Beyond This Moment Read online

  His friendliness, the way he made everyone feel so comfortable, drew something out in her. Something light and carefree and that made her feel so at ease-things she shouldn't be feeling right now.

  They left the town behind, and the towering Maroon Bells steadily rose before them. The Twin Sisters stood sentinel over Timber Ridge and were even more impressive closer up. Timeless stone monuments vaulting up from the earth with a beauty so striking and unrelenting that Molly found it difficult to look away. If the schoolhouse was located nearby, coming to work every day would be a privilege.

  A lake spread out at the foot of the mountains, tranquil and serene, its placid surface mirroring the highest peaks and the tufted clouds shrouding them. Molly angled her head sideways. The image on the water's surface was so pure, so clear, that if she hadn't known the truth, she would've had a hard time telling which was real and which was the reflection.

  Glimpsing a building past the lake, she leaned forward on the seat. "Is that the school?"

  "Yes, ma'am, it is:" James guided the horses down a side road.

  It wasn't as she'd imagined. The schoolhouse wasn't rustic in the least. It was made from lumber, just like schoolhouses back east. Coats of white paint covered the walls and gleamed brightly in the afternoon sun. There was even a play area set off to the side, complete with a seesaw and a swing looped over a low-hanging limb.

  As they drew closer, Molly saw a bell affixed to the side of the building by the double front doors, and already, she could imagine its clarion tone. "When was the school built?"

  James looked over at her. "I thought you would've read that in the advertisement for the teaching position:'

  Molly had never seen the original advertisement, not that she could tell him that. "I'm afraid that part slipped my mind:"

  He gave her a look of amusement. "The building's new as of last fall. Mayor Davenport insisted on putting that in the advertisement. Said it would be an added incentive to applicants" He raised a brow. "I'll be sure and tell him it had a big influence on your decision to accept our offer"

  Molly sought to cover the minor misstep with a teasing laugh. "Please don't tell the mayor any such thing. I'd like to stay on his good side. I guess the mention of the new building made less of an impression at the time than where Timber Ridge was located:" Which was the truth. When President Northrop had first suggested her accepting this job in the Colorado Territory, all hope had drained from her as she'd pictured a community of mountain ruffians and illiterate children. She was grateful that wasn't proving to be the case.

  James brought the wagon to a stop, and Mitchell and Kurt leapt from the back. The boys set off at a run with Rachel following them. Molly climbed from the wagon, surprised when she felt hands come about her waist, assisting her descent.

  For an instant, she feared James might notice the slight thickening in her waistline, then realized how silly the thought was. "Thank you, James:" Standing so close to him, she caught the scent of bay rum and spice. Same as was on his pillow.

  "My pleasure, ma'am." He motioned for her to precede him up the path to the door.

  She'd already begun preparing her lessons. The hours spent on the train coming west had allowed ample time for that-when she wasn't nauseated from the rocking motion. What she didn't know, and wouldn't until she met with each student, was where each boy and girl was in their studies. She stared at the building ahead. Teaching children in Timber Ridge was going to be a far different challenge from teaching at Franklin College. One for which she wasn't certain she was ready.

  Rachel and the boys stood on the landing, all smiles, and Molly realized they were waiting for her to enter first. Reaching the top step, she bobbed a curtsey and opened the doors. She hadn't known what to expect, but nothing could have prepared her for what awaited inside.

  Not one but two large chalkboards hung on the front wall. Rows of students' desks-she estimated thirty, at a glance-were lined up in neat rows across the width of the room. And upon each desk was a new slate and supply of chalk, along with one of various editions of McGuffey's Readers.

  But what drew her attention most were the stocked bookshelves that ran the length of the back wall. Emotion tightened her throat. Even at Franklin College, a highly respected and accredited institution, the latest curriculum and ample supplies were not something easily acquired. That's why she'd brought so much with her, for fear there would be so little available here. "Where did all of this come from?"

