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  "Settle down;' James said, his voice firm, his expression patient. "I'm not going to hurt you:"

  A crowd quickly formed in the street, but a large, burly gentleman shoved his way right past them, his features twisted in anger.

  Molly got an inkling of why the boy was so frightened. This man was massive-and beyond livid.

  "This little thief stole a loaf of bread from my store!" The man pointed, the muscles in his forearms bulging. "I saw him! And I got witnesses to prove it."

  The crowd pressed closer. Some of them began siding with the man. "Bolden's right, Sheriff! These folks'll rob you blind if you let them" "They're only here for what they can get" "Our town would be better off without 'em!"

  "Per favore, signore." Addressing James, the boy spoke quickly, voice pleading, his words tumbling out one atop the other. "Gli ho sbrigato le faccende di casa. Vi do la mia parola. Gli ho spazzato la veranda, buttato via la spazzatura. Chieda alla signora del negozio, ve lo riferird. Lei mi ha visto! Quest'uomo aveva promesso di pagarmi ma poi non lo hafatto. Ho solo preso un pezzo di pane e della carne per quello the mi deve!"

  The man named Bolden lunged forward as if to grab the boy by the scruff of the neck, but James blocked his effort. "Step back, Bolden. And everybody else just calm down:"

  Eyes narrowing, Bolden complied, his expression saying he didn't like being ordered around.

  James pinned the boy with a look. "Can you understand what's being said to you right now, son?"

  The boy looked at him, confusion written in his face.

  Molly leaned forward in the wagon, unsure whether to intervene or keep quiet. Taking into account what James had told her last night about her not having signed a formal contract yet, she knew her standing with the town council was precarious. And she had no intention of further jeopardizing her position or future relationship with the board. She needed this job, however temporary it might be.

  Still, something in the boy's manner inspired her belief in him and made her want to help him.

  The boy slowly bowed his head and produced a package of what appeared to be salami from within his shirt, followed by a loaf of bread with two bites missing.

  Bolden swore loudly. "See? I told you, Sheriff! These people are thieves by nature. Didn't I tell you that last week in the town council meeting?"

  This man was on the town council? Molly leaned back in her seat. The last thing she needed was to get on the man's bad side.

  The boy's dark eyes darted to and fro, looking for a way of escape. He was slight of build by nature and his olive complexion had a pasty undertone, but the thinness in his arms revealed the malnutrition. Watching him more closely, she realized he was older than she'd originally guessed him to be.

  His lower lip began to tremble. He locked eyes with her, and Molly felt the pangs of his hunger in her own stomach.

  James loosened his grip. "Bolden, have you ever seen this boy before?"

  "I have not:' Bolden eyed the boy with disgust. "But his kind keep hangin' around my store, probably robbing me blind and I just don't know it"

  "Sheriff?" Surprised at hearing her own voice, Molly climbed down from the wagon. The weight of attention shifted to her, though none was heavier than the boy's. She gently touched his arm. "Ora e tutto chiaro e se vuoi lo tradurrO allo Scerifo McPherson. Lo scerifo di Timber Ridge e un uomo buono e onesto, vedrai the ti trattera giustamente."

  Tears sharpened the boy's dark eyes. "G-grazie mille, signora, grazier'

  "Mrs. Whitcomb?" Frustration and disbelief weighted James's voice.

  Molly read the surprise in his eyes. "Yes, Sheriff McPherson. I'm sorry for interrupting, but ... I speak Italian, and I understood everything this young man just said:" Bolden's dark glare communicated his displeasure. "I offered to interpret for him:' She looked back to the boy. "Come si chiama?"

  Ragged hope rose in his eyes. "Mi chiamo ... Angelo Giordano."

  `Angelo;' she repeated softly. "I offered to interpret for Angelo and he accepted. If you'll allow me?" Awaiting James's response, she noticed Angelo edging closer to her.

  James nodded. "Go ahead"

  "Thank you, Sheriff" Counting the cost of what she was about to do, Molly found she had no choice. `Angelo says that he worked for this man. That he swept off the man's porch and hauled away his trash. He says for you to ask the good woman at the mercantile who will verify this. That she saw him do these things:'

  Bolden's expression turned stony, and Molly felt her job slipping away. But she also felt something else-a protectiveness within her. And that protectiveness lit a spark deep inside.

