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Tears slid down Rachel's cheeks, and James struggled to control his own emotions. Molly sat, quiet and pale. After a moment, she leaned over and put her arms around Rachel. Rachel hugged her back, and James sensed this moment might be best left to the women alone.

  He rose. "I think I'll go check on the boys. See if they need any help"

  He didn't wait for a response and noticed they didn't give one. He was nearly to the door when he remembered his coat. He quietly backtracked to his bedroom and was on his way out again when he heard Molly's voice.

  "You and your husband, Thomas-" she took a stuttered breath"shared something that I've-" A deep exhale, followed by a sob. "That I've never known;" she whispered, her voice breaking. "I'm so sorry Thomas was taken from you, Rachel. I'm just so sorry."

  James closed the front door noiselessly behind him and stood on the porch, looking out across the mountains that had become his home and where-for all he knew-he would breathe his last on this earth. Wiping his cheeks, he peered upward into the brilliant blue of a September sky and thanked God for bringing Molly Whitcomb when He had.

  He wasn't about to guess what all God had planned, but he knew what he was going to do, and already felt God's hand in it. He was going to give Molly Whitcomb as much time as she needed to heal from her loss, while also moving ahead with loving her in a way she'd never been loved before.

  Regardless of what she'd said to him the other night-that she wouldn't be changing her mind about him-he saw the way she looked at him. She just needed time. He remembered what it been like to hold her, to feel her against him, and a tender passion threaded through him again. He sensed a loneliness in her. One he understood. And that he wanted to fill, if she would only let him. But that would mean telling her the truth about his past, about who he was.

  He couldn't change how he'd come into the world, but still-in moments like this, when he reflected on his heritage-he felt a layer of shame. Shame passed from father to son.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and strode toward the barn. He peered inside to find the boys working, and walked on down the path that led to the stream.

  His eyes burned as he thought of his mother-not the woman who had given him life, but the woman who had loved him despite how he'd been given it-and he thanked God again for her generous heart.

  His mother had been a kind and gentle woman, poised and gracious, and had supported her husband without question-even when he'd come home one night with a newborn baby boy wrapped in his arms. "The mother died this afternoon during birth, Savannah;' his father had told her. "She had no family. No one to take the boy in." His mother had recently delivered her first child, a stillborn son. So at her husband's encouragement, she had taken the "orphaned" boy as her own, seeing him as a gift from God.

  Only, he wasnt quite a gift, not in the truest, most innocent sense. Not when Dr. Andrew McPherson had kept a mistress on the side. One pregnant with his own child when she'd died during labor.

  James paused by the streambed as a woman's faceless image rose in his mind. He didn't know anything about the woman who had given him birth, only that she'd died during it. But what kind of woman gave herself to a man like that? A man who wasn't her husband? And to a married man ...

  Having seen his father for the man he was when he confessed the night he died, and contrasting that with the man the city of Franklin, Tennessee, thought they'd known, he'd determined to live his life rooted and grounded in truth. His word would be binding. If he said he would be somewhere, he would. If he said he would do something, he would do it. And the man that people thought they knew would be the man he would try his best to be.

  Not perfectly. Certainly not without fault. But without willful deceit.

  And if he was expecting Molly to care for him in a deeper way, then it was only fair that she know the truth about his heritage, however much lesser it was than her own.

  James kept Winsome at a slow pace, glad for the time alone with Molly. "Thanks for letting me see you home:"

  "And thank you for offering to accompany me:" Molly rode beside him, handling her mare with ease on the winding mountain trail.

  Shortly after he'd returned from the stream to check on the boys, Molly and Rachel had joined them in the barn. Once the boys had finished-with him helping to speed things along-they'd all hiked to the waterfall farther up the mountain. It was a place Thomas and Rachel used to take their sons, and Kurt had been especially quiet. James had hiked downhill with Kurt on his shoulders and had even managed to get the boy to smile a time or two.

  Molly had also been subdued, but he could tell she'd enjoyed herself, and thought she could grow to love this place as much as he did. When they reached the ridge overlooking town, she reined in, and they sat in silence.

  "I bet you never get tired of this view."

  "No, ma'am;' he answered softly. `And I don't think I ever will:'

  She turned, slowly, and raised a brow. "I was speaking of the mountains, James McPherson:'

  "Yes, ma'am. I know that." He fingered the reins, liking that she didn't look away from him but held his gaze steady. "But I hope you don't mind me looking ... on occasion:"

  She gave him a smile he'd carry with him into the coming week.

  "I don't mind;' she whispered. "I'm touched that you would" Mellowness softened her voice, almost as if she was thinking of something else as she spoke. She urged her mare down the trail and he followed.

  After a while, she glanced back. "You're certain the town council approved of my report?"

  "More than approved. Davenport was chompin' at the bit for more information. I don't know what he plans to do with it, but he was eager to understand what it is you're doing in the classroom:'

  "I'll get started on it as soon as I get home:"

  The trail narrowed as it sloped downward into town, and he waved her on ahead of him. "So exactly what is it you're doing?"

