Breathe: A Novel of Colorado

by Lisa T. Bergren

  She rose, and all the gentlemen at the table stood as well.

  "I will attend you," Reid offered from the far end, obviously anxious for the opportunity.

  "No, no," Dominic said smoothly. "You see to your dinner, Sheriff, while it's warm. A quick turn around the grounds should see her foot to normalcy." He set his napkin down on his chair, the matter settled in his mind. "Probably those new Philadelphia boots on her feet," he said, arching one brow. "Not everything is better in Philly."

  The people responded with chuckles and Dominic escorted her to the door and out into the wood-paneled hallway. "You have to be Moira St. Clair. Pretend all is well," he said with a growl. "You're not yourself, being so silent."

  "I can't help it," she whined. "I keep catching him staring at me, and I worry about what is ahead. It's awful. Just awful."

  Dominic sighed. "We simply have to get through this night, and perhaps it will be over."

  "Do you think so, Nic? Really? Do you think he'll give up?"

  They walked in silence for a few paces. "I don't know, Moira. But I hope so."

  Get me through this night, Odessa prayed. just one more night, Father. She was still cold, even after a couple of miles of walking, following Helen's lead through the dark.

  She did not know how her friend knew where she was going, could not bring herself to ask. What if she was lost? What if they were no more near the Thompsons' ranch than before? With no moon to guide them, they might've been going in circles, if it wasn't for the downward slope.

  Every sound of the forest made them jump. First an owl, then a deer.

  Her feet, wet within her boots, chafed. She knew that massive blisters were forming at heel and anklebone. But there was nothing else to be done besides walk on. On and on.

  "Look, up ahead," Helen said, pausing.

  There, against a dark, low-slung hill, warm light poured from three windows of a small ranch house. "We've made it," she said.

  Odessa glanced over her shoulder and shivered again. "Oh, please, God. May it be so. Hurry, Helen. I think they're behind us."

  Moira slept at the shop that night with her brother, anxious to avoid Reid if he came to the cottage, especially with Odessa being gone.

  He came, hours after they had returned, and banged upon the door. "St. Clair!" he shouted. "St. Clair! I know you must be here! Open up! St. Clair!"

  "He's liable to break the glass if we don't go down there and talk to him," Dominic said in the dark. Moira was sitting up in bed. Nic had been outside, on the narrow settee, but now stood in her doorframe. It was so dark, she couldn't see him, only hear his voice.

  "St. Clair! It's the sheriff?"

  "As if we didn't know," Dominic said dryly, in a whisper.

  Moira giggled.

  "St. Clair! I know she's in there! Moira! Moira!"

  "He must've tried to pay us a visit at the cottage," Nic said.

  Moira tossed aside the covers and pulled on an overcoat, buttoning it up to the neck over her night shift. "He won't stop. Not until I speak to him. I might as well talk to the big, bad wolf and get it done."

  "You're not doing it alone."

  "You come down with me, but stay in the office doorway. Near enough to help, far enough to give us some semblance of privacy. Can you light a lamp?"

  Dominic turned away and did as she asked, returning in seconds.

  Moira met his gaze over the warm glow of the lamp. "God be with us," she whispered.

  Chapter

  21

  Reid's dark form filled the glass door as they neared with the lamp. He looked weary, wild in the eye, and Moira was unable to halt a shiver down her back. "Tread carefully, Moira," Dominic whispered toward her as he unlocked the door.

  But Reid already had a hand on the knob and opened it, roughly pushing Dominic backward, immediately moving toward Moira. "How long?" he asked through his teeth. "How long were you carrying on with this dandy?"

  Moira swallowed hard and held her overcoat at the neck with one hand, her other arm wrapped around her waist. "He was a beau before I came to the Springs. We were corresponding all this time."

  "So all this time, you've been with me but your heart has belonged to him?"

  "I'm sorry, Reid. It could not be helped."

  The sheriff smiled thinly, sneering, "Helped? You think I can't see through your plan?"

  "What plan?" she asked in irritation.

  "Do not act the innocent with me, miss. You forget how many people I've watched try and play that game."

