Beyond This Moment (9 page)

She was sore from yesterday's "crash;' as Rachel's younger son, Kurt, had referred to it, and her head ached, but the willow-bark tea Rachel had made was helping. Thankful the earlier bout of queasiness had passed, Molly smoothed a hand over her still-flat stomach, knowing it wouldn't be flat for much longer. What would she do then, once she started to show?

"We don't have many secrets among us," James had said last night. "Or if we do, we don't keep them long."

She searched her reflection in the mirror, able to see the deception so clearly in the dark half-moons beneath her eyes and in the tiny creases in her forehead that never seemed to smooth away. She looked as pale as she felt, and the black dress only washed out her already fair complexion and hair.

How far developed was the child inside her? Was it a boy or a girl? Did he or she have fingers and toes yet? During the night she'd awakened, and it had occurred to her that the trauma from yesterday might have affected the baby. She'd checked for bleeding then, and again this morning, but her concern proved unwarranted. The baby's life appeared to be unharmed-and still on course to change hers irrevocably.

And those were changes Molly didn't welcome. How could she? Knowing what was coming. And though she honestly didn't wish any harm to come to the child, she did wish it had never been conceived, which made her wonder again how Jeremy could ever have suggested what he did. She'd debated on whether or not to tell him about the baby. But finally, she'd decided she owed him that much, his being the father. His response had been chilling, and had shown what kind of man he really was. How could he begin to fathom putting an end to a child's life? She regretted its existence, but she could never follow through with what he'd suggested.

She pressed lightly on her abdomen. Could one so young and defenseless sense the depth of its mother's love and affection? For the child's sake, she hoped not.

Knowing Rachel and the boys were likely waiting on her to go into town, Molly threw the sheet over the bed and followed with the quilt. She hadn't said anything about it to Rachel, but she planned on moving to the boardinghouse today. She appreciated Rachel's hospitality, and James's generosity in giving her his bed last night, but staying in the home of the most powerful authority in Timber Ridge, or one of them at least, was not where she wanted to be. Much less sleeping in the man's bed. She'd had her fill of men in authority and of their having influence over her life.

A knock sounded.

"Molly?" Rachel's voice carried through the closed bedroom door. "The boys and I will meet you by the wagon, all right?"

Molly opened the door. "Thank you for your patience, Rachel. I'm nearly ready." She smoothed a hand over the delicate lace-tiered skirt, sensing approval in Rachel's soft exhale. "Thank you again for being so generous with this:"

"It's beautiful on you, and looks like it fits well:"

"It does:" And would, at least for a little while. "I'll take extra care with it, I promise. And I'll return it as soon as my trunks arrive:"

"You can keep it for as long you need:" Rachel's look grew reminiscent. "Come October, two years will have passed since my Thomas was killed. It's time for me to move on, I know. Some would say it's past time:" Her fingers trailed the waistband of her dark blue skirt. "I started wearing colors again a month ago:'

Molly hardly considered that dark a blue a "color" but said nothing.

"Out here, men and women tend not to wait as long as they do back east before moving ahead with life and remarrying. It's not that people don't miss their loved ones. They do-it's just that, typically, there are no other family members. And there are children to be raised and ranches to be run:" A fragile look crept in behind Rachel's eyes. "If not for James, I don't know what I would have done. Or would've had to do. He moved in right after and took over responsibilities I just couldn't handle at the time:"

Molly imagined the number of men who must have lined up to court the beautiful young Widow Boyd, especially with a ranch as part of the deal. "I'm guessing you had plenty of eager suitors:"

Rachel's cheeks pinkened. "Thomas hadn't been buried two months when they started calling on me. But having the sheriff for a big brother provided a strong deterrent:" Her smile was sheepish.

I can well imagine, having seen him in action yesterday. He can be quite ... commanding:' Which was all the more reason for her to be out of Rachel's house and on her own.

Rachel touched her arm. "Is your stomach still upset? Because if you need to see a doctor, we can stop by his office while were in town:"

"No, no, I'm fine now." Molly shook her head. When the bout of nausea had hit earlier, Rachel had insisted on accompanying her to the privy. "Too many trains and stagecoaches, I'm thinking:" The last thing she needed was a visit to the town doctor. That was one person she wouldn't be able to fool for long.

Rachel motioned down the hallway. "Take your time, and come on out when you're ready."

Leaving the door ajar, Molly finished getting ready and worked the last few hairpins into place. Two books on James's dresser drew her attention, as they had last night, and told her something of the man who lived in this room. Her gaze went to the Bible with its cracked, worn leather binding, then to the thick volume entitled Unchanging Laws of These United States. Shreds of paper were tucked at odd angles every few pages.

Neither of the volumes was surprising, considering her initial impression of the man. She had a feeling that James McPherson on the outside was exactly who he was on the inside. She turned away from her reflection.

After putting the room to right, she joined Rachel and her sons out front, doing her best to avoid puddles from yesterday's rain. She gathered the full skirt of the black dress and climbed up to the bench seat. Rachel was busy doing something with the harnesses, and Molly admired her skill, which was far above her own. She knew how to harness a single mount but not a team. And she certainly didn't know how to hitch a wagon. Rachel seemed to know how to do it all.

With yesterday's accident still close in mind, Molly was none too eager to chance the winding mountain roads in a wagon or coach again. But like James, Rachel inspired trust, and Molly determined to sit back and not grip the seat-too tightly.

It had been dark when she and James arrived last night, so other than quick trips to and from the privy, she hadn't seen the land surrounding the homestead.

The cabin was ample size, and though it still fell within the parameters of "rustic;' obvious care had been given to the finish work around the doors and windows. Southern influences abounded in the wide front porch and thick pine columns framing the front entrance. Studying the detailed workmanship, Molly caught a glimpse of the talented man and attentive husband Thomas Boyd must have been.