  "It's a long story." James came along beside her, hat in hand. "One of the women in town is the daughter of a U.S. senator. Her father pulled some strings and had all this sent out. I doubt there's another school in all the territories that's as well equipped as this one:"

  "Or back east;' Molly added softly.

  "When do you start teaching us, Mrs. Whitcomb?"

  Molly turned to see Kurt peering up, his blue eyes inquisitive. "School begins in a little less than three weeks, is my understanding." She looked to James for confirmation, in case something had changed.

  "Hardly more than two weeks, I'm afraid:" He pulled a piece of paper from his vest pocket and handed it to her, apology lining his expression. "The town council met last week and came up with a list of items they'd like to see accomplished before school starts:"

  She unfolded the page and read the list, and worked to suppress her shock. They wanted her to accomplish the whole list in two weeks! But she'd always said she liked a challenge-and she needed this job. Feeling the pressure of everyone's attention, she summoned confidence she didn't feel. "I think all of this is very doable, Sheriff, and I look forward to getting started. Immediately!" She laughed to soften the exclamation.

  "If the boys and I can help in any way"-Rachel stepped closer"we'd be happy to:"

  "Thank you. I'd appreciate that:"

  Mitchell tugged on his mother's sleeve. "Can we play outside for a minute, Mama? Please? We'll play fast:"

  Rachel tousled the boys' hair. "Five minutes:" She narrowed her eyes. "But the last one to the swing's a rotten egg!" Giggling, she raced them out the door.

  Still absorbing her new surroundings, Molly walked toward the front of the room to the teacher's desk. Her desk. She ran a hand along the edge, noting that the desk differed from the others in the room. Stained a rich maple, it possessed a rustic elegance the others lacked. Careful attention had been given the delicate carvings on the drawer pulls and the beveled edges along the top. Someone had taken great pride in crafting it.

  James's footfalls sounded behind her. "It's made from pine taken right off the mountain out back:"

  She opened one of the drawers. It pulled smoothly in her grip. "It's beautiful. So much nicer than anything I expected to find here." All of it was. The town of Timber Ridge, its people ...

  "I'm glad you're pleased with it, Molly."

  Something in his tone brought her gaze up. "You sound surprised. As if you expected I wouldn't be:" She huffed softly. "Why do people always assume that about me?" Too late she read his expression and realized she'd inadvertently invited his opinion about her character. Yet again.

  His laughter was immediate. "I've seen that look before. Just last week, when I had a doe lined up down the barrel of my gun. She raised up and spotted me-" He shook his head. "And the look on her face said she wanted to be anywhere but where she was."

  "You're comparing me to a doe you shot last week?"

  He raised a hand. "I never said I shot her. I said I had her lined up in my sights:'

  "So you didn't shoot her?"

  "No, ma'am. I didn't."

  Though tempted to pursue that line of conversation, Molly decided to pick at another thread instead-one she'd run up against beforeknowing he would answer honestly. "How is it that you've known me so short a time, yet already you assume I'm a woman who would be hard to please?"

  This time he looked away first and developed a sudden interest in a book on her desk-Little Women. He picked it up and flipped through it. It was a favorite of
hers, one she'd read numerous times.

  Realizing he was stalling, Molly tilted her head to gain his attention, glad to be on the offensive with him for a change. "I can make the question more direct if you'd like, Sheriff."

  That earned her a grin. "No need. I understood your question the first time. I'm just trying to think of a way to answer honestly that won't get me into further trouble." After a moment, he returned the book to her desk. "First off, I apologize for giving you the impression I thought you might be hard to please. It's just that, in my experience, women who come west, especially those coming from larger, more proper cities back east, tend to find life out here more ... rustic than what they expected. Most don't take kindly to it. Some do, in time, but it takes them a while:"

  Molly found his statement fair, especially considering what he knew of her. "And you obviously think I fall into the category of women who don't make it. Is that a correct assumption?"

