Beyond This Moment Read online

  "And you don't ride too badly yourself either. I saw you rein in. That was impressive"

  Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink. "I've done some riding in my day."

  "That would've been my guess" He gestured to the plates on the bench. "You still hungry?"

  "Starving. But won't the meeting be starting soon?"

  He raised a brow. "The mayor's off writing a new speech, so we have time, believe me:"

  She laughed again, and James thought of how easy it would be to get used to that sound.

  They ate dinner on the bench, watching the celebration and laughing at the crowd's antics. Grown men hugging each other and dancing around like little girls. When they saw people heading toward the church building, they moved in that direction too.

  They stepped through the doorway, and James directed her toward the front of the room, where Mayor Davenport was already situated behind the podium. "Mayor Davenport will speak first, then he'll want to introduce you:"

  "I think I've already met just about everyone in town:'

  He leaned close as they walked down the aisle. "Humor the man, Molly. You'll find that much of what he does is not for the reason you see on the surface:'

  Molly flashed him a smile. "I've already figured that one out;" she whispered.

  She sat on the front pew, and James settled in beside her, keeping an appropriate distance, especially remembering Charlie Daggett's observation.

  The moment Davenport began speaking, James knew they were in for a long one, and that this wasn't going to be a normal town council meeting. It was more like a town hall gathering. He glanced behind them. The pews were packed. People stood in the back and crowded the open doorway. If only they could get such a crowd on Sunday mornings.

  Nearly an hour later, after the mayor had recounted the entire history of Timber Ridge, as well as every accomplishment he could possibly give himself credit for, he turned to Molly.

  "And so it is, on this auspicious occasion, as we celebrate the announcement of Colorado's statehood, we also celebrate another milestone in the history of our illustrious town. After receiving numerous applications from many highly qualified applicants-" Davenport shot James a look.

  James immediately thought of Davenport's sister, who had applied for the job, and hoped Davenport wouldn't try to make reference to that tonight. He leaned forward in the pew, arms resting on his thighs, and tried to get that message across to Davenport as clearly as he could.

  Davenport cleared his throat. "However, I am wholly persuaded that we have chosen the most qualified of them all. Dr. Whitcomb;' he said with emphasis, "has already begun meeting with parents and students, many of whom are joining us this evening." He looked out over the crowd. "And were so glad you're here. But for those of you who haven't had an opportunity to meet our new teacher, I'd like to introduce her to you now." He indicated for her to join him at the front.

  It took her a moment to rise and walk to the front, and James got the impression she didn't welcome being the center of attention. Odd for a woman who made her living at the front of a classroom.

  "Dr. Molly Whitcomb is a language professor from Franklin College in Athens, Georgia"-Davenport read from notes now-"and she speaks Italian, French, Spanish." Impressed gasps and whispers skittered through the crowd, and the mayor paused. From the pride on his face, one might have thought they were oohing and ahhing over him. "She graduated first in her class and has held prestigious positions on faculty service committees in addition to her duties as a professor..."

  Davenport continued to list Molly's accomplishments, and James continued to enjoy the opportunity to watch her, already familiar with what she'd achieved. Molly Whitcomb was intelligent, cultured, refined. She was the essence of grace and comportment. Rachel had summed it up well when she said, "The woman simply has no flaws:"

  So taking all that into account, what was it about Molly Whitcomb that still gave him the slight nudge inside that something just wasn't quite right?

  When he saw Dr. Brookston walking up to the front, James realized he'd let his mind wander. He also realized he'd failed to explain to Molly about the doctor's proposal. Though not for lack of trying. They'd simply been interrupted. But he wasn't worried. She would respond to Brookston's plan with customary graciousness, he was sure.

  Davenport greeted Dr. Brookston as though they were the closest of friends. "Our good doctor here made a recommendation to the town council, which we heartily approved and for which I personally campaigned:"

  Rand Brookston glanced in James's direction, and James returned the silent commiseration, remembering how much discussion it took to even get Davenport on board with the idea.

