Claim: A Novel of Colorado (The Homeward Trilogy)

by Bergren, Lisa T.

  He hesitated again, feeling a pang of compassion for them both. “Should I change my mind … where would I find you?”

  A glimmer of hope entered Peter’s eyes. “A couple miles out of St. Elmo. Just ask around for the Vaughn claim up in the Gulch and someone’ll point you in our direction.” He reached out a hand. “I’d be much obliged, Nic. And I’m not half bad at cookin’ either. I’d keep you in grub. Give it some thought. But don’t be too put out if you get there, and I’ve found someone else.”

  “Understood,” Nic said with a smile. “Safe journey.”

  “And to you.” He turned away, tugging at his boy’s shoulder, but the child looked back at Nic, all big pleading eyes.

  Hurriedly, Nic walked away in the opposite direction. He fought the desire to turn and call out to them. Wasn’t he looking for work? Something that would allow him to ride on to Bryce and Odessa’s ranch without his tail tucked between his legs? The man had said the mine was sure to pay.… I’m onto a nice vein.…

  Was that a miner’s optimism or the truth?

  o

  “Not yet?” Moira sputtered, following him. She frowned in confusion. He had been coaxing her forward, outward, steadily healing her with his kind attentions these last two months. But now it was as if they were at some strange impasse. What was he talking about? What had happened to him?

  She hurried forward and grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop and turn again to face her. Her veil clung to her face in the early evening breeze. “Daniel.”

  He slowly lifted his dark eyes to meet hers.

  “This is about me, isn’t it?” she asked. “You attempt to spare my feelings but find me repulsive. I can hardly fault you, but—”

  “No,” he said, with another hollow laugh. “Contrary to what you believe, Moira St. Clair, not everything boils down to you. You are braver than you think and more beautiful than you dare to believe. I believe we’re destined to be together.”

  Moira held her breath. Then what—

  “No,” he went on. “This is about something I need to resolve. Something that needs to be done, or at least settled in my mind, my heart, before I can properly court you.”

  “What? What is it, Daniel?” she tried once more.

  He only looked at her helplessly, mouth half open, but mute.

  She crossed her arms and turned her back to him, staring out across the pristine valley, the land of the Circle M. It hurt her that he felt he couldn’t confide in her as she had with him. She stiffened when he laid his big hands on her shoulders. “I don’t need to be rescued, Daniel,” she said in a monotone. “God has seen me to this place, this time. He’ll see me through to the next … with or without you.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “No. I don’t. We’ve been courting all summer, whether you realize it or not. And now you say that there is something else that needs to be resolved? You assume much, Daniel Adams. You think that I’ll wait forever?” She let out a scoffing laugh. “It’s clear you do not fear that any other man might pursue me. Not that I blame you …” She turned partly away and stared into the distance. “Please. Don’t let this linger on. I cannot bear it. Not if you do not intend to claim me as your own.”

  He was silent for a long minute. Oh, that he would but turn her and meet her lips at last …

  But he didn’t. “We both have a lot to think through, pray through, Moira,” he said quietly.

  “Yes, well, let me know when that is accomplished,” she said over her shoulder, walking away as fast as she could, lest he see the tears that were already rolling down her cheeks.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Moira took Daniel’s hand and climbed into the wagon, letting go of his warm palm as soon as possible. They moved out to the “barn raising”—which was really more like a “small town raising”—picnic in three wagons.

  “Oh, I hate to leave anyone behind for this,” Odessa said, settling in beside Moira, with her son, Samuel, in her arms. She glanced back toward Tabito, the ranch’s Ute foreman, and two others who would remain on the premises to watch over the herd closest to the house. Three more hands were on the eastern quadrant with the rest of the horses. “It’s a shame they’ll miss it.”

  Feeling the hard wall of separation between her and Daniel, Moira wished she could take the place of any one of them.

