Breathe: A Novel of Colorado (35 page)

"Come along, Sheriff," the general interrupted smoothly. "I
know Moira is entrancing, but we must all progress into the dining
hall. If we tarry, the food will be cold! Queen never could abide by
cold food. Even in her absence, I won't present guests with food that
would disappoint her." Reluctantly, Reid turned from Moira and followed their host's lead.

Dominic was there then, offering his arm to her. He leaned closer
and said, "Calm yourself. You must see this through. The general will
break it to him at the right moment."

She glanced at the general as he talked to Amy Brennan ahead of
them. Moira wondered if he could turn Reid, control him. Memories
of Reid standing in the street before the hotel, watching her in the
dark, or at her cottage, banging on the door, sent a shiver down her
spine.

So they sat down at the table, an intimate party of eighteen, and
were served sauteed vegetables and roasted pheasant and delightful
rolls. Servants poured champagne and then wine, but it did nothing
more than make Moira more ill at ease, the moment looming ever
nearer when Reid would know. She was terribly quiet, making all
around her glance in her direction, clearly used to her leading discussion about people, politics, parties. At one point, Nic nudged her
under the table, trying to get her attention.

She jumped and let out a little gasp, then looked around the
table in dismay. Dominic kept eating, pretending nothing at all was
the matter, but others held their spoons and forks in midair, staring
at her in concern. "Forgive me," she stammered. "I seem to have a
cramp in my foot. Would you all excuse me for a moment?"

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.

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 happened 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."