She breathed deeply the scent of evergreens and of something sweet she couldn't quite identify, surprised at how cool the air still was, and with August just around the corner. Rachel wasn't wearing a wrap, so Molly had hesitated asking for one. People probably grew accustomed to the chill in the mountain air much like they grew accustomed to the heavy days of summer back in Georgia. Only, the chilly temperature was a far more pleasant adjustment.

Rachel climbed up beside her and gathered the reins. Molly heard a sniffing sound to her left and turned.

Kurt was leaning close, smiling. He sniffed again. "You smell good, teacher:"

"Kurt!" Rachel shot her younger son a reproving look. "It's not polite for a boy to comment on how a woman smells. And you need to address your new teacher as Mrs. Whitcomb:"

Kurt's mouth pulled to one side. "Yes, ma'am;' he said quietly, watching Molly with curiosity and not just a little mischief.

Still wary of the gleam in the boy's eyes, Molly gave her soon-tobe-student a hesitant smile. When sunlight hit the boy's red hair, the rays turned it an autumn blaze color, reminding her of fall in the Smoky Mountains.

Mitchell hunched over the back of the seat beside his brother. "Mama, can we go by Uncle James's office first?"

"We'll wait to go by Uncle James's office until a little later. First we're going to show Mrs. Whitcomb some of Timber Ridge and take her by the mercantile:" Rachel gave the reins a whip and guided the wagon down the wide rain-rutted road. She glanced at Molly beside her. "That way you can pick up any incidentals you might need. Then we'll meet James and go see the school building, if you'd like:"

"That sounds wonderful to me. Thank you. And if you have other errands you need to take care of, I'm happy to ride along"

With a nod, Rachel indicated for Molly to look upward. At first Molly thought she was simply motioning to the mountains; then she spotted a hawk soaring above in the cloudless blue. The bird swayed from side to side, its wings seemingly motionless at this distance and its telling screech drifting downward.

They rounded a curve and Molly shielded her eyes from the sun, continuing to watch. "What must it be like to experience that kind of freedom? That kind of perspective on the world?"

Rachel sighed beside her. "I've often thought that very same thing. In early evening, I'll sit on the front porch and watch the elk and deer graze alongside the meadow. Life here can be hard, and painful at times. But there's also such beauty and joy to be found. And I've learned ... in all my long years"-her expression hinted at humor-"that those things often go hand in hand:"

Watching the hawk until it disappeared over a ridge, Molly prayed that what Rachel said was true. That along with the bad in her life, with all the mistakes she'd made, there might also come some good.

"Sheriff, you got a minute?"

James looked up from his paperwork to see one of his deputies. "Sure, Willis. Grab a chair." Dean Willis straddled the chair opposite his desk, and James checked his pocket watch. Rachel, Molly, and the boys were supposed to stop by sometime. Rachel hadn't said exactly when, but he hoped they could have lunch together.

"Couple of things happened yesterday afternoon, Sheriff. We got another complaint from a worker out at the resort, and then there was a run-in over at Clara's Cafe:" The deputy frowned, as if knowing James wouldn't like the news. "Between a group of miners and some of those ... newcomers.

James leaned forward in his chair, suppressing a sigh. Willis always referred to the Italian immigrants as newcomers. Willis didn't harbor any prejudice, James knew. It was simply the deputy's way of making a distinction between the townsfolk and other groups of people new to Timber Ridge. "Does the complaint from Tolliver's place involve the same man from two weeks ago?"

Willis shook his head. "Different man, last name of Moretti. But the same complaint. Says the working conditions aren't safe. Want me to talk to Tolliver about it, sir?"

James considered his exchanges with Brandon Tolliver recently and shook his head. "No, I probably need to speak with him myself on this one. But do some checking around for me first. See what you can find out about the worker-what his specific complaint is, if it's founded. And if he and Tolliver have had words recently. But do it quietly, Willis, without an audience:" James angled a look, making sure the younger man understood what he was saying.

Willis touched two fingers to his brow. "Understood, boss. And about the cafe ... Workers from the resort, some newcom-" He paused. "Some Italian men stopped by to eat late yesterday. Clara said she was fine with serving them. You know Clara. If someone's hungry, she'll feed 'em."

James nodded.

`Anyway, Clara says she was serving them when some miners-she didn't recognize the men-walked up and told the fellows they had to leave. That their kind wasn't served there. Scuffle broke out, tables got overturned, and some dishes were broken. Clara doesn't care about the dishes, but she's afraid her regular patrons might start staying away if something like that happens again. I tried to track down the names of the miners, but people said they hadn't seen them before:'

Sighing, James stood and walked to the front window. "Doesn't matter who they are" Used to be, he knew every face that passed on the boardwalk outside, and the families that went along with them. But not anymore. "Finding those men isn't going to make this go away." He blew out a breath. "Make sure our office pays Clara back for the cost of anything she lost. I'll stop by there later to let her know we'll be keeping an eye out for her:"

Once Willis had left, James started in on the paperwork covering his desk, the part of his job he liked least. But every few minutes, he found his attention returning to the window, and his thoughts returning to Molly Whitcomb.

Unbidden, a realization rose inside him, and he stared at the quill in his grip. Perhaps part of the reason he had doubts about her was due to his strong attraction to her. She carried herself with quiet grace and confidence, which only made the vulnerability she tried so hard to mask that much more intriguing.

He knew better than to encourage the thoughts he was entertaining. Nothing would, or could, come from them. Still, he would've swornbased on a feeling he'd gotten from their first meeting in Sulfur Falls, and again on the cliff-that she'd felt a spark of something for him too.