Breathe: A Novel of Colorado (26 page)

He pounded at it again, paused, then walked off the side of the
porch.

Moira ran to the far wall, wincing as she thumped against it,
panting, even as she saw Reid's shadow form in the window beside
her as he peered in.

"Open the door, Moira," he said lowly. "The more you make
me appear the fool, the worse it will be. This isn't right. You know
it isn't."

Moira stayed where she was.

"Is it that you auditioned for the opera? I know all about that.
The general told me. I know you love to sing. I'll learn to accept it."
He put his hand against the window. "It's just that it's hard on me,
Moira, having you up there, pretty as can be. All the men can't help
but want you for themselves. And without us married, they don't
know you're mine. It's hardly proper."

Moira bit down on her lip to keep from screaming. She wanted
nothing more than to be far away from the sheriff, safe, and here he
was, liable to break through that flimsy glass window at any moment. She could tell by his tone that he had begun to doubt she was inside,
speaking mostly to himself, wondering if she wasn't inside, where
was she? He didn't want her anywhere without him. When he left
town, he practically made her promise to stay home, as if she were to
sit here, pining for him, night after night. His shadow moved away
from the window. He was giving up. For now. It was time to end
the farce. She could act onstage but she could not continue this any
longer. She could not continue to duck and cower, hiding from Reid
in her own home, her own home! She had the general on her side now.
And the general could keep Reid in line, if necessary.

Taking a deep breath, she moved forward and opened the door.
Reid, almost at the front gate, turned at the sound and took a few
steps forward. "Thank you for coming out, Moira," he said, hat in
hand. "Please. Can we sit?"

She looked out to the street and saw the reason for the change in
his demeanor. A couple walked past, arm in arm. "Certainly, Reid."

They sat down on a front porch swing. "Reid, it pains me to
tell you that my brother and I feel this courtship is not in line with
our father's wishes, especially since you have not even made his
acquaintance."

He stilled and Moira could feel the waves of tension, disbelief
emanating from him.

"Is ... is there another?"

"No, Reid. There is to be no other. That was my father's wish."

"Then there is no cause to end it," he rushed on. "Courtship is
an exercise in discovering if a man and a woman are right for each
other. Is this about your singing?" He rose and paced before her. "I
said I'd find a way to deal with that-"

"No, Reid. This is about you and me. And my father. And how
we must now part, painful as it may be."

He hovered, utterly still, absorbing her words. She could feel his
desperation sink into anger. "I'm afraid it's not a choice, Moira." His
voice was low.

"Not a choice?" She rose, shaking in a rage that surmounted her
fear. "It most certainly is!"

"Is it your brother? He told you to cut me loose, didn't he?"

"No, Reid, this is my decision."

"He never did like me; we got off on the wrong foot, with his
brawling and all. But that's hardly my fault. You need to give me
another chance. You just haven't seen it yet, seen why we're supposed
to be together."

She turned toward the door. "Good night, Reid." She had
opened the door a few inches when he shut it again, his arm over her
shoulder. "No woman turns me down," he said in her ear.

A shiver ran down Moira's back. She took a deep breath, summoning up her courage, and eyed him from the side, swallowing a
sharp retort.

"Moira, all I'm asking for is some time. The summer. If you
decide it's not right come autumn, I'll let you go."

"And if I don't give you the summer?"

He dropped his arm and leaned back, waiting on her to turn and
face him.

She did.

"Summer's a fine time in Colorado. We'll have some fun. You'll
see what a good man I am, what you'll be missing if you spurn me."

"Reid, answer me. If I don't give you the summer?"

"Don't go that route, Moira. Don't do it. Bad roads lead to bad
consequences. I'm offering you a good road, the high road. Will you
take it?"

She paused, her confidence faltering. Just what was he threatening? "I'll consider it."

"Good," he said, clearly relieved. "Good. I'll see you tomorrow
then." He bent down and kissed her cheek, a kiss she stiffly received.
"Now get on in your house so I know you're safe."

Dominic danced around the newcomer, sizing him up. He particularly
loved these moments just prior to a fight. He imagined himself an
Olympian wrestler, wide awake, alive, his own man, skin glistening,
testing his strength against another.

He moved left then right, observing how this Mexican moved,
anticipating his strengths, his weaknesses. Right-handed, he noted, as
the young man nervously wiped his brow, staring at him as intently
as Dominic stared at him.

The crowd disappeared. He could barely hear them. It was as if
his ears closed up, the closer to the fight he drew. He took note of his
heartbeat, strong and steady. Tonight he would clean up. This man
was strong, but no stronger than he. And he had the greater will, the
more fervent desire to win. For the money.

For himself.

