"Did he go for a woman?" he asked, handing the man a coin.
"Drink, when I left him. But plenty of it."
"And we all know where such drinking leads us. Whoring. Debauchery. Brawling. All the worst in every man."
"Yes, sir."
"You can be on your way," he said to the spy in dismissal.
The man departed and Sheriff Reid Bannock slung his holster around his hips. He thought he just might stop by the hotel, not to drop in on Moira, necessarily. But just imagining her there, all alone. In her hotel room, pulling off her dress, her corset-
"Where you off to?" Garrett asked.
"Off to make sure the city is safe as she slumbers."
"You mean your future wife, don't ya?"
"Her, too," Reid tossed back.
The ring was like countless others Dominic had seen, little more than a wooden floor, four posts, and heavy rope between them. The pit was full of Irish and Chinese, laborers from the railroad or disillusioned miners, determined to earn their fortune here, if not out there. Dominic inhaled the heady scent of men's sweat, the mood within the room making him more alert, more alive than he had felt in weeks. The liquor made him fearless.
This was a constructive use of his skills as a fighter, he reasoned. A method to make a little of his own money, not Father's donations, and the means to release the inexhaustible anger and frustration that built within his belly.
He edged between the men, moving steadily closer to the ring until he felt the spatter of blood and sweat across his face as one man plowed another with a swift, iron-hinged uppercut to the right. The loser went down, falling to the wooden floor with a dull thump barely heard against the roar of the crowd. He stared at the man, whose eye was swollen shut from some earlier punch, lip bleeding. The man moaned, but didn't open his other eye, did not attempt to rise.
Dominic stared at him and yet felt no fear. Worse, he felt no glory for the winner. The crowd cried out, but it was as if Dominic had gone deaf. He could see their mouths open, hands raised in the air, but he could hear nothing but the sound of the loser on the floor, breathing, gasping from around broken ribs to breathe, just breathe.
Just like Odessa sounded. Wordlessly, Dominic moved forward, climbing into the ring and tearing off his shirt, popping the buttons off, tearing buttonholes in his frenzy to be free. It was then he could hear something beyond the beaten man, carried out of the ring now, passed off to stranger after stranger to rest and recuperate in some forgotten room or die in a weather-beaten hotel.
Now, he could hear again. Felt the ringmaster raise his arm. "I have a challenger here! What's your name, son?"
"St. Clair," Dominic said, looking about, no longer able to focus on individuals in the crowd, only searching for the man he would fight tonight.
"Shorty St. Clair!" called the ringmaster. "Who will fight the honorable Shorty St. Clair, newly arrived from-where are you from, son?"
"Philadelphia," he mumbled.
"From Philly! Shorty St. Clair from Philly! Who will fight this man tonight?"
Moira pulled shut the drapes of her room, preparing to undress for the night. But at the last moment, she caught sight of a man across the muddy street, a tall man with guns at either hip. No one but the sheriff and his deputies were allowed to carry weapons in town.
She closed her eyes as she turned to the side of the window, as if he could see through the drapes, wondering if it was her imagination, or if Sheriff Reid Bannock was truly standing across the street staring at her hotel room, arms crossed. She opened her eyes. She refused to peek out the same drapes she had just closed, refused to let him know he had a power over her, an edge of fear.
Resolutely, she walked to her door and paused, hand hovering over the key. She had promised Dominic she would not leave this room.
But she had to. She had to know. Just how great a threat was this sheriff? Would he truly go to such great lengths in his pursuit of her as to stand outside her hotel, watching her as a wolf observed a sheep in a farmer's pen? She had had hopeful suitors in Philadelphia who had walked past her father's mansion as if on an afternoon stroll, while casting pining looks in her home's direction.
This was different. The man stood across the street, watching, doing nothing but watching. Or maybe he was watching someone else, someone who posed a danger to the city. Simply doing his job.
Decided now, she turned the key in the lock and peered down the hallway. No one was present, all the hotel guests taking their supper or already happily ensconced in their rooms.
