Breathe: A Novel of Colorado (46 page)

Moira was miserable. Absolutely miserable.

"What is wrong with you?" asked Dominic, crossly pulling
another misshelved book from its slot and then sliding it into its
proper place.

"Nothing is the matter," she said.

But he didn't believe her. "Look, we have just three days before
the sale. I need you to concentrate."

She had planned on telling James that Nic needed her here at
the store today, which was true, and then telling Nic she had to go to
rehearsal-but when she arrived at the store, Nic reminded her she'd
promised him the whole day. "There's too much for me to do alone.
This will buy our freedom, Moira. We'll get the cash from the store
now, and soon, the additional funds from the sale of St. Clair Press. But
this allows us to immediately pursue our goals. Are you with me?"

Moira had forced a smile and agreed, but all morning long, she
wondered how she might escape and avoid the director's wrath for
skipping. And tomorrow, there would be no choice but to attend
the full-day rehearsal. How on earth might she manage such a feat?
Dress rehearsals were only three days away, opening night just a week
away. She fiddled with a stack of stationery, straightening it again
and again.

It all would be easier if James would simply return home.
Concern over Clarion business had called him north to Monument,
but he seemed reluctant to leave Moira in the Springs. And she had
to admit she enjoyed being with him, appreciated the respect others
gave him that reached to cover her, too, when she was on his arm.
But his presence complicated things.

She moved to a jar of pencils, putting each of them right-side
up so the mark was at the top. The shop was dreadfully slow this
morning, with only one customer so far. Where was everyone? The
entire town seemed quiet, as if everyone were away, or onto more
important tasks.

"Quit fooling with those, Moira, and help me price these books."
She walked to the stacks of books that had just arrived in a shipment
their father had sent before he died. Reluctantly, she picked up a
novel and held it in her hand. "Are we doing the right thing, Nic?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, setting another volume aside
and picking up the next. He didn't stop to look at her.

"Selling the shop. You selling the press."

"A third of the profits will make those worries go away, I
promise."

She knew he was keeping something else from her, but her head
was too full of her own complexities to give it further thought.

Moira sighed. She wished she had gone north with James, who
was meeting with three landowners there and to look over a potato
farm he was considering purchasing and then subleasing to sharecroppers. If she had been with him, she could've pleaded a headache
again, but then how might she have returned home unaccompanied?
It was difficult at times, being a woman. She wished she had the freedoms that men held so easily in their hands. Or simply the freedom
to decide when and where she would spend her days. How was it
that she had to now report to not one, but three men in her life? Her
brother. Her beau. Her director.

And then she saw it. Nic was making his own choices. Plowing
his own road, making his way to his own glorious future. "Nic, I
need to borrow some money."

"For what?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

"To hire my replacement," she said.

"Replacement?"

"Here. You need someone to help you get ready for the closing sale. See through the sale itself. I need James to think I'm here and
yet still get to rehearsals."

"When are they?"

"This afternoon. All day tomorrow and so on like that until
opening night."

"Why not just come clean with James now? Tell him you're taking the part in the opera whether he wants you to or-"

"No!" She moved over to him and took his hand in hers. "Don't
you see? If he finds out I've gone against him, there's no telling how
he'll react. If it goes poorly, he might convince the general to force
the director to give my understudy the part."

"I don't understand. He might do that as soon as the first show
closes. What do you gain?"

"Opening night. One perfect, free night when I can show the
world what I'm capable of. There will be critics here from Cheyenne,
Denver, and even Santa Fe. Let them hear me, critique me, and I
have my start."

Nic sighed. "All right. Maybe the schoolmarm will take some
extra hours. She's quick and can double-check my math."

Moira grinned and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank
you, Nic."

He shook his head. "Hope you know what you're doing, Sissy.
You've entered a high-stakes game."

"Going for broke," she said lightly, over her shoulder.

The next day, Bryce remained home with Odessa. He was at ease
now that he had laid eyes on the horses, looked in on those that
were ailing, and conferred with all his men. There had been cougars
sighted near the mountains, and they had lost a few prize mares last
year, so they were keeping nearer the stables. Soon, however, they
would need to move them up into the high country to find enough
grass.

