Breathe: A Novel of Colorado Page 5

  "Thank you," Bryce murmured. He stared at the envelopes and then up the hillside.

  Only Doctor Morton and Nurse Packard stared back, waiting on him, clearly wondering what was holding him. They were cold, eager to get the others back to warmth, the safety of the sanatorium. He moved up the hill as fast as he dared, suddenly well aware of his weakness. He just might opt for the wagon bed, with a few of the woolen blankets to cover him. Yes, Sam would've laughed, said something like, "I just get out and you're trying to take my place." He glanced down at the envelopes and then back to the wagon. He'd open his later. And get Odessas to her as soon as he could.

  The sheriff refused to release Dominic, no matter how much Moira begged. Only one thing had convinced him to consider releasing Nic the following day-she agreed to accompany him to dinner.

  Moira paced in her hotel room. Papa would yell and stand before the door, refusing to allow her out with a man they had just met, sheriff or not. Dominic, if he knew, would throttle them both.

  But neither man was here. She was on her own.

  She stopped and glanced in the long, oval mirror hanging in her hotel room. She was dressed in a fine teal gown, low at the neck, tight in the bodice, which showed off her narrow waist and the pleasing curve of her breasts. She had summoned a maid to assist her into the corset, and then into the gown. Then with shaking hands she had seen to her hair, pinning it to the top of her head, and applied light Parisian makeup. She ran her hands over the raw silk of her bodice. Nic wanted her to behave as a woman grown? Well, this was it. She could act the part.

  Act the part. Was it within her, this role? Never had she been with a man who had not been approved by her father. But this was the West. And Papa was far away. And the sheriff had threatened to keep Dominic in jail for a week. Only her reluctant agreement to dinner had swayed him. One dinner. One dinner and Nic would be out in the morning, back in the adjoining hotel room tomorrow. And they could get back to the business of finding a proper space for the shop before Papa even got wind of what had happened.

  Her heart fluttered as she thought of Nic on the ground and bleeding. She'd seen the repercussions of what their mother had termed "scuffles" before, bruises and scratches and cuts the day after, but never had she seen men exchange blows. It was ... unseemly. And oddly fascinating. She was drawn to the foreign force of it all, the scent of primal manhood.

  She lifted her chin. There was nothing for it. It was time she acted the part of a grown woman, not that of the baby of the family. Even when her little brothers had been born, Moira had always taken a special place in the family as youngest daughter. And it was thrilling, freeing really, being here in the West and on her own, with neither Dess nor Nic to stand in her way. This sense of independence was what she had craved in Philadelphia, what had frightened Papa when he recognized it. "You are far too fickle, Moira. A creature of passions, drawn to dangerous men and dangerous pursuits."

  "Dangerous men?" she had sputtered. "You mean James Clarion? I would think you would be happy to have a Clarion-of all people-court me. And dangerous pursuits? I've always loved to sing, Papa. To say nothing of acting ... it can be a lovely thing. If you would only consider allowing me but a year in New York-send me there instead of to Colorado. Please, Papa. I beg it of you. Just a year. Only a year!"

  He had stood there, face stricken. For a man of words, a publisher of books, he consistently ran short of them when in heated discussion with his daughter. "Moira, what makes your passions, your pursuits dangerous is that you do not yet know yourself. And the theater is full of passionate people liable to lead you astray." He sighed. "Without your mother to guide you ... No. It is decided. You need to go West with your siblings. There you will have enough distance from all of this to become who you are meant to be."

  She smoothed down her bodice again, although it was perfectly in place, and studied her image in the mirror. She scoffed at the memory of his words. Papa wanted her to become the person she was "meant to be," but he'd cut her off from the one avenue that would lead her to who she believed she was, deep within-an entertainer, an actress. She was nineteen years old, of age to marry, have children of her own. But Papa believed she did not yet know herself. She leaned toward the glass and stared into her own eyes. "Have some gumption, Moira St. Clair," she said. "Show your father just who you are." She leaned even closer. "Show yourself."

