HT02 - Sing: A Novel of Colorado (36 page)

Daniel’s eyes settled on Reid Bannock, who sat alone at another table, over to the left of the stage. Reid was staring at him, over a full glass of whiskey, and when their eyes met, he raised it, as if in salute. It was not odd for a well-to-do merchant to come to a well-known performer’s show, Daniel supposed. But he couldn’t shove away the shadow that he felt creep across him, especially after seeing the man out on Main today, staring at the hotel. He stifled a groan when Bannock rose and made his way over to him.

“You’re Daniel Adams, aren’t you?” Reid said, reaching out a hand.

“I am.”

“I’m Reid Bannock. I think we’ve met before, over at your saloon. You work for the hotelier, tend the bar, right?”

“On occasion,” Daniel replied slowly, as if just remembering their meeting. “But my time here has come to an end. I’ve given my notice and am on to new things.”

“So, what brings you out tonight? I’ve never seen you at the opera house before.”

Daniel studied him. Just what was he asking? Again, the cool shadow crossed over him. This man was dangerous. No need for him to know his role in Moira’s life at the moment. “Thought I needed a night out,” he said casually.

“All men do,” Reid said with a wink. “Does the missus know you’re here?”

“I don’t have a wife.”

“Hmm,” Reid said, as if absorbing the information like it was some great secret. He raised an eyebrow. “Neither do I.” He gestured toward Daniel’s empty table. “Say, can I buy you a drink?”

“No, thanks. I don’t partake.”

Reid frowned, puzzled and took a chair across from him. “Now that’s a story I’d like to hear. How does a barkeep not partake?”

Daniel smiled gently and put out his hands. “Maybe it’s a story I’ll tell you someday. When we’re better friends.” Blessedly, the music began then, indicating the show was about to start.

“Fair enough,” Reid said, reaching out to shake his hand again. “Enjoy the show,” he whispered.

He left, but there was something about his last words that troubled Daniel, as if he meant something more.

The showgirls came out and did their opening act. Daniel crossed his arms and looked down at his table while they danced, judging from the hoots and hollers around him that those skirts were lifting far too high. Being a gentleman, he refused to look. In his opinion, women need not show their legs to garner attention. But as the women withdrew, blowing lanterns out as they went, and the music slowed in pace and tone, he looked up.

Moira, at last. Could she make it through a whole song, let alone several, given her condition?

But she entered, each step smooth, assured, looking hauntingly beautiful. His thoughts came to a standstill when she sang her opening note. It was almost immediately drowned out by the cheers of the people in the audience. Daniel fought the urge to rise and tell them all to be quiet. They remained in an opera house in a West barely settled, and the rowdy crowd in attendance was a prime example of it. He clamped his teeth together and forced himself to remain still, watching as Moira emerged from behind the curtain in her lovely deep russet gown. She sang with such clarity, such depth of emotion, that he doubted anyone knew she was suffering. She moved in time with her song, emphasizing high and low notes with the lantern in her hand, and slowly, ever so slowly, she got up and made her way to the end of the stage, near him.

He watched her make eye contact with every man in the room, beginning in back, drawing them in. He could see that she had made this an art, captivating everyone she sang for in some deep, visceral manner, but he couldn’t summon the will to be jealous. All he wanted was for her to sing, keep singing. Sing bar songs, sing children’s ditties, sing hymns, but just sing, because surely, this was a gift from God on high!

She built into the crescendo of the song, then slowly wound toward the end. Her eyes were just behind him now, moving left to right, as she had that first night. The effect was mesmerizing. He finally saw what Gavin had immediately seen … Moira was a sensation with foundation. A legend about to be born.

There. Her eyes reached him. He didn’t know whether to smile or nod. Instead, he shifted uncomfortably. Her blue-green eyes hovered upon him, made him feel seen, known, and then she moved on to the man at his left.

Reid’s heart pounded with anticipation. In a moment, she would know her eyes had not deceived her, that he was really here, right before her. Tonight, Moira would again be in his arms, one way or another. And she would serve as the key to unlock the McAllan fortune. And as they made their way to the Circle M, she could find a way to make things right for him, pay him back for all the ways she had robbed him.

Moira stopped singing, staring at Reid as if he were an apparition.

Daniel came to his feet. The pianist started round again, urging her return to the song, but Moira appeared frozen, staring at Reid.

And Reid stared, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Hello, Moira,” he said, so lowly that only a few around him could hear.

Moira screamed and dropped the lantern. Oil spilled across the stage and the fire ran behind it, as if lapping it up. Some spilled on her dress, and it immediately was aflame. She ran, down the stage, backstage, as chaos erupted throughout the hall. Daniel ran after her. Men and women charged for the exits, panicked by the fire that spread impossibly fast. The front stage was a wall of flame in under a minute. Reid slowly rose and looked around. Only a few others remained, beating at the fire with their jackets. But with the base of oil, it was hopeless. The entire building would be engulfed in minutes.