  "If you'd asked me that question when I first saw you step from the train, I would've answered yes:" His eyes narrowed. "But that's not my answer anymore.

  Molly stared. He'd seen her step from the train.... Interesting.

  His expression sobered, as though he just now realized what he'd revealed. "I didn't mean to make it sound like I was watching you. I simply noticed you step from the train. You looked a little ... disappointed with your new surroundings. But that was only my impression. Maybe I misinterpreted your actions:'

  "My actions?" Molly couldn't even remember what she'd done.

  James lifted his hand and touched his nose in a rather feminine and awkward-looking manner for him. "You did something like that:"

  She gave a laugh. "I did not!"

  He nodded. "You did:" A mischievous gleam lit his eyes, as when he kidded with the boys or with Rachel. Only, when the smile was aimed her way, Molly found it had quite a different effect on her.

  She retreated behind the desk.

  "I tend to watch people;' he said. "Goes with the job, I guess. I didn't mean any offense:"

  "No offense was taken, Sheriff." She smiled as though what he'd said was of little consequence and gave the pedestaled globe on her desk a spin, thankful when he crossed the room to the window.

  The world skimmed by beneath her fingertips, and with each revolution, she grew more determined to move into the boardinghouse by that evening. She liked James, Rachel, and the boys, and appreciated their offered friendship, but close friendships were the last thing she needed in her life. It would be best-for all involved-if she were on her own.

  She stopped the globe and found North America facing upward. Locating the state of Georgia, she drew her finger over the hundreds of miles she'd traveled to get to the western territories. Colorado truly was another world away. And despite the second chance at life God had given her on that cliff, she couldn't forget what had prompted her move out west. She pressed a hand to her abdomen. As though forgetting were a possibility.

  "Have you seen the view from this window yet?"

  Knowing how proud James was of the surrounding mountains, and with reason, she indulged him and joined him at the window. The view was indeed spectacular-the snow-covered peaks, the sunlight playing across the lake. She sighed. "How will the children ever get any work done with all this to look at?"

  He didn't answer.

  She looked over at him, but he simply nodded again out the window.

  "Take a better look;' he said softly. "A little to your right:'

  She did as he asked. "I'm sorry, but I don't see anyth-" She pressed closer. Her breath fogged the pane.

  There, nestled at the base of the Maroon Bells, not far from the lake and partially shielded by a stand of trees, was a cabin. She could only see the edge of it from where she stood. Something Rachel had said came back to her, and she looked up at him. "Is that yours? I mean, where you lived before you moved in with Rachel and the boys?"

  "No, ma'am." He slipped his hat on and held out his arm as though to escort her somewhere. "The town got together and built it ... for the new schoolteacher in Timber Ridge:"

  10

  dyllic was the first word that came to Molly's mind as the cabin came into view. She'd seen an Albert Bierstadt painting a handful of years ago, of a mountain scene with a cabin by a stream. The Rocky Mountains, she thought, but couldn't be sure. All she remembered was wishing then that she could walk straight into that painting and live there.

  And now, in this moment, she felt as if she had.

  She walked beside James, hand tucked in the crook of his arm, the field grass crunching beneath their feet. A breeze rippled across the surface of the lake, sending tiny waves lapping the muddy banks. Rachel's and the boys' laughter carried from the play area across the meadow, and Molly couldn't recall ever hearing a more harmonious blend of sounds.

  My first home ... Of her own. Not her parents' home, but hers.

  It didn't seem real. And she reminded herself that it might not be if Bolden and others on the town council disapproved of her. Staring ahead at the cabin, and thinking of the child inside her, she untwined her arm from James's and prayed that wouldn't be the case.

  On either side of the cabin's front porch, flower boxes adorned the windows. Riots of color spilled over their sides. A woman's touch ... Rachel's, perhaps. Trees bordered the cabin on all sides but the front, and the exaggerated scent of fresh-cut pine greeted her as she drew closer.

  "Would you care to see inside?"