  Grinning, Davenport patted Rand Brookston on the back. "For every student entering school this fall, Dr. Brookston will administer a complete physical examination ... free of charge!"

  Spontaneous applause filled the room, and James joined in. He noticed little Emily Thompson, on the opposite aisle, lean up and whisper something to her mother. Mrs. Thompson whispered back and Emily's eyes grew wide. The applause subsided. "But I don't want to visit the doctor! He uses needles! Becky Turner said so!"

  Mrs. Thompson shushed her daughter, but Emily began crying. Frantic high-pitched whispers dotted the gathering, and a chorus of comforting shushes rose to compensate.

  "Now, now, children:" Mayor Davenport raised his hands in a calming manner. "There's nothing to be afraid of. In fact, as your teacher and the one responsible for your education, Dr. Whitcomb here has volunteered to set the example-by having her examination first. Haven't you, Dr. Whitcomb?"

  James wasn't sure which was most amusing, the pitiful whimpers coming from all corners of the room or the look of sheer terror on Molly's face. Apparently, their new schoolteacher did have some slight flaws-in addition to being terrified of bugs, she was scared spitless of doctors.

  Molly knew she needed to say something but couldn't decide on what.

  Mayor Davenport stood beside her, smiling wide. Dr. Brookston watched her with keen eyes so discerning she had to look away, and James stared from the front pew, apology lining his expression. Why hadn't he told her about this? Then again-she recalled that afternoon at Miss Clara's, and then just a while ago-her guess was that he'd tried.

  "Come now, Dr. Whitcomb-" Davenport used a tone more suited for speaking to a child than to one's peer. "Don't tell us that you harbor a fear of physicians too:"

  Her laugh came out strangled. "No, not at all. I have the highest regard for physicians and the care they provide. In fact-" Her voice sounded overly loud in her head and she couldn't seem to gain a true sense of its volume. "Before leaving Georgia, I had an examination with my physician there and he pronounced me fit as a fiddle." Which was true-eight months prior. "So I promise you, students, there's nothing to fear."

  "You see, children?" Davenport said, motioning in Molly's direction. "Your teacher isn't afraid of Dr. Brookston. Are you, Dr. Whitcomb?"

  "Of course not." Smiling, she looked with confidence out over the crowd, connecting gazes with every child looking her way-and noticed that not one of them was Italian or Negro.

  "And my guess is that you'd happily undergo an examination with Dr. Brookston if it will help your students to feel more comfortable. Am I right, Dr. Whitcomb?"

  Molly looked back.

  The challenge in Mayor Davenport's eyes was subtle but unmistakable, and she wondered if anyone else saw it. This was a form of payback. His way of putting her in her place. And there wasn't a thing in the world she could do about it. For the time being.

  She tilted her head. "If it helps my students to feel more comfortable, I would be happy to undergo the same examination they'll receive:"

  One little girl on the front row-was her name Emily?-lifted her head and sniffed. Her eyes began to brighten. As did other children's around the room. The parents' expressions also reflected gratitude.

  Dr. Brookston held up the black bag in his grip, and every boy and girl in t
he room seemed to hold their breath. "To all the children who will be students in Dr. Whitcomb's class this fall, I have something for you in my bag tonight. Is there a brave boy or girl among us who's willing to look inside and tell us what it is?"

  The children stared, wide-eyed and unmoving, as though Dr. Brookston might not see them if they kept still enough.

  On the left side, the fourth pew back, a little girl-dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a waifish look about her-peered out from behind someone. Molly didn't recognize her but couldn't help smiling. The girl responded by sliding off the pew and stepping into the aisle.

  Dr. Brookston knelt where he stood, encouraging her without words.

  The girl made it as far as the first pew, then froze. And looked at Molly.

  Instinct kicked in and Molly walked toward her, hand extended. A hush fell over the crowd. Molly felt every eye on her and realized-too late-how risky a move she was making. What if the child rejected her offer of assistance? Or turned and ran back to her parents, crying?

  The little girl stared up, dark eyes fathomless, then glanced behind her to a man Molly presumed was her father. Fearing the child was about to make a mad dash back to her father's arms, Molly prayed she wouldn't.

