HT02 - Sing: A Novel of Colorado by Lisa T. Bergren

his insight. And yet she couldn’t really argue against it. A part of her did miss family, yet a bigger part still longed to make a mark in the world. She had just begun to feel that in Paris.…
    “Moira, you might love it, out there on the frontier.”
    She set down her cup. “Love it? I’ve lived in Colorado before. We went to seek the cure for my elder sister, Odessa.”
    Gavin blinked in surprise but remained silent as she went on. “I love that the mountain air cured my sister, but I didn’t love living on the frontier.”
    “Where did you live?” Gavin asked.
    “I was in Colorado Springs. And I heard the only way to get around in the mountains is in a rickety carriage, traveling among horrible, mud-soaked roads. That hardly speaks of any kind of home that I might be longing for.” What did this man know of her, really? He didn’t know of how hard she had worked to get this far, to achieve what she had. And now he suggested she relinquish her hard-won reputation for … what, exactly? He didn’t even know!
    “Of course there might be risks, challenges. But think about it. We began this conversation speaking of trade. And I see significant opportunity here. A singer without a stage. Many stages without a singer. You’ve made one of the finest stages in the world—Opera Comiqué—your own. Why not carve out yet another niche for yourself?” He rose with her, sensing her irritation. “If you dare.”
    “If I dare!” she sputtered.
    “If you dare,” he said with a grin.

    The storm had been building for days. Daniel knew after a turn around the deck and from the gruff expressions of the sailors he passed that it would be a rough night. He turned into his tiny private cabin several hours later, eyeing the door five down that he knew was Moira’s. For all her worldliness, the girl was young and somewhat naive. Did she fully recognize the dangers of being at sea—and from men such as Gavin Knapp?
    He stood there a moment, wondering what it was about the little spitfire that so intrigued him. Perhaps it was that she was so utterly different than his wife … Mary had been quiet, almost stoic. They could spend hours in companionable silence, communicating at times with a single look or gesture. Theirs had been the most peaceful relationship he’d ever known, and yet deeply passionate.
    Daniel looked down the hall again, imagining Moira inside. That one wore her passion on her sleeve. He closed the door, deciding Moira St. Clair was no concern of his. He was to look after his boss’s shipment and return to his quiet life in Leadville. That was his only charter.
    He climbed into his bunk and rocked against the side panels, so heavy were the seas. He forced himself to think of Mary, finding comfort in familiar old sorrow rather than the agitation of new intrigue. Mary, dear God, Mary … more than two years ago now …

    Daniel awoke when a wave hit the ship with such force that he rolled over the barrier bar and onto the floor. He blinked, trying to see anything in the India-ink darkness and make sense of where he was. The wave passed and he rolled back again, hitting the bunk with a grunt. He grasped hold of the wood and hauled himself upright. Outside in the hallway he could hear faint calls for help, moaning. Were people injured?
    He found his trousers and fell into his bunk to put them on, leaning against the next wave, swiftly buttoning them with one hand and holding on to the far side panel as the boat rocked to nearly a forty-five degree angle. If this kept up, they would be in danger of capsizing. They needed to get upstairs, to the parlor, all the passengers. Somewhere they’d have a chance of escaping.
    Daniel tried to move cautiously to the door, but was again thrust to the far side of his narrow room. He grimaced and felt for the knob, found it and pulled it open. In the hallway a lantern swung from a central hook, confirming what he already knew. The ship was in trouble. Ten passengers were