Bryce sat down heavily at the kitchen table. Odessa was asleep, as was Samuel, and a full moon shone through the window. To his left was the conquistador gold bar, found in Louise’s cabin several years ago, and to his right was his brother’s letter. He cradled his head in his hands, trying to figure out what was the best route. He had to have a plan, answers to Robert’s questions before he asked them.
If he cashed in the gold, he might stave off financial disaster for a time, but it didn’t resolve his ongoing problem of having too few horses—the only way to fix that was to bring in more Spanish horses, fresh bloodlines, at the lowest cost—and have cash to sustain them on the ranch while he rebuilt the herd. The gold bar was likely to bring him a huge amount of money.
And yet if he left Odessa to go to Spain, he might indeed be risking his health. If he suffered a consumption attack and died while abroad, what would happen to Odessa and Samuel then?
He sighed and put his head in his hands. “Lord, I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. “Show me. Please show me the way I’m supposed to walk. Help me provide for my family and keep them safe. Help me, Jesus, help me.”
A knock sounded at the back door, and Bryce opened his eyes in surprise. Swiftly, he stashed the bar on the couch and casually threw his coat across it. Then he went to the door and peeked outward.
“Tabito,” he said, opening the door for his friend.
“Saw your light. Knew you must be troubled, to be up this late.”
“Come. Sit.” He moved into the kitchen and gestured toward a chair for Tabito. “I don’t know what’s right, Tabito.”
“You told her, then?”
“Yes. But it’s confusing for her, for me. And with Bannock out there now.…”
“You hired the man? To follow him?”
“The detective, yes. We should receive a telegram several times a week. And if anything is alarming, he’s to come here to report to me … or you.”
“Sell the gold, Bryce. Go East, but only to sell the gold and return. That far away, Bannock won’t learn you had it.”
“It will hold off the bank, see us through a winter. Not purchase new stock.”
“Then hold off the bank. Let the stock do as it may. You never know what the new year will bring. Wait. Trust. Hold.”
Bryce rose and ran a hand through his hair in agitation. “I cannot wait … It’s not the McAllan way.”
“It was your uncle’s way.”
“But not my father’s.”
“You do not fear Bannock’s return?”
“What does he have to gain? It’s very public that we have not mined any of the O’Toole property. If he asks anyone, he’d know that. And he knows nothing of this bar of gold—only you, Dess, and I know of it. Even I think it’s the only one, a bar that got separated from the rest at some point. We can’t make any sense of the marking in Louise’s Bible—she might have been as mischievous as her son, trying to lead us on some wild-goose chase.”
“Or not.”
Bryce shook his head. “No. I can’t follow that faint trail, Tabito.” He put his hands out as if holding a large ball. “I have to move forward with what I know, what is real, known to me now.” He paced back and forth, chin in hand, thinking. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I ought to go East, see if I might sell the gold, see if there is enough to purchase at least some stock from a breeder. It will be more expensive, but if the gold is worth enough, I could pay the bank what I owe and even gain eight mares, maybe a stallion …” He cocked his head to one side and stared at his friend. “We’d be ahead.”
“But you’d leave one very angry wife behind.”
Bryce stilled and stared at him. Then he nodded. “I would. She’d be furious. But it’s for our good, all our good that I must do this.”
“Send me. I’ll take the bar, buy horses if there is enough.”
Bryce hesitated. It was a good solution, wise. But Indians, even in a white man’s clothing, were notoriously taken advantage of. There would be no way he’d get a fair price.
Tabito, obviously reading his look, sighed and rose. “Then send Doc and Dietrich, men you trust, and who know a good horse when they see one.”
“Maybe.” Bryce looked up and smiled. “Maybe.” But even as the word left his mouth, he felt a shudder of doubt. What was the right course? And why was God being so silent?
