FORTY-ONE
Sutherland is fully awake the next morning, coherent and asking to speak to me. Dalton and I head there after dropping off Storm.
Sutherland’s in his living room, dozing under a blanket. When I walk in, he starts awake. “Sorry. I keep thinking I’m fine, and then proving myself wrong. Got halfway through making breakfast and almost passed out. Kenny had to finish cooking.”
I take a seat on the sofa. “Don’t push. It’ll only slow things down.”
He starts to answer. Then his gaze flicks to the doorway as Dalton joins us.
Sutherland straightens fast. “Eric.”
Dalton takes the seat beside me. When Sutherland doesn’t go on, Dalton says, “Is me being here a problem?”
Sutherland smiles weakly. “Only if you’re ready to put me on chopping duty. I’ll take my lumps, but I need a bit of time to recover.” He turns to me. “I wanted to apologize for running. My timing put you and Will in an awkward position. Kenny explained all that. I appreciate you guys coming after me, though I know it caused trouble with…” His gaze slides to Dalton.
“Not going after you wasn’t an option,” Dalton says. “It’s their duty. Which means they had to break my rule. That’s fine, though, because I pull rules out of my ass. That’s how law works in Rockton.”
Sutherland flinches. I’m tempted to ease in and soften the blow. Then I remind myself how I felt when he took off, how pissed I’d been, how he could have gotten Anders killed in that accident, gotten us both killed in that storm. I keep my mouth shut and leave him pinned under Dalton’s gaze.
“I know you have reasons,” Sutherland begins. “I’m sorry. I’m really—”
“I don’t want your apologies. I just want you to make damned sure it doesn’t happen again. Have a little consideration for others. That never seemed to be a problem for you before.”
“It wasn’t. I just … I hit a wall, you know? I’d settled in, adjusted, and then it just … struck. The isolation. The boredom. The loneliness. I’ve heard people talk about cabin fever, but I didn’t really get it until the sun was gone before five. It felt like the walls closed in. I got so sick of the darkness and the cold, and I realized it was only going to get darker and colder. I snapped. It won’t happen again. I’m responsible for keeping myself busy and entertained. I’ve been talking to Kenny about a poker game I can join, maybe signing up for chopping duty voluntarily, if only to get me off my ass and out of town for a few hours. I might learn to hunt come spring.” A weak smile. “That’d shock the hell out of my dad. He never could get a rifle in my hands.”
“Trying fishing instead,” I say. “Once you’re well enough.”
He nods. “That’s more my speed. Thanks.”
And that’s all Sutherland wanted to tell me—to apologize. He tries adding tidbits to his description, but they won’t get me any farther in my investigation. I’ll ask Petra to stop by, see if she can coax a sketch from him, but I think I’ll need a suspect for him to ID. He just didn’t see enough for a sketch.
*
Dalton had told Jacob we’d meet him today at noon, which just means when the sun is straight overhead. Jacob is waiting when we arrive. They trade first. Dalton has brought salt, instant coffee, soap, and two sweatshirts. Jacob has a young buck and a brace of rabbits. In trade, he takes all but one sweatshirt.
“What the fuck am I going to do with this?” Dalton says when Jacob hands back the shirt.
“Bring it next time.”
“You realize that means I need to cart it back to town and store it.”
“Then bring me less next time.”
“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” Dalton grumbles under his breath. There’s no real anger in it, but there is frustration. He wants to do more for his brother, and he’s not allowed to.
Dalton reaches into his backpack and passes over a coffee thermos and a box of cookies. “This is from Casey, so don’t hand it back or you’ll insult her.”
“It’s from both—” I begin.
Dalton cuts me off with a glower. “You want me to say it’s from us so it doesn’t look like you’re sucking up. Too bad. It’s from you; I’m not pretending it isn’t.”
I sigh. “I don’t know why I bother.”
“Neither do I.” He hands the thermos and box to Jacob. “Take. Sit. Drink. Eat. Give me back the containers before we go.”
“He doesn’t have to—” I begin.
“He doesn’t want to store and cart them back. At least I think about stuff like that. Don’t want to inconvenience anyone.”
He gives his brother a hard look. Jacob ignores it, thanks me, and finds a log for us to sit on.