Beyond This Moment (38 page)

"Would you consider going with me? And helping me take the provisions?"

A compromise. He should've known she'd work toward that. He still didn't like the idea of her going, but at least he'd be with her and would keep her safe. "Yes, I'll take you. And thank you for asking me. Just"-he winced, smiling-"don't tell Rachel:"

She frowned. "Why not?"

"Because she wanted to go and I discouraged her. I know this is hard to believe, but-" He kept his expression serious. "Some women actually listen to advice when it's given:" She popped him on the arm, smiling, and he caught hold of her hand. "Thank you for being such a good friend to my sister. She enjoys your company."

"And I enjoy hers. I'm just so sorry about Thomas. She misses him so."

`And it's going on two years already since he's been gone:'

"What she said today ... about their marriage. They loved each other very much:"

He nodded. "They did. You couldn't be in the same room with them and not feel it:"

The change in her was subtle. Sadness moved into her eyes, andbased on what she'd told Rachel today-it didn't take much to know she was thinking about her late husband, and about how different their relationship had apparently been from Thomas and Rachel's.

Guessing what was on her mind, he decided it was only fair she knew what had happened. "It wasn't my intention to eavesdrop today, Molly, but I overheard some of what you said to Rachel ... about your husband" He reached up and touched the side of her face. "There are all different kinds of marriages, and what Rachel and Thomas had was special. But just because your first marriage may not have been what you wanted it to be, it doesn't mean there's not the hope of that somewhere in your future:"

She looked at him for the longest time, and he sensed she wanted to tell him something, so he kept quiet, giving her ample opportunity. She finally stood on tiptoe and kissed him, high on the cheek, about as far away from his mouth as she could get. But that was okay. She'd kissed him.

It was a start. And he'd take it.

29

olly glanced out a side window of the schoolhouse as she pulled on her coat. The morning had been sunny and clear, but by midafternoon the weather had taken a surprising wintry turn. She watched Angelo from the corner of her eye, knowing he must be disappointed they couldn't work together longer, though he was doing a good job of hiding it.

What he needed now more than anything else was to practice what he knew. In conversation. But that took time she didn't have.

"Angelo, I am sorry to be in such a rush today." She made herself speak slowly. "I have an appointment"-she pointed to her pocket watch, thinking of Charlie Daggett and the trip to town she needed to make before meeting him-"and I cannot be late. I will do my best to give you more time on Thursday. Two days from now."

He nodded. "You ... busy woman, Dr. Whitcomb." He looked toward the door. "I have ... more friend meet me:'

More friend? Molly glanced at the door, wondering if he was getting his words confused. Then it dawned on her who he must be referring to, and she didn't know whether to be happy-or deeply concerned. "You have someone else you are practicing your English with?"

He grinned and nodded. "Billy and ... Elijah:" He stuffed the new cards she'd made for him into his pocket.

She retrieved her reticule and satchel, debating whether or not to say anything to him. It was one thing for her to be tutoring him. And even a friendship with Elijah Birch was fine. She doubted Josiah and Belle would take issue with it. But Billy Bolden-Hank Bolden's son? That was another story.

She knew what Hank Bolden's opinion would be, and who he would blame if he found out. But it wasn't Angelo she needed to speak with about it. It was Billy Bolden. And she needed to broach the subject with care. If she decided to broach it at all.

Angelo opened the door and wind gusted inside. "You have ... good evening, Dr. Whitcomb:"

"Thank you, Angelo. And please tell your mother I will be out tomorrow afternoon with food. Sheriff McPherson will be coming with me:"

Angelo grinned and nodded, then turned his body into the chilling wind. He was wearing a coat. One she'd seen Elijah wear before, if she wasn't mistaken.

The woolen coat she'd ordered had arrived, and she slipped the buttons through the slits. Lyda Mullins had seen her trying it on in the store and assumed Ben had ordered the wrong size. But Molly had assured her it was perfect. And it would be, soon enough.

She hustled from the schoolhouse, bracing herself against the cold. So much for fall. Almost overnight the wind had stripped the trees of autumn's color. She walked quickly, not only because she was cold, but because she didn't want to be late for her first dance lesson with Charlie Daggett. She smiled just thinking about it.

She reached the general store and had to use two hands to open the door, the wind was so stiff.

"Mrs. Whitcomb!" Lyda Mullins waved her on inside. "I'll get the door. You get on in here!"

"Thank you, Mrs. Mullins:" Molly shivered.

Lyda stood at the door, looking out. "I smell snow."

"Snow?" Molly peered up into the gray clouds. "What happened to fall?"

Lyda laughed. "You're in Colorado now, Mrs. Whitcomb. Weather changes here on a whim. We normally get our first snow about now. But don't worry. We shouldn't get more than two or three inches this early in the year."

"Two or three inches? This soon?" Molly looked down at her heeled boots, imagining how she would manage snow in them. She looked up to find Lyda looking down.

"Are those your best winter boots, Mrs. Whitcomb?"

Molly smiled and turned a heel. "We don't get much call for winter boots in Georgia:"

"I'll see what we have in stock that's around your size. If none of those work, we'll order some in:"

Lyda disappeared through the curtained doorway to the back room, and Molly waited in line behind a gentleman to post a letter. To James.

It had occupied most of her previous evening-after she'd finished the report the mayor had requested. It hadn't taken that long to write, but deciding what to write had. She eyed the envelope bearing his name, hoping what she'd said would be well received.

She needed to tell him about the baby, but whenever they were together, the words just wouldn't come. She'd been wrestling with how to say it the other night, summoning the courage to, when he'd confessed to overhearing part of her conversation with Rachel about "her late husband:" And the emotion in his eyes when he'd told her ...

She sighed. There'd been no way to tell him after that.

