Beyond This Moment (49 page)

When he got closer and saw who it was, his gut told him the boys weren't up to any mischief. But seeing them together concerned him, with knowing how the town council had reprimanded Molly for teaching Angelo, and with being able to guess Hank Bolden's reaction should he see his son, Billy, befriending these two particular boys. Not to mention what Billy's uncle, the illustrious mayor, would say.

Billy Bolden was the first to look up. "Sheriff?"

The other two boys turned.

"Evening, boys. How are you?"

"Fine, Sheriff," they said in unison, Angelo's greeting bearing a thick accent.

James saw them each carrying a book, so guessed what they'd been up to. "Dr. Whitcomb hasn't run out of books for you to read yet, has she?"

Elijah laughed, his smile bright. "No, sir, but she will soon. Mrs. Ranslett's already written her father in Washington about sendin' us more:'

James rested his arms on his saddle horn. "That's a fine thing for her to do. And my guess from her father's past response is that he'll be sending boxes of them before the year's out:"

The boys smiled at each other.

Elijah nudged Billy in the side. "Maybe Mrs. Ranslett's father will send more of those women books. Billy read that one and liked it"

"Women books?" Angelo's brief question made James smile.

Billy shoved Elijah back, grinning. "You read that one too! You said you even got choked up:"

"Did not!" Elijah said, but the way he ducked his head said otherwise.

James laughed along with them, remembering what it was like to be a boy, and telling himself again that he needed to read that "women book;' especially it being a favorite of Molly's.

Angelo stepped forward. "Thank you, Sheriff McPherson"-he spoke slowly but clearly-"for what you bring my family ... this week:"

"You're welcome, Angelo. It was my pleasure." James reined Winsome toward Molly's cabin. "You boys be careful, and stay out of trouble:" He said it with a grin, while part of him was very serious. Not that they would seek trouble. His fear was that trouble might seek them.

He guided Winsome up the path and smiled when he saw the curtain push back from the window and Molly's head appear. Frost covered the glass pane, so he couldn't see her expression. But that she'd been watching for him was a good sign.

He dismounted and tethered Winsome on the side of the cabin where the horse would be sheltered from the wind. Then he shouldered the saddlebags full of ingredients. That Molly had lied to him still stung, but after taking inventory of his own life in recent days, he'd noticed a fair number of discrepancies. He was far from perfect, and to continue down the path his feelings for her were leading him and not tell her about his past would be false.

A Southern woman like Molly, of fine breeding from an honorable heritage, with an honorable family name, deserved to know the truth. Even if it might change her view of him, which made the mere thought of the beef stew he planned to make sit ill.

But tonight was a time for mending. A time to put things back in place for them both. His feelings for her hadn't changed. If anything, they'd deepened in past weeks. He didn't know where her feelings were for him now, but he hoped to know more, after tonight.

He climbed the porch stairs, unable to imagine Molly Whitcomb not being in his life. And when she opened the door, one thing became clear. As long as he had breath in his body and she had that spark in her eyes when she saw him, no way was he letting her get back on that train.

37

ames pointed to her empty bowl. "You're sure you liked it?"

Molly smiled, hearing a rare touch of uncertainty in his voice. "Liked it? I had two bowlfuls, James. And I would've eaten a third, but I wanted to maintain some semblance of decorum"

He sighed, sitting across from her at her tiny kitchen table. "That won't ever be a problem for you, Molly."

She sipped her tea, grateful things were more comfortable between them again. Conversation came with little prompting, similar to the ease they'd shared before she had confessed to being with child, though the topics hadn't strayed into anything overtly personal just yet.

She'd looked forward to this time with him since receiving his note yesterday, but wasn't about to fool herself into believing that this dinner was about anything other than mending a friendship. A cherished and treasured friendship, but that was all it would be. James McPherson would never allow his heart to lead him in a direction where his honor and integrity could not follow, which made her unacceptable for him. And, unfortunately, made him more attractive to her.

"That looks like it would hurt:" She indicated the cut on his lip.

He shrugged, his gaze thoughtful. "It doesn't ... much:"

He'd told her about what had happened with the miners that afternoon, and it brought closer to home what he must face day to day as the sheriff of Timber Ridge. Rachel had said she sometimes worried about him, and no wonder. Molly was grateful he hadn't been hurt any worse, and that the rustlers had been caught. Now the incidents should stop, which would lessen the pressure he was under.

She summoned her most formal tone. "I'll make some coffee and we can retire to the parlor:" Smiling, she gestured to the sofa three feet away and started to stand.

"Not just yet:" He gestured for her to wait. "First, I've got something to tell you. And I think it's good news, everything considered:"

"From the town council?" she asked quietly.

He nodded. "Davenport received a telegram this morning, from the men who came to observe your classroom. They were very impressed, Molly. Both with you and your students. They'd like to send another group to observe your work. This time, a group of teachers:"

She wasn't sure which pleased her more. The news, or the tender pride in his voice.