  The way James asked the question told her he'd noticed her reticence, and she gathered her scattered thoughts. "Yes ... I would. Thank you."

  He took the pair of porch stairs as one and opened the front door.

  She stepped inside. Furniture. The cabin already had furniture. A plum-colored sofa and matching wingback chair anchored a blue-andyellow corded rug, and a table with a lace doily nested between them. A small kitchen table with two chairs huddled cozily beneath the window on the far wall, and looking through the open door into the next room, she spotted a bed and chifforobe. And in her mind's eye, she pictured a cradle in the corner.

  "It's only got two rooms, but they're a nice size:" He motioned. "The smaller room is your bedroom, and-as you can see-this larger one is your sitting room and kitchen. It's nearly done. They've got some final roof work to do along the sides and back, and then it'll be ready to move into."

  She ran a hand along the back of the sofa. "I hardly know what to say.

  "So this meets with your approval too?"

  Her laughter came out breathy. "Do you even have to ask?" She looked out a back window to see a swiftly running stream behind the cabin, and a question rose inside her.

  Why?

  Why, after what she'd done, would God give her this? It didn't make any sense.

  James came to stand beside her. "Are you all right, Molly?"

  She nodded. "Yes, I'm fine:" But she wasn't.

  Little more than three weeks ago, she'd never heard of Timber Ridge. Then it quickly became a symbol of punishment and penance. And today she stood looking at all this, the red dirt of Georgia still clinging to her boots, and she couldn't understand what God was doing.

  Part of her wanted to thank Him for His undeserved gift, while another part of her, a small but vocal part, was waiting for the other shoe to drop. God loved her, she knew, but people had to pay for their wrongs. That was the way of things.

  "Sheriff McPherson! You in there?" someone yelled.

  James peered out a front window and gave a sharp exhale. "You best stay inside and let me handle this."

  Molly came alongside him to spot Bolden, Angelo's accuser, marching across the field with another gentleman. The second man wasn't as tall, but he carried his weight across his shoulders and chest, which gave him an imposing presence. And he moved at a blistering pace. Even at this distance, she could see the man's neck flushing crimson, and the color extended into his face.

  He reminded her of someone, but she couldn't recall who. "Who's that with Mr. Bolden?" />
  "That's Mayor Davenport. Bolden's his brother-in-law. And my guess would be that the mayor's learned of your arrival."

  The way he said it, Molly knew he was referring to her being "widowed:'

  "He looks angry." More in a mood to fire than a mood to hire.

  James nodded. "He's got a temper-that's for sure:"

  "I didn't mean to cause such a problem."

  He didn't answer right off, then finally turned to her. "We maybe out west, Molly, but along with furniture and keepsakes, people move their traditions with them too. Schoolteachers have always been unmarried:" He looked at her as if to say, "You know that as well as I do."

  "And even though you are unmarried again, there are some people who won't see it that way." He glanced back outside. "And here come two of them right now."

  Speechless in the face of James's honesty, Molly watched the mayor through the window, noting the intensity in his eyes and the sharp confidence in his movements. And she realized who it was he reminded her of-President Northrop. And the heat of indignation simmered inside her.

  "Molly?"

  She turned to see James by the door.

  "Promise me you'll stay inside until they're gone."

  She shook her head. "I think it'd be best if I go ahead and get this meeting over with." If she wasn't going to be hired, it was best to find that out right away. Her heart was already putting down roots in this place, and with these people. If she was leaving-she whispered a prayer she doubted God heard-she needed to know.

  "You need to meet Mayor Davenport, I agree, Molly. But now's not the time. It'll be better once he's cooled down, and when the town council is convened." James opened the door as if the issue were settled. `And one more thing ... David Davenport doesn't favor the immigrants being in Timber Ridge. If he had his druthers, they'd be packed up and headed down the mountain by nightfall-every last one of them. So while I appreciate what you did earlier in town with Angelo, very much ... I'm afraid that's already made you an adversary in Davenport's book:'