HT02 - Sing: A Novel of Colorado (9 page)

Mr. Adams’s expression was more kind than it had been that afternoon, his lips even tilting a tad in a smile as he raised his glass an inch higher in her direction. But his gaze did not linger upon her as the others’ did. He looked down the table to the captain, as if eager to look anywhere but at her, and then he leaned toward Mrs. Jones to hear a word from her that Moira couldn’t make out. His movements said,
I’m not interested; leave me alone.
No doubt, he’d prefer a transatlantic voyage on a sailboat by himself, rather than in the company of all of them.

Well, Moira thought, a ship was no place to hole up, withdrawing from others. One could take their ease for a time, on their own, but a voyage was all about getting to know one’s shipmates. Servants arrived, placing heavy plates loaded with lovely roasted chicken, hearty mashed potatoes, and cinnamon apples before each person at the table. But Moira barely glanced at the food; her eyes were upon the man across from her.

She cleared her throat and smiled. “Mr. Adams,” she said pertly. He looked at her and frowned slightly, but she ignored it. “I do believe we’ve heard from everyone at this table about what occupies them day to day except for you.”

He took a sip from his goblet and stared at her. “What is it you wish to know, Miss St. Clair?”

“Please, everyone calls me Moira. We’re all on a first name basis after a week at sea, aren’t we, Captain?”

“Yes, yes—” the man grinned—“by all means. We leave only the most necessary of social contrivances dockside, I believe.”

The others smiled around the table, each eating, but their eyes drifted between Moira and Mr. Adams. “What is your given name, Mr. Adams?”

“Mr. Adams is good enough for me,” he said, a hint of an impish grin soon hidden behind a napkin.

Moira ignored the small slight. “Oh dear, Mr. Adams, I don’t suppose you are ashamed of your name? Is it something frightful, such as Horace? Or Archibald?”

“Thankfully, no,” he said, retreating, now clearly wishing the attention off of him and on to other matters. “It is Daniel. So please, Miss—Moira,” he said her name slowly, and Moira found herself thinking only of the low, mellow timber of his voice. A baritone, she imagined. “What is it you wish to know?”

Moira ignored Gavin’s irritated shift beside her. He clearly didn’t like her attention on anyone but him. But she stared across the table. No man ignored her. Why was this one so different? “Your occupation, please. Let us begin with that.” She looked down the table. “Among the gentlemen here are three seamen, three bankers…” she smiled at Gavin as she continued, “a commodities broker, a politician, and a real estate tycoon.” She looked back across to Daniel. “Please tell me you have a career of interest.”

Daniel swallowed and tried to smile. It was a lopsided, awkward thing to behold, but oddly endearing. “I am simply a man sent to procure a shipment for my employer from London and see it safely to his new hotel in Leadville, Colorado.”

Moira sat up a bit taller, in spite of herself. “Are you a hotelier, then? Or a barkeep?”

“Both, at times. For now, I suppose I am an importer if I expect to sit at this table for much longer,” he said, looking around to the others.

The others smiled and raised their glasses in salute. “Are you at liberty to discuss what it is you are importing?” the captain asked. “Rarely have I seen crates that large loaded upon my ship.”

“It is a large, quite beautiful bar of pure mahogany,” Daniel returned. “My employer paid a handsome price for it and had it built exactly to his specifications. The bar itself runs twenty feet in length, and there is fine carving beneath the top. The mirror that sits behind it runs the same length, and the woodcarvers outdid themselves in showcasing it with a fine border.” He shook his head in wonder. “I work for a clever man; many will enter the hotel solely to see such a beautiful piece in the wilds of Colorado.”

The men asked him about Leadville, about the mines that had been exhausted years ago, but how people continued to arrive, intent on claiming their own bit of mountain paradise or digging for a bit of still-undiscovered silver. Daniel answered every one of them, but his replies were short and to the point, as if he was hiding something, longing to return to the shadows.

“So how long have you been a hotelier-barkeep-importer?” Moira casually asked.

“Quite some time,” he said, his tone clipped, brooking no further query.

Why the secrecy?
Moira wondered.

“Do you have a family, back in Leadville, Daniel?” the captain asked, coming to his rescue.

Moira studied the man, and didn’t miss the shadow that crossed his face. “No,” he said simply.

“I’ve heard there are twenty men to every woman in those regions,” Gavin said. He leaned forward and looked at Daniel, curiosity live in his bright blue eyes. He truly was amazingly handsome, elegant.

“Sounds right,” Daniel allowed, jerking Moira’s attention back across the table. “Saying goes that any woman who comes our way has ten marriage offers before she steps off a stagecoach. And singers … why they’re as popular as a cold well on the hottest day of summer.” He did not look at her, but folded his napkin and said quietly, “That reminds me … would you kindly grace us with a song after supper, Moira?”

All eyes were suddenly upon her again, and she saw the glint of pleasure in Daniel’s eyes as his finally met hers. He’d found the way to shift the topic of conversation at last. So he was more clever than he appeared. She felt a smile on her lips. “I’d be honored,” she said demurely.