  But then, as if on cue, the child faced her again and took hold of Molly's hand.

  "Shall we go together?" Molly asked softly.

  A single nod, and the girl's grip tightened.

  They reached Dr. Brookston, who was still waiting on one knee, his smile patient, and Molly knelt to be at eye level with the little girl. "What's your name?" she whispered, not recognizing her as a member of any of the families she'd visited.

  `Ansley;' the girl whispered back. `Ansley Tucker:'

  Molly smiled again, hearing-and admiring-the brave determination in the girl's reed-thin voice. "Ansley, you have a beautiful name. Now, can you peek into Dr. Brookston's bag and tell the other boys and girls what he's brought for you all?"

  Ansley slid a cautious gaze in Dr. Brookston's direction, then looked back at Molly.

  "I'm right here with you," Molly encouraged. "I know you can do this'

  Ansley inched closer to the medical bag and stood on tiptoe to see inside. Then beamed. "Stick candy!" she cried, and excitement rippled through the crowd.

  Molly gave her a quick hug. "I'm very proud of you, Ansley."

  "So am I;" Dr. Brookston added, leaning forward. `And since you were so brave, you get to choose your piece of candy first:'

  Ansley reached forward, then stilled. "Can my brothers and sisters have one too?"

  Dr. Brookston's expression softened. "Of course they can. We'll make sure of it:"

  By the time Ansley finished choosing, a line of children trailed behind her, and Molly introduced herself to each one-working to remember their names-as they chose a sugar stick from the doctor's bag. After the sixth child in line claimed the last name of Tucker, she began to question how many brothers and sisters Ansley had.

  Molly mingled and chatted with parents, answering questions about lessons and about how a typical school day would progress, always aware of where James was in the crowd. Every time she looked his way, he was looking hers, which lit a spark inside her-much like his hugging her had done earlier. Except when he'd hugged her, it had felt like a thousand fireworks going off inside her at once. He'd taken her breath away. No. He took her breath away.

  Gradually the crowd began to dwindle, and she was thankful. The week's events were catching up with her.

  She felt someone's attention and turned to find Mayor Davenport and Brandon Tolliver staring at her from across the room. Davenport said something she couldn t hear, and both men laughed. But neither of their smiles fell within the definition of friendly. She read warning in Davenport's expression, and something else entirely different-and uninvited-in Tolliver's. And she determined, as much as possible, to steer clear of both men.

  "Well done, Dr. Whitcomb" Dr. Brookston appeared on her left, holding out a piece of stick candy. "I believe you've earned this:'

  She took the sugary treat and offered a slight curtsey, cautious not of the man but of his profession. "Thank you, Dr. Brookston. That was nothing short of brilliant on your part:"

  He shrugged off the compliment. "One of the best pieces of advice I received in medical school was from a nurse. She told me to try my best to crawl inside the skin of my patients and see things from their perspective." He made a face. "A gruesome-sounding prospect, I realize. But that counsel, more than any other, has helped me to be more empathetic. To see the world through the eyes of those I'm treating. Because only then;' he said, sounding now as though he were quoting, "will I ever be able to understand their apprehensions and fears:" He held up a piece of candy. `And their proper motivations:"

  Molly liked him instantly and heard in his voice-as she did in James's-a trace of the South. Had all of the honorable Southern gentlemen fled west after the war? She was starting to believe it.

  I have some openings this week"-Dr. Brookston adopted a more professional tone-"for your examination, if your schedule permits:"

  "I believe that would work...." Molly acted as though she were mentally checking her appointment book. She had given her word on having the examination and would follow through. But she planned on delaying it as long as possible. Then again-considering her thickening waistline-having the examination sooner rather than later might be the better option.

  I can vouch for his services, ma'am;' James said, walking up with Kurt fast asleep on his shoulder. "But I must say, Dr. Brookston, that I'm a little disappointed you didn't offer me candy when I was in your office earlier this week:"

  Laughing, Brookston tossed a sugar stick at him. James caught it one-handed and popped it in his mouth.