Moira and the others settled back into life aboard ship, eager to forget the trauma that lay behind them. Five sailors and one passenger had died that night, all but two of them washed overboard. All six were remembered in a brief ceremony, and the remaining two bodies were buried at sea. To fight that night only to be relinquished to the waters, Moira thought, as she heard the splash below and closed her eyes.
She opened them and found herself looking into Daniel’s deep brown eyes. Even though she stood beside Gavin, it was as if Moira and Daniel were the only two on deck. He had avoided her since that night. Was he angry, jealous? She knew not what drove him, but at this point in her life, she preferred the clear, aboveboard communication that Gavin offered, rather than the mysterious, silent ways of Daniel. There were enough questions ahead that she didn’t need a man raising more for her.
She ripped her eyes away from him and back to the captain, who was completing his brief eulogy. Her gaze moved to the wall beyond him, where planks had been replaced, new bright-gold pine against a plane of gray, weathered wood. In three days they had repaired the ship and buried the dead, put everything back to rights. Sailors were nothing if not efficient.
Mrs. Olsen came up to them, smiling demurely at Gavin across from Moira. “We think it would be good to hold an Irish wake this night. Three of the sailors were Irish, and I do believe it will lift all our spirits. The captain has approved. Will you join us?”
“Certainly, certainly,” Gavin said. “Exactly what we all need to break us from this gloom and doom.” He moved off with Mrs. Olsen, chatting about the plans, but Moira turned to look for Daniel. Perhaps he needed a party too, to lift him from whatever darkness had descended upon him that night of the storm. Parties did good work on such a front. She knew this from experience.
But he was gone. In seconds the deck was empty, everyone hurrying inside to avoid the cold.
Moira blinked in surprise.
“Moira?” Gavin called. She turned, to see him standing beside Mrs. Olsen, both of them looking her way. “Are you coming, darling?”
Moira smiled. “Coming,” she said with a nod, staring at Gavin, so bright, so dapper in his crisp clothing. Even the healing gash at his head made him appear more gallant, intriguing. She pushed Daniel out of her mind, intent on the man before her.
If Daniel wished to live his life in shadow, that was up to him. For Moira, Gavin’s light was too bright to ignore.
Chapter 8
19 April 1887
Practically everyone aboard was gathered on deck the day they sailed into New York Harbor. Despite the cool weather, Gavin had encouraged her to don her coat and come outside a good hour earlier than the rest in order to secure their place at the rail. “You’ll wish to see the great lady. She’s new since you left America’s shores.”
He spoke, of course, about Lady Liberty, a gift from the French, who couldn’t seem to cease talking about it in Paris—never mind that Americans had had to raise funds to build a base in order to raise her. But when she came in sight, a glorious copper woman, stately, hopeful, Moira’s breath caught. Atop her pedestal, she was taller than Notre Dame’s bell towers and far more grand. She represented freedom for the thousands who continued to pour into the United States, all hungering to achieve, succeed, prosper—and believing that here, nothing could stand in their way.
And here, more than anywhere else in the world, they did have that opportunity. Moira had that opportunity. She wore a fine gown worth a hundred dollars, but she had precious little cash left to her name. How many others had arrived with but a few coins in their pockets only to find their way to independence, eve
n wealth? America, land of opportunity. Would Moira find her opportunity here now? An opportunity denied her almost four years ago?
Gavin edged an arm to her right, resting it on the rail, standing close to her, as if protecting her. And she drew comfort from it. No, the man wasn’t interested in finding a wife. He’d made that clear. But the two of them weren’t so different. They wanted the same things, independence, to use their abilities to their fullest. He pulled a tendril of curling blonde hair off her shoulder and tucked it behind her ear, a forward action, but welcome now after their two weeks of nonstop camaraderie. Moira shivered in delight at his touch. There was something about him that soothed and yet entranced her at the same time.
While her plans were to get to the train station as quickly as possible and begin seeking out a suitable Broadway agent, Gavin’s lingering questions about the wealth to be made out West kept echoing through her mind. Was she doing the right thing? She stared back at the statue as the ship moved by. In minutes, it was behind them. Others turned to leave, to go and gather their things, but Moira and Gavin stayed where they were.
