Beyond This Moment by Tamera Alexander Page A

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