"Hello, Mrs. Whitcomb;' Ben Mullins said, reaching for his hand stamp. "Just this one letter?"

"Yes, please. Thank you:"

If he thought anything about her sending a letter to James McPherson, to his credit, he didn't show it.

Lyda returned with three boxes of boots. Only one pair ended up fitting and they weren't the most stylish. But considering her need, Molly decided stylish wasn't nearly as important out here as it had been back home. She pulled some bills from her reticule. "And would you add a loaf of bread too, please?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." Lyda glanced at the empty shelf. "We've already sold out for the day. But Hank Bolden's sure to have some. He always makes extra when the weather takes a bad turn:"

Molly paid her bill and braved the cold wind again. She needed bread but didn't know if she needed it that badly. Remembering what Lyda said about coming snow, she decided hunger would quickly outweigh the discomfort of seeing Hank Bolden, if it came to that. Carrying her new boots, she covered the short distance to his store, mindful of the time.

The line inside the Boldens' store reached almost to the door. But true to what Lyda Mullins said, his shelves were full of bread, freshly baked and warm. Molly closed the door behind her, wishing she could live with this aroma. Delicious. How could something that smelled so delectable be baked by so rude a man?

She waited in line, sorry to see that Mr. Bolden was the one behind the counter.

The door opened and a rush of wind came with it. Chilled, Molly turned and glanced at the young woman now in line behind her, whose head stayed bowed.

"Do you think it's going to snow?" Molly asked.

The woman looked up. Then glanced behind her and back again. "I ... I couldn't say for sure."

Molly watched a man rush by on the boardwalk outside, holding his hat on his head. "I've never been around much snow." She shrugged. "I'm from Georgia."

The woman nodded, a polite smile touching her mouth. She had a frail look about her, and kindness around her eyes that said she would do whatever she could to help someone, if only asked. "I would've guessed that. From your accent."

"Ah ... true."

"Next!"

Hearing Bolden's voice, Molly cringed and turned to face him. "Good afternoon, Mr. Bolden. How are you, sir?"

His smile was anything but friendly. "Just dandy, ma'am" He gestured. "What do you want?"

Besides manners, or at least customary pleasantries? Molly eyed the shelves behind him. "Two loaves of bread, please. And ... two sweet rolls" She'd had such a craving for sweets recently. She couldn't get enough of them.

Bolden wrapped each of her items. She paid and stepped to the side to slip the coins back into her change purse, the line of customers having deepened.

"I'd like the same thing ... please, sir."

The meekness in the woman's voice drew Molly's attention.

Bolden reached for a loaf of bread and slapped it, unwrapped, on the counter. "You can have one loaf, but that's it. I got other customers in line behind you."

Molly stared, disbelieving. The rudeness of that man! She half expected the woman to say something-but she didn't.

She merely laid her coins on the counter and took the bread, her gaze averted as she walked to the door.

It was all Molly could do not to confront Hank Bolden. But considering their history, she held back. Her gaze swept the other patrons, who, to the very last one, seemed nonplussed. None of them had even looked in the woman's direction as she'd left the store.

Molly hurried outside, searching to see which way she'd gone. There, at the end of the boardwalk. She ran to catch up with her. "Ma'am!"

The woman kept walking, head tucked against the wind.

"Ma'am!" Molly called louder and touched her arm.

The woman turned. Though not really knowing what she'd expected, Molly hadn't anticipated the calm composure on the woman's face.

"Yes?" Silent question lit her dark brown eyes.

Molly motioned behind them. "I'm so sorry about what happened back there. That man-Mr. Bolden-he can be rather ... rude at times. And unseemingly terse:"

The woman smiled. But this time, her face lit with humor. "Hank Bolden can be more than simply `rather rude. He's an insufferable bigot who looks only for what will bring him gain while taking every opportunity to diminish those around him. Especially those he considers less than himself. Which ... is about everyone in town"

Molly stared, realizing too late that her mouth hung slightly open.

The woman's laugh held apology. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken my mind so completely. We don't even know each other:"

Molly stared. "Which I would quickly like to remedy, seeing as we have such congruent opinions of the man:" She smiled. "My name is-"

I know who you are, Dr. Whitcomb. Everybody in town knows who you are, ma'am. I'm Miss Matthews, and it's indeed a pleasure:'

The woman spoke with such eloquent confidence, yet Molly would never have guessed as much from her behavior back at the store. Molly turned her coat collar up against the wind. She liked this woman. Her candor. Her quick wit. Her honesty. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Matthews:" She reached into her sack and proffered one of the sweet rolls. `And I will not entertain refusal:'

Miss Matthews held her stare, then slowly accepted the offering. "Thank you"

Aware of the time, Molly knew she needed to be on her way. "I'm sorry, but I've got an appointment to keep. Perhaps ... we could have coffee sometime:"

Miss Matthews nodded. "Perhaps," she whispered, her tone kind but noncommittal.

Molly hurried back to the schoolhouse, wondering how she'd not seen the woman in town before. And wishing she'd asked where she lived. She found Charlie Daggett sitting on the front stairs.

"Mr. Daggett! I'm sorry I'm late. Why didn't you go on in?" She opened the door.

"You're not late, Miss Molly. I'm early." He stepped inside and looked around. "I didn't want to bother nothing."

Molly deposited her items. "You wouldn't have bothered anything. I've been looking forward to this. It's been ages since I've danced!"

The mere mention of the word seemed to cause him unease.

"Here-" She motioned. "Let's scoot these desks back. It'll give us more room.

Together, they moved the desks. Then he stood in the middle of the room, staring. Looking shy and awkward. And huge.

Molly realized again just how large a man he was, and how massive his boots. "The most important thing for you to remember, Mr. Daggett, is not to step on your partner's feet:"