“May I ask a favor of you, Moira?”
She glanced over her right shoulder, up at him. His sparkling blue eyes stared back at her from under the brim of a bowler hat. “You may.”
Gavin wrapped his other arm around her, a hand now on either side of her at the rail, his body precariously close to her own. He leaned his head around hers, his mustache tickling her ear as he said, “Can I convince you to not rush off? Would you dare to give me three days to convince you that I might be right?”
She smiled and moved slightly away from his face. “Convince me of what?”
“That you have more opportunity than you can imagine.”
“I’m quite capable of dreaming up my own dreams, thank you.”
“But what of our … friendship? Are you so anxious to be rid of me?” He was moving quietly, seductively. My, was he attractive …
She turned to face him. He made no move to release the rail. She glanced one way down the deck and then the other, surprised that they were so quickly, utterly alone, and that she felt no fear. A lifeboat hid them from view from anyone inside the main parlor. “I confess I am not anxious to be on my own. I believe a part of me shall miss you, Gavin.”
A tiny smile lurked at the edges of his lips. He moved his left hand to her neck, and she obediently bent it backward, preparing for the kiss she’d seen in his eyes for a week now. He leaned in slowly, hovering a hair’s breath from her lips. “Moira St. Clair,” he murmured, “are you possibly as innocent as you seem?”
A whisper of alarm went through her mind, but then he was kissing her, pulling her closer.
A man coughed, and Moira broke away. Gavin laughed and glanced guiltily in Daniel’s direction. “Lady Liberty inspired me to take my own liberties,” Gavin said with a roguish smile.
She felt the heat rise up her chest and neck, knowing she was blushing. How long had it been since a man had made her blush? It had been months, no years! But it hadn’t been Gavin’s forward ways … it was Daniel’s discovery, she realized.
“Yes, well …” Daniel said. He tentatively glanced their way. “I only wished to say good-bye. Forgive my intrusion.”
“No forgiveness needed, friend,” Gavin said, stepping toward him. “Perhaps our paths will cross again someday. Does your employer ever hire singers to entertain your constituents?”
Daniel’s eyes flicked to Moira and back to Gavin. “All the time.”
“Excellent,” Gavin said. He reached forward a hand. “We may find a way to repay you someday for coming to our aid.”
“No need.”
“It’s been a pleasure.”
“For me as well. Godspeed, Gavin. Moira.”
“Daniel,” she said with a nod. She stayed beside Gavin, but wished she could go after the other man, say a more proper and thorough farewell, but for once she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Nothing seemed right, adequate. After three weeks aboard ship, what they had survived, shared—not shared?—there was a connection that was something akin to family. And yet Daniel had made it clear he wished them all to stay at arm’s length.
“Gavin, what do you think Daniel’s story is? Why is he so sad, so secretive?” She glanced up at him, glad for the moment breaking the heat between them.
“Who knows, darling. The man is a mass of secrets, for certain. I’m more interested in unraveling yours.” Gavin took her hands in his, pulling her attention toward him. “My sweet, give me three days. Let me show you this city. And let us speak of what might be ahead of us.” He shook his head. “I have much business to attend to. But nothing could be more important to me than spending another minute with you. Shall you give it to me? Three days?”
Moira paused, unsure. Yet his blue eyes tugged at her. “I … I really shouldn’t … Gavin, to be frank, I really must use my time to secure my next role.”
“Think nothing of it,” he said with a flick of the hand. “Hold on to your precious savings. I have an apartment on the East Side … completely furnished. And utterly empty.”
Her hand went to her throat. “I couldn’t, Gavin. Stay with you?” What kind of woman did he think she was?
“Oh, darling, of course not! I will not be there. Unless, of course, you mean to forward an invitation,” he said, speaking in seductive undertones again and pulling her a bit closer. He abruptly took a step away, leaving her slightly dazed. Was she relieved? Or a bit sad that there was not to be another stolen moment? She could not see her way clear.
