"Actually, it's you I came to see" Molly pulled the book from the teaching satchel slung over one shoulder. "I have something for you" She turned the book toward him. "Have you ever had the opportunity to read this?"
His brow furrowed. "No, ma'am, Dr. Whitcomb. I never even heard of it before:"
"It's by a Frenchman. He writes stories that stretch the imagination, and this is one of my favorites. If you like it, I have others I'd be willing to share:"
She held it out, but he only stared, not taking it.
"You want to share your book with me, ma'am?"
"Yes, Elijah, I do. You can keep it for as long as you like-and once you're done, I'd like to discuss it with you. Hear your opinions on the author's ideas. See if you think what he's proposing is possible or not. But only if you'd like to, of course. I'll leave that up to you:"
"Oh yes, ma'am, I'd like to read it and talk with you about it, but ... maybe I should ask my father first:"
Like father like son. Such integrity for a boy his age. "I've already asked your father, and he said it was fine with him. He suggested I give you the book myself."
Slowly, Elijah took the bound volume and turned it over in his hands. "Thank you, Dr. Whitcomb. I'll take good care of it, ma'am. And about what you said at Miss Clara's. About me attending your school. . Understanding far beyond the boy's years moved into his expression. "I appreciate the thought behind that, just the same:'
His acceptance tugged at her heartstrings, and as she continued on to the store, Molly wished again that circumstances were different.
She prayed that life would be kind to Elijah Birch, that the people of Timber Ridge would come to see him for who he really was, and that God would use her, in whatever way He saw fit, to help bring that about.
"Did you actually see the mountain lion?" James studied Arlin Spivey's expression, wanting to make sure the man had actually seen something and wasn't merely jumping to conclusions. Secretly, he hoped it was a mountain lion that had gotten Spivey's calf. Better that than what the evidence pointed to.
"It was dark and I didn't see it happen outright, Sheriff, but I've seen a cougar's damage before. I heard the calf bawlin; and by the time I made it out here to the corral, the calf was gone. Cougar must've drug it across the field and into the brush over there. Come daylight is when I saw the mess in the brush. I only mentioned it to your deputy here in passing yesterday afternoon." Spivey nodded to Willis, who stood nearby. "Didn't mean for him to bring you all the way out here on a Saturday morning. It was just a cougar:" Spivey shook his head. "But that was my prize calf. Sure hurts to lose it:"
James scanned the field. "If that calf was anything like last year's, you would've taken top prize again."
"He was every bit and more, Sheriff."
James motioned to Willis to join him. "Willis and I will have one last look around, if that's all right:"
"Help yourself. LuEllen has an apple pie in the oven." Spivey arched a brow. "Poke around long enough and she'll bring you both a piece to take home:" He walked back into the barn.
Rifle in hand, James started back across the field to survey the area again. "That makes two calves in two days. First Ray Ballister's and now Spivey's."
Willis matched his stride. "Yes, sir. Except Ballister's was snatched from the field:"
James reached the edge of the brush and knelt. Drag marks in the dirt, traces of blood on the leaves and ground. Broken limbs, but split up high, by the tips. He sighed. "You seen any cougars around your place lately, Willis?"
"Not in a while. I heard one, though, a few nights back. A female, in heat. Eeriest-sounding thing you ever heard. It about scared Mary to death. She still won't go outside alone to bring in the wash from the line:'
James glanced behind him to the corral, his mind working in two different directions at once. "How's Mary doing? Is she getting along okay?" The corral was a good two hundred feet from the edge of the woods. Not impossible for a cougar to drag a calf that far. Shoot, he'd seen a full-grown male drag a three-hundred-pound elk a thousand yards back to its cave. But the cougar had no place to hide around Spivey's barn. No place to pounce and take its prey by surprise.
Willis crouched beside him. "Mary's fine. She nudged me awake the other night, told me to put my hand on her belly and wait for a second. Then I felt something move. She says to me, "That's our baby kicking:" He laughed. "I told her it was just Miss Clara's cobbler mixing up with all those pickles she'd eaten after dinner:"
"Did she slap you?"