  Despite the stern words she gave herself, a knock at the door made her jump.

  "Yes?"

  "Miss St. Clair, the sheriff is downstairs waiting on you."

  "Thank you. Please tell him I'll be down shortly."

  "As you wish, miss."

  Moira went to the foot of her bed, wrapped the shawl around her shoulders, and gathered up her evening bag. And then she sat down on the edge to count to a hundred. It'll never do to have a man think you re eager to see him, her mother had said once.

  Moira agreed. Particularly this man. This man was dangerous. Powerful. She pulled on her lace gloves slowly, watching as each finger slid into its pocket. Yes, she would need every weapon in her feminine arsenal if she were to keep Sheriff Bannock in line. Fortunately, her arsenal was well supplied.

  Reaching a hundred, she rose and after one last glance in the mirror, slipped out of the hotel room and turned her key in the lock. It was good to be out of the room, really. It would be hard enough to sleep in there all alone, to say nothing of doing so after an evening of pacing within. And if she had to spend another moment at the sanatorium, it would make her scream. It was wise for her to get out, clever of her. She could ply the sheriff with compliments and free her brother as she helped Nic find the best retail space in the city. Who would know the city better than the sheriff?

  She moved down the stairs, bending her legs to give herself the appearance of floating. As anticipated, the sheriff rose, a look of awe upon his face.

  He pulled his hat from his head and held it to his chest. "You do me an honor, accompanying me tonight, Miss St. Clair."

  He smiled and Moira had to admit he was handsome. His teeth were good and she liked the look of his carefully combed, full mustache that partially hid them. His nose was a bit big, but not too much so, and his brown eyes were lined with dark lashes, much like her own. He was a powerfully built man, obviously able to look after himself. This evening wouldn't cost her as much as she had thought.

  Her mother's voice came ringing through her mind again as she accepted the sheriffs arm and he placed his hat back atop his head. Never underestimate a man who has an eye on something he wants.

  Never underestimate a girl who has an eye on something she wants. Then she was immediately contrite with remorse for talking back to her dead mother. I don't want him, Mother. But I need him. I need to set things back to rights, for Odessa, for Nic.

  No answering comment echoed through her mind, and for a moment, sorrow cascaded through Moira as freshly as when they had just lost their mother, nearly a year ago.

  "Miss St. Clair?" the sheriff asked, looking back in her direction.

  Moira started and shook her head a little, realizing she had paused, thrown back in time to a place, a day she could talk to her mother, reach out and touch her. She covered her embarrassment with a quick smile and then ducked her head. "Forgive me, Sheriff. I was lost in my own thoughts."

  He led her forward, down the boardwalk to the restaurant where they would dine. "Those must have been entrancing thoughts indeed."

  She said nothing. Most considered Moira beautiful but simple, pliable, malleable. But few knew how much she understood about others, thought about them, intuited how to guide their reactions to her. The sheriff was the sort of man who liked a challenge and enjoyed some secrets of his own. The way to wrap this man around her little finger was to make him think she was full of secrets. Which she was, in a way.

  "How long have you lived in this town, Sheriff?"

  "Almost three years. General Palmer and I go back. My father served under him in the last year of the war. They
became good friends, and I served in the army as soon as I was able, due to his influence. I hailed from General Palmer's hometown, and he took a special interest in me. Twelve years later I was a sheriff in Minnesota, and General Palmer came through on the train. He asked me to come with him. Said he had the best job in the prettiest city in the state, and it was mine to make it what I would."

  "So you left? Just like that? For Colorado."

  He gave her a half shrug. "Three years ago. Said my good-byes, gave my notice. Did right by the town. But no, I didn't let any grass grow beneath my feet. Deputy took over for me and I joined General Palmer on the train the next morning."

  "And did you find Colorado Springs to be all that General Palmer promised?"

  "All that and more. Our city has a long way to go, Miss St. Clair, but she is well on her way."

  "General Palmer sounds like quite the solicitor."