  "Reid, I know you are hurt, angry. If there was any other way-

  "There is a way," he said, pausing a second. "Marry me. Marry me tomorrow. We'll send word to your father afterward. The general will come to peace over it, once we show him what it means for us to be together. Your father, too."

  "No," Dominic interjected. "I cannot abide by such a plan."

  "Stay out of this, St. Clair. It is none of your business."

  "It is all my business," he said, moving behind the counter. "Whether you like it or not."

  "Moira, I-"

  "Reid, I love him," she said quietly.

  The sheriff quieted, snapped his mouth shut, and stared at her. "More than you love me?"

  She turned away and paced a few steps, then looked back. She shook her head, as if in wonder. "It seems impossible, given what has been between us. But there is something right, easy between James and me."

  "Right and easy ... like money," Reid growled, striding over to her.

  "There is that. I confess I enjoy the finer things in life."

  "I can give that to you too, Moira. I've made good investments here in the Springs. I have more than you might imagine-"

  "No, Reid. Please. Stop. My mind is made up. Just go. Go now."

  "You can't mean it. It cannot be over like this."

  "I mean it," she said, raising her chin. "And out of respect for what we once shared, I ask you to behave the gentleman. In time, perhaps we can be friends."

  Reid let out a humorless laugh and looked to the ceiling, hand on head. Then he looked to her again, his eyes more wild than before. "You fickle, fickle fool." He took a step forward and then another, backing her up until she leaned against the counter. "You are nothing more than a common whore, selling yourself to the man with the thickest wallet-"

  Dominic laid a shotgun across Moira's shoulder, an inch away from Reid's chest, barrel pointed at his heart.

  Reid slowly lifted his eyes to stare at Nic. "You lookin' to go back to jail, Dominic?"

  "Sheriff or not, you are threatening my sister on private property. You've said your piece. Now it's time for you to leave."

  Reid's eyes narrowed as he stared at Moira and Nic. "You might've made a deal with the general, but you haven't with me." He leaned closer to Moira, and she turned her face to one side. "Not with me," he repeated.

  He straightened, slowly, wiping the spittle from his lips with the back of his hand and placing his hat atop his head. Then, with one last threatening glance at the both of them, he turned and left the shop, slamming the door shut so hard Moira was sure it would shatter.

  Bryce had just finished his breakfast beside the hotel restaurant's window when he saw two riderless horses trotting through town. He frowned, thinking it odd, and then looked closer as they moved on by the hotel. He rose quickly, tossing a coin on the table and racing out the door.

  One mare was the one Odessa favored from the sanatorium, with its distinctive star on her forehead.

  The other was Helen Anderson's, a smashed camera still tied to its saddle.

  Two men chased after the horses and finally stopped them two blocks down the street. The horses were skittish, unnerved. What had transpired with their riders?

  The sheriff and deputy pulled up beside Bryce, already astride their own horses. "Mr. McAllan," said the sheriff, tipping his hat. "You're back."

  "Odessa St. Clair and Helen Anderson were riding those horses," Bryce blurted. "Something's obviously happen
ed to them! They were on their way to Divide yesterday."

  The sheriff's face darkened at the sound of the St. Clair name. It was unmistakable. "Foolish women," he sneered. "Female and consumptive and out on their own."

  Bryce frowned. "Something bad has happened. We must go after them."

  "He's right, Sheriff," said the deputy, obviously as confused as Bryce by the man's behavior.

  "One probably was thrown from her horse and when the other went to help, the horses rode off. Common enough."

  "That still leaves two women up on the mountain on their own," Bryce said. "All night."

  "Helen Anderson has spent more than a few nights out on her own in these mountains."

  "But not horseless and responsible for another."

  "Yes, yes. We'll go and see to them. Find your mount and let's be off. Garrett, take those mares to the stables for care and fetch a couple of fresh mounts for the ladies." He drew out the last word as though it were a French epithet.

