Dalton deals with the mob. None of them may have thrown a punch, but in Rockton, witnessing a crime and doing nothing about it is a punishable offense. This law of Dalton’s wouldn’t fly down south, but up here, with such a small police force, we can reasonably expect better.

I’ve let Storm in, and I’m consoling her while Dalton chews out the mob. When Jen comes in with the first-aid container, I point to the back porch. She hesitates, but I march her out.

“Here’s—” she begins, holding out the kit.

I thrust the discarded petition at her. “You set this up. You knew Eric and Will were both gone. You chose that moment to hit me with this.”

“Yes, I did. I wanted to talk to you alone because you’re the only person who actually listens to me.”

“You took advantage of that to distract me while the others—”

“What? My petition was for a public inquiry, not a trial. Sure as hell not a lynch mob.”

“Bullshit. You kicked Storm, knowing that was a guaranteed distraction—”

“No.” Guilt flits over her face as looks at the dog. “I’m genuinely sorry about that. If Eric wants to come up with a punishment for animal abuse, I’ll take it. I kicked her, and that was uncalled for. My past experience with dogs isn’t an excuse. I reacted badly.” She eases back and eyes me. “I think you know something about that, considering those scars on your arms and the way you went after Roy.”

“That—”

“In your case, it was justifiable anger. Mine was not.”

She’s being reasonable, and I’m not sure how to handle that. I feel as if I’m being set up, and I’d prefer the old Jen, someone to snap back at me, someone I can rightly vent my rage on.

“You guys need to do something about Roy.” Before I can snarl a response, she lifts her hands. “Yeah, I know, you don’t need me giving you more work right now, but he’s a nutjob.”

“We’ve had a few run-ins with him already. He has issues with authority.”

She snorts a laugh. “That’s putting it mildly. What you just saw didn’t come out of nowhere. I can tell you stories . . . and he’s only been here a month.”

“If you can tell stories, you should. As part of the militia.”

“I did not have anything to do with what happened in there,” she says, ignoring my comment. “You aren’t going to find any of those names on my petition. I knew you were alone here, and Roy knew you were alone here. Two totally separate incidents.”

I open the first-aid kit.

“People don’t like what’s happening with this Brady guy,” she says.

“Really?” I scrunch my nose. “Personally, I can’t see it, but that may be because I’m seeing two of everything right now, after getting clocked by a guy who . . . Wait, he’s upset about Brady, isn’t he?”

“I’m just—”

“You’re pointing out the obvious, as usual.” I yank out a bandage and lift my shirt. “You have your petition because you think we’re overreacting. Roy tried to lynch Brady because he thinks we’re underreacting.”

“You need to clean that wound first.” She picks up my discarded wet cloth from the railing.

Dalton peeks out the door.

“She’s fine,” Jen says.

Dalton ignores her and says to me, “I’m still dealing with these idiots, but if you need anything . . .”

I manage a smile for him. “I can stitch myself, remember?”

“Yeah, but don’t. You need me, shout. Otherwise, I can help in five minutes.”

He retreats inside.

I turn to Jen. “I know how you feel. You’ve made that abundantly clear. I’m fucking up, as usual. Now just go.”

“I just think it’s a dangerous situation. Especially after this. Whatever Brady did, does it really deserve this treatment?”

I stare at her. Then I march inside.

Dalton stops lecturing the coconspirators and arches his brows. I wave for him to continue. Then I unlock a drawer and remove the letter that came with Brady. I walk outside and hand it to Jen.

After she’s read it, I give her the details.

When I finish, she’s pale. Then she says, “Maybe Roy has the right idea.”

“Really? That’s your takeaway from this?” I throw up my hands. “I try to share information with you, so you understand why we’re keeping him locked up, and you do a total one-eighty. Now we’re wrong for not lynching him.”

“I never said lynching.”

“We are doing our best here,” I say. “We need people to trust us. Like I trusted you with that letter. If I find out that anyone else knows those details? I know where it came from.”

“I don’t like this,” she says as I walk away.

“No one does,” I say, and take Storm inside to help Dalton.

* * *

The council has decided not to let Dalton go to Dawson. After what happened today, the situation is “too precarious.” I can bitch about that, but they aren’t wrong.

We’re on Dalton’s balcony, which is our bedroom in good weather . . . and sometimes in bad. I’ve been here nine months, and the allure of falling asleep to the howl of wolves and the perfume of pine and spruce hasn’t worn off. We have a mattress out here, and we’re lying on it, with Storm at our feet as we talk.

Roy is still in the icehouse. We gave him winter gear and a sleeping bag. He’ll be fine. One of the militia guys is in there with him, just in case he decides to sabotage the ice. I wouldn’t put it past him. Jen’s right that he’s been trouble. What happened today, though, was worse than I expected. Far worse.

“He’s going back,” Dalton says. “As soon as we figure out the shit with Brady, Roy is going home.”

“Is that . . . a good idea? They made Diana stay because she posed a security threat.”

“Nah, they made Diana stay because they’re assholes. They’ve kicked people out before. They have blackmail to make sure they keep their mouth shut about us. We’ll work it out. He’s not staying, though. He could have killed you. His so-called backstory says nothing about violence, meaning his file is bullshit.”

I don’t pursue this. After Dalton finished dealing with the mob, he’d gone to the ice house, and then Roy got to see how Dalton really felt about him attacking me. It wasn’t physical. Dalton isn’t going to rough up a bound man. But he managed to scare the shit out of Roy without lifting a finger. So while Dalton’s calm now, I’d like to back-burner the issue of Roy.

We discuss the mob. Dalton’s furious about that, too, especially since they waited until I was alone at the station. That is unacceptable. They’ve each been sentenced to six months of chopping and sanitation duty, the worst punishment I’ve seen Dalton inflict since I arrived. This was an uprising. A revolt. We cannot afford that in our little powder keg of a town.

The petition doesn’t help. The fact that we have residents complaining that we’re erring too far on both sides means we’re, well, screwed. We can’t inch in either direction without pissing someone off.

“Stay the course,” I say. “That’s my advice, if you want it.”

“Course I do.”

“Then we continue on as planned. Ignore those who argue that Brady deserves more freedoms. The bigger threat is Roy’s gang. If that continues, we clamp down.”

“Martial law.” Dalton shakes his head. “I saw it done when I was growing up, and I was kinda proud of the fact that I’ve never had to resort to that. Thought that meant I was a better sheriff. Bullshit. It just means I got lucky.”

“Rockton has never dealt with anything like Brady before. Right now, I think we’re just in the unsettled phase. People are on edge. Once his cabin is built, they’ll settle.” I stretch out on top of him. “We’ll be okay.”

His arms go around my waist. “We will be.”

Which is true. We’ll be okay, as both a couple and as individuals. We’ll weather this, however it plays out. The problem is everyone else. Everyone we are responsible for.