Breathe: A Novel of Colorado (10 page)

Odessa nodded, silently urging her on, while taking her note of
warning to be cautious, aware of her mind, heart, and lungs. "Please.
Quickly. Out with it."

"He was fighting again, Dess. And Reid Bannock, the sheriff
here, won't abide by any brawling. He's as firm on street fighting as
General Palmer is on drinking in this town-they'll have none of it.
High and dry, peaceful, orderly. That's how they like it here. And Nic
... you can see that train wreck about to occur. He spent the night
in jail."

"Jail?" Odessa sputtered, forgetting to keep their hushed undertone. "He spent the night in jail?"

"Don't fret, Dess. Sheriff Bannock only wanted him to remember the lesson. He assures me he'll be out tomorrow at the latest."

"How? How do you know all this?"

"From Sheriff Bannock himself. He took me to supper last night."

Odessa groaned and leaned her head back on the pillow. "Don't
even speak of it, Moira. Tell me you were not out on the arm of the
town sheriff."

Moira stuck her chin up. "Well, why not? Surely there are worse
men in this town."

Odessa raised her head and stared at her. "You promised Papa.
No suitors for a year."

"He's not a suitor. He's the sheriff. And he's holding our
brother."

"Moira. Tell me what's happening."

"No, Dess." She rose, glanced Bryce's way and then back to her
sister. "You know all you need to. I shouldn't have told you anything.
I'll return tonight to stay with you, and tomorrow Nic and I will call
upon you. You just concentrate on getting better."

"Moira-"

She leaned down to kiss Odessa on the forehead and then fled.

"Moira!" But she was already out the door.

Several long minutes passed by and Bryce began to believe she
had fallen asleep.

"Mr. McAllan," she said then.

"Bryce, please call me Bryce."

"Bryce, do you have any siblings?"

"An older brother, back East. But we barely speak. Had a falling
out some time ago."

"Ahh. There might be some measure of blessing in that."

Bryce laughed under his breath.

"Mr. McAllan-" she began, forgetting.

"Bryce. Did Sam have any enemies?" Slowly, she turned her wide
green eyes upon him and he frowned at her.

"Miss St. Clair-"

"Odessa."

"Odessa, why would you ask such a question?"

She continued to study him, measuring him with her eyes,
weighing her decision. "Because," she said at last, "I think ... I believe
someone murdered him."

After Dominic's jailers had taken away his lunch tray, Sheriff Bannock
approached the cell and grinned at Dominic as he tossed in a copy
of the city newspaper.

Frowning in suspicion, Nic bent and retrieved the paper, then
slowly rose. It had been neatly folded in six segments, the article about
Dominic's arrest calling out to him with the headline, "Newcomer
Jailed for Brawling." He sighed and pinched his nose, trying to hold
back the rising anger. That's just what the sheriff wanted to see after
all-him unable to control his fury, giving him further excuse for
punishment. Use your brain as well as your brawn, Nic.

He handed the Gazette back through the bars to the sheriff with a
thin-lipped smile. Just his luck to land in jail before the weekly paper
went to press.

Sheriff Bannock raised his hands. "You keep it. Some reading
material would probably be welcome 'bout now."

"I read enough. Shame the reporter-or his source-neglected to
mention the three miners making inappropriate comments to my sister.
Shame, too, that the sheriff didn't jail the men who started all of this."

The sheriff studied him. "No laws against a man flirting with
a pretty girl. You, man, just have to figure out how to deal with that
pretty sister, protect her, without resorting to fighting."

Dominic met his eye. "Agreed. Now can you release me?"

"Tomorrow. One more night in the cell. You'll be free at daybreak, providing that you can give me your word about the things
we've discussed."

Dominic shifted, trying to maintain his composure. He licked
his lips. "Sheriff, this has been quite enough to prove your point.
And my sister Moira, she's pretty young to be on her own in a
strange town. She must be frightened, all alone. That's how all this
started-"

"I understand, Mr. St. Clair." The sheriff shook his head and
then looked him in the eye. "But I don't want you to fret over your
sister. I'll have no woman fear for her safety in this town. I'll be
certain to look in on her myself. You have my word."

Biting back a retort, Nic gripped tightly to the bars and watched
the sheriff saunter away.

He should be mollified, encouraged that Moira would be looked
after.

Why, then, did he feel as though he had just been had?

It took Bryce several moments to say anything in response to Odessas
audacious claim. He glanced toward the door, then wearily pulled
the blankets from his torso and came to his feet. This was not the sort
of conversation they should have from across the room. And he had
to give her the envelope.

Odessa glanced his way and then away as if she had forgotten she
had said anything. A self-conscious hand went to her bandages and
then she wrung her hands. He sat down in the chair that Moira had
vacated. The hallway was still empty, quiet. "Tell me what you saw.
Or heard. Please, Odessa. For Sam."

"I-I am uncertain. Perhaps ... you know how this disease is.
Half the time I feel as if I live in a fog. Do you?"

