Beyond This Moment (55 page)

"You bet:" He kissed the top of her head. "Sleep well, Molly."

Sunlight streamed in through the windows of the cabin, such an unusual day for winter. But she welcomed the warmth. After slipping into her gown, she used the chamber pot, then crawled beneath the covers. Another pain hit as she lay down, and she gripped the mattress until it passed. If this is what Dr. Brookston meant by mild, she had a new respect for women who'd borne numerous children, and a deeper dread of what giving birth would be like.

She felt the urge to use the chamber pot again and sighed. This was happening more often these days-this dire urge to relieve herself only to have so little a reward once she got there. She pushed back the covers and stood, and felt a warm gush flow down between her legs.

Startled, she stared, disbelieving.

She tried to stop it. And couldn't. She lifted her gown. It kept coming. Oh, God ... She tried to get to the chamber pot, but a cramp doubled her over. Followed by another. And another. Fighting to get her breath, she grabbed the footboard of the bed to steady herself. Her legs shook uncontrollably.

She needed to lie down. But didn't have the strength to get back to the bed.

She sank down to the floor as another contraction hit. She cried out, cradling her abdomen. This shouldn't be happening. Not yet. It was too soon. "We lost our first baby, a son, when Mary was right at seven months along...."

Molly tried to block out the words, but what Deputy Willis had said played again and again in her mind. She had to get to Dr. Brookston's. She struggled to her feet and held on to the doorframe before managing a few more steps. Another pain hit, and she gripped the back of a kitchen chair, but it toppled beneath her weight. She went down and her knees made a dull crack on the wooden floor.

"Oh ... God ..." She curled onto her side and stared through the window at a snow-covered peak set against a patch of blue sky. She shivered, her gown wet and cold around her legs. "Help me, Lord ... please:" Don't let my baby die. Please, don't let my baby die.

The room started to spin seconds before everything went dark.

James stopped by his office on the way home, more from habit than anything else, and when he dismounted, he noticed a red ribbon peeking out from one of his saddlebags. Then he remembered.... He'd tucked Molly's reticule and sack inside.

He'd seen Miss Matthews give the cloth bag to Molly last night, then had overheard Molly asking the woman to tea the following week, as had a few other people. He'd toyed with saying something to Molly earlier but had decided to leave it alone, for now.

Molly had a tender heart, and she probably felt sorry for Lori Beth Matthews. Being mindful of those less fortunate was an admirable character trait, and something he cherished about Molly. But it was a fine line to walk, and she also needed to be mindful of her own reputation. Especially if she was going to be the sheriff's wife, which was looking more promising every day. A smile worked at the corners of his mouth.

He tucked the ribbon inside. He'd give Molly her things when he saw her later. He walked into the office, hat in hand, and Deputy Stanton looked up from his desk.

"Hey, Sheriff, I was just penning you a note. Brookston sent word that the boy woke up. Says he's asking for you and Mrs. Whitcomb. Doc said for y'all to come as soon as you could:"

James was nearly to Brookston's office when he thought of having to tell Molly he'd visited Angelo without her. She wouldn't be pleased. Knowing better than to purposely rile the woman, he gave Winsome a good prod, and the mare took off down the road as if already knowing where to go.

James made it to Molly's in no time flat, out of breath from the hard ride. Winsome snorted, and James smoothed a hand down her forehead. "That felt good, girl:"

He grabbed Molly's reticule and the ribboned sack from the saddlebag and knocked on the door. And waited. Chances were good she was already asleep. She'd looked a little tired. He felt a pinch of guilt for keeping her out when she needed to rest, but he'd needed to talk to her and was glad now that he had. He pictured her face again, after he'd told her. He'd seen it in her eyes. She didn't fault him for his inferior birth, or for his lack of honor in that regard. To say he was grateful was an understatement.

He knocked a second time. "Molly? You still up?"

Then he heard something. A moan? He tried the door. It was locked.