Later after supper, they all assembled in the large parlor, where they spent most of their days. In the corner was a small upright piano, and happily, one of the bankers proved to be a decent accompanist. Moira sang a lovely tune, one of her favorites, but as she looked into the eyes of every person present, she noted with some dismay that the man with sad brown eyes was not present.

No matter,
she thought, dismissing him. She focused on Gavin, with his keen blue eyes, who smiled constantly and engaged everyone he met with ease. This was the man she needed to think about. Not some other who clearly didn’t care a whit for her—or even getting to know her.

Nic stared up into the starlit sky, wondering what William was up to in port. As a more junior crewman, William had been given less time ashore than some of the others, but he shoved off in the last rowboat at sunset, giving Nic a flick of his finger to the brim of his hat in farewell. “I’ll bring you back a spot of rum,” he said lowly.

Did the captain intend him to stay aboard ship for the length of the entire voyage?

Nic’d go mad if that was the case. Even now, he found himself pacing like a caged cougar, back and forth atop the deck on watch—but more on his own hopeless watch than any serious care for the
Mirabella
. And why did the captain not head for port himself? Terence had shoved off with William, but the captain stayed. Did he so love the sea that he—

The captain opened the door of the lantern, lit a bunt, and then closed the small glass door. He placed the bunt in the bowl of his pipe, sucked on the stem, trying to get the tobacco to light.

“Cap’n,” Nic said in surprise. Rarely was the man on deck when the first mate was not. But perhaps this was normal protocol in port.

The captain grunted and walked toward him. Nic stiffened as he leaned at the rail and puffed at his pipe for several minutes. The sweet smell of the tobacco wafted over them both. Nic inhaled, the smell casting him back to smoke-filled fighting rings, and further back, to his father and grandfather, who often used different tobaccos, particular favorites, to stuff their pipes. At last, the small man turned toward him in silent regard. “You hate me, don’t you, Dominic?”

“Hate?” He swallowed a laugh.
Hate
had become a tender word compared to what he felt for the man.
Loathe? Abhor?

“It matters not,” the captain said, with a wave of his pipe. “Are you missing the ring? Please,” he gestured to the rail beside him, “take your ease for a moment, watchman.”

“Not until tonight,” Nic said. He eased his stance but did not lean on the rail as the captain did. “Up to now, I’ve been too tired to think of fighting.”

“And now?”

“Now, here, I feel the pull of it,” he admitted. “The ring.”

“And so if you were in port, now, you’d find a fight?”

“Or a willing woman,” Nic said evenly.

The captain grinned. “Sounds like you’re already a sailor to me.”

“A sailor by force,” he dared.

“Yes, well there is that. You lost me money, St. Clair. I intend to make it back in labor. Round the Horn with us and I’ll begin paying you.”

“And you think that is fair?” Nic sputtered. He could feel the heat rising up his neck, tension making his arm muscles taut. “To kidnap a man, force him to leave behind everything he owns? Should I work for everyone who made a poor bet on me? Perhaps there are some racehorses you can saddle and put to work in your stern too!”

“Fair enough,” said the captain in casual regard. “Keep in mind I could keep you aboard for the duration and pay you nothing for six months. This ship is my own kingdom, and I am free to do as I please within it. Consider it largesse, St. Clair, on my part, this offer.” He straightened, stared at Nic a moment, and then slowly turned to walk away.

Nic turned back to the rail, breathing rapidly through his nose, forcing himself not to run after the captain and tackle him to the ground, beat him.

“St. Clair?” called the captain.

He could do nothing more than raise his chin to mark the fact that he’d heard his captain call. To turn toward him would undoubtedly mean losing control.

“Life is not fair, St. Clair,” said the captain lowly. “Life is life.”

Reid Bannock accepted his funds from the begrudging banker in Cañon City, who clearly knew who he was and why he’d served time. It mattered little to Reid. He smiled at the banker and placed his hat atop his head again as his eyes met the blessed, clear spring sun outside.

Free. I’m a free man.

He stood there on the street of the small town, considering his options. A wise man would head far from here, take a new name, reinvent himself. A wise man would bury the past like a dead neighbor and move on to stake a new claim.

He remained there a long time, feeling the weight of his decision shift within him, like fluid in a jug, from one side to the other. It was powerful, the desire to get even with the McAllans, Moira, Nic, as was the desire to begin anew, to be free of the past, to make better, wiser decisions in the future. He wasn’t old; at forty-two, there was still time to take a wife, have a family. And the stakes were high. Sheriff Olsbo would be watching for him.

Reid stood there for many long minutes afterward, asking himself the same questions, over and over.

At last he moved. There was a time for wisdom, the time to withdraw, seek safety. And there was a time to gamble it all.

Chapter 6

6 April 1887

Bryce picked up the telegram and then closed his eyes and took a long, heavy breath. He was coming; Robert was coming here, to the ranch, to survey the disaster. He hadn’t enough to do, back at the shipyard—he had to meddle here too! Bryce shook his head slightly. Always the older brother …