Breathe: A Novel of Colorado (4 page)

She didn't care for his assumption. He did not know her. He
didn't know the first thing about her. But there was no way around
it. She nodded stiffly.

"Methodist, myself. But the consumption has given me some
Baptist propensities."

Odessa's mind was back on her church at home, on the girls her own age she had seen enter womanhood and get married. A few with
babies of their own. Entering that church was like being surrounded
by family, with irritating and exasperating and loving and laughing
uncles, aunts, and cousins all about her.

Bryce settled wearily back into his pillows. "Forgive me, Miss
St. Clair, I've made you sad again with something I've said. I'll keep
my peace now."

"Nurse Packard will skin us faster than a Ute if we don't let the
girl rest," Sam said.

"I thought the Ute were peaceful," she murmured.

"Pardon?"

She turned to look at the men. "I had heard that the Ute were
peaceful."

Bryce smiled again and Odessas heart skipped a beat. Odd. Such
an odd situation, this! "Some are. Some aren't. Most are on their
reservation, across the mountains and farther west, now. But some
have held their own. Our ranch foreman is pureblood Ute, or oo-tah,
as he says it."

"He's stubborn as a mule and not as pretty," Sam put in. "But
he's a good man."

Odessa could feel her eyebrows rise in surprise. "You hired an
Indian?"

"Sure." Bryce's smile faded from his eyes and his lips settled into
a line.

"Is that wise?" she pressed.

"Tabito is one of the most loyal men I've ever met, and a better
shot than most too. A good man to have around when you're on a
ranch five miles from your nearest neighbor."

"'Specially if I'm one of your nearest," Sam joked, then laughed
at his own humor, which set him to coughing again.

Nurse Packard returned, interrupting Odessa's next question
about the Indian, and Bryce dabbed his brush into his palette as
if Odessa were the furthest thing from his mind. The nurse looked
from Odessa to the men and back again, obviously not fooled. "I
brought you some broth. We'll work you up to the eggs and milk
and meat that are standard here. You're terribly thin. How long since
your last real meal?"

Odessa shook her head, trying to remember. "Some soup ... maybe
a little bread on the train. But nothing really since we left home."

Nurse Packard nodded, her brown eyes kind. "Well, let's begin
with this. A little soup will make you feel worlds better. And God's
creation here in Colorado will do her wonders on your lungs. I
promise, Miss St. Clair. You will find a new life here, and it all begins
with putting a little meat on those bones."

"Odessa," she said, swallowing the broth. "Please call me
Odessa."

But curiously, while she was glad for the woman's company, she
felt herself speaking more to Bryce and Sam than to the nurse.

"Dominic, look," Moira said, pulling her small hand against the
crook of his arm. They were on broad Pikes Peak Avenue, heading
east to return to the sanatorium and their sister.

His eyes immediately saw what she was gesturing to, a new,
unpainted structure with boards as fresh as a newborn's skin and a
white "for sale" sign in the front window. Nic looked left and right, sizing up the location. It was near the end of any structures built on
the street, but given the Springs' rate of growth, it wouldn't be that
way for long.

"Not very convenient to the train station," he said.

"But probably going for a better price because of it," Moira
returned. "And it's three blocks from the mercantile."

He smiled down at her and squeezed her hand. "I'll check on
it. As soon as we know Odessa is on the mend, I can think about
St. Clair business."

"Don't wait too long, Dominic," she warned. "I'm thinking
buildings are sold fast in this town, or it's up to you to build it. Just
consider it. If the structure is already complete, you merely have to
fill it." Her eyes lit up with anticipation and she waggled her eyebrows in excitement. There was no negotiating with Moira St. Clair
when she got like this. As the youngest girl in the family, she'd always
gotten everything she wanted. And she wanted a lot. Spending the
last few days at the sanatorium had left her restless.

They resumed their walk. Nic was grimly aware of the many
appreciative glances Moira drew. Even in a city like Philadelphia,
she had many admirers and men coming to call. Father had let her
dabble, but intervened before anything became too serious; he wasn't
yet willing to entertain potential husbands for Moira. But he'd failed
to consider the vast number of men in this country. How was Nic
supposed to fend them off?

Heading directly for them, two dandy gentlemen eyed her now.
Dominic frowned. It was unseemly not to step aside and let a lady
pass. Moira was chatting, talking on about how she had heard at the
hotel that General Palmer intended to build an opera house-a real opera house!-in his burgeoning city. Already he'd planted hundreds
of trees along the streets. If he could do that, and pass a bond to get
the El Paso Canal flowing too, then surely he could knit together the
funds.

Dominic pulled his sister to a stop and looked up suspiciously
into the faces of the men before them. Both were impeccably dressed
in long dark coats and vests. They had eight inches on him, but their
black boots and pant legs bore the same spattering of fine street mud
as his own. "Pardon me, gentlemen," he ground out. He moved to
one side, to guide Moira around them, but the one nearest lifted a
hand to slow their progress.

Dominic looked up, considering how he might protect his sister
if this escalated into a scuffle, and then stared over at the man. He
was taller, but Nic was broader. And used to brawling. These last
years, through the pain and sorrow, he'd found relief in fighting,
release for the anger and grief that welled inside, gratefully leaving
each fight spent.

