Beyond This Moment (13 page)

She gave a laugh. "I did not!"

He nodded. "You did:" A mischievous gleam lit his eyes, as when he kidded with the boys or with Rachel. Only, when the smile was aimed her way, Molly found it had quite a different effect on her.

She retreated behind the desk.

"I tend to watch people;' he said. "Goes with the job, I guess. I didn't mean any offense:"

"No offense was taken, Sheriff." She smiled as though what he'd said was of little consequence and gave the pedestaled globe on her desk a spin, thankful when he crossed the room to the window.

The world skimmed by beneath her fingertips, and with each revolution, she grew more determined to move into the boardinghouse by that evening. She liked James, Rachel, and the boys, and appreciated their offered friendship, but close friendships were the last thing she needed in her life. It would be best-for all involved-if she were on her own.

She stopped the globe and found North America facing upward. Locating the state of Georgia, she drew her finger over the hundreds of miles she'd traveled to get to the western territories. Colorado truly was another world away. And despite the second chance at life God had given her on that cliff, she couldn't forget what had prompted her move out west. She pressed a hand to her abdomen. As though forgetting were a possibility.

"Have you seen the view from this window yet?"

Knowing how proud James was of the surrounding mountains, and with reason, she indulged him and joined him at the window. The view was indeed spectacular-the snow-covered peaks, the sunlight playing across the lake. She sighed. "How will the children ever get any work done with all this to look at?"

He didn't answer.

She looked over at him, but he simply nodded again out the window.

"Take a better look;' he said softly. "A little to your right:'

She did as he asked. "I'm sorry, but I don't see anyth-" She pressed closer. Her breath fogged the pane.

There, nestled at the base of the Maroon Bells, not far from the lake and partially shielded by a stand of trees, was a cabin. She could only see the edge of it from where she stood. Something Rachel had said came back to her, and she looked up at him. "Is that yours? I mean, where you lived before you moved in with Rachel and the boys?"

"No, ma'am." He slipped his hat on and held out his arm as though to escort her somewhere. "The town got together and built it ... for the new schoolteacher in Timber Ridge:"

10

dyllic was the first word that came to Molly's mind as the cabin came into view. She'd seen an Albert Bierstadt painting a handful of years ago, of a mountain scene with a cabin by a stream. The Rocky Mountains, she thought, but couldn't be sure. All she remembered was wishing then that she could walk straight into that painting and live there.

And now, in this moment, she felt as if she had.

She walked beside James, hand tucked in the crook of his arm, the field grass crunching beneath their feet. A breeze rippled across the surface of the lake, sending tiny waves lapping the muddy banks. Rachel's and the boys' laughter carried from the play area across the meadow, and Molly couldn't recall ever hearing a more harmonious blend of sounds.

My first home ... Of her own. Not her parents' home, but hers.

It didn't seem real. And she reminded herself that it might not be if Bolden and others on the town council disapproved of her. Staring ahead at the cabin, and thinking of the child inside her, she untwined her arm from James's and prayed that wouldn't be the case.

On either side of the cabin's front porch, flower boxes adorned the windows. Riots of color spilled over their sides. A woman's touch ... Rachel's, perhaps. Trees bordered the cabin on all sides but the front, and the exaggerated scent of fresh-cut pine greeted her as she drew closer.

"Would you care to see inside?"

The way James asked the question told her he'd noticed her reticence, and she gathered her scattered thoughts. "Yes ... I would. Thank you."

He took the pair of porch stairs as one and opened the front door.

She stepped inside. Furniture. The cabin already had furniture. A plum-colored sofa and matching wingback chair anchored a blue-andyellow corded rug, and a table with a lace doily nested between them. A small kitchen table with two chairs huddled cozily beneath the window on the far wall, and looking through the open door into the next room, she spotted a bed and chifforobe. And in her mind's eye, she pictured a cradle in the corner.

"It's only got two rooms, but they're a nice size:" He motioned. "The smaller room is your bedroom, and-as you can see-this larger one is your sitting room and kitchen. It's nearly done. They've got some final roof work to do along the sides and back, and then it'll be ready to move into."

She ran a hand along the back of the sofa. "I hardly know what to say.

"So this meets with your approval too?"

Her laughter came out breathy. "Do you even have to ask?" She looked out a back window to see a swiftly running stream behind the cabin, and a question rose inside her.

Why?

Why, after what she'd done, would God give her this? It didn't make any sense.

James came to stand beside her. "Are you all right, Molly?"

She nodded. "Yes, I'm fine:" But she wasn't.

Little more than three weeks ago, she'd never heard of Timber Ridge. Then it quickly became a symbol of punishment and penance. And today she stood looking at all this, the red dirt of Georgia still clinging to her boots, and she couldn't understand what God was doing.

Part of her wanted to thank Him for His undeserved gift, while another part of her, a small but vocal part, was waiting for the other shoe to drop. God loved her, she knew, but people had to pay for their wrongs. That was the way of things.

"Sheriff McPherson! You in there?" someone yelled.

James peered out a front window and gave a sharp exhale. "You best stay inside and let me handle this."

Molly came alongside him to spot Bolden, Angelo's accuser, marching across the field with another gentleman. The second man wasn't as tall, but he carried his weight across his shoulders and chest, which gave him an imposing presence. And he moved at a blistering pace. Even at this distance, she could see the man's neck flushing crimson, and the color extended into his face.

He reminded her of someone, but she couldn't recall who. "Who's that with Mr. Bolden?"

"That's Mayor Davenport. Bolden's his brother-in-law. And my guess would be that the mayor's learned of your arrival."

The way he said it, Molly knew he was referring to her being "widowed:'

"He looks angry." More in a mood to fire than a mood to hire.