She moved into the hallway, wondering why her heart was racing. What was there to fear? She was in a hotel, not alone in some alley. Oil lamps flickered cheerfully all along the dark hallway. Moira had watched others arrive this afternoon. She was not alone within this hotel, regardless of how she felt at this moment.
Moira moved down the stairs, trying, inexplicably, to avoid the creaks. It was with some relief that she made it to the ground floor and peered to her left into the dining room, filled with guests.
She turned and moved through the downstairs hallway, squaring her shoulders as if she knew exactly where she was going. The laughter and hum of chatter in the dining room faded behind her, then the loud, clanking noises of the kitchen. She paused outside a door labeled "Office" and noted that no light peeked underneath.
Glancing over her shoulder to make certain no one approached, she turned the knob and raised an eyebrow when she found it unlocked. Colorado Springs was a young city, indeed, when an office manager left his office unlocked. She eased inward and closed the door, listening for several heartbeats to make certain she was alone.
It was utterly silent.
She turned and felt her way toward the window, pulling aside a heavy drape to peer outside.
The street was empty. Not even a carriage for rent or people heading home for the night. No one. Certainly no one across the street watching her.
That was when Moira heard the door open behind her and watched as Sheriff Reid Bannock's silhouette filled the doorway. "Now, Moira," he whispered, "why are you in here? What would the hotel manager say?" Her heart picked up a frantic beat.
He took a step inward, then over to her, barely visible in the soft golden light of the streetlamp from outside the window. The door swung halfway shut behind him.
Moira vacillated between trying to get past him and screaming, taking two precious seconds. He was in front of her then, perilously close. "I saw you outside," she stammered. "I thought you might be looking for a criminal, thought I might be able to better make out where you were looking down here."
"No criminals," he said with a smile in his voice. "Just a man with a woman on his mind."
He stepped closer. "Reid ..." she warned.
"I heard your brother is away. A woman ought not to be left alone." He was so close she could feel his breath on her bare neck.
"I don't mind being alone, actually," she said, turning away. "I told him to go out."
His voice softened and he turned away, running a hand through his hair. "My mama was alone too often. My father never liked to be home much. It was hard on her. When I heard Dominic left, I felt I ought to come over and keep watch over you." He paused and studied her. "I'll have to remember you might have a different mindset than my mama."
She laughed lightly. "I don't believe I've ever been compared to anyone's mother."
"No. No, I don't suppose you have," he said with a soft grin. "Come. Come outside. It isn't seemly, us being here alone."
Moira considered him in the warm light of the gas lamp. Perhaps her imagination was simply running wild. He was only out on this cold spring night to make sure she was safe. Perhaps he was a bit zealous, but she was moved by his attentions, his care. Surely a man who loved his mother as dearly as he loved his couldn't be all bad.
"Thank you for watching over me, Reid. But now that I know all is well, I think I will return to my room. I'm dreadfully tired." She kept her hands clasped before her waist.
He twisted his hat in his hands. "Then good night, Moira. May I call on you tomorrow?"
She hesitated. "I'll look forward to it. Good night, Reid."
She took a step away but he reached out and gripped her arm with a steely hand. Then, as if he had moved too forcefully, he softened his hold immediately. "Please."
"Pardon me?"
"Please, Moira. Just say that one more time," he said with eyes closed. "Say good night to me."
Moira paused, confused. He stood there before her, waiting, eyes shut. It was rather awkward. "G-good night, Reid." She moved quickly then, hand on the door before she glanced back.
He was grinning and placing his hat on his head again. "It has been a good night, Moira," he said. "Sleep well."
Chapter
12
Odessa awakened at dawn and immediately knew someone watched her. She turned quickly upon her bed and looked to the doorway. Amille DeChant stood there, shifting nervously, wringing her hands. She coughed, and it was then that Odessa could hear the deep wheeze of her breath. "My baby," she managed to say as she panted for air. "I can't find my baby. Can you help me ... find her?"