  Grateful for James's shifting the focus from her, Molly didn't have any trouble imagining both of these men in childhood years, tromping to their respective creeks, fishing poles in hand, and pockets stuffed with worms.

  Dr. Brookston raised his candy in mock salute. "If you'll both excuse me, please, I need to catch some families before they leave. Dr. Whitcomb, it was a pleasure to finally meet you:"

  "You as well, Doctor:" Watching him go, she worked to suppress a yawn.

  James shifted Kurt's weight in his arms. "I need to see Rachel and the boys home directly. It's past the boys' bedtimes:'

  Molly patted Kurt's back. "Yes, I can see that. And it's past mine too!"

  He smiled. "Rachel's still outside, visiting with a friend. Mitch is with her. But ... I'd be honored to see you home first, if you're ready to go. Since it's dark out:"

  Molly glanced at the open window. Sure enough, the sun had long since set. "I'd appreciate your escort, Sheriff. Thank you."

  As they walked, she swirled the stick candy between her lips. Grape. Her favorite. "Something I've been meaning to ask you ... Where might I buy a horse other than from Mr. Atwood at the livery?"

  "Didn't care for Mr. Atwood, did you?"

  "It's not that. Well ... not entirely. Let's just say I wasn't impressed with a certain offer he made me"

  "Fair enough. I'll have him arrested first thing in the morning:"

  She laughed, knowing he was kidding yet enjoying the seriousness in his tone. She could barely make out his dark outline beside her, and that of Kurt's sleeping form cuddled against his chest. It was a touching picture, and one she tucked away for later.

  The cabin loomed ahead, lightless and uninviting. She appreciated the cabin's seclusion and the quiet it offered, but sometimes she wished it were closer to town.

  "I'll check with a couple of ranchers in town. Rachel might be interested in selling a horse too. I could ask her, if you'd like:"

  "Yes, please:" Though slightly embarrassed to broach the next subject, Molly needed to know. "I realize I haven't been here long, James, and that I haven't started teaching yet, but my funds are fairly limited, and I'm wondering whe-"

  "When you're going to be paid" He sighed. "I'm sorry. Some kind of
go-between I am. An account's been set up for you at the bank here in town. Your first month's salary, plus some extra for moving expenses, according to the agreement, should have been deposited into your account this week. If the money's not there, let me know and I'll track it down for you:"

  "I'll do that. Thank you:"

  They paused at the bottom of the porch stairs. "Why don't you go on inside, get a lamp lit. I'll wait here:"

  "You just read my mind, thank you:'

  Holding the stick candy between her front teeth, she fumbled to get her key into the lock, finally managed it, and lit the lamp she'd left on the kitchen table. Feeling braver knowing James was outside, she made a quick check of the cabin, unable to account for her reluctance but feeling better once she discovered everything was as she'd left it.

  Candy in one hand and lamp in the other, she walked back to the porch.

  "All okay?" he asked.

  "Yes, everything's fine. Thank you for waiting, and for seeing me home."

  The way he stood there, one boot poised on the bottom stair, his nephew snuggled dead-to-the-world against him, and with that silly sugar stick between his lips, she found herself more than a little attracted to the man.

  He slipped the candy from his mouth. "You did good tonight, Molly. Up there in front of everybody. Especially when Davenport put you on the spot like that:"

  She balanced the oil lamp on the porch railing. "You noticed?"

  He nodded. "But only because I know him so well. I doubt anyone else did:"

  "He was paying me back:"

  "Yes, he was" He smiled. "But that only proves you got him good and flustered the day he was out here:"

  "The day I scared the livin' daylights outta you?" She laughed.

  "Yes, ma'am;' he whispered. "That's the day I'm thinking of." Kurt sighed and his little head dipped forward. James eased it back to his shoulder. "I need to get this tired little bronco on home:' He kissed the top of the boy's head.

  Molly watched him, having no business imagining what she was imagining at that moment, which was what it would be like to kiss this man, and to have him kiss her, to be the object of his desire. And even more, to be worthy of it. But some things, once gone, couldn't be regained.