  "He knows how to make the right deals," he said, nodding and looking slyly in her direction. Moira had the distinct impression that he was no longer talking about the general, but more about their dinner. They passed the wide windows of a large restaurant, the interior a buzz of activity between servers and diners. "Here we are."

  She went through the door and paused, pulling off her heavy spring shawl as she waited for Sheriff Bannock to join her. The dull rumble of conversation paused for a few seconds as the townspeople considered their sheriff with a stranger at his side, but then slowly resumed.

  Moira smiled at the hostess and followed her to a table, taking the seat that Sheriff Bannock pulled out for her. Their chicken dinner was delicious, the best meal Moira had enjoyed since arriving in this new city, and they were halfway through a slice of preserved apple pie when General Palmer, and his wife, Queen, arrived. Moira knew them on sight, having seen their portrait hanging in the Antlers Hotel. Reid immediately rose and waited for the Palmers to make their way through the room, stopping to greet every other table. She could see that although the sheriff had a good twelve inches on the general he deeply respected the man.

  Her eyes went from one to the other as they shook hands. General Palmer turned to Moira. "Well now, where did our fine sheriff find a beauty like you?"

  "General William Jackson Palmer, Mrs. Queen Palmer, I'd like you to meet Miss Moira St. Clair, newly arrived from Philadelphia."

  General Palmer took her hand in his and bowed over it. She smiled and nodded at his wife, but the general wasn't finished with her. "Tell me, Miss St. Clair, how do you find our Little London?"

  Moira swallowed and forced an admiring smile to her face. She had heard the founder called the Springs Little London because of the influx of settlers from England, but she had been to that great city, and she was fairly certain Colorado Springs would never quite reach its stature, even with the current rate of growth.

  "Your city is beautiful," she deferred. "I am in awe of your mountains, the clean water, and my new neighbors, of course," she said, sliding a glance toward the sheriff.

  General Palmer grinned and glanced at his wife. "The more you meet, the more you'll feel at home," he said. "My wife is here for only a short time. We have invited several to join us tomorrow evening at the Glen. You and the sheriff will join us."

  "Oh, I-"

  "Thank you for the invitation, General," Reid said. "We will look forward to it."

  "Excellent," General Palmer said. "Good evening, Sheriff, Miss St. Clair."

  They moved away, and Moira felt a bit faint and more than a little perturbed. How dare he accept the invitation on her behalf?

  "Sheriff Bannock-"

  "Please, call me Reid."

  "Reid, I do not believe I can attend. My brother will not allow it without attending me himself."

  "Your brother is in jail."

  Moira glanced down at her pie, no longer hungry, then back to Reid. "It was my understanding that after our dinner together tonight, you would consider releasing him tomorrow morning."

  The sheriff smiled. "You have just met the most important couple in the entire city, Miss St. Clair. Queen is hardly here anymore; due to a heart attack a few years ago, she and the girls live back East, for the most part. You can hardly say no to such an invitation. If for nothing else, think of your brother. You said you are seeking retail space. General Palmer is the man to know. You will need timely shipments, supplies. General Palmer is the man to know. You will need a reporter to cover your opening in the Gazette, our newspaper. General Palmer is the man to know."

  "But my brother-"

  "Your brother. Perhaps it is in his best interest to keep him longer. Perhaps another night will do him some good, remind him that he should approach others in a different manner here in Colorado Springs." He sat back and considered her. "And that leaves you free to accompany me tomorrow night to Glen Eyrie, right?"

  Moira struggled to find the best answer among the options. "Glen Eyrie?"

  "The Palmers' castle, a half hour's ride away. It is lovely. You will be enchanted."

  She looked up at him, knowing he had her in a corner. She could muster no charm. "It seems I have little choice."

  "No, indeed you do not," he said with an easy smile. "But trust me, you will not regret your decision."

  She rose. "I'd like to go back to the hotel now," she said. "I must change and return to the sanatorium to attend my sister."

  He stood, unruffled by her barely disguised anger, and set his napkin on the chair before straightening his jacket. "Then I shall take you."

