Beyond This Moment (33 page)

Molly let out a satisfied sigh. In all her years of training, in all the settings in which she'd received instruction, the most productive for her had been when she'd been forced to grapple with the lessons individually. When she'd had to explain what she'd learned-or thought she'd learned-to others. That sense of responsibility and ownership had been a powerful motivator for her, and it seemed to have struck a chord with these children too.

She leaned back in her chair-relieved, excited, hopeful-and reached for the apple on her desk. She cradled it in the palm of her hand, remembering the scene from earlier that morning-and finally allowed herself to think about James.

They'd spent considerable time getting to know each other in recent weeks, and yet, that he would have grown to care for her so much was something she could hardly fathom. She rubbed the smooth red skin of the fruit. Then again, he didn't really know who she was, now did he?

The question stung.

She stared at the apple, thinking of it in the context of another story, one ages old and well-known to her. Except in that story, the woman had given the man the apple. But one thing was the same. The woman had been the one to deceive.

She needed to tell him-and the town council-about the child. And she would. Soon, as though she had a choice. She just needed more time to prove her worth as a teacher. Maybe they would let her stay on then.

Even as the thought formed, she pictured Mayor Davenport and Hank Bolden and knew her chances of that happening were nil.

A breeze stirred the flowers on her desk. The box of candy remained unopened. She appreciated Brandon Tolliver's thoughtfulness, but his offerings paled in comparison to what she'd already been given, and she planned on declining his invitation, yet again, for dinner at the new resort.

The bell signaling the end of recess rang, and she realized she hadn't eaten anything. She took a bite of the apple and its juice rolled down her chin. She swiped at it with her finger. When she pulled her hand away, she looked at her wedding band. The ring had lost much of its shine and was darker in places now than it had been. The thin layer of gold was wearing off, as the salesman had guaranteed it would.

She took another bite of apple, just now seeing the resemblance between the ring she'd purchased and the life she'd chosen. And suddenly she wasn't hungry anymore.

25

his meeting of the Timber Ridge town council will now come to order:' Mayor Davenport pounded the gavel three times, which was three times more than needed seeing that everyone was already quieted down and looking at the man.

James settled back into his chair and rubbed the taut muscles in his neck. He wasn't of a mind to listen to Davenport's ramblings this evening. Not with what he'd dealt with in the past couple of weeks. It had already been a long day, and being Tuesday, the week wasn't even half gone yet.

Davenport had moved the town council meeting to his office. Fifteen men gathered around a table meant for ten. The space was tight, but at least someone had opened a window, and the brisk fall evening offered a welcome breeze. His thoughts turned to Davenport going behind his back to push Dean Willis to run for sheriff come spring.

He'd opposed Davenport on several issues, so the man's dislike of him wasn't surprising. Neither were his underhanded tactics. If there was one thing James valued in a person above all else it was honesty, straightforwardness. Tell a man to his face, whatever it was. Even if it was something he wouldn't like. Don't make him find out from somebody else.

He peered through the open window to the street. It wasn't like Molly to be late. She was scheduled to give an update on how the first few weeks of school had progressed.

Davenport cleared his throat the way he always did before he began. Ben Mullins had jokingly named the habit "the second gaveling:" James caught Ben's attention down the table and found the man smiling his way.

James nodded, welcoming the subtle humor.

"The first order of business," Davenport began, "is to review the minutes from the last meeting:" He turned to his brother-in-law. "Hank Bolden will read those for us:"

As Bolden read, James watched the door.

He still didn't know what had gotten into him that morning when he'd stopped by the schoolhouse to welcome Molly back following her illness. He went there to give her an apple and wish her well. Next thing he knew, he was telling her the truth of his feelings. But when she'd mentioned his friendship again, it just hadn't sat right with him to let her go on thinking that was all he felt.

Of course, that wasn't the whole truth behind his motivation that morning, and he knew it.

Part of him was flat bothered to have discovered someone leaving her gifts, and he had a good idea who that someone had been. Brandon Tolliver. Turns out, the man had delivered the safety report as requested and on time. Everything seemed to be in order.

James couldn't prove anything, but he was suspicious: How much had Tolliver paid to secure the report? Beyond the safety inspector's regular fee and travel expenses.

James shifted in his chair again, restless.

Hank Bolden continued to read the notes from last month's meeting, and James let his thoughts wander.

Another calf had gone missing this week, and this time no trace of a carcass had been found. Accusations were already being made, with fingers pointing to out-of-work miners surly over the recent dry spell in silver ore deposits. The men were bored and needed work and weren't finding it, so they were finding trouble instead.

Three of them sat in his jail cells right now, awaiting transport to Denver, where they'd stand trial. Two had beaten an Italian worker nearly to death out near Little Italy-the area where Italian families had erected shacks and makeshift tents. The men said they were angry over "his kind" taking their jobs at the resort.

Then one miner shot another point-blank in a game of poker yesterday at one of the saloons. Over a twenty-seven-dollar kitty. James sighed and raked a hand through his hair. He'd wired the U.S. Marshal's office, and they were sending one of their men to transport the prisoners to Denver later next week.

He'd posted Willis at the jail, with another deputy scheduled to relieve him during the night. Tension was escalating between the different groups in town, threats being made back and forth. More and more, his job felt like trying to keep a lid settled on a boiling pot.

He'd ridden out to Little Italy earlier this week to see the family of the man who was beaten. He'd taken a meal Rachel had prepared, and the family was grateful. But he was glad he'd discouraged her from going with him. The people in the settlement had so little, and it was painful to see how they lived. The church had helped some, but so much more still needed to be done. Come hard winter, he didn't know how they were going to make it through.