  Bryce frowned and looked to the deputy, but he just raised his eyebrows and shook his head. He rode off ahead of Bryce, toward the city stables. Bryce hurried along, worrying about Odessa and Helen. Where are you, Odessa? Are you all right?

  By the time he reached the stables, Garrett had ordered his mare brought out and saddled. "What's going on with the sheriff?" Bryce asked him, watching the stable hand work.

  "I reckon it's not Miss Odessa, but rather Miss Moira, that has him all riled up."

  "Ahh," Bryce said.

  A boy rode in then, bareback and barefoot. "Sheriff!" he called down the street over all the clatter and shouts of commerce and men and horses. Sheriff."

  Garrett and Bryce shared another glance and both mounted up, heading toward the boy.

  "They're shooting at the house, Sheriff!"

  "That's Alexander Thompson, from up past the Garden," the deputy explained lowly.

  "Slow down, boy," the sheriff said. "Who's shooting at the house?"

  "Two, maybe three men. They're demanding my da' give up the women."

  Sheriff Bannock frowned. "What women?"

  "The women, the women that came to us in the night. Miss St. Clair and Mrs. Anderson!"

  The sheriff's chin went back as he took in that news and then he looked to Bryce and the deputy.

  "My da can't hold 'em off much longer, Sheriff?"

  "All right, all right, boy. We're on our way."

  "I'll go get Dominic," Bryce said.

  "We can't wait," warned the sheriff.

  Bryce looked about madly. Spying another boy, he called him over and tossed him a coin. "Go and fetch Mr. St. Clair at the bookshop. Tell him his sister Odessa is in trouble and to bring a gun to the Thompson ranch, straightaway. Tell him to ride hard, that we can't wait on him."

  "Straightaway, mister!" said the child, running off.

  The Thompson boy had already wheeled his horse around and whipped her flanks with the ends of his reins. The sheriff and deputy were directly behind him. Bryce closed his eyes, praying for protection over them all, even as he urged his own horse into a dead run.

  Chapter

  22

  "I'm rather weary of being shot at," Helen said, turning her face toward Odessa. Another shot came singing through the broken glass of the Thompsons' window.

  "Me, too," Odessa said. She looked up to their brave host, young, small, and wiry. "How many bullets do you have left?"

  "Five," he said, still staring outside.

  Odessa looked over to the corner, where Mrs. Thompson huddled with their toddler, a girl. Please, God, let our arrival not mean that these dear people die too....

  "He got out," Mr. Thompson said. "My boy. He's quick. I don't think they even knew he was in the barn when they came."

  "But they'll soon realize why you aren't shooting back," Helen said.

  "There's one now," Mr. Thompson said, squinting his eye to center the man in his rifle's sights.

  "I'll give myself up," Odessa said. "Before your last shot is gone." She shook her head. "I won't be the death of you all."

  "Thompson!" shouted the man outside. His voice carried as easily as the wind through the missing chinking in the log walls and broken windows. "Thompson! We know you're running out of ammunition!"

  "Do you recognize him?" Helen asked lowly.

  Mr. Thompson shook his head. "He's got a kerchief across his face. He doesn't seem familiar." He looked down to the women and over his shoulder at his wife and youngest child.

  "Get off my land!" Mr. Thompson shouted. "I've got ammo to burn!" And with that, he shot at the man on the edge of the clearing in front of the house. He grunted. "Didn't even move. Hit an inch from his big toe and he didn't even flinch."

  Odessa closed her eyes and listened to him reload. Four bullets left.

  "Hand over the women!" called the man outside.

  "The next one won't be a warning shot!" Mr. Thompson shouted back.

  "There are three of us, and one of you, best we can tell. Give 'em up and we'll be on our way."

  A rock came crashing through the back window. Mrs. Thompson screamed as glass shattered across her and the tiny girl. Mr. Thompson whirled and shot blindly through the frame.

  Three bullets left.

  Four shots came through the front door and near the window, leaving gaping, dust-strewn holes in the wood. Again, Mr. Thompson turned and shot back. He broke open his gun and loaded a bullet in each chamber, staring silently from one woman to the next.

  Two bullets left.

