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bruised fetlock and ain't fit to ride. I'm wondering if Mrs. Whitcomb here might ride with you, sir?"
    James's gaze swung from Lewis back to her. "Mrs. Whitcomb?" His eyes clouded. "You're married, ma'am?"
    Molly froze inside. She briefly looked down at the ring on her left hand, then found James doing the same. And she glimpsed herself through his eyes-hardly acting the part of a grieving widow-and the open, attentive quality she'd considered so attractive in the man suddenly set her ill at ease.
    Her guard rose. "Yes, I ... I mean, no, I'm not. . " She couldn't maintain his gaze, nor that of Mr. Lewis. "Actually, Sheriff, I'm a ... recent widow." She barely managed the words, and they sounded false, even to her. Oh, God, please help me....
    But realizing what she was asking God to help her do, Molly knew she was on her own.
     

5
    olly took a deep breath and made herself look at James. And this time, she saw the entire town council of Timber Ridge staring back through his eyes, and the messy slate of her life waiting to be wiped clean and rewritten. She hoped the anguish she felt in that moment-over the illegitimate child she carried and the fabrication she was weaving-would somehow be mistaken for the sorrow of a woman in mourning, instead of the guilt and shame of a fallen woman.
    "A recent widow?" James repeated, the disbelief in his voice cementing her where she stood. "But the advertisement we posted in the papers back east, the one you answered"-unwavering conviction steeled his voice-"stated that applicants were to be unmarried. It's a requirement of the job. And one that was spelled out quite clearly, as I remember:"
    Molly's remaining confidence buckled at the authority in his voice. She would've sworn the laces on her corset cinched themselves tighter. Part of her wanted to start hiking back down the mountain right then. But where would she go, other than back to what she'd just left? And that wasn't an option. She had no income, no prospects for a job-other than as schoolteacher in Timber Ridge.
    Catching herself fidgeting with her skirt, she coerced her hands back to her sides, relieved to see that Brandon Tolliver and Charlie Daggett didn't seem to be listening. Her voice shrank in volume along with her courage. "I am unmarried, Sheriff. Again, I mean. My ... husband;' she forced out, barely able to breathe, "died about three months ago:"
    She bowed her head to avoid their scrutiny, aware that the action would likely be construed as grief, which served her purpose while also feeding her guilt.
    The silence lengthened.
    "I'm sorry, ma'am," James offered softly. "Please accept my condolences. I truly regret your loss:"
    "Me too, Mrs. Whitcomb:" Lewis ducked his head.
    The sincerity in their eyes triggered a weight in the pit of her stomach, so heavy and dense she thought she might be ill. Orchestrating a lie was one thing. Lying to someone's face was another. She could only nod her thanks.
    Sensing James wanted to speak at greater length on this topic, she waited. The intensity in his gaze heightened, and she wondered if he wasn't considering escorting her back to Sulfur Falls and putting her on the first train headed back east. If he chose to, there would be nothing she could do about it. And there was a part of her that wouldn't blame him in the least. It was what she deserved.
    "Lewis, in answer to your question ... Mrs. Whitcomb is welcome to ride with me:"
    Mrs. Whitcomb. He'd said it politely, not a trace of sarcasm in his voice. But it was a reversal toward formality, which was best under the circumstances, she knew.
    Not relishing the prospect of riding with him as much as she might have before, Molly took a breath. "Thank you, Sheriff."
    He stared at her for a beat. "We're down this way."
    She followed, pausing as he retrieved his coat and hat, and accepted his help onto the horse, riding forward as he indicated. She carefully arranged her skirt over her legs as he eased into the saddle behind her. He