Breathe: A Novel of Colorado (36 page)

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.

"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
away 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?

"Odessa," said her brother now, just behind her.

She pulled away then, and Bryce shoved aside a shiver at her sudden departure. She whirled. "Nic? Nic!" She cried out and stepped
into her brother's arms next. "Oh, thank you, thank you all," she
said, looking from the Thompsons to the sheriff beyond Dominic,
then to the deputy and back to Bryce again.