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

for three years, Bryce. Breathing free.” Samuel’s full-blown wail brought her head up and around. “I have to go to him. But please, think about it.”
    “You think I haven’t?” he said. “You think I’ve made this decision lightly?”
    She turned on the stairs to face him again.
    “Everything I do, I do for you and Samuel, Dess.”
    “Not this,” she said, shaking her head and crossing her arms. She pointed at him. “This … this is something different. Pride? Fear? What is it? You can’t face your older brother in the midst of a hard year?”
    “Stop, Odessa,” he warned.
    Samuel coughed, he was crying so hard, but Odessa still stared at Bryce, now shaking in anger. Never had he seen her so furious, until just a couple of nights ago when she learned that he’d known Reid Bannock had been released and had not told her. “You would leave us here? To run the ranch—”
    “Tabito can run the ranch.”
    “You would leave us here, when Reid Bannock might show up again? How is that caring for me and Samuel, Bryce?” She shook her head. “No, this is not about us. This is about you.”
    “Regardless, I must find a way to supplement the herd and help us through the year. You don’t seem to understand that there is not enough to make it through.”
    “Can we borrow from the bank?”
    He shook his head. “Not this year.”
    “Maybe … maybe your brother can lend us money.”
    He looked up at her and frowned. “You know how it is with us. I don’t want him in my affairs any more than is absolutely necessary.”
    She looked to the window, arms crossed, thinking for a moment, then back to him. “Then cash in on the gold bar we found in Louise’s cabin.”
    His frown deepened and he brought a finger to his lips, shushing her. Harold Rollins was sick in bed, in the parlor below them, but the man still had ears. “We agreed to not speak of it again,” he whispered.
    “No, that was how you wanted it, and I went along with it for a time. Since we couldn’t find the rest, it hardly mattered. But Bryce, that bar could see us at least partway through another winter, help us get our feet under us again.”
    Bryce rose and walked over to her. “You’re the one who fears that Bannock will return. If he hears we have conquistador gold, he will find a way back to us, Dess. And he won’t be alone.”
    She lifted her chin and her eyes grew more defiant. “Then let’s melt it down here so there are no markings and divide it into smaller, less obvious pieces. You can take them to California, if you have to, to exchange it for cash. California won’t kill you; Spain might.” Her eyes softened and she came over to him. “Don’t you see, Bryce? This could be God’s provision, His way of seeing us through a trying year. Why not utilize what He has given us?”

8 April 1887
Our visitor, Harold Rollins, has moved to the bunkhouse. The men are under strict orders to treat him with respect, but none can avoid the fact that he remains only because Sheriff Olsbo has forebade him to leave; he must remain three more weeks to make sure that his remaining eight horses are free of disease and will not infect any other ranchers as they have ours.
Three of our yearlings and two mares are showing signs of the strangles. I can feel the swellings along their jaw lines. Bryce is beside himself, since we must begin the breeding process, and yet he hesitates, not wishing to risk the health of either dam or foal if strangles occurs. But which to breed? Which to segregate? Put down the ill or hope for recovery? I notice he is not as eager to put down our horses as he was Harold’s, and this seems to trouble him too.
    Odessa walked with the baby down to the stables, intent on looking in on the twelve young foals that had managed to survive the blizzard. Not one of them showed signs of the strangles, and she had taken to looking in on them each day, finding hope, vision for their future, every time she gazed at them across the