"Nic," Moira said in a whisper, head ducked, squeezing hard on
his arm.

"Forgive me," said the man, moving his hand to the brim of
his hat and removing it. "I simply could not let a moment such as
this pass." He leaned slightly toward Moira and shook his head in
wonder. "Permit me to say that never has this city seen a beauty such
as you, miss."

Moira giggled. Such easy prey to charm! She lifted her chin.
"This city is full of men, sir."

Dominic edged between the man and his sister. "I'll thank you
to step aside and let me and my sister by."

The man, handsome, dapper, still stared at Moira with delight.
"Your sister? Then, may I dare to hope, my dear, that you are
unattached?"

"Consider her attached to me," Dominic said, edging nearer the
man. He stared up at him, silently begging him to say another word
and make a move against them. The man returned his look, sizing
him up too, at first clearly thinking Nic was smaller, easily bested,
but then taking into account the determination in his eyes.

The stranger cocked his head to one side and gave them a half
smile. "Easy, brother," he said, an altogether different expression on
his face now. He pulled aside his jacket and Nic caught the sight of a
bright tin star on his vest. The sheriff? This was the city's sheriff?

"I make it my business to meet anyone moving in," the man
said. "I'm Sheriff Reid Bannock." He tipped his hat, his eyes again
only on Moira, "and this is Deputy Garrett Smith."

Dominic's eyes slid from sheriff to deputy. The deputy, Garrett,
seemed hesitant, as if he didn't fully approve of his boss's forward
ways.

"We don't permit brawling on our streets," the sheriff said coolly,
looking down at Nic. "Maybe it was different in Philadelphia?"

Nic stared back at him, weighing his options. So the man had
already checked up on him. How much did he know? He swallowed
hard. "Pardon me, Sheriff," he said, forcing a smile. "Thought you
were nothing more than a dandy prowling about. Must keep the
sheep away from the wolves, you know."

Sheriff Bannock smiled, but his brown eyes remained curiously
still. "A pretty sister like that would put any man on edge," he said,
as if they were longtime friends commiserating.

"As you already seem to know, I'm Dominic St. Clair, and this is
Miss Moira St. Clair."

"Pleased to meet you both," he said, sticking out his hand.

Grimly, Nic shook it.

The sheriff nodded at Moira. "Welcome to our city, Miss
St. Clair."

"Thank you, Sheriff." She lifted the tips of her fingers to her
throat and boldly gazed back at him.

Nic watched the sheriff force his attention off Moira and back to
him. "What has brought you two to town?"

"Three to town," Nic corrected, clearing his throat and casting a
narrowed-eye warning toward Moira to lay off the feminine charms.
Did she have to flirt with everyone? "We are here to set up shop for
my father, a book merchant, and to seek assistance for another sister,
who is convalescing at the sanatorium."

The deputy raised a brow in surprise.

"Chasing the cure," the sheriff said, the edge of derision in his
voice. But then he stopped, checked himself. "She as pretty as you,
Miss St. Clair?"

"No," Nic interrupted, and led Moira around and away from the
men. "Good day, gentlemen," he said over his shoulder. And tried to
ignore their laughter behind him.

"You didn't have to be so rude," Moira said plaintively.

"You didn't have to be so flirtatious," he returned. "Saints in
heaven, Moira. Father wants me to keep you safe. Can you help me
out a little on that front?"

They strode along in silence, the sanatorium quickly coming into
view. But all Nic could hear in his head were his father's whispered words in his ear before they boarded the train. "Use your brain as well
as your brawn, Son. "He swallowed against the dust of the street and
the bile rising in his throat. He'd agreed to his father's proposal, to
watch over his sisters, to open the first St. Clair bookshop, to stay
out of jail and become, as his father put it, "a respectable man." If
he could meet those terms, his father would allow him two years to
travel, then enroll in a university of his choice-one that had not
previously suspended him-to complete his education; at that point
he could try his hand at another business, if he so chose. It would be
up to him. That was their agreement.

Dominic knew his father hoped he would sow his oats, go to
university, and then adopt the family business. But publishing was
in his father's blood, in Odessa's. Not his. Colorado Springs would
be his escape route, his path to freedom. Yes, after this year was
done, he would be free.

"He doesn't have the demeanor of a merchant," Garrett said, staring
after them.

Reid glanced at his deputy. "No. He won't last long."

"Doesn't seem the sort to give up."

"He will. For one reason or the other. He'll get the fever and
head to the mines."

"Or die in some saloon brawl."

Reid smiled grimly. "You saw it in him too. That man's itching
for a fight."

"Like half the other men in this city with all their pent-up frustration after failing at the mines."

"Or being away from their women. Too poor to stay. Too poor
to go home. You ask me, General Palmer should be dealing with that
issue, not getting so besotted with frivolous opera houses and such."

His deputy was quiet for a moment. Reid tipped his hat to a
Mrs. Samson, plump and grinning like a happy cat, with a full basket
on one arm, a child in the other.

"Think Dominic St. Clair was lying?"

"About what?" Reid feigned.

"When he said his other sister wasn't pretty?"

"Most likely. But this town isn't very big. It won't take long to
find out."