Willis nodded. "Good and hard:"
James laughed along with him, but he also felt a bitter twinge way down deep. And he realized what it was. He was jealous of Willis. Not personally-of him and Mary-but of what Willis had. A wife, and a child on the way. A life outside of the sheriff's office.
As much as he enjoyed being sheriff and had dedicated himself to upholding justice and making Timber Ridge a safer place, he couldn't escape the sense that God had something else for his life. It was just a feeling, a hunch, and one he couldn't explain. Or shake.
Willis fingered a broken branch. "Beats all I've ever seen. Or felt;" he whispered.
Without asking, James knew the deputy wasn't referring to the branch in his grip, or how Mary had slapped him. "Does the doctor think she'll carry this one all the way through?"
"Brookston says if she can make it another four weeks, to her seventh month, then she'll be past the time when she-" He looked away. "When we lost our son. I don't think she'll be able to take it if she loses this one too, Sheriff. Last time about killed her:"
James stood, and Willis followed suit.
"All three of you are in my prayers, Willis. Now why don't you take on off and surprise Mary by getting home a little early? I'll scout around here a bit more, see if I can locate the kill:"
"Thank you, Sheriff. I appreciate that" But Willis didn't make any move to leave. "I've been meaning to talk to you about something, Sheriff. But-" He bowed his head. "This is hard. And I ... I don't know quite how to put it:'
"I've found the best way to say something is usually just to say it:"
With a deep breath, Willis raised his head. "I respect you, Sheriff. And I'd never do anything to undermine you or your authority. You know that:"
James nodded. "Something tells me you're not to the hard part yet, Deputy." He smiled in hopes of easing his deputy's tension.
"The mayor's approached me about putting my name forward for sheriff next spring. His exact words were that-" Willis sighed. "That he wants to `back me for sheriff of Timber Ridge:'
James slowly sifted the news, weighing Davenport's motivation behind it, and Willis's struggle. He thought of his grandfather and knew what Ian Fletcher McGuiggan would have said if he were standing there. "And what does God have to say about it all?"
The stress in Willis's features lessened. "I told Mary that'd be the first thing you'd say." He shook his head. "That's part of the problem, Sheriff. I haven't heard Him say anything yet. Either for it or against it. And Davenport's pressuring me for an answer:"
Behind Willis rose the Maroon Bells, and James's gaze was drawn to a particular peak he'd climbed by himself last summer-not long after Josiah Birch had been beaten so badly. He'd spent the night alone, praying, asking God for guidance in that situation. And God had given it, tenfold.
A measure of that same peace returned to James again. "If you haven't heard God speak, Willis, then I wouldn't give my answer. I'd wait and get my direction first:"
"But ... what if I feel His direction is saying for me to put my name in the hat?"
"Then you put your name in that hat:"
"But I can't go against you, Sheriff. I won't. When you took me on as deputy, I didn't know anything. I've learned everything I know from you.
I appreciate that, Deputy, but.. "James rubbed the back of his neck, wearier now than a few heartbeats before. "If God wants you to be the next sheriff of Timber Ridge, then I'll step aside. Because that'll mean He has something
else in mind for me:'
"But this job is your life, Sheriff. You've told me that a thousand times."
"So I have;' James said quietly. "This job is your life." The statement stung. "What I want more than anything, Willis, is to be right where the Almighty wants me. I wasted way too much of my youth pushing to be something I wasn't. And I refuse to spend one more day going in that direction. So"-he put his hand on the deputy's shoulder-"you go on home, see to that pretty wife of yours, and we'll both wait and see what direction we get on this other question. And I appreciate you confiding in me, Willis. I won't say anything to Davenport:"
Willis stared for a second. "Yes, sir, Sheriff. Thank you, sir."