  Laughing, she described a typical day in the classroom, enthusiasm filling her voice. That she loved teaching was obvious. And that she loved teaching the children in Timber Ridge was too.

  After a brief stop by the livery to board her mare, James leaned forward in the saddle as Molly snugged her boot into the stirrup, and he pulled her up behind him. They continued through town toward her cabin and met the stagecoach rounding the corner at the end of the street.

  Lewis rode up top and waved when he saw them. "Evening, Sheriff." He pulled back on the reins, a wide grin on his face. "Evening, Dr. Whitcomb. Nice to see you again."

  "You keeping busy, Lewis?"

  "Yes, sir, Sheriff. This new stage is a beauty. And business is good." His focus shifted to Molly. "I hope you haven't forgotten, ma'am. My offer to you still stands. Anytime you need to go to Sulfur Falls, you just say the word and you've got free passage on my stage. Comin' and goin: "

  "I haven't forgotten, Mr. Lewis. And thank you. That's very generous of you, sir"

  From her tone, James could tell that a trip in that stagecoach-or any other-wasn't going to be happening anytime soon. Not that he could blame her.

  James tipped his hat and nudged Winsome on. Down the road a piece, he glanced to the side. "A nice coach ride doesn't hold much appeal?" He grinned at the sharp jab in his back.

  "I don't think I'll ever be able to ride in a coach again. And surely not on that road."

  "How about this offer ... Anytime you need to travel down the mountain, let me know. I'll accompany you. I'd even trust you to ride lead."

  Her laughter was soft. "A sheriff who lets a woman ride lead-that's a first:'

  "I didn't say just any woman, Molly. I said I'd let-"

  "Dr. Whitcomb!"

  James saw Brandon Tolliver approaching and slowed up. Of all the luck. "Evening, Tolliver."

  The man nodded, that smug look on his face. "Sheriff."

  "Good evening, Mr. Tolliver."

  The man reached for Molly's hand and kissed it. And it was all James could do not to goad Winsome into flying down the street, leaving Tolliver
and his finely pressed suit in a cloud of dust.

  "Dr. Whitcomb, I received your card in the mail, ma'am. To say the least, I was pleasantly surprised and appreciate your personal correspondence."

  "I'm glad you received it, Mr. Tolliver. And I'm pleased you enjoyed my ... brief note of thanks:"

  "I'm curious. Which did you enjoy more, ma'am? The candy? Or the flowers?"

  James bristled inside but worked to hide it. He'd figured the flowers and candy had been from Tolliver but hadn't known for sure.

  "The flowers were beautiful, Mr. Tolliver. But actually, I'm sorry to say I never tried the candy. I'd already been treated to a delicious apple that day-"

  She paused, and James couldn't help but think she did it for his benefit.

  "-but the students enjoyed the candy immensely. It served as a wonderful reward for those who completed their mathematics lessons on time that afternoon. Which, if memory serves, was everyone that day."

  Tolliver looked like he'd just sucked on a persimmon. "Well, I can't tell you how much it pleases me, Dr. Whitcomb, that my gift was put to such ... productive use, ma'am."

  James smiled. "Consider it a donation to the education of children in Timber Ridge, Tolliver:"

  Tolliver's expression was barely cordial. "I'll do that, Sheriff. Now, Dr. Whitcomb, about that dinner at my resort. You declined my invitation once but indicated you would entertain another. I've been remiss in following up on that offer but would like to do so in the near future. If you're still open to that:"

  "Yes, I am, Mr. Tolliver. I'd like to see what the town of Timber Ridge is talking about:"

  Tolliver's smugness returned. "Very well, then. I'm leaving town in a few days, but when I return, I'll be in touch:" He tipped his fancy top hat. "Sheriff McPherson, my best wishes for a most pleasant evening:"

  "Tolliver;" James said with a nod, and gave Winsome a soft kick in the flanks.

  They reached the turnoff to Molly's cabin, and she leaned close. "The only reason I accepted Tolliver's invitation, James, is to see the resort. Angelo is working out there now, and when I visited his mother, she expressed concern for him:"

  James felt some missing pieces falling into place for him. Not in a pleasant way. "You ... visited Little Italy? That's where you'd been on Friday afternoon?" Hearing the hint of accusation in his tone, he knew she probably did too.

  "I walked there with Angelo. He was going to walk me back, but I told him it wasn't necessary. Everything was fine until-"

  She didn't finish her sentence.

  James stopped by the porch and dismounted, then helped her down.

  He chose his words carefully, remembering the warning she'd given him, about not fighting her battles. "As someone who cares about you, Molly, a great deal, I'm asking you, please, not to go there again."

  She stared up. "I would never consider going there, or coming home, unescorted again. But the families, they need help, James. They have so little. And the places where they live-"

  "I know. I've been there. Many times:'

  "I told Mrs. Giordano I'd visit again and would bring food this next week. I'd like to keep my promise to her and the other families" She bowed her head briefly.

  And when she peered up at him, James knew that whatever she was about to ask, it would have to be sinful in order for him to say no. And even then, it would be hard to deny her.

  "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.