Beyond This Moment (23 page)

Laughing, Brookston tossed a sugar stick at him. James caught it one-handed and popped it in his mouth.

Grateful for James's shifting the focus from her, Molly didn't have any trouble imagining both of these men in childhood years, tromping to their respective creeks, fishing poles in hand, and pockets stuffed with worms.

Dr. Brookston raised his candy in mock salute. "If you'll both excuse me, please, I need to catch some families before they leave. Dr. Whitcomb, it was a pleasure to finally meet you:"

"You as well, Doctor:" Watching him go, she worked to suppress a yawn.

James shifted Kurt's weight in his arms. "I need to see Rachel and the boys home directly. It's past the boys' bedtimes:'

Molly patted Kurt's back. "Yes, I can see that. And it's past mine too!"

He smiled. "Rachel's still outside, visiting with a friend. Mitch is with her. But ... I'd be honored to see you home first, if you're ready to go. Since it's dark out:"

Molly glanced at the open window. Sure enough, the sun had long since set. "I'd appreciate your escort, Sheriff. Thank you."

As they walked, she swirled the stick candy between her lips. Grape. Her favorite. "Something I've been meaning to ask you ... Where might I buy a horse other than from Mr. Atwood at the livery?"

"Didn't care for Mr. Atwood, did you?"

"It's not that. Well ... not entirely. Let's just say I wasn't impressed with a certain offer he made me"

"Fair enough. I'll have him arrested first thing in the morning:"

She laughed, knowing he was kidding yet enjoying the seriousness in his tone. She could barely make out his dark outline beside her, and that of Kurt's sleeping form cuddled against his chest. It was a touching picture, and one she tucked away for later.

The cabin loomed ahead, lightless and uninviting. She appreciated the cabin's seclusion and the quiet it offered, but sometimes she wished it were closer to town.

"I'll check with a couple of ranchers in town. Rachel might be interested in selling a horse too. I could ask her, if you'd like:"

"Yes, please:" Though slightly embarrassed to broach the next subject, Molly needed to know. "I realize I haven't been here long, James, and that I haven't started teaching yet, but my funds are fairly limited, and I'm wondering whe-"

"When you're going to be paid" He sighed. "I'm sorry. Some kind of go-between I am. An account's been set up for you at the bank here in town. Your first month's salary, plus some extra for moving expenses, according to the agreement, should have been deposited into your account this week. If the money's not there, let me know and I'll track it down for you:"

"I'll do that. Thank you:"

They paused at the bottom of the porch stairs. "Why don't you go on inside, get a lamp lit. I'll wait here:"

"You just read my mind, thank you:'

Holding the stick candy between her front teeth, she fumbled to get her key into the lock, finally managed it, and lit the lamp she'd left on the kitchen table. Feeling braver knowing James was outside, she made a quick check of the cabin, unable to account for her reluctance but feeling better once she discovered everything was as she'd left it.

Candy in one hand and lamp in the other, she walked back to the porch.

"All okay?" he asked.

"Yes, everything's fine. Thank you for waiting, and for seeing me home."

The way he stood there, one boot poised on the bottom stair, his nephew snuggled dead-to-the-world against him, and with that silly sugar stick between his lips, she found herself more than a little attracted to the man.

He slipped the candy from his mouth. "You did good tonight, Molly. Up there in front of everybody. Especially when Davenport put you on the spot like that:"

She balanced the oil lamp on the porch railing. "You noticed?"

He nodded. "But only because I know him so well. I doubt anyone else did:"

"He was paying me back:"

"Yes, he was" He smiled. "But that only proves you got him good and flustered the day he was out here:"

"The day I scared the livin' daylights outta you?" She laughed.

"Yes, ma'am;' he whispered. "That's the day I'm thinking of." Kurt sighed and his little head dipped forward. James eased it back to his shoulder. "I need to get this tired little bronco on home:' He kissed the top of the boy's head.

Molly watched him, having no business imagining what she was imagining at that moment, which was what it would be like to kiss this man, and to have him kiss her, to be the object of his desire. And even more, to be worthy of it. But some things, once gone, couldn't be regained.

The secret nestled inside her-its tiny heart beating as surely as hers was now, though she couldn't feel it yet-would soon be making its presence known. God help me in that moment. And in this one now...

James moved up a step, surprising her, his expression reminiscent of the little boy in his arms. "Rachel and I used to do something as kids" He held out his sugar stick.

Molly stared, not following.

"Hold yours out;' he said softly.

She did and he touched the end of his to hers. Once, twice.

She giggled, feeling like a child. "What does this mean?"

"You might say it's a kind of toast, I guess. When Rachel and I were little, we crept downstairs one night to spy on a fancy party our parents were hosting. All the grown-ups were in their finery, raising their glasses in a toast, and Rachel wanted to do it too. But I knew my father would tan our backsides-mine especially-if he caught us out of bed. Much less if we got into the champagne at that age:" He shook his head. "But Rachel had her heart set on taking part in the evening. So.. " He sighed. "I snuck down real careful-like, crawled beneath the dining room table, and waited for just the right minute-then snatched something off the dessert tray and hightailed it back upstairs. We toasted with that instead:'

Molly smiled. "What did you take from the tray?"

He looked down, scuffing the wooden plank with the toe of his boot. "Couple of ladyfingers."

She laughed, picturing the scene. Oh, this man ...

He laughed along with her, and then the quiet of night slowly crept back around them. The singsong trickle of the stream behind the cabin filled the silence.

James touched his sugar stick to hers again and held it there. "I'd like to raise a toast to you, Molly Whitcomb. For your bravery in coming west when you could've stayed right where you were and had a fine, safe life:"

Sincerity deepened his gaze, and Molly told herself not to cry.