  Odessa glanced at Moira, her eyes softening before she moved the baby to her other side so she could hook her arm through her sister’s. “It will be all right, Moira,” she whispered. “You’ll have fun.” She looked up to the wagon bench in front of them, and Moira followed her eyes. Daniel was sitting next to Bryce. They were talking about the lumber that had just been delivered for the snow breaks and stables they’d build over the summer. Daniel and Bryce had an easy rapport, whether it was talking about the ranch or enjoying a hot cup of coffee after supper. Odessa looked quite smug as she looked from one man to another and then over at Moira.

  She was matchmaking again. She didn’t know yet that it was over, any budding love between Moira and the man before her. Ever since their conversation three days prior, Daniel had stayed as far away from her as possible. The pain of his rejection, his sudden silence, seemed more than she could bear. Seeing him, yet knowing he would never love her. Why did he even remain at the Circle M?

  “Stop it, Dess,” Moira whispered.

  “Did I say anything?” Odessa asked, her blue-green St. Clair eyes, so like Moira’s, wide with mock innocence. Moira knew she thought Daniel a fine man, with his sober, steady ways. He was. But she also knew her older sister well enough to know that she’d like to put Moira’s life in order—preferably sooner than later, with a baby on the way. Moira’s hand moved to her swelling belly hidden beneath the folds of her dress. Four months along, five months to go. It didn’t matter, really. Even if Daniel had wanted to marry her, there would be no way to get married and have the baby without the old biddies in town or at church fully understanding that this child was not his babe.

  He was not her way out. She was destined to carry this baby by herself with no one to share the load. It was the price she had to pay. As it should be.

  She watched the endless rails that marked the northern boundary of the ranch as they passed by. There were knots in the wood, little more than small bumps in the grain; elsewhere there were massive knots that seemed to twist the entire log and change the grain itself, sending it in a new direction. She supposed that was what had happened to her—a couple of massive knots in her life. Her choices with Gavin, her run-in with Reid Bannock, the opera house in Paris closing down, the fire. The pregnancy. More like a series of massive knots, she thought.

  Moira sensed someone looking at her and glanced up. Daniel’s warm eyes were on her, but his gaze was glazed, perfunctory. Simply checking on her, she decided, making sure she was all right. When he turned around again, Odessa squeezed her arm knowingly, as if to say, See?

  Moira rolled her eyes and then looked to the rail again. God would see her through, raising the child alone. Or at least alongside Odessa and Bryce. But she needed to move out of their house soon, give them their privacy. Perhaps she could purchase one of the cottage lots on the creek, where some of the men were building homes, or maybe in the little town they’d call Conquistador, once it was built.

  She tried to summon the courage to face what was ahead and concentrate on the fact that she’d be surrounded by people of the Circle M the whole time—at least for today, if not for the rest of her life—but bile rose in her throat. She hoped she wouldn’t be ill. The morning sickness had abated, by and large, but now and again she had a bout of it. It would be mortifying, vomiting here, in this happy company of people. So far, no one besides Odessa, Bryce, and Daniel knew of her pregnancy.

  How long could she keep up the charade?

  o

  Moira trailed behind her sister, glad to be holding the baby and making herself useful. Odessa moved among friends and neighbors, some of whom had traveled from as far as
Westcliffe for what was, in effect, the christening of a new town. Bryce’s men had set up a temporary stage on the corner of their ranch that bordered the county road and even set up a couple of outhouses. Around the stage, where the musicians were warming up now, they’d strung cord to hang lanterns, so that come nightfall they could dance.

  Some had brought picnic tables and lined them up in several rows. Still others spread blankets about. A good distance away, a group of men were taking turns shooting bottles off a fence post, getting five paces farther out with each shot. Moira glanced their way. Daniel took aim, squeezed off a shot, and hit his target; the crowd of men erupted in shouts. Moira sighed. He was a terrific marksman. She wished she were there instead, shooting things. It might alleviate some of the angst she felt inside.

  Moira looked around as Mrs. Moore excused herself to fetch her rolls from her wagon. There were about a hundred or more people in attendance.

  Bryce joined her and Odessa, taking the baby from Moira’s arms.