He rested his forearms on his legs and leaned forward, waiting.
Odessa St. Clair did not seem the sort of woman to make idle statements for effect. "That night ..." he led.

"I was feverish," she said. "I awakened, terribly thirsty, not sure
where I was. I realized I was thirsty, but that wasn't what had brought
me around."

"It was
...n

"Sounds. Terrible sounds."

Bryce frowned. "What sort of sounds? Moaning? Shouting?"

"Gasping. Suffocating. Silence."

Bryce leaned back. "Odessa, Sam was old. It could've been his
heart, the consumption-"

"And I heard footsteps, and a floorboard creak. And then saw a
shadow, fleeing ..."

Her eyes were wide and still, staring at the ceiling as if reliving
the terror.

"Someone was with him," Bryce filled in.

Her eyes met his again. "Someone was with him," she returned.

"And so you went in there? You got up out of your bed and went
in there?"

"After the other one departed." She gave him a humorless smile.

"I attempted it. But didn't get very far before I saw him, Bryce. Saw
his mouth open, knew he was dead, and then there was no more
strength within me and I fell. Must have hit my head on the way
down. I have the goose egg right here to testify to my folly."

"It was very brave of you, Odessa. Foolish, but brave."

She smiled too and leaned back against her pillow as if weary and
stared up at the planked ceiling.

"Odessa-you've had a rough go of it. Are you certain it wasn't
a nightmare? A horrible nightmare that coincided with the terrible
moment of Sam's death? Perhaps you heard him struggling for breath
and your imagination invented the rest."

"I know what I heard, Bryce." She glanced at him, then lifted a
hand to her brow as if battling a headache. "I wish I hadn't. I can't
get it out of my mind. And I've told you because I could see you and
Sam were dear to each other. He liked you, trusted you."

Bryce sat back and considered her, then gave her a brief nod.

"Who would gain from his death?"

Bryce shook his head, his eyes flitting about as if he was thinking
it through. "I have no idea. Listen, before anyone comes-at Sam's
funeral I was approached by an attorney. He gave me two envelopes,
one for me, and one for you."

"For me?"

Bryce nodded. Nurse Packard came in then, saw Odessa take
the envelope from Bryce. The nurse gave him a wise look and her
eyes slid to Odessa and back to him. "Dr. Morton does not abide
fraternization," she sniffed.

"I understand," Bryce said gravely. The nurse left and Bryce
winked at Odessa.

She smiled and glanced down at the envelope, as if disbelieving
that her name was across the center front. "Why ...?"

"Sam had his own ideas about things. Kept his own counsel. No
doubt he was up to some sort of mischief."

She slid her finger under the flap and opened it, then pulled out
a single piece of paper. It took everything in Bryce not to ask what
it said. She appeared to read it through several times before leaning
back, her brow furrowed.

"Odessa?"

She started, as if she'd forgotten he was there, and glanced his
way. "It's a poem, directions of a sort. Yours, too?"

Bryce hesitated for a moment. "The deed to his land. He left it
all-a couple hundred acres and his cabin."

"He had no family?"

"None for some time. Guess I was as close as it came." He stared
at her. "Odessa, I don't mean to pry, but Sam's poem for you-is there
something in there that confirms your idea that someone took his life?"

"Yes," she said. "I believe so. Was Sam a wealthy man?"

Bryce shrugged. "He got along. Made his living as a sheep
rancher. But once in a while, he'd spend money that surprised me.
The private room here. A new suit."

Odessa considered that.

"If ... if you're right, Odessa, does it place you in danger, having
that note from Sam? Should we go to the sheriff?"

Odessa shook her head, raising her fingers to massage her temples.
"No. He'll only remind me that I saw nothing. Only heard sounds
that anyone could say was merely Sam, giving in to the consumption. No, I'd say the fewer people who know about this, the better."

Bryce paused. "What is it, Odessa, that makes you not fear
me?"

Odessa glanced at him, knew she was blushing. "I am a fairly
good judge of character. Let's just say that I feel inclined to gamble
that I'm right about you."

She closed her eyes, intending to end the conversation at this
most improper and forward juncture, but as she did so, she stole one
last glance at Bryce. And he was smiling.

The sheriff flicked the reins over a fine black mare, and the horse
lurched their small cart forward. In spite of herself, Moira was
pleased to be getting out, to see more of what Colorado Springs
had to offer, to "making familiar what was unfamiliar," as Nic had
repeated. Reid drove her down Tejon Street, which was becoming
the city's main thoroughfare more than the intended, flashier
Pikes Peak. A few brick buildings were going up, standing in stark
contrast to their smaller, more modest wooden neighbors.

Down one street, Moira caught a view of a massive building of
limestone blocks. "What is that going up down there?"

The sheriff smiled proudly. "That's General Palmer's new opera
house. It should open within the year."

"Oh! I had heard he was building it, and I simply could not dare
to believe it."