Breathe: A Novel of Colorado (27 page)

"Father God, look upon us here," he said, his voice steady and
low. Odessa closed her eyes, finding assurance, hope in his words. The
St. Clairs were clearly condemned to misery. Perhaps the McAllans
had a surer connection to the Almighty. "Come and lay Your healing
hand upon Dominic," Bryce went on. "We ask it with everything
in us, Lord God. Come and heal this man and help him live a long
life."

He did not end with the traditional "amen" and all three
remained in place, hanging on to his last word, letting it roll through
their minds as if it were echoing through the room again and again.
Life ... life ... life ...

Moira greeted him at the shop door the next day. It was plain she had
been crying. Her bloodshot eyes made her irises an even darker shade
of teal. Dominic was nowhere in sight.

"Reid," she said, forcing a smile to her lovely rosebud lips.
"I wish I could stop to take tea with you, but you can see I have
customers."

He moved inward, feigning concern. "Moira, are you here all
alone?"

"Dominic ... he-he's feeling poorly. He's resting upstairs."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Reid said. "Here, let me help you for a
bit. The town should be safe for a few minutes without me on her
streets."

She hesitated but a moment. "If you could go and climb the ladder to fetch Mrs. Chandler the medical volume she's seeking, that
would be a great help." Moira moved off toward the cash register,
where three other women waited to pay their bills. One woman
looked from the pretty shop girl to the sheriff and smiled.

Yes, the stranger could see it as clearly as Reid. They were a good
couple, a handsome couple. They were meant to be together. They
had merely suffered a bumpy stretch in the road. It was common to
all relationships. Now things would be straight. All part and parcel
with molding Moira, shaping her to take the proper form as his
wife.

There were bound to be some difficult times through that process. Probably would be a few more. But it was all worth it. Well
worth it. Growth, progress, often took some breaking as part of the
cycle. He thought of the fields, with deep-plowed channels for seed
and water. Tree stumps, wrestled out of the earth. Cornerstones, set
into broken, raw ground, declaring new rights. Yes, breaking was
part of the process. But in time, all smiled and agreed it was worth it.
Temporary losses for long-term gains.

He whistled and smiled down at Mrs. Chandler. "My Moira tells
me you're seeking a medical volume," he said cheerily. "Just point it
out and I'll fetch it straightaway for you."

"Why, Sheriff," said Mrs. Chandler. "I didn't know you were a
man who favored books."

His eyes moved to Moira, who glanced his way and then pretended not to see or hear him as she tended the next customer. "Now,
Mrs. Chandler," he said loudly. "If you were a red-blooded male and
the book proprietress was as pretty as our Miss St. Clair, wouldn't
you become a man intensely interested in the literary arts?"

Mrs. Chandler laughed and then fanned herself, blushing furiously. "Well, I guess I would. Good day, Sheriff."

"Oh, it is that, Mrs. Chandler," he murmured behind her. "It is
that."

"Moira!" a voice called from upstairs. He could hear Odessas
hurried step even before she peeked around the corner. "Moira," she
said, eyes bright with a smile. "He's awake," she whispered. "He's
awake!"

The two women disappeared upstairs, ignoring the remaining
customers, and Reid gazed at the empty doorway. So the boy lived.
It was good, he supposed. A beating like that changed a man, broke
apart a shell of bravado and awakened the core to vulnerability. And
vulnerability was something another could exploit.

Yes, it was good, good that Dominic lived.

Eyeing the empty sanatorium hallway, Odessa moved to her
bookshelves and slid out the photograph of Bryce she had taken
weeks prior. She stroked it, as if touching his face.

A knock at her door startled her. Bryce.

"Forgive me," he said ruefully. "Didn't mean to frighten you."

"No, no," she said, sliding the photograph behind her back. She
smiled. "So do you wish to lose at cards or archery today?"

He shook his head. "Someday we'll race on horses and you'll
know what it means to lose."

"Threats are not gentlemanly, Bryce."

"Gloating is not gentlewomanly," he returned. "Is Helen coming by?"

"No, tomorrow."

"Good. Then I only have to lose in front of one of you." He
pushed his toe into the floorboard. "Charlotte's heading home today.
We should see her off."

Odessa paused. The girl had made such a rapid recovery ...
Odessa had thought that she and Bryce would be gone before her.
She considered him, wondering why Doctor Morton kept him
here. She hadn't heard him cough in weeks and she knew he was
anxious to get back to the ranch, to see what he could find out
about John DeChant, and Sam's land. And yet she feared asking,
feared tempting the move she knew wasn't far away. "Bryce, I-"

He turned, seeing someone in the hallway. Amille. The woman
wandered into Odessas room and sat down on the bed, arms crossed
about herself, rocking.

"Amille?" Bryce tried.

Odessa rose and moved to sit beside the woman. As rapidly as
Bryce and she were healing, Amille declined. For the last week, she
refused to eat a thing. Odessa wrapped her arm around the woman.
"Amille, are you all right?"