Odessa loved watching the horses move together as a herd. The
young colts, now weaned, still didn't venture far from their mothers.
She leaned on a railing and rested her chin on her arms. "They're as
magnificent as the ranch."

"Yes they are," he agreed.

"Are they for racing?"

"Some are used for racing, most for the finest riding horses available in America."

"Says the breeder."

He grinned. "You'll have to pick one, as yours to ride. Any of
them catch your eye?"

Her hand went to her chest. "You mean it?" The mare she'd ridden at the sanatorium, a sturdy, steady, older horse, was dear, but had
no spirit. It meant a lot that Bryce had understood without being
told, that he was immediately about rectifying that trouble.

"Of course. I'll choose about ten that I think would be a good
match for you, then you can take it from there."

"I'd like to watch them for a while."

"Always a good idea," he said. "You'll get a sense of their different
personalities soon enough. They'll be in the stable corrals by tomorrow. Come, I must introduce you to the men. And I imagine you'd
like to see your new house."

"I'm a little curious. Shame on you, making me wait a day."

He smiled impishly. "I wanted the mason to complete the fireplace before you saw it."

"And he's done now?"

"Near enough. Come." He offered his arm and she took it. They
moved down a small hollow, and Odessa spied the big white barn
and stables. No wonder the men slept there. It was lovely, a building
reminiscent of any gentleman horse farmer's in the East. Clearly, this
was where Bryce McAllan had focused his spending. On his horses,
of course. And land for them to roam, far and wide.

The man swore and rolled over to his back, handing the telescope
to his partner. "McAllan never leaves her alone. If he heads out, he
leaves two ranch hands nearby. I don't know how we're supposed to
get to her."

"Give it time," said the other, staring through the lens. "They
don't know we're here. He's taking precautions, sure, but he's not
acting like a man with an enemy at his gates. Few more days, they'll
ease up, slip up, give us an opening. Just wait and see." He grinned,
eyes still against the scope. "That's a big of house. And over the hill from the stables and barn." He turned to smile at his partner. "A girl
might find some trouble in a house that big, and the boys down at
the stable might not even hear her cry."

The first man smiled and nodded. "With the wind in the right
direction, that just might be true. Give me that," he said, rolling back
to his belly and reaching for the telescope. He studied the barn, the
stables, the house across the hill, and lifted a wet finger to the stiff
breeze. Even now, the wind was in their favor. He smiled. "Oh yes.
Oh yes, indeed."

They crested the hill and Odessa gasped. Their house was far more
beautiful in real life than the hurried sketches Bryce had done for her,
modest in size but much larger than anything she'd seen in the valley.
It was nestled into a grove of aspen, looking out across the ranch land
to the mountains above them.

They moved into the house, and Odessa hung back, moving
slowly, wanting to memorize every moment of this glory. There was
a small front foyer, with a staircase that climbed directly above. Bryce
pulled her to the right, into a room that was already large and warm,
graced by a massive fireplace. "This will warm the room nicely," he
said, running his hand down a new mantle. "And the stone is from
our creek out back."

"It's gorgeous, Bryce. Perfect. And they've done so much in so
little time!"

On the far side of the room was a large dining hall, already occupied by a table that could seat fourteen. "Tabito made it. And I was
kind of hoping you could feed the boys once a day. We can get you
some help," he rushed on. "It's only that they've been eating their
own slop for years. They'd think they'd died and gone to heaven if
there was some real cooking on this ranch."

"I think that can be arranged," she said with a smile.

They moved from there into the kitchen, a large space, with a big wood-burning stove with six burners. There were cupboards and
drawers and larders and big bins of flour and sugar by the back door.
"And running water," she said moving to the pump.

"Upstairs and here," he said proudly.

Beyond the kitchen was a small sitting area where she might
read or write or perhaps someday entertain other ladies from around
the valley. Back up front again was a large room, bright and airy. "A
study, don't you think?" he asked. "Where we can see to paperwork
and whatnot?"

"Paperwork like novels and whatnot like paintings?"

He grinned. "Fine by me. Along with the occasional ranch
ledger."

"Oh, that. Yes, I think we can work it in."

They moved upstairs. There was a water closet, with room for a
washtub, and four bedrooms. "Heavens, what will we do with all this
space?" she asked.

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hair. "As Tabito
said, I hope we can someday fill it with babies."