Odessa winced and coughed as she came to a sitting position on the edge of her bed. She reached for a glass of water, willing the coughing to not even begin this morning. "I am Odessa St. Clair. Your name is Amille, right? It's a very pretty name."
Amille stared at her blankly, then shifted back and forth. "They took my baby."
"Who took your baby?" Odessa asked, feeling the woman's pain.
"The men. The men who want the mine."
Odessa frowned and rose. "I'm sure your baby is all right, Amille. It's early yet. She's probably fast asleep, asleep in Jesus' arms."
Amille glanced at her quickly then. "No, she's not with Jesus. She's lost. I have to find her. Have to find her. Have to find her. Have to find her. Have to-"
"All right," Odessa said, holding up a hand. "We'll go look. But first we must get some clothes on. It's not seemly, going out in our night shifts."
"Not seemly. Not seemly. Not seemly. Have to find her. Have to find her. Have to find-"
"Here," Odessa said. "Let me help you choose a dress and then I'll come back and find my own." She sighed. Was she making a wise decision? Would it be better to stick to the truth, try and force Amille's mind back to reality? Her heart told her no. There would be a time and place for fact. For now, fiction would soothe.
"Thought I told you to keep away from brawling in my town," Reid said, leveling a gaze at Dominic, who sat across from him, barely able to see through two eyes that were nearly swollen shut.
Moira knew the sheriff was watching her shaking hand as she poured tea from the china kettle he had given her. Did he credit it to fear for her brother? Desire for him? She didn't like how he spoke to her brother, his total lack of respect, regardless of what Dominic had been up to.
"I wasn't in your town," Dominic returned. He lifted his cup. "Thank you, Moira. I'm certain our guest is grateful for your pouring as well."
"Yes, thank you," Reid ground out, still staring at Dominic. "If it wasn't in my town, may I ask where you found yourself in fisticuffs?"
"No," Dominic said with a cheerful grin, sipping at the tea. He stared through slitted eyes at Reid, then Moira.
The sheriff sat back, considering. It was then that Moira knew that Reid was well aware where he had taken his beating. Otherwise, he would be pressing him for a response. How much transpired in this town, or even the next, or the next that Bannock didn't know about? Or was it simply the St. Clairs that had captured the sheriffs undivided attention?
"This is fine tea, Moira," the sheriff said, eyeing her as she joined them at the small table in the center of the vast, empty shop floor.
"Thank you, Sheriff. I bought the tea leaves at Baxter's Mercantile." She dropped one sugar cube in her cup, then another, stirring slowly. "He said the tea had just arrived, the best that San Francisco importers had to offer."
"San Francisco," Reid said, shaking his head as if that was the most wondrous news he had ever heard. Moira had the notion she could utter unintelligible jabber and still the man would shake his head as if she had shared the most insightful comment possible. "Colorado is well on her way. Imports from the West, as well as from the East."
"Speaking of imports," Dominic said, "my father was sending a shipment of books and supplies to arrive soon after us, in the off chance that we might obtain a storefront already built." He waved about them. "Here we are, but without our wares. We've been here over two weeks. Do you know to whom we should inquire about a shipment set to arrive at the Colorado Springs Depot?"
"Joe Potosky," said the sheriff easily. "He gets such shipments all the time. I imagine your crates are awaiting you in the warehouse even now."
"Excellent," Dominic said, draining his cup of tea. He set it down in the saucer with a loud clatter. "Well, we appreciate you coming to call, Sheriff."
Reid leaned back in his chair, teacup still in hand, and did little more than raise an eyebrow. "I thought I might, if you will permit me, after we finish our tea, take you both over to the sanatorium to visit the elder Miss St. Clair. The streets are terribly muddy, hardly suitable for Miss Moira to trudge through."
"Oh, that's no trouble," Moira said, lifting a hand prettily to her chest. "Dominic can see me there safely. Though you should see my sister, Reid. Odessa has begun riding. I'm eager to find out how she is faring. You can't imagine how amazing this progress is, to our minds. She hasn't ridden in more than a year! And now she's to be astride a horse every day?"
