Beyond This Moment (27 page)

"Easy, girl;' he whispered, rifle at the ready.

He scanned the woods around him and above him on the ridge, paying special attention to the trees. Cougars were formidable predators. He'd seen one shoot straight up a lodgepole pine, as if gravity meant nothing, and then perch there, waiting, only to leap straight down-some thirty feet at least-to take down a bull elk twice the animal's size.

His attention keen, he climbed back in the saddle and continued down the twisting path.

The newspaper office was closed over the weekend, but come Monday he'd ask Elizabeth Ranslett to put a line about the killings in the next issue. Just so people would be on the alert with their animals. Cougars were shy of people, so that typically wasn't a worry-although folks being more attentive wouldn't hurt.

When he reached the fork in the trail, he paused. The narrow path leading upward to the left followed the ridge, skirting around the lake, and would take him directly into town. He could stop by the office and get some work done. The path to the right sloped downward and emptied out by Maroon Lake-and the schoolhouse.

He smiled to himself. The choice wasn't a hard one.

Molly couldn't remember ever feeling worse.

Holding her robe closed, she gripped the porch railing and eased down the front stairs of the cabin. The twenty-odd steps to the outdoor privy might as well have been a mile.

Her aches and chills had turned into a fiery sore throat during the night, along with constant sneezing and a fever potent enough to give her the shakes. She hurt all over, even on the soles of her feet, and her nose was raw from sniffling all night.

She longed for something more than tepid water, maybe some tea, but lacked the strength to make anything. She'd been alone often enough since coming to Timber Ridge, but she'd never felt truly lonely-until now.

Maybe it was lying awake through the bleak hours of night, unable to sleep, listening to the clock on the mantel ticking off the seconds, her body alternating between hot and cold. Or being hungry and thirsty, worn out, thinking of the families in town who were together, who had one another if they needed anything, and meanwhile, she had no one.

But the realization was sobering. She'd made many acquaintances while in Timber Ridge. She would even call some of them friends. But when it came down to it, she was alone.

What would she do right now if the baby were already born? How would she care for a child when she was sick? She wouldn't be able to continue teaching once the baby was born, but she'd have to have a job. What would she do? Who would hire her?

Her head throbbed from the brief walk to the privy, and the squeak of hinges sounded overloud in the hush of morning. The air inside was chilly and her hands shook. The outhouse was an inconvenience, but it wasn't foreign. She'd grown up using an outhouse during warmer months and a chamber pot come winter. But that had been years ago, before her father had indoor water closets installed.

When she finished, she arranged her gown and robe and stepped from the privy, adding a chamber pot to her list of items to purchase. The door closed behind her with the same high-pitched complaint as before-and the world suddenly tilted, taking her with it.

Landing on all fours, she squeezed her eyes shut, breathing hard, trying to cease the spinning in her head. Weakness washed through her. The porch blurred-all four of them-in her vision. The ground was dry and the sun was shining, but she shuddered with cold.

She took in gulps of air through her mouth, punishing her throat with the effort. She had to get back inside.... A splashing noise sounded from somewhere in the stream behind her, then the pounding of a horse's hooves.

"Molly!"

She heard footsteps and looked up to see James running toward her. Her head felt as if it were about to split wide open.

He felt her cheeks and forehead. "You've got fever!"

"It's just a cold;' she whispered. "I got dizzy ... and-" It hurt to talk. "Would you mind helping-"

Before she could finish, he lifted her in his arms.

Touched by his lack of thought for himself, she turned her head away. "Don't get too close:"

"I'll take my chances;' he whispered, his voice holding concern as he started for the porch stairs.

She was only too aware of her gown and robe, and her hair hanging loose and limp around her shoulders. The door to her cabin stood open. She didn't remember leaving it that way, but neither did she remember closing it.

He carried her inside, then strode straight back to her bedroom. Perhaps she should've been more uncomfortable-with her past experience with Jeremy Fowler-but all she could think about was lying back down and getting warm again. Her bare feet were like ice. And besides, this was James McPherson-the man who did no wrong. The thought might have made her smile if she hadn't felt so sick.

