HT02 - Sing: A Novel of Colorado (24 page)

It didn’t matter what Mama would say now. Moira was a woman, in every sense of the word. She was free to experiment and travel where she wished. She controlled her destiny. It was good she had gone through her inheritance, really, gotten rid of the ties that were binding and foreboding and shaming. Her inheritance had afforded her the privilege of training, giving her the foundation she needed—for that she was thankful. But now she was free to do with her talent as she wished. No strings attached. And here, in the arms of Gavin, her brilliant new manager, an entire new horizon had been opened to her, as if it had been hiding behind a curtain the whole time.

Odessa didn’t pause when she saw Bryce and Tabito making their way across the field astride their mounts. She called something to Robert about watching the baby as she flew out the door. She ran to the fence, ducked through it, and tore across the field, crying as Bryce at last swept her into his arms and slowly turned her around. He kissed her cheek.

Dimly, she saw that Tabito had moved on, giving them their privacy, but she could only look on Bryce. She put her hands on his hairy face and looked up into his eyes, her own blurry with tears. When she couldn’t say anything, so thick was her throat for the want of crying, he simply pulled her close. “It’s all right, Dess. It’s all right. He’s gone.”

“Gone where?” she croaked.

“To Leadville.”

Leadville, at least a three-day journey.

“Looks to me like he intends to settle in there. He and his cronies separated once they made town. But our man will watch Bannock every day, for as long as we like, and report back to us via telegram, three times a week, just to be sure.” He shook his head once. “He’s gone, Dess. We can let go of fearing his return—if he was coming after us, he would’ve done so by now.”

She cried again, from relief, clinging to his sweat-soaked collar, “Please don’t leave me again, Bryce. Please don’t go to Spain.”

He hesitated and then kissed her head softly. “We’ll figure it out, Dess. Together.”

Chapter 14

Moira eased into her role as Moira Colorado with such ease, it seemed like a sleight of hand, such as the magician who sometimes preceded her on stage performed. In Telluride, she paused by a poster outside a hat shop, and her eyes ran across the name, Moira Colorado, over and over. It seemed good, right. Fitting. In Colorado she had learned what freedom, what being a woman, really meant. In Colorado, she had spurned two men who fought to claim her. In Colorado she had been given her start, that first night on stage.

“There you are,” Gavin said, pausing in the alleyway and doubling back to meet her. “You really shouldn’t be alone here, Moira.”

“It’s midday. I’m perfectly fine.”

“But these people have been waiting for Moira Colorado to sing for them for over a week. If they knew it was you, here …”

She gestured toward the illustration of her on the poster—a mysterious, delightful drawing Gavin had had done of her. It showed only the top of her fantastic teal gown, her long neck, chin, and full lips, and then delicate fingers pulling the brim of a dainty hat downward, keeping her eyes hidden. It spoke of intrigue and class and … dare she think it? Seduction. Moira Colorado was swiftly finding the power and art of it, learning from the master, Gavin Knapp. More and more she could see how he slowly drew her in, eased into her life, and filled her needs as they emerged, making her think it was what she wanted all the while. It was masterful, godlike. And she was using some of that knowledge in seducing her audience every night, making them love her, making them want her, cry out for her return, mourn her departure.

Leave them wanting more, Gavin always said. And with a start, she realized that he always made her feel the same way about him. She hungered for another moment, another conversation, another kiss. Never, when he walked in the room, did she groan inwardly, wishing to be without him. Gavin took her arm and steered her back into the flow of the busy downtown, chattering about their venue for the evening, sure to draw more than three hundred.

She couldn’t imagine this life without him, her manager, her partner. For the first time, Moira wondered if they could continue like this forever. What would it be like if he left her? Returned to his world of business? How could she hold onto him? Make him feel as intrigued with her as she was with him? He loved a puzzle to unravel, a problem to fix. He was in the process of launching her, Moira Colorado, in a new field of theater, giving him endless puzzles and problems. What would happen when those riddles were solved? Would he tire of her?

She’d simply have to come up with some new way to entice him if that happened. Because a month and a half after she met him, the thought of living without Gavin was suddenly equivalent to losing an arm. The idea of it brought her up short. She hesitated, and he peered down at her, eyes narrowing in concern. “Are you all right?”

“Quite,” she said, and nudged him forward.

“Good,” he said, from the look on his face not quite believing her, and then adding, “I need to stop up here. Send off a few telegrams and make sure all is well back in New York. Do you mind? Waiting?”

“Not at all,” she said, adding a smile. She paused outside. “I’ll stand here, in front,” she said in a low tone. “I want to watch the people, get a sense of them.”

He quirked a smile. “Very good.”

Moira lowered her parasol and then wound its fabric tightly around the rod. Then she stood there, hands perched atop it, watching the throngs of people pass by. This was largely a mining community, but there appeared to be a good number of gentlemen. Several eyed her as they passed, tipping their hats. Moira smiled demurely in their direction. After about ten minutes, a handsome one hurried by her, turned fully around to smile, walking backward, and then resumed his path down the street. After another moment, he rotated on his heel and returned to her.

