“She has plans,” Dalton says.

Diana turns. “Work, you mean. I think Casey—”

“—has earned the afternoon off. Which she is getting. We’re going caving today. You know that because I heard Petra telling you.”

“I thought that was cancelled due to tomato theft.”

“Nope. Casey? Got your things?”

“Casey?” Diana says. “When did you pull the stick out of your ass and start calling her by name?”

“Diana,” I say, sharply enough that I expect her to react. Maybe even apologize. She doesn’t, and when Dalton motions for me to get ready, she says, “Yes, Casey. Hop to it. God forbid you keep the man waiting.”

She’s been drinking. That must be it. But I don’t smell alcohol and she’s standing upright, no wobbles.

I open my mouth to ask her to leave, but she grabs my arm. “Come rafting with me, Case. You know you want to.”

“No,” Dalton says. “You want her to. Casey has been busy and you don’t like that. She’s also been hanging out with Petra, and you don’t like that, either. So you’re …” He trails off, frowns at her, and says, “Look up.”

“What?”

He motions for her to tilt her head up. He’s not reaching out to touch her, but she bats his hand away as if he is. That’s when I notice her pupils are constricted, despite the dim light.

“What’d you take?” Dalton asks.

“Take?”

“Any medications?”

“Aspirin for a headache. Is that a crime, sheriff? Want to lock me up with Jen? Maybe you want to watch the cat fight, too.”

His look is complete incomprehension. She mutters something, but I know where the bizarre accusation came from. The same place as those pupils. Rydex’s opiate base constricts pupils.

“Then you won’t mind coming to Doc Lowry’s,” Dalton says. “Have her check you for that headache. Make sure it’s only painkillers you took.”

“Are you accusing me of taking dex, asshole?”

“Diana,” I say. “Don’t.”

She turns to me. “What? He can call me a druggie but I catch shit for calling him an ass?”

“Go home, Diana,” Dalton says. “Or go rafting. I’m not going to call you on it this time, because if I do, Casey won’t get to go caving. But the next time, you’re taking the test.”

“Asshole.”

“Try a new insult. You’re wearing that one thin.”

She stomps out. I stare after her.

“She’s fine,” he says. “Pretty sure she took dex, but probably only to work up the nerve to talk to you.”

I turn to him.

He shrugs. “I know you’ve been getting some distance from her since the bar thing. And I’d say it’s about fucking time. Point is that she took dex to get up the nerve to waltz in here, like nothing’s happened, and all it did is unleash her ugly side again.”

I say, “I think she’s having other problems.” I tell him what Diana said about the misunderstanding with Isabel.

“You talk to Isabel?” he asks.

“I spoke to Mick yesterday, who doesn’t seem convinced it was a misunderstanding. He says that’s not the only incidence of … an exchange of goods, so to speak.”

“Credits?”

“No, no.”

“So guys give her stuff after sex. But that’s customary, right? Down south?”

I look up sharply and sputter a laugh. “Uh, no. Definitely not.”

“Then what’s that?” He points to my necklace.

I stiffen and my tone cools. “It’s called a gift—”

“—from a guy you were sleeping with. Obviously not payment for sex. That’s my point. It’s a cultural norm. Historically, guys pay for attention from a woman—dinner, a show, flowers, jewellery … The problem is that up here, as you’ve pointed out, guys do pay for sex. So they could be giving Diana stuff in payment, and she’s accepting them as gifts.”

“Are you actually defending her?”

“I’m saying I think it’s an honest misunderstanding. However, I also think she’s exaggerating the issue to get your attention. Same as coming in here high on dex. Maybe it wasn’t just working up courage, like I thought. More attention seeking. She’s high, I call her on it, she demands a drug test … and you spend the day taking care of her as you always do.”

“That seems … extreme.”

“For a normal person, yeah. Diana?” He shakes his head. Then he walks over to my jacket. “Enough of this. Her stunt failed to screw up your day. She’s not going to screw it up by making us fight over her stunt. We’re going caving.”

The others have the ATVs. To be honest, as much as I love the thrill of those, the horses are winning me over. It’s a quieter ride, one that makes me feel part of the forest rather than an intrusion on it. We can relay instructions more easily. I can gape about more easily. And I can pester Dalton more easily.

I’m also becoming rather attached to my horse. Yes, mine, because it’s rare for anyone besides us and the militia to ride them, and the militia usually leave Cricket behind. I’m not quite the little girl who finally got a pony, but there is a little of that. Now to completely compensate for my frustrated-animal-lover childhood …