For the next hour, James scoured the hills around Spivey's ranch, looking for signs of a recent kill, or even a set of paw prints. But the ground gave up nothing. It hadn't rained in days, and the paths were dry and dusty. The higher he climbed the chillier the air, and the more the leaves were beginning to turn. It wouldn't be long before the mountains were in full fall color, which spawned an idea for an outing with Molly.
As quickly as the thought came, he dismissed it. It wasn't a good course to pursue their "friendship;' and he knew it. But it didn't mean it wasn't still appealing.
Standing on Molly's porch stairs nearly two weeks ago, toasting sugar sticks, he thought he'd detected a softening in her that resembled an invitation for more than friendship. When he'd looked closer at herstanding there smiling, with that candy between her lips-he was sure of it. Afterward, though, when he'd seen her again in town and things were "normal" between them, he realized he'd just imagined it.
Finding no leads on the mountain, he returned to the Spiveys' ranch and was climbing into the saddle when LuEllen Spivey hustled out the cabin door.
"I've got a little something for you, Sheriff. I gave Deputy Willis some pie for him and Mary. And I've wrapped up a couple of pieces for you too:"
He took the pie, grateful, and hungry enough to eat both slices himself. He caught the spark in Mrs. Spivey's eyes and decided to play along, as he always did. "Now what am I going to do with two pieces of pie, Mrs. Spivey?"
"You're a resourceful man, Sheriff McPherson" She half sang the words, winking at him. "You'll think of a friend to share it with, I'm sure. Or I can always make some suggestions, if you need a little help:"
James smiled as he tucked the pie into a saddlebag. The dear woman was forever trying to match him up with someone. Either the latest unmarried woman who moved to town-not that many unmarried women moved to Timber Ridge-or one of the widows at church, most of whom were ten years his senior, at least. Last summer and fall it was her niece visiting from Texas. A nice enough lady, but not the woman for him.
There was someone he would have liked to share the pie with, but his position as her liaison to the town council only went so far. And it didn't include delivering pie to schoolteachers on Saturday mornings.
I appreciate your kindness, ma'am. And I'll find someone to share this with, I'm sure." He motioned to the barn. "By chance, do you know if Arlin's selling any of his horses? I might know of an interested party."
She nodded, hands on her hips. "He posted an advertisement on the board at the Mullinses' store for a couple of the mares."
James tipped his hat. "Good enough, then. I'll have the person contact you:"
He rode back toward town, taking a path that led over the ridge behind the schoolhouse and by a series of caves that dotted the mountainside. He kept alert for any sign of a cougar, hoping to spot something.
Barrister and Spivey had both lost a calf. And in both instances, the cougar had dragged the animal a good distance to get him to the woods. Yet there was hardly any blood until he reached the brush. Didn't make any sense. Unless the cougar broke the calf's neck when it pounced. That would explain it.
Or maybe it wasn't a cougar taking the calves.
There'd been rustlers in the area months ago, but no other thefts had been reported since then. And those guys had simply taken the animals. They hadn't bothered trying to fabricate a cover-up.
Buzzards flying overhead got James's attention first. Followed by the smell.
He dismounted and drew his rifle from its sheath, and took only a handful of steps off the path when he came upon it. He grimaced at the ravaged carcass.
But even more at the claw marks on what little was left of the calf's hide.
20
ames wasn't sure this was Spivey's calf, but this calf had been killed by a mountain lion. That was for certain. Behind him on the trail, Winsome whinnied and pawed the ground.
"Easy, girl;' he whispered, rifle at the ready.
He scanned the woods around him and above him on the ridge, paying special attention to the trees. Cougars were formidable predators. He'd seen one shoot straight up a lodgepole pine, as if gravity meant nothing, and then perch there, waiting, only to leap straight down-some thirty feet at least-to take down a bull elk twice the animal's size.
His attention keen, he climbed back in the saddle and continued down the twisting path.
