Beyond This Moment (6 page)

5

olly took a deep breath and made herself look at James. And this time, she saw the entire town council of Timber Ridge staring back through his eyes, and the messy slate of her life waiting to be wiped clean and rewritten. She hoped the anguish she felt in that moment-over the illegitimate child she carried and the fabrication she was weaving-would somehow be mistaken for the sorrow of a woman in mourning, instead of the guilt and shame of a fallen woman.

"A recent widow?" James repeated, the disbelief in his voice cementing her where she stood. "But the advertisement we posted in the papers back east, the one you answered"-unwavering conviction steeled his voice-"stated that applicants were to be unmarried. It's a requirement of the job. And one that was spelled out quite clearly, as I remember:"

Molly's remaining confidence buckled at the authority in his voice. She would've sworn the laces on her corset cinched themselves tighter. Part of her wanted to start hiking back down the mountain right then. But where would she go, other than back to what she'd just left? And that wasn't an option. She had no income, no prospects for a job-other than as schoolteacher in Timber Ridge.

Catching herself fidgeting with her skirt, she coerced her hands back to her sides, relieved to see that Brandon Tolliver and Charlie Daggett didn't seem to be listening. Her voice shrank in volume along with her courage. "I am unmarried, Sheriff. Again, I mean. My ... husband;' she forced out, barely able to breathe, "died about three months ago:"

She bowed her head to avoid their scrutiny, aware that the action would likely be construed as grief, which served her purpose while also feeding her guilt.

The silence lengthened.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," James offered softly. "Please accept my condolences. I truly regret your loss:"

"Me too, Mrs. Whitcomb:" Lewis ducked his head.

The sincerity in their eyes triggered a weight in the pit of her stomach, so heavy and dense she thought she might be ill. Orchestrating a lie was one thing. Lying to someone's face was another. She could only nod her thanks.

Sensing James wanted to speak at greater length on this topic, she waited. The intensity in his gaze heightened, and she wondered if he wasn't considering escorting her back to Sulfur Falls and putting her on the first train headed back east. If he chose to, there would be nothing she could do about it. And there was a part of her that wouldn't blame him in the least. It was what she deserved.

"Lewis, in answer to your question ... Mrs. Whitcomb is welcome to ride with me:"

Mrs. Whitcomb. He'd said it politely, not a trace of sarcasm in his voice. But it was a reversal toward formality, which was best under the circumstances, she knew.

Not relishing the prospect of riding with him as much as she might have before, Molly took a breath. "Thank you, Sheriff."

He stared at her for a beat. "We're down this way."

She followed, pausing as he retrieved his coat and hat, and accepted his help onto the horse, riding forward as he indicated. She carefully arranged her skirt over her legs as he eased into the saddle behind her. He reached around her for the reins, and she found herself watching his hands-so different from Jeremy Fowler's. James's hands were large and tanned, rough from work, and he held the reins with an ease that bespoke years in the saddle.

They rode in silence for a while behind the other men, and though she could have been imagining it, she felt James watching her. The change in his demeanor was almost palpable. Normally, she was confrontational by nature, willing to address a difference of opinion with a colleague in the hope of reaching common ground. But James McPherson was not a colleague, and they were not merely having a difference of opinion. Her marital status in relation to this job was of much greater consequence than she'd imagined, and a subject she wished to avoid. Especially with him.

"May I ask you a question, Mrs. Whitcomb?"

"Yes, of course:" Her voice came out smaller than she'd intended.

"With your husband passing so recently, are you not still in mourning for him?"

Molly cringed, hearing his real question. "Yes, I am" She glanced at her vest and skirt. "And I'm sure you're wondering why I'm dressed this way."

"That question had crossed my mind. Yes, ma'am."

She fixed her attention on the violet and pink hues of twilight hazing the western horizon and worked to keep her answer rooted in truth. "The black dress I was wearing became soiled on the trip here, and this was the only outfit I had available to wear:" Which was true-except ... the black dress she'd been wearing had been in remembrance of the anniversary of her father's passing, not that of her late husband. "I apologize. I hadn't planned on meeting anyone from Timber Ridge so soon. And, I assure you, as soon as my trunks arrive, I'll choose more appropriate attire-and most certainly before meeting with the town council:'

The silence stretched taut, and she resisted the urge to look over her shoulder at him.

A cool wind swept over the trail, and the twisting mountain road widened before them and rose at a steady, steep incline. The other men were a good distance ahead, taking the trail at a faster pace riding single. James tightened his grip on the reins, and the higher they climbed, the more difficult it became to resist leaning back into him.

Gradually, having no choice, she relaxed her weight against him, appreciating his warmth, and wondering if he was as aware of their closeness as she was. Though she'd been intimate with a man-once, and briefly-she still felt naive when it came to understanding the opposite sex. But her limited experience told her he was as conscious of their bodies touching as was she.

"So your trunks weren't on the stage?" he asked.

"No. By the time I arrived, there wasn't any room. They're being shipped by wagon, to arrive in a day or two:"

"If you're lucky. Shipments can take a mite longer getting up to Timber Ridge, depending on the weather and the mountains. It's an inconvenience, but-" He guided the horse up and over a ridge, and slowed at the highest point. "I think it's worth it ... to be able to live in the middle of all this:'

Molly looked out over the ridge and barely contained her gasp. She already considered the land beautiful, but this ...

The sheer drop-off to their right swept downward for hundreds of feet before leveling into a sheltered, sequestered valley. Buildings and small dwellings dotted the landscape below, and in the pale light of approaching night, she viewed the layout of the town, the various roads spidering off and leading up into the mountains. She even glimpsed what appeared to be a waterfall in the distance. Not far beyond, two mountains stood out from among the others, nearly identical in appearance and height. And from this height, she could see peak after peak rising in blue-gray splendor, one after the other for miles, like jagged waves on a dusky ocean of rock and snow.