"Here you go:" He eased her down by the bed, never letting go, and pulled back the covers.

She crawled in, keeping on her robe for modesty, and warmth. The sheets had cooled in her absence and only served to deepen the chill inside her. James laid aside his hat and leaned down and tucked her in as though she were a little girl.

He felt her forehead again. "Have you seen Dr. Brookston yet?"

"No, but I'll be fine;' she whispered, drinking in the warmth from his hand. She was so cold. Her chin trembled. "It got worse during the night:" A thought occurred. "I hope none of my students are ill:'

"I wouldn't worry much about that. Chances are, you got sick from them. I seem to catch everything Mitch and Kurt come down with:' He glanced at the bedside table where her empty teacup sat, beside her Bible. "Have you had anything to eat or drink today?"

"I've had some water:"

"I'll haul some in fresh from the stream. Are you hungry?"

She teared up, but the mere thought of crying made her throat hurt even worse. She didn't know why, but she was embarrassed to admit her need to him. Especially when her cupboards were so bare. "Yes;' she said, looking away. "I am. But I'm sorry to put you to such-"

His hand, gentle against her mouth, silenced her protest. He drew her face back to him. "Don't you dare say that to me, Molly Whitcomb:" Smiling, he touched the side of her cheek. "This is what friends do. They take care of each other."

She looked up at him, her throat aching with emotion. "And that's what we are ... aren't we, James?"

He cradled her face. "You bet we are." The blue of his eyes deepened. "Now, I'll be right back with some fresh water and something to eat. Don't you go fighting any battles while I'm gone:"

Smiling, Molly curled onto her side. Covers pulled close beneath her chin, she imagined the cool water on her throat and thanked God James had stopped by.

When James returned, she stirred, not realizing she'd drifted off. He laid something bundled in a checkered cloth on the bed and let her drink her fill of cold water until her thirst was satisfied.

He set the glass on the table and grabbed the straight-back chair from the corner. He pulled it close. "Have I got a treat for you:" He unwrapped the checkered cloth. "It might not be chicken soup, but I guarantee you're gonna love it:"

She couldn't see what it was until he brought the fork to her mouth. She moved to slip her hand from beneath the covers to take the fork, but he shook his head.

"No, ma'am. That's against the rules:" He winked.

Every inch of her body hurt, yet she felt better just being in his company.

She took the bite and chewed, her hunger winning out over the dread of swallowing. She couldn't taste anything at first, then she sniffed and swallowed again and caught the sweetness of apples and cinnamon and pastry. Oh, it was heaven. He doled the apple pie out in small bites, and when it was gone, her appetite was sated, though she still craved the taste.

"Where did you get that?" she whispered, raising her head for the glass he held to her lips.

"I got it this morning from LuEllen Spivey-Amanda's mother. LuEllen's famous for her apple pie. A deputy and I were out there and she insisted I take some. A piece for me, and a piece to share with `a friend. "

Such sincerity and kindness in his face. Molly couldn't help but think of the woman she was, versus the woman he thought he knew. "Thank you for sharing it with me, James."

"You're welcome ... Molly." He rose. "I'll get you a cool cloth, and then I'll ride for Dr. Brookston."

She offered no protest about the doctor this time, hoping Dr. Brookston would be able to give her something for the achiness and chills. She told James where to find the linens, and he returned to lay a cool, damp towel on her forehead, which only made her shiver more.

Teeth chattering, she looked up. "Are you trying to make me worse?"

"I'm trying to keep your fever down."

She shuddered. "I think you missed your calling, Dr. McPherson"

He stilled. A look moved across his face that she couldn't decipher, but she felt as if she'd misspoken.

"I'm sorry, did I say-"

He shrugged. "It's nothing. My father was a physician, and ... it's just been a long time since I've heard his-" He looked away. "Since I've heard someone say that."

Molly felt something from him she'd never felt before. An evasiveness. He wouldn't meet her eyes, and she quickly decided that the quality didn't suit him well.

He reached for his hat. "If you think you'll be all right for a few minutes, I'll head out"

She nodded. "Thank you."

