Page 11 of A Killing Cold

“It definitely makes it harder to bring home all the girls I meet out here,” Trevor replies. Alexis snorts.

I do a mental count in my head. “Aren’t there five cabins, though?” I ask. There should be enough for everyone without Trevor and his mother sharing one.

There’s a pause. The silence holds weight I can’t fathom, a strained quiet no one seems willing to break. Mrs. Dalton’s silverware clicks as she sets it down. “Technically, yes,” she says. “Five cabins were built originally. But only four have been maintained in recent years. The fifth is in quite poor repair.”

At that moment Sebastian begins to cry, great wailing sobs that make everyone at the table flinch.

“Sorry! I just told him what venison is,” Alexis says, patting his head frantically. “I thought he already knew.”

Sebastian’s tears don’t stop until dinner is cleared away—and we nearly have a repeat a few minutes later, narrowly avoided when Paloma thinks to reassure him that the chocolate mousse is not an animal.

I’m relieved when the dessert course is done and my interrogation has remained minimal.

“We’d better get Bastian to bed,” Paloma says. She has been quiet most of the meal, tending to Sebastian while Alexis chatters.

“You go. I’ll stay a while,” Alexis says, and Paloma’s mouth purses before she nods. Alexis is pouring another glass of wine. I’ve lost count of how many she’s had. Suddenly it occurs to me with apprehension that the end of dinner may not be the end of the visit.

“I think we’d better get back to White Pine,” Connor says, putting a hand on my arm. “It was a long drive up. We’ll see you all tomorrow.”He’s already rising, not giving anyone the chance to extend a forceful invitation.

There is a flurry of farewells, and the next thing I know I’m pulling on my boots and coat at the door, Connor adjusting my scarf at my neck.

“There you go. We survived round one,” he says, his voice a low murmur.

“How did I do?” I ask.

“Granddad likes you,” he says.

“He wasn’t the one I was worried about,” I remind him. He wraps the end of the scarf around his hand once, twice, until it’s pulling me toward him. My body fits against his, his nose nearly touching mine. I breathe him in. He smells of expensive wool, of cedar and winter air.

“The only one you have to impress is me, and you’ve already done it,” he whispers.

“Connor.” We spring apart like guilty teenagers at the sound of his sister’s voice. Alexis has appeared, her gait slightly unsteady, the corner of her lip smudged with a stain of wine. “Can I steal your fiancée for just a moment?”

Connor looks at me for approval before he steps away, lingering just out of easy earshot. Alexis regards me. Her thumb massages the pad of her opposite hand, a not-quite-nervous gesture.

“I’m sorry about what I said earlier, at dinner,” she begins.

“It’s fine,” I say. “It has all happened very fast. I’d be worried if you weren’t worried, honestly.”

She grimaces. “We can be protective. You should have heard the grilling Grandma Louise gave Paloma when we got engaged,” she says. “At least you’re the right gender this time around.” She smooths over the bitterness in her voice by flipping her hair back over her shoulder. “Part of it is just—they tend to judge people by their families? So you’re a bit more of an enigma to sort out.” Her tone is overtly sympathetic, but probing.

When people hear that my parents are dead, they want to know what happened, but they don’t want to ask. That fear of being awkward is one of the main reasons I’ve gotten away with lying for so long.

For a moment, I consider telling her what not even Connor knows. I’m not an orphan at all. I’m a devil-child; my parents are alive, they just don’t want me.

But the moment passes. It always passes—every time the words push themselves up my throat, I swallow them down again.

“You know, I feel like no one’s going to say it—I mean, other than Trevor—but I know you’re all worried about it, and I promise I’m not with Connor because of his money,” I say instead.

Alexis’s eyes widen. “Oh, no no no, we wouldn’t… okay, yeah, we would,” she says, covering her mouth as if shocked at her own words.

“Not that I’m complaining about the money, either,” I add, a little daringly.

“Ha,” she says, more of a declaration than a true laugh. “You know, I think I’m starting to like you. But watch out. Hurt my baby brother and I’ll turn on you in an instant. We Daltons don’t fuck around.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Her expression grows serious. “I just want to see Connor happy again. He hasn’t been for a long time.”

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