Backstage, he could hear women screaming.

And Reid smiled.

Chapter 22

Daniel made his way around the side of the stage to the very back and climbed atop. At one side, the curtains were burning and reaching to the ceiling. The building was surely lost. Daniel hoped it wouldn’t take most of the city. Fires could devastate a town, take months if not years to recover from. “Moira!” he yelled. The fire was growing in noise, beginning to breathe, as if panting in anticipation of its next bite. Crackling wood, falling timber and objects added to the clamor amidst the screams of the fleeing crowd. “Moira!” he yelled.

A man ran by, calling for another girl. “Moira!” Daniel yelled, grabbing the man’s arm. “Have you seen Moira?”

“Back there,” he yelled, squinting against the smoke. “In her dressing room!”

Daniel pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and covered his nose and mouth. It did little to help, but something was better than nothing. He opened one door after another. Two women ran by him, holding hands and crying. Daniel yelled Moira’s name over and over. Perhaps she’d gotten out. Escaped.

But then he got to a door that was locked. “Moira!” he shouted, pushing at the door with his shoulder to no avail. “It’s Daniel! We must get out of here!”

There was no answer. But he could hear crying. She was behind the door, he was sure of it. He looked left and saw the fire race up an arc of cloth as if it were paper dried in a kiln. The man he had seen before came running toward him, dragging a coughing woman by the hand. Both were soot black and had singed hair. “Get out, man!” he yelled to Daniel as they passed.

“Moira, I’m coming in!” Daniel shouted. He backed up and rammed through the door with his shoulder, wincing at the pain of the breath-stealing blow.

A man emerged through the smoke. Reid Bannock. “Get out, Adams!” He shouted. “This whole place is coming down!”

Daniel hesitated. “She’s in there,” he said, nodding toward the door. “I have to get her out.”

Reid’s eyes widened and he said, “We’ll do it together. On three.”

After his count, they burst through, Daniel falling in front of Reid.

Moira screamed. “Help!” she shouted. “Help!”

Daniel frowned. “Moira,” he said, shaking her. The left shoulder of her dress had burned and was practically falling off. He winced to see that she had suffered burns to her skin there, up her neck. Half her hair was singed away. “Moira, it’s all right. We’re going to get you out.”

“No!” she said, scrambling backward, as if she wished to sink into the corner of the room. “No!” It was then he noticed her eyes were not on him. They were hovering behind him.

He turned slowly, the hair on his neck standing on end, and saw Reid Bannock, his pistol drawn and pointed at him. Behind the man, up higher, the room was billowing with dark, choking smoke. The roar and heat of the fire was very near.

“What are you doing, Bannock?”

“I’m rescuing Miss St. Clair,” he said. “You, sadly, must perish here.” He squeezed the trigger.

“Wait—”

The bullet pierced him and sent him whirling.

Moira screamed.

And Daniel blacked out.

Daniel was coughing so hard he thought he’d never catch enough oxygen to gather another breath. He opened his eyes, but they immediately stung so much that he shut them. He winced and rocked his head back and forth, trying to make sense of the pain, pain like he hadn’t felt in years. A bullet. Panting, he reached toward his shoulder and felt the familiar ooze of a wound.

His eyes opened again, wide.
Moira
.

“Moira,” he said, rolling to his knees. Flames were licking inside the room, darting in and out like a dragon’s tongue. “Moira!” He gagged on the smoke and began coughing again.

His only chance—and maybe hers—was for him to escape this inferno.

And find Bannock.

Moira awakened in excruciating pain. She opened her eyes and cried out in terror. It was almost completely dark.

“Shh, you’ll wake the neighbors,” a man said, opening a wooden door. She could see a bright starry sky behind him.

“D-Daniel?”

“No, Moira, it’s me,” he said, moving to the center of the room.

Moira held her breath, hoping she had misheard. He turned up the wick of a lantern and then bent to put wood into a stove. Then Reid turned to her. He paused a couple feet away, as if understanding her fear, confusion. “Do you remember what happened?”

Moira lifted a shaking hand to her forehead and found it sticky and wet.

“Don’t do that,” he said, raising a hand in her direction. “You’ll want to leave that be.”

He moved to the stove, picked up a kettle, and poured a cup of tea. Then he brought it over to her. Peppermint, she decided, by the smell of it. It hurt to move her mouth to drink, but she was so thirsty, she had no choice. She lay back against the pillows and fought the desire to scream—both from the pain and from her fear. What was he doing out of prison? And here? What did he intend to do with her? Casually, she stole a glance beneath the covers. Still in her russet gown. He’d cut away the fabric over her burned shoulder and upper bodice but left her corset in place, keeping her modesty intact. The bottom of the dress was cut to her knees, and as the covers settled again, she winced at the pain, especially in her calf. “How bad are my burns?”