"Along with that, the town council is asking you to continue teaching until the Christmas program you've got planned. Then they'll close the school until they can find another teacher, which hopefully, for the children's sake, won't be long. Though you're leaving awfully big shoes to fill, Dr. Whitcomb:"

Molly smiled, appreciating him while contemplating the news. She sorted through the weeks ahead, thinking about the progression of her pregnancy along with all she wanted to accomplish before her final day of teaching. The Christmas program was mid-December. Her baby wasn't due until the first of February, so she would have to find some other place to live during the interim. That was doable. Under the circumstances, she considered the council's decision most generous. "I'm grateful to you, James, for all you've done to work this out for me. I know your hand was in it:"

He shook his head. "This is due almost entirely to your own merit, Molly. And the fact that Ben Mullins is one feisty cuss when you get him riled:"

She laughed along with him.

"And now.. " A gleam lit his eyes. "How about some dessert?"

"You're making dessert too?" She'd been craving sweets, but since she hadn't seen any ingredients for dessert, she'd assumed it wasn't part of the night's menu.

I didn't forget your sweet tooth." A sheepish look came over his face. "As I remember, Rachel started wanting more sweets about now when she was carrying the boys:"

Molly's cheeks warmed at his mention of her baby, and at the attention he was showing her. "The same thing is happening to me;' she said softly.

"Well, I aim to remedy that. For a while anyway." A wry grin tipped his mouth. "It's time for some homemade Colorado ice cream:"

Her mouth watered. "Ice cream? Really?"

He laughed. "Do you have a bowl?"

She grabbed one from the cupboard and followed him outside to the porch.

"Stay here;" he said, and strode out a few feet from the cabin and scooped several handfuls of snow into the bowl. He stamped his feet before returning inside. "I've got some milk and honey in my saddlebags there:"

She found them and met him at the table.

He picked up a spoon. "I'll stir while you add just a touch of milk and a little honey. But we'll have to hurry because it melts fast:"

Molly added enough milk to make it smooth, then added some honey. And more honey. And a little more honey. "I like mine sweet," she whispered, feeling him staring at her from the side.

I gathered that:" Once he stirred it together, he dipped the spoon and held it out. "You take the first bite:"

She did and closed her eyes at the cold, smooth sweetness of it. "Oh ... why have you not told me about this before?" She did her best to hide her smile. "But where's your bowl?"

He laughed and grabbed another spoon. "We can make more:"

They sat on the sofa and ate that bowlful and another as the fire crackled in the hearth. Molly couldn't remember a more enjoyable evening, or a more desirable man.

Telling herself not to, she couldn't help imagining what it would be like if he were able to somehow forgive her of everything, once the baby was safely born. Once she'd told him. Would there ever come a time when, after he knew all her secrets, he could look at her as the woman he cared for, or possibly even loved, instead of a woman who had borne a child out of wedlock?

Later that night, she lay in bed on her back in the dark, thinking about the evening they'd spent together. The heat from the bed warmer radiated from the opposite side of the mattress, and she soaked it up, praying the families in Little Italy were sheltered and warm, and that they had enough to eat. She stretched and curled onto her side and drew up her legs, and felt an unmistakable twinge.

She paused. Maybe she'd moved in the wrong way or-

There, she felt it again. Something similar to butterflies. Only more so. Like there was one very large butterfly. And an overzealous one, at that.

Holding her breath, she waited, completely still in the darkness, palms pressed flat against her rounded belly, the ticktock of the mantel clock in the main room counting off the seconds. And she felt it again. She laughed softly. "My baby.. " Oh, God, thank you....

This was what Dr. Brookston had tried to describe to her, her baby growing and moving inside of her, a miracle of life she didn't deserve but would spend the rest of her life trying to be worthy of.

"Students, please take out your slates and work the problems on the board. And no discussion this time:" Molly threw a glance at Amanda Spivey, who had been "all a twitter" this week, as the girl put it, excited over the announcement of auditions for the Christmas program. "This is a chance to work on your own and to show me-and the other teachers with us this week-what you've each learned:'

Molly moved to the stool and sat down, still following Dr. Brookston's orders to a T. The events of the past month, coupled with the changes in her body and the baby growing inside her, had left her exhausted inside and out. But she was also greatly encouraged by the progress.

Three more teachers were visiting from Denver, all women younger than she, with an insatiable desire to improve their skills. They'd asked excellent questions, which spoke well of their abilities. As soon as school was dismissed, the teachers would meet Mr. Lewis and take the stagecoach to Sulfur Falls, then would catch an early-morning train with plans to be home in Denver for Thanksgiving the following day.

With the teachers shadowing her, Molly checked the students' slates and could sense each child's eagerness to begin their brief Thanksgiving holiday. Though she doubted they looked forward to it as much as she did. She had something very important planned and couldn't wait to get started on it.

She saw the teachers off to catch the stage, then walked back to her cabin, unlaced her boots, and fully clothed, lay down on her bed and pulled up the covers, smiling into her pillow. She was asleep within seconds.

She awakened sometime later to darkness and to the wind howling through the aspen trees outside the window. She nestled deeper beneath the covers, drifting on a cocoon of warmth, until she awakened again. This time with the irrepressible need to visit the chamber pot. While up, she ate a hunk of bread and cheese, drank a tall glass of milk, then returned to bed.