  She slipped an arm around Angelo's thin shoulders. "Angelo also said that Mr. Bolden promised to pay him and then didn't. And that he only took what was equal to what he was owed."

  James's attention moved between the man and Angelo. "Bolden, is any of this sounding familiar? And think before you answer because I plan on confirming everything with Lyda Mullins."

  Bolden's jaw hardened. "The boy might've done some work for me a time or two, but I had to fire him. He was lazy and wasn't gettin' his tasks seen to. Just like all his kind. I told you last week when we discussed how to-"

  "That's enough!" James's tone was controlled but firm. "Go back to your shop, Bolden. I'll be over directly." His gaze swept the crowd. "And everybody else, go on about your business."

  Bolden stared at the boy for a long moment, then at James, before muttering something and stalking away. The crowd began to disperse.

  "Mrs. Whitcomb." James gave an exasperated sigh. "Would you please tell Angelo to be at my office at ten oclock tomorrow morning to discuss what happened here today, and to talk with me about finding him a job. And that if he decides not to show up-I'll come looking for him, and I'll find him."

  Molly relayed the message verbatim.

  Angelo's head bobbed up and down. "Si, si. Grazie, signore, grazie. Ci saro. Vi do la mia parola."

  "He says he'll be there;" Molly supplied. "He gives you his word, Sheriff."

  Angelo held out the loaf of bread and meat to James, who shook his head and motioned for him to keep it. The boy dipped his head in Molly's direction. "Lei e molto gentile, Signora ... Whitcomb." He pronounced her name with some uncertainty.

  She nodded. "Prego." Then she patted his arm. "Benvenuto." She watched him until he reached the corner. He glanced back at her and smiled, tore off a piece of bread, and took off at a good clip.

  "Well, that was mighty impressive, Molly;" James said softly.

  She turned back to find him watching her-Rachel too, from the wagon-and felt an unexpected sense of accomplishment. She lifted a shoulder and let it fall. "I'm glad I was able to help, but it's not that impressive. I simply have an ear for languages. I always have:"

  "Have you been to Europe?" Rachel asked.

  Molly had been asked this question before, and each time she wished she could give a different answer. "No, I haven't. It was encouraged, of course, but.. " She managed a carefree tone. "My schedule never allowed opportunity to travel like that:" Nor did she have the funds. Her father's occupation as a college professor at Franklin College had meant stretching every dollar.

  "So.. " James shifted his weight. "Just how many languages do you know?"

  Molly warmed at the admiration in his voice. "I speak Italian, Spanish, and French. Those are the languages I taught at the college in Georgia. I can read Portuguese and Romanian fairly well, but I'm not fluent in those languages by any means."

  "That's a real disappointment" He made a tsking sound with his tongue, and the gleam in his eyes reminded Molly of Kurt.

  "That's astounding." Rachel shook her head. "And to think, you're the woman who'll be teaching my boys. Speaking of-" She gathered the reins. "I need to catch up with them. Would you like to ride along, Molly?"

  "I think I'll walk, if that's all right'

  "I'll walk with you." James looked up at his sister. "How about we meet you there?"

  Nodding, she released the brake, th
en glanced in the direction Bolden had gone. "Be careful with him, James;' she whispered down.

  He reached over and pinched the toe of her boot. "I'm always careful, Rach. And don't you worry about Bolden. He's harmless. A lot of boast and swagger, is all."

  Rachel gave the reins a snap, her parting look saying she thought otherwise.

  "Shall we walk, Mrs. Whitcomb?"

  Hearing the formality of his tone, Molly half expected him to offer his arm. But he didn't.

  She fell into step beside him, thinking of how he'd pinched the toe of Rachel's boot. It was such a sweet gesture. She appreciated how he had handled the situation with Angelo Giordano too-except one niggling doubt persisted. "How can you be so sure that Angelo will show up at your office tomorrow morning?"

  Staring ahead, James smiled. "Don't worry. He'll show."

  She said nothing but hoped for Angelo's sake that he was right.

