“A month. Never say all winter because I won’t follow through.” He pauses. “It wasn’t really a rant either.”
“Totally was.” I sneak him a smile. Then I turn to Val and lift the logbook. “This is full of that. Patrols or other excursions see signs of human activity, and Eric goes out to evaluate, and if he concludes anyone was in that area, that region is on lockdown. He is meticulous. Even a little paranoid.”
“I wouldn’t say—” Dalton begins.
“Totally are. And I don’t argue because as upset as people get over having an excursion canceled, it means attacks—like the one on Val—are extremely rare. Hostiles are like cougars—most residents pass their entire time here and never even catch a glimpse of one.” I turn to Val. “But you had a full-blown encounter. After Eric tried to keep you out of the forest and the council encouraged you to go.”
She says nothing.
“I don’t understand,” Dalton says. “I tried to stop you. They encouraged you. But I’m the one using hostiles?”
“It was a test,” I say. “If you tried to keep the new council rep out of the forest, it proved you were responsible for hostile encounters.”
His face screws up. “How?”
“Because you wouldn’t want the new rep to be attacked. Except you keep all new residents out … and can prove that. And there are extremely few hostile encounters … and we can prove that. Oh, plus the small fact that Val actually was attacked.”
“Did they try to claim I set that up?” Dalton mutters.
When Val doesn’t reply, he looks at her. “They did?”
“No, I did. I started thinking perhaps, if they were right about the sheriff using the hostiles, then he decided to teach me a lesson. When I mentioned it to Phil, he said no, very strongly no, that whatever else they thought Sheriff Dalton was capable of, they couldn’t imagine he’d ever do anything like that. But…”
“The idea had already been planted, and the more strenuously Phil insisted Eric couldn’t be responsible, the more it seemed as if he was in denial. Phil and the council.”
“Yes,” she says, and her voice is low.
“So you thought Eric was responsible for your attack. At best, he cultivated an environment that allowed it to happen. At worst, he actually set it up.”
She nods.
“And the council set that up. Led you to believe Eric cultivated that environment. Led you to believe he denied your attack. Even, in a roundabout way, led you to think he may have orchestrated it.”
Val shakes her head. “What possible motivation would they have?”
“What was the end result? When you first arrived, you thought Eric was too young and uneducated for his position. Right?”
She nods.
“Eventually, you’d have realized you were wrong. That Eric does his job very well. That he’s just more volatile—more difficult to control—than the council would like. The best way to manage him? Have a rep who thinks he’s dangerous. Who will report his every misdeed. The council made you their dedicated anti-Eric spy. And your reward? The result of what they told you, and the fear and distrust they instilled in you?” I wave around the chalet. “A prison cell.”
FORTY-SIX
We don’t talk after that. Val needs time to digest it. Dalton does, too, and he’s so quiet on the walk back that I turn to him a couple of times and say, “You do understand that no one thinks you actually did any of that, right?” He nods but says nothing, just walks, until we’re at his place. We take Storm out to do her business, and he remains quiet. Back inside, I put her to bed and find him sitting in front of the fireplace, staring into the glowing embers.
“Mind if I light that?” I ask softly.
He gives a start and then rises, reaching for the timber pile. I lay my hand on his and say, “I’ve got it,” but he hovers there, as if thrown by the sudden loss of purpose. When I say, “Unless you’d rather,” he nods and starts rebuilding the fire.
“I could be wrong about the council,” I say as he arranges logs.
He lets out a half-stifled laugh and shakes his head. “Nah, I’m just an idiot for not seeing it.”
“It was a very carefully constructed misunderstanding between you and Val, the result of that misunderstanding being a level of animosity that ensures you’d never actually talk and resolve it.” I move to sit on the sofa. “I know this hurts, Eric. You think you’re immune—that you understand what you’re up against with them—and then it gets worse. That hurts.”
“Yeah, but…” He pauses, crouched on his haunches, and rubs his mouth. “Before all this tonight, you wanted to talk about moving in.”
The change of subject throws me, and I go silent, as I process. He turns away and lights a match.
“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” he says.
“What you—?”
“It was too fast.” He retreats to the other end of the couch. “When I got Storm, I wasn’t thinking it’d mean we had to move in together, but I sure as hell jumped at the excuse. Here’s a puppy. Now, if you want it, you’ll have to move in with me.”