"That Doc Morton knows how to handle his patients," Reid said, a comforting tone in his voice. "I'm certain Odessa will be only one of many he heals over the years."
"Oh, I do hope you're right," she said, setting down her teacup. "Talk of her makes me anxious to see her," she said. "Might you take us over there now, Reid?"
"Of course," he said, setting down his own cup and rising. He looked to Dominic. "Perhaps you should consider staying behind. Your appearance might upset your sister."
Dominic paused, as if the last thing he wanted to do was to send Odessa into one of her breathing attacks. Not when she had so recently made such good strides. But Moira silently begged him with her eyes to come along. "Your words are wise," Nic said to the sheriff. "I don't want to upset Odessa."
"But-" Moira began.
"But as we've said before," Dominic cut in, "our father does not approve of unchaperoned visits with his daughters. As the sole St. Clair man present, I must see to his wishes. I will travel with you to the sanatorium and await my sister outside."
Without a word the sheriff rose and set his hat upon his head, eyed them both, and turned to lead the way. Nic winked at Moira as they walked out behind him. What would Nic do if he knew Reid had found her alone last night?
The trail nurse led them to a small canyon south of Glen Eyrie and told them to leave their horses to munch on the tender scrub oak trees' new leaves while they made their way upward on foot. "Slowly," she said, warning them needlessly. "Pause often to rest and rise carefully. You don't wish to take a tumble up here."
Odessa raised her brows at the understatement. On one side of the trail was a sheer cliff, rising high above them. On the other side was a sheer drop, falling down to a winding creek far below. Were they mad, bringing patients to such a place?
"Those who feel strongest, go first. If you pause, everyone has to pause behind you. We'll walk just a little way up, to a pretty waterfall."
Bryce looked back at her with a question in his eyes, but the nurse sent him forward, five people ahead of Odessa. Only one girl of sixteen was behind her. "Last of the pack, I suppose," she said to the girl. "What is your name?"
"Charlotte. Charlotte Hansen."
"A pleasure to meet you, Charlotte. I am Odessa St. Clair." The girl was as pale as her white hair, with the consumptive's classic, oddly flushed cheeks, as if someone had painted Parisian rouge upon t
hem.
She had a sheen of sweat across her face and neck, an echo of what Odessa felt upon her own. "Just breathe, Charlotte. Be sure you take it slow and concentrate on your breathing. If you feel faint, go to your knees. The waterfall mustn't be far. Otherwise, we'd still be astride our horses." She looked ahead, frowning when she saw the trail nurse so distant. Shouldn't she be behind them all, with those who fared the worst? "They're aware we're ill-prepared for an arduous hike."
The nurse caught her accusing eye and paused, letting several patients pass her at a wider section of the path.
They continued on, taking several steps, pausing to catch their meager breath, then moving on, as pathetic a group of climbers as there ever was. The thought of them posing for some poster touting Colorado Springs' good health made Odessa giggle, but the laughter stole her precious breath, so she considered more sober thoughts. Like falling down the canyon wall to the river below. Or Amille's fruitless search for her daughter. Looking around the sanatorium had only succeeded in agitating the woman further, until she collapsed in a full-blown consumptive attack. Odessa was miserable as she watched Doctor Morton help a nurse to get Amille back to her room and sedated again.
In ten minutes they had reached the trail nurse, who dutifully then took up her position at the rear, and in another ten minutes they reached the small falls, a minor snowmelt-fed cascade of perhaps five feet in total. But it had a delightful sound and they all sat about and stared at it, panting as if they had just hiked for ten uphill miles, not twenty minutes.
They were preparing to go when a woman appeared on a trail above the falls and then made her way down beside it, a massive camera and tripod over her shoulder. "Ahh, my fellow consumptives," the big woman bellowed. "Keep it up. I know it's hard. But these mountains will heal you as they did me. I came here barely able to rise from my bed, thirty pounds lighter. Now look at me!" she cried proudly, patting her ample chest. "Your day will come too. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other."
Breathe: A Novel of Colorado Page 11