Beyond This Moment (14 page)

She smiled. "As pleasant as a two-week journey by rail and coach can be" Her smile faded. "Mayor Davenport, I wish to speak frankly with you, sir:"

Davenport's brow rose. "Yes, ma'am. I ... I welcome your frankness:"

"If there are concerns over my employment, then I sincerely hope we can come to some-"

"There was some initial concern, Mrs. Whitcomb, only..:" Davenport studied her-not in a tasteless fashion, but with more leisure than James would have preferred. "Understanding that the town council will have certain expectations of you, and that you'll be expected to make regular reports on the students' progress, I believe we can put that issue behind us. And that we can move forward together for the future of Timber Ridge and the betterment of its children:'

James glanced at Molly beside him, fighting the urge to check his boots. Davenport was piling it on higher and deeper, as was his style.

Molly's smile was gracious beyond words. "I'm so relieved to hear that, Mr. Davenport:"

"Ah ... actually, ma'am, it's Mayor Davenport, Mrs. Whitcomb:'

She smiled again. "I beg your pardon, Mayor. And not to be a stickler, but actually, it's Dr. Whitcomb, sir."

James felt the hidden thorn cloaked in the sweetness of her voice. A spark glinted in Davenport's eyes, and James half expected the man to challenge her.

"Dr. Whitcomb;" Davenport repeated, his smile strained. "That'll take some getting used to, I'm afraid:"

"Repetition is key to learning, Mayor. I'll happily remind you should you forget:"

Davenport's patience and admiration of Molly's beauty visibly slipped a notch, and James got the impression from watching Molly that the discovery pleased her immensely. Then he saw it-

The tremor of her skirt.

He looked more closely. The woman was literally shaking in her boots. Yet you'd never know it from the confidence in her voice and how she conducted herself.

Dr. Whitcomb, he made note, had more depth to her than even her credentials led one to believe. And that was saying a lot for a woman who had graduated first in her class, with honors, who spoke at least four languages.

And the good mayor had just seen fit to put him in charge of seeing after her. An all-consuming job, for she was one fiery lass-James smiled, thinking of his grandfather-but somehow he'd find the time.

11

hank you, Mr. Daggett, for bringing these all the way out here:' Molly motioned for him to place the first trunk in the front room of the cabin. "Right over there will be just fine. For all of them"

"Yes, ma'am, Miss Molly." Charlie Daggett set the trunk down with such gentleness he gave the impression it was filled with air. Only the sweat pouring down his face hinted at his exertion.

He left to retrieve another from the wagon, and Molly opened the trunk and began sorting the books and knickknacks she'd brought from home into stacks.

For the past two nights, she'd stayed at the boardinghouse, much to Rachel's dismay and James's efforts to talk her out of it. But it had worked out better that way. James's attempt to handle the situation with Mayor Davenport still sat uneasily within her, and she'd decided some distance would be a good thing.

As she'd stood inside the cabin overhearing him plead her case with the town's mayor, though she hadn't heard every word, she'd heard enough to realize that, yet again, a man was seeking to step in and control her future. Only this time, she could do something about it. And she had. Though she'd nearly gotten sick from the effort, she'd shaken so badly. She was relieved when none of the men seemed to notice.

But she was an intelligent, well-spoken woman, capable of representing herself, and she intended to do just that. She didn't need James acting as her champion, and didn't want to risk anyone thinking that he was. For both their sakes.

In the past two days, she'd spent time walking the town, visiting the stores, and becoming acquainted with the shopkeepers, and something had become very clear. James McPherson wasn't simply well thought of by people in Timber Ridge-he was revered. And though he didn't realize it, their keeping a certain distance from each other was in his best interest too, especially considering the upcoming elections Davenport had mentioned-and the child growing inside her.

At James's request, she'd met him yesterday morning at his office to serve as translator for his meeting with Angelo. As he'd predicted, the boy showed up and the meeting went well. Already James had two job possibilities for the youth. Thirteen years old, Angelo lived with his mother and three sisters in a the Bella tenda-a very nice tent-on the outskirts of town, along with other Italian families. But she got the distinct impression that most of the families had little food and few necessities.

She hadn't said anything to James-sensing he might try to dissuade her if he knew-but the boy had invited her to come and visit, and she'd accepted, eager to help in whatever way she could and to see the culture of a language she'd loved for so long.

After Angelo had left, James had presented her with the teaching contract. She'd experienced a moment of hesitation as she read it through. The document had clearly stated that, as the schoolteacher, she could not marry, and that if she chose to marry, she must resign her position immediately. She'd had no qualms about agreeing to that. Marriage was no longer on her horizon.

It was what hadn't been written in the contract-and yet what was there, between every word, every sentence, silently understood-that had given her pause. There was no mention of the schoolteacher having children. But of course there wouldn't be. What moral, decent person would ever think that such a clause would have to be included in an agreement with an unmarried woman?

Gripping the quill so tightly she'd feared it might break, she'd signed the document.

"Here you go, ma'am!"

Startled by Charlie's voice, she looked up.

"The last one!" He set the trunk down-along with her satchel from the stagecoach!

"Ah!" She couldn't believe it. "How did you get this!" She'd half expected to never see it again.