"For all the pain you've endured in recent months-the loss of your father, and of ... your husband. And for all the joy I pray that your future holds:"

A tear slipped down her cheek If only she'd known James McPherson had been waiting in her future, she would have chosen differently. Then again, would he have been in her future had she not made such a poor choice to begin with?

He held her gaze. "And for the difference you're already making in this town. In the lives of its children and their parents. And in the lives of so many others:'

Wordlessly, he slipped the candy back into his mouth, tugged the brim of his hat, and turned to walk away.

Molly watched his shadowed form until she couldn't distinguish it from the darkness, then went inside, closed the door behind her and locked it, and walked into the bedroom. With a quick breath, she snuffed out the flickering flame of the oil lamp, and crawled beneath the chilled covers.

She searched the darkness, shivering. "Heavenly Father, why am I here?" Why did you bringme here? Her coming to Timber Ridge had been more of a punishment than a choice. But since the first day she arrived, she'd felt more blessed than cursed. And she hadn't been able to figure out what God was doing....

Until a moment ago.

God was meting out justice, teaching her a lesson. Only, she hadn't expected Him to do it in such a cruel and teasing way. A sob wrenched up from somewhere deep inside her.

She turned onto her side and stared through the window at the thumbnail moon. A pain, sharp-edged and strong-willed, throbbed hot inside her chest, and she wrapped her arms around herself and her unborn child.

Not only was she bearing the consequence of having given herself to a man who wasn't her husband, but she was being made to witness what her life might have been like had she not chosen so poorly. The cruel irony of that thought caught like a rusty nail over silk and tore at something deep inside her.

It wasn't simply that the consequence of sin was causing such pain in her life, as costly as that was and would be. It was what sin robbed from her future-the possibility of who she might have become, and of what she might have done with her life-that made sin so heinous.

It was funny, in a brutal sort of way.... The characteristics that attracted her to James-his integrity, his honor, his unwavering sense of duty-were the very traits that would prevent him from ever really caring about her once he saw her for who she really was.

But apparently that was God's punishment for her sin. If so, He'd hit His mark.

18

olly could hardly believe the morning had finally arrived-the first day of school.

She peered out the window of the cabin. The palest hint of pink tinged the dark eastern horizon. Apparently the sun was still contemplating whether or not to awaken. But Molly had hardly been able to sleep for her excitement. Already, she was up and dressed with her satchel packed and ready by the door.

And yet along with her excitement was woven a strand of uncertainty.

She stepped outside and drew in a breath of cool mountain air. Her lungs tingled with the chill of it, and she tasted a hint of approaching fall-that sweet, sometimes elusive promise of leaves turning crimson and gold, and of nature stripping branches bare to reveal the intricacies of God's handiwork beneath.

Hidden somewhere high above her in the trees, a bird warbled a tune as though he'd been saving up for days. Surely he'd have to stop for breath soon.

Despite her past experience with teaching children, she pledged again to do everything she could to make Timber Ridge's school a success. And not just a success-she would make it the best it could be. The rustle of leaves drew her gaze to the bottom porch step and she pictured James standing there, sugar stick in hand.

She'd only seen him in passing since that evening of the town council meeting.

Something had definitely changed between them, though she couldn't rightly put it into words. It was as if they shared a secret. A secret paid homage to only with glances and smiles.

If she'd had any question about her attraction to him, it had been answered that evening with his "toast." Simply thinking about how he'd looked at her made her heart do an odd stuttered skip, and made her more determined than ever to remain "only" friends.

She'd stopped by Dr. Brookston's clinic last week, and-to her partial relief-he hadn't been in. She'd left a note so he would know she'd made the effort. With her waist and middle thickening by the day, it felt like, it would be best to get the examination completed before letting too many more days pass.

The whistle of the teakettle called her back inside, and she divided the boiling water between a pot of oatmeal and a cup containing the last of her tea leaves. Her stomach growling, she dropped the last bit of butter into the oatmeal and watched it melt. She hadn't experienced morning sickness in several days. Perhaps she was beyond that now.

She'd awakened with the sniffles and a tickle in her throat, but a warm breakfast should see to that. She hoped each of her students was having a good breakfast, but recalling two or three of the houses-or shacks, as they were-that her students called home, she realized that was unlikely.

Angelo Giordano.

The boy's face appeared clearly in her memory. She'd thought of him numerous times in recent days, and intended on visiting him, as promised. The next time she saw James, she would inquire as to whether or not a job had panned out for the boy.

She sat down at the table, the aroma of oatmeal and cinnamon wafting together with the crisp scent of steeping peppermint tea. She bowed her head and stared through the steam rising from her bowl, thankful for so many things. And yet feeling so very far away from the One to whom she needed-and wanted-to offer her thanks. She slowly lifted her head and looked around the room, waiting, listening. For what, exactly, she wasn't sure.

Ever since the night of the town council meeting, after James walked her home, she'd felt as though she and God were at an impasse. As if both of them were waiting for the other to take the first step. Deep down, she knew what He wanted her to do. But what He wanted was asking too much.

How could she be expected to start over, to have any kind of future for her baby, and herself, if everyone in Timber Ridge knew the truth about her past?

She skimmed her spoon over the top of her oatmeal, then took a bite, and another. It warmed a path down her throat and into her belly. And with deliberate effort, she steered her thoughts toward the day ahead.

She had no doubt she could teach Timber Ridge's children. She'd been trained in studies far more rigorous than anything she would be called on to teach in a one-room schoolhouse. She'd taught college students, for heaven's sake, and had been challenged by them in classintelligent young men and women only slightly younger than she, who were more advanced academically than any of the students who would fill the seats in that schoolhouse today.