James nodded. "He's got a temper-that's for sure:"

"I didn't mean to cause such a problem."

He didn't answer right off, then finally turned to her. "We maybe out west, Molly, but along with furniture and keepsakes, people move their traditions with them too. Schoolteachers have always been unmarried:" He looked at her as if to say, "You know that as well as I do."

"And even though you are unmarried again, there are some people who won't see it that way." He glanced back outside. "And here come two of them right now."

Speechless in the face of James's honesty, Molly watched the mayor through the window, noting the intensity in his eyes and the sharp confidence in his movements. And she realized who it was he reminded her of-President Northrop. And the heat of indignation simmered inside her.

"Molly?"

She turned to see James by the door.

"Promise me you'll stay inside until they're gone."

She shook her head. "I think it'd be best if I go ahead and get this meeting over with." If she wasn't going to be hired, it was best to find that out right away. Her heart was already putting down roots in this place, and with these people. If she was leaving-she whispered a prayer she doubted God heard-she needed to know.

"You need to meet Mayor Davenport, I agree, Molly. But now's not the time. It'll be better once he's cooled down, and when the town council is convened." James opened the door as if the issue were settled. `And one more thing ... David Davenport doesn't favor the immigrants being in Timber Ridge. If he had his druthers, they'd be packed up and headed down the mountain by nightfall-every last one of them. So while I appreciate what you did earlier in town with Angelo, very much ... I'm afraid that's already made you an adversary in Davenport's book:'

James closed the door behind him, hoping Molly would do as he said and stay put. He was certain the men wouldn't do anything to threaten her physically-Davenport, anyway-but they were formidable men, and when paired, their intelligence and decency seemed to diminish at a rapid pace.

"The woman lied, Sherifl?" Purplish veins bulged in Mayor Davenport's neck. "She's married! And do I hear the news from you? No! I have to hear it from Brandon Tolliver!"

James held up a hand. "Tolliver told you wrong, sir. Mrs. Whitcomb is not married. She's widowed:"

This news seemed to catch Davenport unaware, but he quickly recovered. "Widowed is still not unmarried, Sheriff McPherson. Have you allowed her to sign the contract yet?"

James shifted his weight, eying the man. He had Molly's contract in his desk drawer at his office. He was supposed to have had her sign it upon her arrival. And though that had been tempting after meeting her ... "You know me better than that, Mayor. This is not one man's decision. It's for the town council to decide. So no, I haven't given her the contract yet." Though he knew that if he could win Davenport's favor, Bolden and the rest of the men in the mayor's pocket would follow like little ducklings.

Davenport exhaled through his teeth, jaw rigid. "If you remember correctly, Sheriff, you're the one who said she was most qualified for this job:"

"She was and still is the most qualified candidate, Mayor:" James kept his tone even. "That's why we chose her. Her husband passed away three months ago, before she applied for this position:"

"But her correspondence stated that-"

"Her correspondence;' James interrupted, mindful that Molly might be able to hear him, "simply referred to her as Dr. Whitcomb. So she did not lie to us. It was just a misunderstanding. Now, as I see things, with only two weeks to go before school starts-"

"Bolden here tells me she interfered with a situation in town this afternoon. That an immigrant boy stole something from Bolden's bakery. Sounds like he's a conniving little thief who needs to be tried accordingly."

James couldn't resist. "Which one, sir? Bolden or the boy?"

Davenport's starched collar seemed to shrink by two sizes. "Do you or do you not have plans to pursue that boy on charges of theft, Sheriff McPherson?"

Bolden stood wordless, his silence bleeding satisfaction.

"I have no intention of pursuing that boy on charges of any kind, Mayor. Bolden hired him, the boy worked for him, and then Bolden refused to pay the promised wages. Thanks to Mrs. Whitcomb, who interpreted, and to Lyda Mullins, who confirmed she saw the boy working for your brother-in-law here, I'm satisfied that I reached the truth in that situation:'

"You're satisfied?" Mayor Davenport said, his voice low. "Let me tell you something, McPherson. Elections for sheriff of this town come up next spring, and we'll see how satisfied you are then:" He pointed a finger, his voice lowering. "I've been telling the good people of Timber Ridge that we hired the finest possible teacher for their children. And I don't care how busy your office is, I'm placing you personally responsible for seeing that she does her job, and that she does it exactly to our specifications. Because if she doesn't-"

James heard the door of the cabin open behind him. Davenport and Bolden looked up in unison.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen." Molly's voice was gentle as the breeze, steady and confident. Though a mite thick on the accent.

She fairly floated down the stairs, and James wanted to wring that pretty little neck of hers for not staying hidden. In their current state of froth, Bolden and Davenport could easily eat her alive. Not that he would let them.

"I couldn't help but overhear portions of your conversation, gentlemen, and I wanted to take this opportunity to introduce myself. I'm Dr. Molly Whitcomb from Franklin College in Georgia. And I appreciate the opportunity you've given me, Mayor Davenport, along with the town council, to serve as the teacher here in Timber Ridge:'

Her gaze barely brushed Hank Bolden, and James felt the man bristle in response. When Molly looked at Mayor Davenport, however, the man reacted quite differently. David Davenport took Molly in from head to toe, assessing as he went, his thoughts plain as day to any other redblooded male.

If James wasn't mistaken, Davenport sucked in his gut. It wasn't the first time he'd seen the town's mayor change tune when faced with a beautiful woman.

"Mrs. Whitcomb.. " Davenport cleared his throat. "This is indeed a pleasure, ma'am. But I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were in our company." He shot James a look. "I trust your sojourn to Timber Ridge was a pleasant one:'