  "Here they come," Mr. Thompson said grimly, lowering his rifle to the base of the window. "Two of them. I've warned 'em."

  Odessa shook her head. Even if he got one with each bullet, he would still be one short. She stood on trembling legs, suddenly wanting it over. She could endure no more death, not when she could do something about it.

  "What're you doing?" Helen asked, reaching out to grab her arm.

  Odessa shook her off. "What I should've done hours ago."

  The Thompsons' door swung open, but no one appeared. Bryce's breath caught as the two attackers in front of the house paused, rifles raised to their shoulders.

  The sheriff swore under his breath. "What are they doing?" He motioned to the deputy. "Get in position, Garrett. When you get the chance, take your mark down. Don't miss." He looked to Bryce and Dominic, then back to Garrett. "First man takes a shot, everyone else fire. Bryce, ten paces to the left. You take down the man in blue. Garrett, you have the man in brown. Dominic, you come with me. We need to find the third man." He crouched down and moved back into the scrub oak, circling the house. The Thompson boy was hidden in a copse of trees about a quarter mile away.

  Odessa appeared then, in the doorway, hands up. Her hair was loose, falling in waves down her shoulders. Her dress was torn, muddy. Bryce's mouth went dry at the very sight of her. Even bedraggled and dreadfully pale, she was beautiful.

  The men below stepped forward in unison. "Come toward us! Ten paces! Now!"

  "We can't let them reach her," Bryce said lowly.

  "We won't," said the deputy. "But we need to know the sheriff will get the third man."

  "Thompson! Throw your rifle out the window and come out!"

  The rancher hung his gun out the window and dropped it.

  "Now," the deputy whispered, and took his shot. The man in the tan shirt whirled and fell to the ground.

  Bryce took his shot, but in the split second, his mark ducked. Bryce's bullet hit him on the shoulder, but it was a glancing blow. He was still on the move. And instead of returning fire on Bryce, he was turning, aiming at Odessa ...

  The deputy fired again, knocking the man to the ground.

  Dominic followed the sheriff to the back and they immediately saw the third man, edging around the house to come to the aid of his comrades.

  "Stop right there," growled the sheriff. "Toss your rifle to the right and get your hands up."

  The man paused, straightened, and did as he was told, still facing a
way from them.

  Dominic dared to take a breath. It seemed all was under control.

  That was when the sheriff shot the third man. The man gripped his chest, turned halfway, and fell.

  Dominic sputtered, eyes widening, trying to make sense of what he had just seen. He looked wildly to the sheriff. "What? He'd given up! Didn't you want to question him?"

  Reid gave him a cold smile and stepped forward. "Frontier justice. I had all the answers I needed. Colorado Springs won't abide by highwaymen attacking innocent women." He moved forward and nudged the man with his boot.

  Dominic knelt and felt for a pulse. He was dead. "Why would highwaymen chase them all the way here?"

  The sheriff shrugged. "You've lived with your pretty sisters all your life. You tell me."

  Dominic frowned and moved away, his need to see Odessa, hold her, make sure she was all right temporarily overriding his confusion over the sheriffs actions.

  Bryce crashed through the scrub oak, conscious that Helen was now beside Odessa, holding her. She had looked away from the bleeding, dying men, didn't see him yet.

  "Odessa," Helen said, spying him and pointing.

  Odessa turned slowly and looked across the clearing in wonder. "B-Bryce?"

  And then he was running, running toward her, hauling her into his arms, kissing her hair, her face. "Odessa, Odessa. Oh, thank God you are all right."

  She accepted the kisses, standing motionless in his arms, bending slightly toward him as if she wanted to kiss him back. "Odessa, I'm so sorry. I should've never left you alone. Should've never left you, period."

  She looked up at him, sea-green eyes filled with tears.

  "Please forgive me, Odessa. I'll never leave you again. At least, not without your permission."

  She studied him and then nodded. He cradled her close again. It felt good to have her in his arms, it felt right-her shoulders fitting beneath his arms, her head just beneath his chin. How could he have left this woman behind? Ranch or not?