He reached a hand to his head, as if it ached. “Come, we must see to our trunks.” He reached out a hand. “You will do this, for me? Give me a few days? I cannot bear to say good-bye to you yet, Moira. Say you will.”
She paused, glancing down the gangplank. Daniel left, never looking back again.
The future seemed daunting. Perhaps a few days of rest would do her good, help her see her way clear. “All right, Gavin. I will stay.” But as she placed her hand in his, instead of the comfort she longed for, she felt a small tearing inside.
“You all right, darling?” he asked, giving her a quizzical look.
She turned away from him, facing the harbor, watching the people below. She would be. Somehow. Some way. She had to be.
“I’m fine, Gavin.” She glanced back up at him, over her shoulder, and smiled as he nuzzled her ear. “I’m fine.”
But as he continued to kiss her, growing more forward, Moira couldn’t keep her eyes from the tall, broad, dark haired man who shouldered a trunk and moved through the crowd, without ever looking back.
Daniel. Would she ever see him again?
Moira awakened in the middle of a massive, sumptuous bed and shivered as she realized how cold her nose was. She opened her eyes and gazed about the room. Gavin had hired a carriage to take them from port, up through Wall Street, which was silent on a Sunday, past St. Paul’s with its historic old bell, paused at a favorite restaurant to treat her to lunch, then up through the lovely lanes of Central Park, where he had opened a bottle of champagne and poured her a glass, and then another. The trees were budding, some already in full spring flower. “Just awakening to the edge of possibility, as you are, darling,” Gavin had said.
He’d dropped her off here, before nightfall, the perfect gentleman, along with a wedge of cheese, a vine full of grapes, and a long loaf of bread, purchased from the baker on the corner of the Italian district. He’d seen her in, helping her stow her things and then pausing in the doorway to kiss her softly on the lips.
“I feel terrible,” she said, as he slowly leaned away, “edging you out of your own apartment.”
“I have another,” he said.
“Who has a spare apartment in the city?” she asked.
“Anyone wealthy enough to wish it,” he said. Then with another kiss, he left her.
She had eaten and then fallen into his big bed covered in smooth russet silks. It was bound by four mass
ive posts, hand-carved by some East Indian laborer, undoubtedly. Above, flowing, shimmering golden fabric undulated over cross bars and down the end, giving her the fanciful idea of sleeping beneath a mosquito net. It had been deliciously enticing last night as she slipped beneath the covers, but now, in the brisk chill of morning, she felt alone. For years she had had a servant to light a morning fire, fetch her tea and a robe. Even aboard ship, where there were no personal servants, the cook still lit fires and heated water for coffee and tea.
Oh well, she decided. If she was to be an independent woman she would have to do some things for herself. She cast aside the covers and scurried to her trunk, hurriedly donning a dress and her mink wrap, then slipping her feet into a delicate pair of slippers. While the shoes didn’t warm her feet, at least they kept them off the cold marble floors. She moved around the room, looking more carefully at the books and pictures on the wall, each testifying to Gavin’s mysterious past and experience, making Moira long to know more of him.
There were woodcut prints and metallic etchings from far-off countries, mostly of women. She studied their gowns, tucking details into her memory to pass along to costumers in future operas. She had made her way into the hall, still studying each item as she moved, when a swift rap at the door, followed by a key in the lock made her gasp. She took a step back and then sighed in relief as Gavin came through.
He was impeccably dressed, from head to toe the dapper gentleman. But his eyes were on her, slowly moving from her feet to her hair. He shook his head slowly and gently set down his cane. “Never, Moira, never,” he said lowly, moving toward her, then wrapping a wide hand around her lower back and easing her toward him, “even that night aboard ship when you were a soaked siren,” he whispered, studying her face, then lifting another hand to finger a coil of her hair, “never … have you looked more enticing.”
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