The door opened and he looked up.

"Dr. Brookston," Mayor Davenport said. "Glad you could join us, sir. We've already begun the meeting:"

"I apologize for my lateness. I just came from seeing a patient."

Seeing Brookston coming his way, medical bag in hand, James pulled up another chair. Men shook the doctor's hand as he walked past, thanking him for tending their families during the recent illness.

"Gentlemen-" Davenport pounded the gavel again. "The town council has been called to order:"

James suppressed a sigh, thinking of someone he'd like to pound.

Dr. Brookston took a seat beside him and slid an envelope toward him on the table, then leaned close. "Dr. Whitcomb asked me to give this to you, Sheriff;" he whispered. "It's her report for-"

"Dr. Brookston"-Mayor Davenport's expression showed clear interest, and mild disapproval- "we very much look forward to hearing your contribution at the appropriate time, sir."

Brookston hesitated, then cleared his throat. "Thank you, Mayor. I appreciate the invitation to be here:"

Hank Bolden resumed reading the notes again, and Brookston raised a subtle brow as if to say, "We almost got ourselves in trouble" James made a feeble attempt to mask his smile.

"Now we'll move to new topics of business;' Davenport said. "And we'll begin with..."

Halfway listening as Davenport spoke, James discreetly opened the envelope from Molly, wondering why she hadn't come herself. He pulled out a sheet of paper, and a smaller sheet came with it. He read the smaller first.

Dear Sheriff McPherson,

Enclosed is the reportl intended to present to the town council this evening. If you would deliver the report in my stead, I would be most appreciative. It only seems fitting, since you're my appointed liaison.

With a myriad of thanks,

your friend, Dr. Whitcomb

With a myriad of thanks ...

James felt a smile inside. She could be downright persnickety when she wanted to be, in an attractive sort of way. He'd been reading his dictionary lately and had come across plenty of words he hadn't known, but none yet that he was willing to bet were new to Molly. But he'd find one....

He scanned the report she'd written and found himself wanting to read more slowly. Impressive ... and not what he'd been expecting. Already, he could predict the mayor's initial reaction at hearing what she'd done, then the change in him when Davenport heard the results thus far.

But it was Molly's closing paragraph that struck a chord inside him.

"Dr. Brookston-"

Hearing Davenport address the doctor, James looked up.

Mayor Davenport arranged the papers before him. "We'd like to hear the outcome of your proposal now, Doctor. Would you say that offering physical examinations to the schoolchildren was met with success?"

Brookston stood, his chair scraping the floor. "Yes, Mr. Mayor, I would. I would even venture to say great success. But, before I broach that subject, I'd like to tell you that, on my recommendation, Dr. Whitcomb has stayed home this evening."

James sat up straighter.

"She's fine. She simply feels a bit under the weather," Brookston continued. "Several of her students have colds and sniffles, and since Dr. Whitcomb was so ill last month, I encouraged her to stay in and get her rest:"

Frowning, Davenport opened his mouth, but the doctor pressed on.

I encouraged this not only for her health, sirs, but in the interest of all students and of keeping the school year moving forward, as I'm sure you gentlemen will agree." Brookston gave the mayor a nod. "However, as you would expect from our dedicated professor"-his tone held admiration-"she prepared a report on the school's progress, which I've given to Sheriff McPherson, per her request."

James worked to pay attention as the doctor summarized his findings to the group, but all he wanted to do was head over to Molly's cabin to make sure she had everything she needed.

He'd seen her a handful of times in recent days. Rachel had invited her out to the house to eat and she'd accepted. And he'd taken her out to the Spiveys' one afternoon to buy a horse. James was just glad LuEllen hadn't been there. He didn't want the woman to get any ideas about him and Molly, not with her matchmaking ways.

He'd tried twice to collect on that walk around the lake, but each time Molly had been busy. After reading her report, he knew why.

"Sheriff-"

He was pulled back by Davenport's voice. "Yes, Mayor?"

"Would you provide us with an update of what's happening in the sheriff's office and of the current ... climate in town regarding safety and well-being within the community? Then would you please follow with Dr. Whitcomb's report?"

Ignoring the formality in Davenport's manner-the man would have them all wearing robes if he could-James told them about the prisoners sitting in his jail, and the charges against each.

Davenport set down his glass of water. "Will Mrs. Ranslett be including an article about these crimes in the Timber Ridge Reporter?"

James stared, not sure where the mayor was going with his question. "Mrs. Ranslett customarily reports on events that happen in town, both the positive and negative. So, yes, I'd say she would be reporting on these two incidents:"

Mayor Davenport frowned and leaned forward, hands steepled before him. "Is there any way she might be persuaded to delay publishing her stories until after the town's celebration at the end of the month? That's just over two weeks away. It seems fitting that the town be given an opportunity to celebrate Colorado's statehood without the occasion being overshadowed by these ... recent occurrences. Let the people believe;' he continued, his voice gaining emotion, "in the goodness of Timber Ridge, and be proud of what a fine place this is to live."

Silence filled the room.

James stared. "Mayor Davenport, a man was killed and another was nearly beaten to death. Without Dr. Brookston's skills, he would have died. I believe people have a right to know what's happening in their town-both the good and the bad. Mrs. Ranslett has used excellent judgment up until now, and I wouldn't presume to tell her what she can or cannot print in the town's newspaper. If I'm not mistaken, there's an amendment that protects that particular right."