm?” Dalton says.

“I fell asleep.”

A chuckle ripples through his chest. “Yep.”

I lift my head to look up at him. “You knew I would.”

He arches his brows.

“That damn story went on forever, and you knew I’d fall asleep.”

“You needed your rest.”

“Yeah? You know what I needed even more?”

I arch my brows, and he laughs.

“Oh, that’s funny, is it?” I push up. “You know what I call it? A tease. Offer a girl—”

“Still stands.”

“What?”

He pulls me down again. “Offer still stands.”

He tries to bring me into a kiss, but I resist, my eyes narrowing. “Let me guess. If I listen to another of your interminable stories—”

“I thought you liked my stories.”

“Not as much as I like what you offered after it.”

He chuckles. “I don’t think I specified the nature of that offer.”

“Anything will do.”

He laughs then and pulls me up onto him as he rolls onto his back. “I like the sound of that. So you still want to take me up on the offer? No story required.”