  “It’s turned out well, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, it’s wonderful, Bryce,” Odessa said. “The boys did a terrific job on the stage—and even outhouses! Very thoughtful.”

  “Well, it’s a long way back to our house,” he said, cocking a brow.

  “No, it’s perfect. It’s only that I hadn’t thought of it … and you did.” She smiled up at him, and Moira had to look away, tormented, suddenly, by the love they so clearly shared.

  “I can’t take all the credit,” Bryce said. “Tabito was the one who suggested the stage. He said my uncle used to host one of these summer picnics every year and that was how he did things. The stage will, in time, be the main floor of the mercantile.”

  “And Tabito’s not even here to enjoy it,” Odessa lamented.

  “He’s happiest back at the ranch.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “I am. As long as we bring him back a heaping plate of food.”

  “I could take it back for him,” Moira offered, seeing an escape.

  “No, no,” Odessa intoned. “We’ll send a man with a whole basket for the boys back at home. You stay here and enjoy the afternoon.”

  “Oh,” Bryce said, looking past them. “They’re about to pull the hogs off the spit. I better go help. Want to see?”

  “Yes! They smell wonderful.”

  “You come too, Moira,” he said, noticing her hesitation. “I promise,” he said, with a sparkle in his eye, “you’ve never had pork like this.” They crossed the field toward a group of the men who hovered by two large smoking pits. They’d dug them out a few days before, started a fire yesterday morning, and placed the hogs—liberally seasoned and filled with onions and apples—inside the glowing, coal-lined cavities last night. They’d been slow-roasting for almost twenty-four hours.

  As if drawn by the aroma, everyone began moving toward the two holes and strained to peer over shoulders to get a look. Small children squeezed between legs and hips to make it to the front. Several men talked about Daniel and his marksmanship. One said they should ask him to be the new Westcliffe sheriff.

  Moira barely held back a shiver. Bad things happened to lawmen in the West. It would be far better if Daniel stayed on the ranch. Not that he was asking her opinion …

  Four men worked at each pit, hands wrapped in cloth to keep from getting burned. They moved aside the smoldering wood and metal at the top, that side of the crowd pressing backward in a wave to give them room. Then, on the count of three, the men lifted the first hog out of the ground. It was on a woven metal mesh, and they set it gently down. It steamed and Moira wondered over the perfect golden-brown skin. The second one emerged then, and the crowd turned its attention to that one, oohing and ahhing at the sight and smell. Moira thought their bellies might all be rumbling as one.

  “Friends and neighbors,” Bryce said loudly, so all could hear. “Thank you for coming today, and for bringing all those wonderful pies over there—” he paused to gesture to one of the picnic tables—“that almost make me want to start with dessert.”

  Men and women laughed. The children grinned as if they thought that was a grand idea.

  “Some of you were here on this property when Odessa and I suffered through dark days,” he said. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Some of you came to our aid. Some of you offered to help in any way you could afterward. Odessa and I deeply appreciate neighbors that feel like family.”

  “So, in thanks we offer you this meal. And tomorrow—” he paused to eye Odessa—“we’ll raise the foundations of a town I’d like to name Conquistador, because without the gold they left us, it wouldn’t be possible.”

  A cheer went up from the crowd. In the morning, all these people would return, ready to help raise the frames of a tiny new post office, a mercantile, a charity sanatorium for consumption patients, and a church.

  “For now,” Bryce’s voice rang out, “let us give thanks to the Lord for this fine meal we are about to share.”

  Men pulled off their hats and held them to their chests. All bowed their heads and closed their eyes.

  “Lord, thank You for Your deliverance. Thank You for this fellowship and this fine food. We ask that You give us peace in this valley for years to come and Your guidance in all that we do. Amen.”

  “Amen,” said the people.