"They killed them, killed them. Killed them," Amille said mournfully. "I want to be with them, in heaven. With my Anna. With my
John. With them, with them, with them..."

"I know, sweetheart. You must miss them so much!" But Amille
pulled away and was on the move again, rising to walk out of Odessas
room and down the hall.

Odessa turned to Bryce.

"Sam was your friend," she said, moving to her bookshelves
again. She pulled out the poem from Sam O'Toole. "Aren't you curious to see what he left me? Here. Read it." She held it out to him
but he did not reach for it.

"I don't want it. Neither should you." Bryce shook his head. "There's
something bad going on over there, Odessa. I don't want you anywhere
near it. Not until I figure it out and make sure you'll be safe. Put that
thing away and make certain no one knows you have it. Understood?"

He raised miserable blue eyes to meet hers, begging her to accept
his gruff demands. "This is still the Wild West, Odessa. We've come
far, very far. But the sheriffs hold on the law-it's tenuous. People
disappear all the time, never to be seen again, particularly in the far
reaches of the county. Places like where Sam and John were mining."
He lifted a hand as if to place it on her arm, then as if thinking better
of it, lifted it up to run it through his hair.

"Bryce, you've made certain improvements, but you are in no
condition to wade into a fight. I-I would fear for you."

He clamped his lips shut for a moment before he spoke. "I'm
well enough to care for those I care about. To see about a man's
business. Don't fret over me; I'll be cautious."

"And in the meantime, what am I to do?"

"Rest. Make further gains on your health. See to your brother as
he improves."

"Rest? Sit back and simply wait? Sam O'Toole practically-"

Bryce stepped forward and hissed, "Keep your voice down!"

"Sam O'Toole," she said in a loud whisper, "practically gave me
an invitation to his land with that poem. There is something there he
intended for me to have."

"In time."

"If I wait too long, it might be gone!"

He shook his head. "Well, don't look to me to escort you," he
said. "I'll have no part in it."

"Don't give it another thought," she said. "I wouldn't dream of
asking you."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Good."

"Good."

He left then, and Odessa closed the door softly behind him so
she could cry as she had not in years.

It took days for them to speak again, but then it was as if they had
both decided to shove thoughts of Sam and his poem and his mine
out of their minds, unable to keep their thoughts from anything
but each other. One day, they were out on the front lawn, Odessa
attempting to learn how to lasso an object. "I'll make a cowhand of
you yet," Bryce said to her. "You're pretty good, roping boulders and
chairs. Let's see if you can hit a moving target," he taunted, handing
her the rope again. "Pretend I'm a cow and you have to get me." He
moved off, giving his best cattle imitation, mooing and pointing his
forefingers off the top of his head like horns.

Pursing her lips, covering her laughter with concentration,
Odessa walked behind him, letting out a laugh as he mooed again.
She thought nothing of the other patients staring their way. It was
highly improper, really. Mother would turn over in her grave if she
saw them, but Odessa didn't care. For the first time in months, years
even, she felt well. Happy, free. Barely aware of her breathing at all.

She swung the looped rope over her head, still following Bryce's
moves, keeping pace with him as he had instructed. And then at just
the right moment, she let the rope go sailing through the air, crying
out with glee as it circled around him. Quickly, she pulled back,
cinching it tight.

The patients behind them cheered, perhaps not as aghast as she
had feared. Maybe in watching, they felt a part of this visceral thrill,
this joy that Odessa was feeling.

"Got me," Bryce said, tossing her a grin.

She pulled up the rope, drawing him closer and closer.

"You got me in more ways than one, Odessa St. Clair." He stared
down at her, unmoving, not freeing himself from the rope, simply
staring with those deep blue eyes at her as if she were the most lovely
thing on earth. As if he wanted to ...

Odessa swallowed hard. She was used to men looking at Moira
like that, not her. "Bryce, I-"

"Shh, I know." Slowly now, he pulled off the rope and took it from
her hand, lingering at their touch. She stared down at their hands as if
they belonged to another, wanting him to take hers in his as he had only
twice. "You're wondering what it might be like, Odessa, once we're out
of here. If it will change. I wish we had time to find out. You have some
months to go before Doctor Morton will want you any farther than
town. But the doc released me today, Odessa. And I have to return to my
ranch. I have to find out what's happened to Sam, to John, to Anna."

Alarmed at his words, she lifted her eyes to meet his again. He
was leaving? Leaving now? She knew it made no sense-her sudden
fear, her anger. It was the logical conclusion, the hoped-for conclusion. Arrive, heal, depart. That was the sanatorium's role.

"Odessa, we've talked about this. Surely you knew I couldn't stay
here forever. That we'd both have to leave eventually. I wish ..."

It felt like all the others ... her brothers, one by one, her mother,
and then her father. Sending her off on the train without even the
courage to tell her it might be forever.