"Is there anything you need before I go?"

She started to respond, then hesitated. She thought of two things-a chamber pot and a bed warmer. No manner of coercion could bring her to admit the first. She would ask the doctor for that. "Would you mind stopping by the store and seeing if Ben and Lyda Mullins have a bed warmer?" She frowned. "I just can't seem to get rid of these chills."

He smiled again. "I can do that" He felt her cheeks and forehead again. "But you sure feel warm enough. I'll be back with Brookston soon.

Hearing the pound of Winsome's hooves, Molly removed the cloth, laying it aside, and rose on one elbow to peer through the window at James riding toward town. Whoever ended up winning that man's heart would be a queen. She'd have to be, to deserve him. She sank back into the mattress.

What a difference between James McPherson and Jeremy Fowler. She hadn't felt a moment's unease with James McPherson in her bedroom, but he would never act unseemly. Much less coerce or pressure a woman to do something she had misgivings about. She closed her eyes and was back in Jeremy Fowler's kitchen that night nearly four months ago.

"Here's what you need for the coffee;" Jeremy had said, reaching for the tin. His arm brushed against her breast and he paused. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-" He looked at her, leaned over, and gave her a chaste kiss on the mouth. Then went on about his task.

Cheeks burning, Molly set aside her discomfort. He hadn't meant to do it. It had been an accident. Yet she couldn't deny a flush of excitement.

After the coffee was made, they retired to a sitting room down the hallway and sat for a long while drinking coffee and talking university politics. She felt an ease with him and the camaraderie of common goals within academia.

She noticed how late it was getting. "Would you still like for me to review that grant proposal before I go?"

Jeremy took her china cup and set it aside. "You know, it's so late now, and it's nice to just sit here and talk. Why don't we wait on that until tomorrow?" He eased closer to her on the couch and put his arm around her shoulders. "Have you thought any more about what we discussed last week?"

He said it so matter-of-factly. But he'd never been one to show his emotions. "Yes, I've ... thought about it." Only every other moment.

"And?" He trailed a finger down her arm.

"And, I think ... it's a very promising idea."

He turned her to face him. "We will make the most wonderful couple at Franklin College, Molly Whitcomb" He kissed her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. "I'll make you happy, Molly. I give you my word. I'll work to be everything you desire in a husband:"

He kissed her and the rest of the world had faded. For a while. Then she grew uncomfortable.

"Jeremy-" Her breath came heavy. She put a firm hand to his chest.

He did as she silently asked but didn't move from where he lay beside her on the sofa. "Do you know that it's been three years since we first met? I still remember you walking into that curriculum committee meeting for the very first time. You look scared to death:"

"I was scared to death:' Despite her father being an esteemed professor emeritus at Franklin College-perhaps even more so because of it-she'd been so nervous. So eager to prove herself and gain acceptance among her father's peers. "Until you came over and asked me to sit with you"

"We managed to get every piece of new curriculum pushed through that semester:" He brushed the tip of her nose. "We make a good team:" He kissed her again. "Let me love you, Molly. Let me show you how I can love you as your husband:"

His attention, his desire, his words-they all rushed in to fill a void inside her that had been empty for so long. Her closest friends had long ago married. They'd been busy having babies while she'd been busy gaining degrees. She felt elevated in Jeremy's eyes. He made her see what she could be, especially with him by her side.

Realizing how far they'd gone, Molly drew back. "No, Jeremy, we shouldn't. I-"

"We're going to be married, Molly. I love you, and you love me:" He pressed closer, his kisses convincing.

And in the end, she'd relinquished, and had reluctantly given herself to a man, even while not fully wanting to.

Molly hiccupped a sob and turned over in the bed. She stared out the cabin window, shaking uncontrollably. She'd been so innocent, so trusting. So foolish.

The back of her throat was raw. She tried to sit up to reach the glass of water James had left, but the pain in her head prevented it. She eased back down and closed her eyes, and moved her hand over her belly, praying her baby was all right. It wasn't the child's fault ... how it came into the world. Oh, God, please ... let him, or her, be all right. Please, let them be ...