A grin split his face. "I climbed on down there yesterday and hauled everything up:'

"Everything? You mean you hauled all that luggage up? By yourself?"

He shrugged. "It weren't that hard. I got a strong back, and Ben Mullins loaned me his wagon:"

The satchel's cloth exterior was dirty, but the contents seemed much as she'd left them. She withdrew the soiled black day dress she'd worn to honor the anniversary of her father's passing and laid it aside to launder.

"Thank you, Mr. Daggett, so very much. That was going above and beyond the call of duty, as they say." She reached into her reticule for a bill and pressed it into his hand. The image of him walking into the saloon returned, and she wondered if that money would end up in those tainted coffers. She prayed it wouldn't, for Charlie's sake.

"Thank you kindly, Miss Molly. You got anything else you need done around here, you just say the word:" He grinned. "The sheriff, he wants to make sure things go right for you:"

She paused. "Sheriff McPherson said that?"

He wiped his brow with his sleeve, wriggling his bushy brows. "Yes, ma'am. He sure did:"

She nodded slowly. "Wasn't that kind of him?" And it was. Still, she couldn't deny the spark of resentment over his close attention. "I can't think of anything else that I need right now, Mr. Daggett. But if I do, how may I reach you?"

"The sheriff knows how to get ahold of me, ma'am. Just let him know."

Molly forced a smile. Apparently all roads in Timber Ridge either led to-or through-James McPherson. Of all the towns she could have been sent to, she'd been sent to his.

Charlie turned to leave, and she worked to put aside her frustration, knowing he wasn't to blame.

"Mr. Daggett?"

He turned at the door.

"Thank you again for all you've done for me:" She smiled up at him, letting only the slightest trace of humor show through. "It occurs to me that I've been nothing but trouble to you since the moment I arrived:"

His expression took a sober turn. "Don't you worry about that, ma'am. That's just the way of womenfolk. You can't help it"

Realizing he was serious, Molly laughed, and was still grinning as Charlie cut a path across the field toward town. She closed the door and leaned back against it, admiring the tiny cabin that was her home.

At least for now.

Welcoming the task of unpacking, she opened another trunk to find her dresses covered in a layer of dust. They were wrinkled and bunched from the journey, and though she wouldn't be wearing the colorful frocks for months, she didn't want to leave them wadded up either. After digging for her fabric brush, she set to work, mentally counting the days until school started-August fourteenth.

Sixteen days to be exact, including weekends.

The list of items she was to complete before school started lay open on the table, and she already knew what was first on her agenda-visiting each student and their parents in their home.

Rachel had jotted down the names of as many children as she could think of. The total numbered twenty-nine, though Rachel had warned that not all parents in Timber Ridge were open to the idea of their children attending school. Especially if the children were girls.

"Not all folks here think it's important for girls to know how to read and write;' she'd said. "Or to work their sums. They feel it's a waste of time. Some parents hold that teaching their girls how to cook and sew, keep a clean house, and be a good wife is enough:"

While Molly appreciated the value of those lessons, she was determined to win those parents to her way of thinking.

She bent to retrieve another dress from the trunk and lifted the black silk gown she'd worn only twice-to her father's funeral a year ago, and her mother's four years previous. She ran a hand over a lace sleeve, still able to picture her parents' smiles, and still able to hear their voices. Her father had been in such pain at the end, it had almost been a relief when he'd breathed his last. Almost.

Before his passing, she'd tried to prepare herself for what it would be like when both her parents were gone. But nothing could have prepared her for the void inside. Or for those moments when she first returned home in the evenings to a house that was still and empty, and quiet as death.

That was the point when her relationship with Jeremy had taken a more intimate turn, and everything had changed for the better. Or so she'd thought.

Thinking of him brought a siege of emotions she didn't want to deal with. Wiping a tear, she suddenly decided she'd done enough unpacking for one day. Leaving everything as it was, she closed up the cabin and headed into town.

The fresh air felt good against her face, and she quickened her pace, welcoming the way her heart pumped strong in her chest and how her lungs burned. With each step, she told herself her life wasn't over. And tried her best to believe it.

"Are you accusing me of doing something illegal, Sheriff? Because if you are, I'd just as soon you state it outright rather than beating around the bush:"

James followed Tolliver up the path to the construction site of the Colorado Hot Springs Resort. On his ride out, he'd anticipated this reaction from the man. "When have you ever known me to beat around the bush, Tolliver? I'm not accusing you of anything. I'm simply asking to see your drawings for the resort, along with the safety inspector's most recent report." James looked around, evaluating the stage of construction. "You must be what ... fifty percent completed by now?"

"Sixty. And still on schedule for our grand opening in January. At least for the main building and two of the hot springs houses. The rest is slated to be finished by late spring-if we don't have any unexpected delays:"

James caught his insinuation-and ignored it. "You've got a long way to go in a short space of time:"

"We'll make it. There's no shortage of workers, and so far, supplies have been delivered on schedule"

James gestured at Tolliver's forehead. "How's the gash?"

Tolliver touched the wound at his hairline. "It's healing:" He picked up a hammer and gripped it as though testing its weight, but James wasn't fooled. The man's clothes were perfectly pressed, and his hands were as smooth as an accountant's.