  James acknowledged a young woman passing by whose smile was shy but whose stare certainly wasn't. After walking several paces, Molly still sensed someone watching and chanced a look over her shoulder. The same young woman continued to stare, her attention fixed on James. And the man seemed oblivious to it. Or maybe he only pretended not to see.

  Molly studied him, wondering why he'd never married.

  Then again, she didn't know his history. Perhaps he had been married before. But something told her otherwise. He seemed as eligible as a man could be. Handsome, kind, obviously well liked by people in town-at least most people.

  He turned to her. "I wouldn't have let the boy go if I didn't know he'd come back:"

  She decided to take the supportive route. "I hope you're right:'

  I am;' he said softly, with not a trace of arrogance. "You see, much like you've always had an ear for languages, I've always had a knack for reading people:"

  Molly started to bring up the woman they'd just passed on the street, but seeing James's serious expression and realizing what his "knack for reading people" might mean for her, she didn't. "So ... you're saying you can tell when someone's telling the truth?" She hoped her question sounded more casual than it felt.

  He paused on the side of the street. "It's more like I can tell whether someone's genuine or not. It's a sense I get right off about a person. And it's usually proven true, over time:"

  A cool wind of caution blew through her. His attention deepened, and it was all she could do to maintain his gaze. Nerves twisted her stomach. Did he know about her? Had he guessed her secret? The sick feeling inside her fanned out. Somewhere down deep, she'd known her chances of living out this ill-fated charade were slim. But how had he found out?

  A blur of questions fired rapid speed through her mind. If James did know, it would be best to get it over with right now, before things went any further, though she would have preferred someplace more private for their confrontation.

  She took a deep breath and tried not to stammer. `And just what sense have you gotten about me ... James?" she said discreetly. "In the short time we've known each other:"

  He studied her. "Are you certain you want to know?"

  The seriousness in his voice caused everything around them to fade. Any moment now her knees would give way, she was certain. She attempted a soft laugh. "Well, of course I want to know." Her effort at nonchalance failed miserably.

  Staring down at her, he took his time in answering. "I see a woman standing before me-" His voice was soft. "A very talented woman who's been through a painful time in her life, and who's left that behind her. Or who's trying real hard to." The gentle lines that framed the corners of his eyes and mouth crinkled. "But she's also hiding something:"

  Molly told herself to keep breathing, and wondered if she would meet the wagon carrying her trunks up the mountain as she was sent packing back down.

  "My guess is"-a gentleness no sheriff had a right to possess, especially one so handsome, softened his rugged features-"that you're hiding a similar hurt to the kind my sister has known. Only ... different somehow. And you don't realize yet that you've come to the right place to start over again. It won't be easy, but you'll have friends to help you through this, if you're willing to let them:"

  Molly's throat tightened. If he only knew how willing she was for that to happen. But would these new friends accept her for who she was if they knew the truth? Which would reveal itself soon enough. Sooner than she would be ready.

  I could look down the street right now," he continued, "and point to person after person who came to Timber Ridge to begin again. Some came due to failed businesses back east or lives ruined by war.... People come west for all sorts of reasons:"

  Though she would have thought it impossible, the kindness in his eyes deepened.

  "So if that's why you've come here, Molly, to start over again, then you're in good company."

  She swallowed, both relieved and bewildered. He didn't know she was with child. But he did have insight into people. Into her. Which meant she would have to be careful with him.

  After several beats, her heart considered returning to its normal rhythm. A wagon passed by on the street, and James urged her closer to the boardwalk. She'd long prided herself on being plainspoken, but this man's straightforward manner, and the honesty and gentleness with which he laid out the truth, was unnerving. And downright appealing.

  `Are you always so direct, Sheriff?"

  His smile came gradually. "You asked me a direct question, ma'am. And I make it a rule to always answer a direct question as honestly, and kindly, as I can:"

  He resumed their stroll, and Molly fell into step beside him again, considering that self-imposed rule. Never again would she ask James McPherson a question unless she truly wanted-and was prepared to accept-his answer.