“You new in town, Miss?”

“Fairly new,” she said, sliding her eyes down the street.

“You need some assistance?” He raised a brow and crossed his arms, looking her over as if she were a pastry in a baker’s window.

“She’s with me,” Gavin said, suddenly at her side.

“I thank you, sir,” she said, sliding her hand through the crook of Gavin’s arm. “You are most kind. If you’d care to come to my aid, please … attend my show this evening.” She slid a flyer out of the cuff of her dress, handing it to the young man, whose eyes widened in surprise. He glanced from the flyer back to her to the flyer again.

“May I take it as a personal invitation?” he dared to ask in front of Gavin.

“I fear it is a most
public
invitation,” she returned. “Come now, Gavin, we must be off, yes?”

“Yes,” he said, but his eyes remained on the young man as they turned.

She wrapped her arm through the crook of his. She could tell by the clench of his jaw he was still irked. “Gavin, I was only doing as you taught me … encouraging the audience.”

He looked down at her and studied her for several long seconds, then returned his gaze to the walk. “I want you to engage the audience corporately, Moira. The only man I want you to engage alone is me.”

Moira doubled her steps. “Can we slow down a bit, please?”

He did as she bade but remained silent.

“Gavin, the only man I wish to entertain alone is you,” she said softly. Did he have no idea how much she cared for him? None at all?

He slid a look at her from the corner of his eye. “Good. Good,” he repeated. “So? An early supper?” He gestured toward a small restaurant.

Smoke poured out of a chimney and the street smelled of freshly baked bread, making Moira’s stomach rumble. She looked to Gavin again. There was something off, different about him, as if his mind was on other things. “Gavin, is everything all right?”

“Fine, fine,” he said. “Shall we?” He gestured toward the door.

Moira, giving up on understanding the current that flowed just beneath the surface, sighed and turned inward. She’d need some food before that night’s performance.

Reid Bannock was striding down the street of Leadville, enjoying the high spring sun and his new town. To his left was an impressive ridge of mountains, with a new wave of miners still exploring them, seeking their fortunes—all potential customers in his newly purchased mercantile. He had stashed away enough cash to last him a while, prior to his unfortunate imprisonment, and had easily obtained it after he was freed. Now all he needed was a home, a home fit for a successful merchant. Everyone knew that such things got around—if it came to be known that Leadville Merc was owned by a well-to-do man who knew how to run a business, turn a profit, then they’d want to be seen shopping there. It said something about a man or woman.

He glanced at several posters, lined up, one atop another on a wall as he passed. Then he stopped, doubled back and ripped one down.

“Moira Colorado, Singing Sensation of the West, Coming to Leadville, Four Nights Only, May 10–13.”

He laughed softly, staring at the line of her profile, remembering just that expression in real life. His index finger touched her lips, remembering the sweet taste of her. She had nearly been his. Nearly.

And now she was coming to Leadville. To a town that was rapidly going to be his town, even more clearly than Colorado Springs had once been. Right into the devil’s lair. It was unbelievably perfect. Divine.

A man fell into step beside him. Dennis. “I have received a report on the McAllans, sir,” he said in a quiet voice.

“Good. What do you have?”

“They suffered a terrible winter. There was a blizzard that killed many of their horses and an outbreak of strangles took out some others. Also, Mrs. McAllan has a son, an infant of about eight or nine months old.”

“I see,” he said, carefully keeping any glee at their misfortune from his voice. “What of the O’Toole mine? Or the gold bars?”

“That appears to be a dead end. May even be rumor rather than fact. They’ve not touched the O’Toole land, nor have they brought any bars to the county assessor. They seem to be pursuing ranch life as if that is all that is ahead of them.”

“Oh, they know where it is. I’m sure of it. They’re just biding their time, deciding when to let the world know where the gold is and how much they’ve found.”

“I think not,” the young man dared. Reid shot him a narrowed look and the man quickly amended. “There’s something else. There is some speculation that Bryce McAllan might head to Spain to secure new horses to supplement his herd.”

Reid paused and stared down at the man. “Are you certain? He would consider leaving his wife and child alone on that ranch?”

“Well, yes, other than the twelve ranch hands and foreman. McAllan’s brother is there visiting. Perhaps he’d stay on.”

Reid looked to the mountains and let a low, small laugh emerge from his lips. “That is too perfect. She and the gold’d be there, ripe for the picking.” He lifted the poster in his hand and glanced at it again, then folded it into a tidy square and pocketed it. First Moira, then Odessa. If only he knew where Nic was, he could complete his three-act play of revenge, one after another. The St. Clair siblings would know, once and for all, that they had messed with the wrong man.

They continued their walk to the store. “There is one other thing I need you to see to immediately,” he said. They paused, tipping their hats to a lady and gentleman passing by, and continued on.

“What is it, Boss?”