"Molly! Are you in there?"

He walked around to the side of the cabin and peered through a window-and his heart wrenched tight. She was curled up on the floor, holding her stomach, a kitchen chair overturned by her head. "Molly!" He banged on the window. She didn't acknowledge him.

He dropped the reticule and sack and ran back to the porch. He tried shouldering the door open, but it wouldn't budge. He gave it a hard kick. The wood splintered but held. He backed up and came at it again, putting his full weight behind his right shoulder, and the door flew open.

He raced in and knelt beside her. He brushed strands of hair from her face. "Molly, can you hear me?" She was pale, her skin cold and clammy.

She looked up at him, her eyes glazed over.

"Molly, what happened? Did you fall?"

She blinked, then cradled her belly, moaning. "It's ... too soon."

He saw her wet gown clinging to her thighs and emotion choked him. The baby ... Her face blurred in his vision. "I've got to get you into town:" He grabbed a blanket from the bedroom and wrapped it around her. There wasn't time to ride for Brookston and he couldn't leave her here alone.

Her whole body shook. "It hurts..."

"I know it does, and I'm sorry." He lifted her in his arms and she cried out. "I wish there was another way."

Her arms came around his neck and she squeezed tight, groaning. With effort, he got her onto the horse, but the ride into town was excruciatingly slow. In between pains, she panted for breath and cried.

"James. . "

"I'm here, Molly. I'm right here. Just hold on:' Five more minutes and they'd be to Brookston's.

"I don't want to die;' she said in a rush, sobbing.

Tears he'd been fighting slipped past his defenses. "Y-you're not going to die:"

"But you don't know..."

He cradled her head against his chest, wishing he did know for sure. " Shhh;' he whispered. "It's going to be all right" God, please let it be all right.

"I'm so sorry;" she whispered, crying harder.

He scoffed. "You've got nothing to be sorry for. I'm the one who's sorry. I had no business asking you to go for a ride today when-"

"No .. " She shook her head. "You don't understand. James, I ... I need you ... to listen. I'm sorry for not-" A strangled noise rose from her throat and she bent forward, hugging herself tight.

James urged Winsome to a faster pace, feeling so helpless. If he could take her pain away, he would. He'd take it upon himself. God, don't let her die. You can't let her die.

A long minute passed, and Molly finally leaned back again, her breath uneven, her body limp against him. "I'm her, James;" she whispered, moaning and rubbing the side of her belly. "I'm that woman." She started crying again, and her words slurred.

He couldn't make sense of what she said. He saw Brookston's clinic ahead. "Molly, we're almost there. Just hold on:"

She gripped the material of his pants and fisted it tight. Her body went rigid. "Oh, dear God. . ."

The boardwalk was dotted with Saturday shoppers, mostly women, some of whom were looking their way. James spotted Arlin Spivey in the crowd. "Spivey!"

The man turned, searching. Then headed for them at a full run.

James reined in at the clinic and, with Spivey's help, lowered Molly from the horse.

Her arms came around him in a vise grip, her face twisted in pain.

Spivey ran ahead and opened the door. "Doc!" he yelled inside, then turned back. "It's not her time yet, is it, Sheriff?"

James shook his head, careful as he stepped up to the boardwalk. "But the baby's coming." He looked down. Molly was still conscious. "It's going to be okay," he whispered, praying it would be.

Brookston appeared in the doorway. Concern darkened his features. "How long has she been like this?"

"I don't exactly know." James watched her head as he crossed the threshold.

Brookston motioned him to the back room.

James followed. "I left her cabin maybe an hour ago. Came into town, then rode back out to get her once I got your message about the boy. It's been ten minutes ... maybe fifteen, since I found her. I had to take it slow coming into town."

Spivey came alongside him. "LuEllen's next door, Sheriff. I'll get her to come help, if you want:"

James nodded and saw Angelo watching from the patient table, his dark eyes wide. "Would you ride for Rachel too, Spivey? Check the store first, then head out to the ranch. And tell her to hurry!"