  9

  ater that afternoon, Molly sat wedged between James and Rachel on the wagon seat, on their way to see the schoolhouse, the last stop on their brief tour of Timber Ridge. The boys sat behind them in the back, slurping on sugar sticks and laughing as they bumped along. A flicker of relief still wavered inside her knowing that James hadn't discovered her secret. But it wasn't empowerment she felt. Quite the opposite.

  It was dread of people eventually discovering the truth. And of what it would cost them. Not just her. But them too.

  She cringed when she thought of James or Rachel or cute little Emily Thompson, a student she'd been introduced to at the general store, learning about what she'd done. The people she'd met that afternoon, among them eager parents willing to entrust their children to her care, were already accepting her as their teacher and as part of this town.

  She'd come to Timber Ridge with a pile of preconceptions about the community and its people. And though she wasn't willing to concede that all of her opinions were unfounded, the townspeople she'd met so far had given her cause to rethink most of them.

  A name on a building they passed drew her attention. Miss Ruby's Boardinghouse. She remembered a boardinghouse being mentioned in a telegram and wondered why that wasn't being included on the tour. "Is that where I'll be living?"

  She aimed her question at Rachel, who leaned forward and looked at her brother.

  James gave something close to a nod, his focus remaining on the road. "That's where the town council planned you'd be living. Yes, ma'am."

  Molly glanced behind them as they passed. The building looked nice enough. Nothing fancy, but clean. And, she hoped, absent of bugs, which hadn't described her overnight lodgings in Denver. She shuddered remembering.

  Sensing an opening, she chose her words with care, not wanting to offend. "Perhaps we could stop by there on our way back through town, and I could speak with the proprietress about moving in today. That way I wouldn't be an imposition to either of you:"

  Rachel frowned. "You're not an imposition at all. And you're welcome to stay with us until your . . " She paused. "Until your room is ready. Right, James?"

  "That's right. Still.. " He glanced down at Molly. "We want you to be comfortable. We'll see if
we have time to stop by once were done seeing the school:"

  Satisfied with his answer, Molly sat back. "How far is the walk from the boardinghouse to the schoolhouse?"

  'About ten minutes or so" He glanced down at her heeled boots. "Give or take, depending on how fast you can walk in those fancy shoes of yours:"

  Jesting curled the flat edge of his voice, and Rachel and the boys giggled.

  On a whim, Molly angled her left boot as though admiring it. "I'm flattered you've taken such a liking to my shoes, Sheriff. I've won many a footrace in these boots;' she said, not having attempted such a girlish feat in years.

  "Footrace?" Kurt's red head popped up over the back of the seat.

  "You run footraces, Mrs. Whitcomb?" Mitchell appeared beside his brother.

  Eyes widening, Molly heard James's quiet laughter beside her. "Well, no, boys. I was only-"

  "That's something I'd sure like to see, ma'am" James did nothing to hide his smile this time. "You running a footrace, and in those fancy boots, no less"

  Hearing the boys laughing behind her, Molly couldn't prevent a grin. She eyed her shoes. How fast could she run in her heels if given proper motivation? It was on the tip of her tongue to challenge them to a race when she caught herself. How would that look? Timber Ridge's newly widowed schoolteacher running willy-nilly through a field.

  She turned on the seat and briefly covered Kurt's little hand. "Maybe we can race sometime later, Kurt. Once ... more time has passed:"

  "But I don't see how come teachers can't-"

  "Kurt.. " Rachel's voice adopted a motherly tone. "Remember what we talked about earlier."

  The clip-clop of horses' hooves filled the silence.

  Mitchell looked over at his brother. "Mrs. Whitcomb's husband died, and she's in mourning, like Mama was:"

  Kurt squinted. "That's how come she's wearing your dress?"

  "Yes, that's right:" Rachel gave Molly's arm a gentle squeeze. "Her trunks haven't arrived yet, so she's borrowing my dress:"

  Quiet settled over the wagon, and the humor there only moments before quickly evaporated. Molly ran a hand over the skirt of the black dress, regretting how she'd bantered back and forth so casually with James. Not that she'd been flirtatious. She'd simply been more ... playful than was her custom with men. Part of her wanted to blame him for having this effect on her, but she knew better.