  Moira wished she could deny him that, insist she see herself back, but it wasn't safe, a woman alone in a new town, especially at this hour. Thoughts of the three miners who had waylaid her yesterday cascaded through her mind. Swallowing a sigh, she waited while Reid walked around the table and placed a hand on her lower back, gesturing forward.

  "Moira-"

  "Miss St. Clair," she corrected crossly.

  He raised his chin and studied her down the length of his nose. "Tread carefully, my dear. This is not your town. It is mine."

  Chapter

  6

  Odessa awakened to her doctor unwrapping her bandages and Nurse Packard on the other side of the bed. Moira stood in the corner and then moved to the bed to take her hand when Odessa caught her eye.

  "Is it awful?" Odessa managed to ask, despite her terrible thirst. This morning, every muscle in her body ached, probably the result of her fall.

  "Not so awful," said the doctor kindly. "The wounds are superficial. They will heal quickly."

  Odessa accepted that information with some skepticism. But it mattered not-the damage was not something she could undo. Her thoughts cast back to that night, the night Sam died. Her memory had cleared, and over and over she relived those moments that drove her to her feet and into Sam's room.

  Dr. Morton studied her, watching her chest move beneath her thin chemise, and then he bent over to listen at her mouth. He pulled down one eyelid and then the other.

  "You must calm yourself," he said with concern. "Consider pleasant things, quiet things. Breathe in slowly, Odessa ... and now out ... That's it. Good girl."

  He rose to depart and Moira cried out, "But Doctor! Is she all right? Shouldn't you do something else?"

  He eyed her, then gave them both a warm smile. "Miss St. Clair, twenty years ago, Odessa might have perished. One in ten still die today," he said. His words sounded callous, but his eyes were kind as he turned toward Odessa. "But you, my dear, are in the finest care, in the finest city for consumption care in the country. In short, it won't be long until we have you up and on your feet. Then soon into a saddle and on the trail with the others."

  Odessa remembered Sam telling her about the long train of twenty men and two women, many of them deathly pale, bundled and saddled up for their morning constitutional into the mountains-part of the sanatorium's prescription for health.

  "I confess," she murmured, "it's difficult to imagine."

  He met her gaze and then examined her cheeks again, turning he
r chin with his hand. "Most of the patients felt the same as you three days in. All are pleasantly surprised at what they can tolerate a week later. I find that your doctors in other places have not demanded enough of you, and in doing so have robbed you of the chance at proper health. Do you trust me?"

  Odessa shifted in the bed, considered his question. "As much as I've learned to trust any other doctor."

  He smiled. "Fair enough. You shall soon see, Miss St. Clair, that I am entirely trustworthy. And that you've placed your life in the right man's hands."

  "I hope you are right, Doctor."

  His smile faded. "Do not rise without assistance. Today you begin more advanced meal treatments. The sustenance will help you keep your feet when next you wish to try." He eyed Nurse Packard. "She is to be moved to the sunporch from one to four."

  "Yes, Doctor."

  With that, he was gone, already on to the next patient. Odessa met the nurse's eye. "What happened to Mr. O'Toole? How did he die?"

  Nurse Packard raised an eyebrow and settled her covers again. "Well, it wasn't the consumption, that's for certain. He had made excellent progress." She looked at Odessa quickly. Clearly, she had shared more than she had intended.

  Odessa nodded and frowned, wondering if she should confide what she heard that night. But something told her to keep silent. She gave Moira a little shake of her head, urging her to do the same, but her sister was frowning, thinking hard.

  "What about you, Odessa?" Moira said. "Why were you on the prowl at such a late hour that night?"

  Odessa shook her head, as if embarrassed. "Delirious, most likely. Perhaps I caught a chill, a fever even. That happened from time to time in Philadelphia." She looked over at Moira and her sister nodded, as if confirming her story.

  Nurse Packard nodded. "Common enough among consumptives." She shook a finger in Odessa's face. "Just see to it that you stay put from here on out or we'll have to tie you down." She smiled over her firm words, but was there a note of true warning behind them? Odessa could not be sure.