"Good as done, Sheriff."

Brookston yanked the blankets from the bed, leaving only the sheet. "When you found her, was she conscious?"

"Don't take my baby," Molly whispered. "Please ... don't take my baby."

But James got the feeling she wasn't talking to either of them. He gently laid her on the bed. "Yes, she was conscious, but barely."

She grabbed hold of his shirt. "Don't leave me!"

He leaned close. "Molly, I'm not leaving you, honey. I'm here, and I'm staying:"

"But you don't know yet. And when you do-" She shook her head.

James cupped the side of her face, then looked at Brookston, who was standing at a table in the corner. "She's out of her mind with pain. Can't you give her something?"

"I'm already working on it." Brookston turned, syringe in hand. "Molly-" He bent close and indicated for James to hold her arm. "I need to examine you to ascertain your condition and that of your baby." He slipped the syringe into her arm, his voice calm and reassuring. "This is going to make you a little woozy, but I need you awake, at least for a little while. So you can answer some questions, all right?"

Molly nodded, her eyes stark with fear.

"And ... though you've never asked.. " He smiled, laying the syringe aside. "Babies are my specialty."

Molly's eyes watered again, and James found his doing the same.

"Now-" Brookston pulled the stethoscope from around his neck. "Take some deep breaths for me. Nice and slow." He listened to her heart, then moved to her belly.

James looked down to where Molly gripped his shirtsleeve. He carefully pried her fingers loose and tucked her hand inside his. She looked up at him, and despite the comfort he tried to give, the fear in her expression wouldn't leave.

After a couple of minutes, her eyes fluttered, then closed.

"Can you hear me, Molly?" Brookston asked.

"Yes;' she whispered.

"Do you still hurt?"

"Yes, but ... not as bad as before:"

"Good:" Brookston sighed.

James gestured. "What was that you gave her?"

"Morphine. But only a little. Just enough to take the edge off the pain. It won't last long:"

"I can still hear you both:'

James smiled at the smartness in her tone. "Well, we'll have to really start talking about you then. Make up some good gossip:" His smile died as tears slid down her temples.

She looked up at him. "I need to talk to you, James. I need to ... tell you something:'

James searched her eyes, wondering if this was the medicine talking, or if it really was her. The clarity in her expression answered his question, and he would've sworn he'd lived this moment with Molly before. And he hadn't liked it the first time.

Brookston straightened. "I'll get what I need from my storeroom. But I won't be long:"

James pulled a chair from the corner over to the bedside, knowing Brookston was giving them privacy. "Molly, I don't-"

"No, James. Please, just listen:" She took hold of his hand. "If I don't do this now-" She clenched her teeth and tightened her grip.

"Squeeze as hard as you need to," he said softly, praying her pain would pass.

Seconds ticked by, and she relaxed again. Her head sank farther into the pillow. "Then I may not get another chance to tell you:"

He waited. Footsteps sounded in the outer office. They didn't have much time.

She took a deep breath and held it, then exhaled. "I am not a widow, James. And I have never been married:'

James stared, feeling everything slowing around him. He'd heard what she'd said, he saw her say it, but somewhere in between the time when the words left her mouth and when they fell on his ear, they jumbled out of order and made no sense. And yet they did make sense. And yet they couldn't. Because he knew, all this time, he knew, she'd been married. She'd told him that. She'd worn a ring. She was a widow. A pregnant wid-

He spurned the thought forming in his mind.

"There's no excuse for what I've done, James. I had my reasons, but they were wrong. They were all wrong. I was wrong. I convinced myself that-" She inhaled quickly and, grimacing, pressed a hand to her abdomen. Gradually, her features smoothed. "I convinced myself that I was the only one who would pay the price for what I'd done. But as time went on, I realized that wasn't the case.