  Immediately they all moved toward the table of food as the men began to carve the first of the hogs. Bowls of potato salad and other side dishes were set out, and families served themselves before heading back to the pits, where the men sliced off hunks of moist, succulent pork and set it atop their plates.

  o

  Since the line for food was long and they wanted their guests to be served first, Moira moved with Odessa back to the wagon to help her change the baby and bring back a couple baskets of extra rolls. Judging from the crowd, they would end up needing them. When they got there, they could see four men, lounging in the back of a wagon next to theirs, sipping at a bottle. Drinking, Moira decided. She knew none of them but could feel their heavy stares.

  “Mrs. McAllan,” said the closest, tipping his hat in her direction. “Thank you kindly for the invitation today.”

  “Certainly,” Odessa said, with the edge of ice in her tone. So she had noted their drinking too. Moira knew none of the Circle M men were given to imbibing. A neighbor’s men, perhaps. Or some of the carpentry crew.

  “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced to your sister,” pressed a big man with a dark shadow of stubble across his jaw. “She’s as pretty as people say. Can see that, even with that veil on.”

  Odessa glanced at Moira and then said to them, as briefly as she could, “Forgive me. This is Miss Moira St. Clair.”

  Moira dragged her eyes to the men and nodded, then started to turn toward their wagon.

  “I’m Winston Willaby,” said the man, hopping off the back of the wagon and edging to the side, partially blocking her way.

  She glanced up at him again. “Pleased to meet you,” she said.

  Moira stepped to the left, again to move around him, but he reached out and touched her arm. “Please, Miss St. Clair, would you do me the honor of eating with me?”

  She glanced at Odessa. Her sister was looking back at them in mild alarm.

  “No, thank you,” she began.

  “Miss St. Clair is with me,” Daniel said, suddenly by her side. He pushed past her so fast that she had to take a step backward in order not to fall to the ground. But his attention was not on her. It was on Willaby. He took a hold of the man’s shirt in two fistfuls and slammed him up against the side of the wagon.

  “Hey!” Willaby cried out, his face a mask of anger. Behind him, two of his friends rose to their feet in the wagon. The third jumped down.

  “I’ll say this once,” Daniel said in a low growl, inches from his face. “If you ever approach Miss St. Clair again, or make her at all uncomfortable, you’ll deal with me.”

  “Daniel,” Moira said, find
ing her voice. She took a step closer as a steely look crossed Willaby’s face. He was ripe for a brawl. “Daniel, it’s all right.”

  But Daniel didn’t move. Did he even hear her? His face was a mask of fury.

  Willaby moved and managed to pry one of Daniel’s hands off of him. Daniel released his other hold and took a step back, his fists clenched.

  “This is hardly the place,” Odessa cried. “Gentlemen! I must insist you stop this at once!” Samuel began to cry.

  The nearest men in the crowd turned their way. Moira moved to Daniel’s side and took one of his hands. “Daniel,” she said softly, looking up at him. “Daniel.”

  After a moment, he wrenched his eyes away from the drunk and glanced down at her.

  “Please,” she said. “It’s all right. I’m all right.”

  He looked back at Willaby, seeing if the man dared to make another move. Although he looked angry, he remained still.

  Moira took a step away, pulling at Daniel’s hand. “Come. Come, let’s take a walk before supper.”

  Reluctantly, he turned with her and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulder. She allowed it, solely to get him away from the others. When they were a distance apart, she gently took his hand from her shoulder, let it drop between them. He had no right to touch her at all, not when they’d barely been speaking.

  They walked in silence until they entered a small grove of cottonwoods by the creek. “I’m sorry, Moira,” he said, pacing. “I don’t know what came over me.” He leaned against the trunk of a tree and looked upward, then rubbed his face. “I haven’t been that angry since …” He glanced down at her, sorrow and horror and humiliation in his eyes.

  “Since …?” she said.

  He looked so lost and afraid and embarrassed, she had to fight to keep herself from wrapping her arms around him.

  He stared at her for a long moment, then ran his hand through his hair. “I’m coiled in a twist, Moira. I need to move, do something. A couple men down there—” he paused to hook a thumb over his shoulder, toward the crowd milling below them—“mentioned the open sheriff position in Westcliffe. Maybe it’d do me good, to have something new—”