The newspaper office was closed over the weekend, but come Monday he'd ask Elizabeth Ranslett to put a line about the killings in the next issue. Just so people would be on the alert with their animals. Cougars were shy of people, so that typically wasn't a worry-although folks being more attentive wouldn't hurt.
When he reached the fork in the trail, he paused. The narrow path leading upward to the left followed the ridge, skirting around the lake, and would take him directly into town. He could stop by the office and get some work done. The path to the right sloped downward and emptied out by Maroon Lake-and the schoolhouse.
He smiled to himself. The choice wasn't a hard one.
Molly couldn't remember ever feeling worse.
Holding her robe closed, she gripped the porch railing and eased down the front stairs of the cabin. The twenty-odd steps to the outdoor privy might as well have been a mile.
Her aches and chills had turned into a fiery sore throat during the night, along with constant sneezing and a fever potent enough to give her the shakes. She hurt all over, even on the soles of her feet, and her nose was raw from sniffling all night.
She longed for something more than tepid water, maybe some tea, but lacked the strength to make anything. She'd been alone often enough since coming to Timber Ridge, but she'd never felt truly lonely-until now.
Maybe it was lying awake through the bleak hours of night, unable to sleep, listening to the clock on the mantel ticking off the seconds, her body alternating between hot and cold. Or being hungry and thirsty, worn out, thinking of the families in town who were together, who had one another if they needed anything, and meanwhile, she had no one.
But the realization was sobering. She'd made many acquaintances while in Timber Ridge. She would even call some of them friends. But when it came down to it, she was alone.
What would she do right now if the baby were already born? How would she care for a child when she was sick? She wouldn't be able to continue teaching once the baby was born, but she'd have to have a job. What would she do? Who would hire her?
Her head throbbed from the brief walk to the privy, and the squeak of hinges sounded overloud in the hush of morning. The air inside was chilly and her hands shook. The outhouse was an inconvenience, but it wasn't foreign. She'd grown up using an outhouse during warmer months and a chamber pot come winter. But that had been years ago, before her father had indoor water closets installed.
When she finished, she arranged her gown and robe and stepped from the privy, adding a chamber pot to her list of items to purchase. The door closed behind her with the same high-pitched complaint as before-and the world suddenly tilted, taking her with it.
Landing on all fours, she squeezed her eyes shut, breathing hard, trying to cease the spinning in her head. Weakness washed through her. The porch blurred-all four of them-in her vision. The ground was dry and the sun was shining, but she shuddered with cold.
"Molly!"
She heard footsteps and looked up to see James running toward her. Her head felt as if it were about to split wide open.
He felt her cheeks and forehead. "You've got fever!"
"It's just a cold;' she whispered. "I got dizzy ... and-" It hurt to talk. "Would you mind helping-"
Before she could finish, he lifted her in his arms.
Touched by his lack of thought for himself, she turned her head away. "Don't get too close:"
"I'll take my chances;' he whispered, his voice holding concern as he started for the porch stairs.
She was only too aware of her gown and robe, and her hair hanging loose and limp around her shoulders. The door to her cabin stood open. She didn't remember leaving it that way, but neither did she remember closing it.
He carried her inside, then strode straight back to her bedroom. Perhaps she should've been more uncomfortable-with her past experience with Jeremy Fowler-but all she could think about was lying back down and getting warm again. Her bare feet were like ice. And besides, this was James McPherson-the man who did no wrong. The thought might have made her smile if she hadn't felt so sick.
"Here you go:" He eased her down by the bed, never letting go, and pulled back the covers.
She crawled in, keeping on her robe for modesty, and warmth. The sheets had cooled in her absence and only served to deepen the chill inside her. James laid aside his hat and leaned down and tucked her in as though she were a little girl.
He felt her forehead again. "Have you seen Dr. Brookston yet?"
"No, but I'll be fine;' she whispered, drinking in the warmth from his hand. She was so cold. Her chin trembled. "It got worse during the night:" A thought occurred. "I hope none of my students are ill:'
Beyond This Moment Page 19