See me, Father, he whispered silently through the dark room, as if
his words could reach his father in Philadelphia. I am not a bookshop
merchant. I am not a publisher. I am a fighter. This is me.

The man who ran the fighting ring raised both of their hands. It was then that Dominic happened to glance down and see Mustang
Mex's pocket bulge, as if filled with coins. He frowned. Who came
out fighting with coins in their pocket?

The bell rang then. He threw a good punch, and his opponent
came back hard, striking him twice. Nic pretended to wave as if
already going down, then feinted to the right, driving his left fist
into the man's belly and then his deadly right from across his body,
sending the Mexican spinning.

Dimly, he heard a woman scream and the crowd roar, as if listening to them through a pond. His opponent came after him, and he
shoved the sounds from his mind.

The Mexican drove him hard, pummeling his chest and belly,
moving at just the last second every time to avoid Nic's punches.

It wasn't until he struck Dominic's jaw with a left he didn't see
coming that Nic thought again of the coins in his pocket. It was
no bag of coins. This man had a brass rod in his fist. Not knuckles.
Knuckles would be seen by others and the fight would be declared
Nic's. But a rod could be hidden. He'd heard of it being done. And
the stiff consequences served ... to the loser.

He glanced at the other man in the ring with them, the owner,
but the Mexican hit him then again, sending him spinning. As he
went down, he clearly heard a woman scream. He knew that voice.
His eyes scanned the crowd.

It couldn't be. Not a woman. Here. Not Odessa.

His eyes locked on hers. There, in the middle of the crowd.
Beside Bryce, who had his arm around her. She was crying, weeping.
Sobbing! Did she not know he was good at this? Could no one in his
family see, see what he was capable of? On his own? As a man?

With a growl he rose and went after the Mexican again, managing to land a fierce left hook. But then the young man grinned, lip
bleeding, and came back at him, striking him once, twice, and three
times with the same fist full of brass.

Dominic went down, hard.

And the world went black.

Reid Bannock leaned against the wall beside the back door of the
saloon. He grinned up at the last full spring moon, wide and bright
as it shone over his city, his fine city, in the distance. He disliked
being here in Colorado City, but business was business.

The young Mexican exited, followed by two other burly, finely
dressed Mexican men. Seeing Reid, the man nodded to the others to
return inside. They did so without comment. The man stood there,
black hair soaked with glistening sweat, air escaping his nostrils in
twin, steaming streams.

"It's done?" Reid asked.

"Done," he said, dropping a wavy brass rod in his fist.

Reid raised it up, catching a bit of blood in the moonlight.
Dominic's blood. Moira would know the truth of his words, that
bad roads led to bad consequences. Nic sure knew it now. He'd
tried to warn Nic, dissuade him from this path, but the man had
refused to acknowledge it and choose a new road. Sometimes the
only way to change a stubborn man's path was to make it impossible for him to continue. Reid sighed. The St. Clairs were merely
young and inexperienced. They needed someone older to look up
to, follow. Someone like him. It was good he had been here when they arrived. Beneficial for all of them. Another year with them and
all would be in order.

He handed the man a wad of bills and turned away, fading into
the crowd on the street, heading back to the city he loved, whistling, whistling for the first time in a long while. He had just done
his future brother-in-law a favor, ending his fighting career. Now
Dominic could settle into the life his father had intended for him,
as a respectable bookshop merchant of Colorado Springs. That was
a man well suited to be the town sheriffs brother-in-law. Not some
man sneaking into the night. Why, Moira would not be able to sleep
at night, worrying over him. Reid couldn't tolerate that.

No, he wanted her every thought to be about him. She needed
to look to him for protection, guidance, wisdom. Not anyone else.
And they had just taken one big step closer to realizing that dream.

"Will he live?"

"If he awakens soon," the doctor said grimly. They had brought
him back to the shop, and together, managed to get him upstairs to the
extra room, not wanting the neighbors to see him in such a state, not
wanting the general to hear of it. "If he's not awake by morning ..."
He shook his head in grim warning.

Odessa sank to her knees beside Dominic's bed. "No. No, no,
no...

"It is a concussion?" Bryce asked, taking charge.

"Severe trauma, besides a broken nose and eye socket. Besides
that, he had two broken ribs. It will take him weeks to recover, if he
does regain consciousness."

"Is there nothing further you can do?"

"He needs to remain still, sleep. We want him to awaken to a
point, but the brain needs to rest and recuperate. I will return at
daybreak and examine him again."

"And in the meantime?"

The doctor looked at each of them. "Pray. With all you have in
you." He left then, and the three stared at the battered Dominic,
no word of prayer upon their lips. For all the words within Odessa,
she could not seem to link any two. They remained where they
were for several long minutes, Moira crying quietly. Bryce came closer and put a comforting hand on her shoulder and his other
on Odessa's.