"So that's Timber Ridge?" she whispered.

"Yes, ma'am ... that's it'

Pride deepened his voice, and she didn't fault him in the least. She pointed to the two mountain peaks she'd noticed earlier. "Those are beautiful:"

"The Maroon Bells. Most folks around here call them the Twin Sisters"

Perhaps it was due to the long days of travel or the circumstances surrounding her coming west, but she had a hard time subduing the swell of emotion the mountains inspired. "How long have you lived here?"

"I came out shortly after the war. Never intended to stay." James nudged the horse and they began their steep downhill descent.

Fighting the sensation of falling, Molly searched for something to hold on to-when James slipped his right arm around her waist and held her secure against him.

"Is that better, ma'am?"

She'd read about higher altitude making it more difficult to breathe. But she knew better than to blame her reaction on the altitude. "Yes ... thank you."

"Steep's not so bad when you're going up:" His voice was soft in her ear. "But coming down can get prickly."

She warmed at his wording and grew more certain of his Tennessee heritage. "What made you stay?" she asked, still thinking about what he'd said previously.

"A whole lot of things. The South wasn't the same after the Federals got done with it, and neither was I. Most of my family was gone. There was nothing to keep me in Franklin anymore. And I wanted to see this land ... before it was all settled and tamed. Before all this was gone:"

President Northrop's words drifted back to her, and Molly couldn't help smiling. Could it be that what he'd fabricated in his letter of recommendation had actually helped secure her this position? Strange how things worked sometimes....

As soon as they reached level ground, James withdrew his arm from around her waist. They caught up with Mr. Lewis, Brandon Tolliver, and Charlie Daggett in town in time to see Tolliver and Lewis going their own ways, Lewis leading the horses. But Charlie Daggett stood in the center of the street, waiting.

James reined in beside him. "Charlie? Everything okay?"

Charlie's eyes were earnest, full of a need to be understood. "What you did up there today, Sheriff... I'm much obliged to you. Can't think of one other person who woulda done that for me:"

James sighed in a way that usually accompanied a smile. "I appreciate you, Charlie. And I appreciate what you contribute to our town. You always show up when something needs to be done, and you stay until the job is finished. You're someone a person can count on. Can't say that about a lot of folks:'

Charlie Daggett's rough-bearded face softened beneath the praise. `Anything you need, Sheriff McPherson, you just ask and I'll be there. That goes for your sister, Miss Rachel, too:' He doffed his hat. "G'night, Miss Molly. And my apologies again, ma'am, for landin' on you like I did:'

Molly smiled. He'd already apologized earlier in the carriage. Four times. And had also told her she smelled nice-not a hard thing to do when a person was accustomed to the stench of days-old bourbon. "It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Daggett;' she said, meaning every word.

The flicker of coal-burning lamps illuminated the thoroughfare, and James guided the horse through town, past a darkened general store, a telegraph and newspaper office, a land and title company, an attorney's office with an oversized shingle, and a modest-looking dress shop. More offices and retailers than she'd thought such a town would boast. A few of the buildings looked newly built, and several more were still in early stages of construction. Perhaps Timber Ridge wasn't exactly the end of the earth after all.

All of the retail businesses appeared to be closed, but the town was definitely not asleep. She peered down a side street to see several establishments on the far end-saloons, she assumed-all well lit and well frequented, by the looks of men coming and going. Raucous tunes and tinny piano chords being pounded out at a surprisingly hectic rhythm drifted toward them on the cool night air.

James gave the horse a nudge and they passed on by, but not before Molly saw Charlie Daggett disappear through one of the open doors. And seeing it disturbed her. Only not in the same way it would have before she'd been through their experience on the mountain. Earlier, he was just a drunkard. Now he was a man who drank too much but who had also valued her life above his own.

"I could take you to the boardinghouse, Mrs. Whitcomb, but if you're agreeable, I'd rather take you to my sister's for the night. Her ranch is only a short distance from here, and you'd be more comfortable there. She'll have some clothes and woman things you could borrow, I'm sure. I think you'll like Rachel too:' His voice took on a smile. "The two of you should get along real well:"

Knowing he was right on the borrowing of some "woman things," Molly welcomed the lighter turn in conversation. She glanced back at him. "Is your sister a very stylish woman, Sheriff? Is that why you think we'll get along?"

Shadows of night hid his eyes beneath the brim of his hat, but his mouth tipped the faintest bit on one side. "My sister certainly is stylish ... or she used to be, anyway." His smile fell away. "But my thoughts were running more along the line that both of you are widows, Mrs. Whitcomb. I think you and Rachel will have an understanding of the heart right off."

Her face heating, Molly faced forward again. "I see;' she whispered, wishing she could take back her foolish statement. This man's thoughts ran deeper than she'd credited him for, and he obviously cared deeply about his sister. "I'm sorry for your sister's loss. When did her husband pass on?"

"Thomas was killed twenty-one months, two weeks, and four days ago. I only know because Rachel reminded me this morning."

Heartsick regret settled inside Molly, not only for James's sister and her loss, but for her earlier callousness and insensitivity. She'd told him her own husband had passed on "about three months ago:" She felt every bit like the imposter she was.

Something told her that posing as a "recent widow" was going to prove more difficult to carry off than she'd anticipated. Yet which would the people of Timber Ridge prefer in their new schoolteacher-a pregnant widow ... or a woman pregnant without benefit of marriage?