Free Tamera Alexander - [Timber Ridge Reflections 01] by From a Distance

or what to do. And when they smiled she couldn’t help but think it was at her expense. Her reaction was a throwback to less-than-fond memories of childhood but was real nevertheless.
    The woman’s black-gloved hands knotted at her waist. “I would be willing to compensate you, of course.”
    Elizabeth rushed to correct the misunderstanding. “No compensation is necessary, ma’am. I’d be happy to do it.” She gave a soft laugh. “But I feel compelled to tell you that I’m not gifted in relating to children, so the end result may not turn out as you desire.” Her mind skipped ahead to obvious questions—had this woman lost a child and therefore wanted images of her remaining children? Or was it her husband she mourned?
    “Mrs. Boyd?”
    They both turned at the man’s voice. Ben Mullins, the proprietor, had moved from behind the counter and was holding out a bag. “Here it is, Mrs. Boyd.” Mullins smiled at her. “It’s not much, but I can order more—you just say the word.”
    Mrs. Boyd took the bag and drew herself up, squaring her shoulders as though she were about to enter battle. From the gauntness around her eyes and the pallor of her skin, it looked as if she’d already endured one.
    “My thanks, Mr. Mullins.” She swayed for a second, as though the task of remaining upright was demanding her last ounce of strength. “I’m sure this will be fine.”
    Mr. Mullins’s expression held compassion. “It’s good to see you again, ma’am. Tell your boys hello for me. I stuck a few gumdrops in there for them. Hope you don’t mind. Lyda insisted on it. She’s always been partial to your sons, as you know. Just like I have.” His voice fell away. “They remind us so much of our own.”
    One side of Mrs. Boyd’s mouth trembled as though she were trying to form a smile but had forgotten how. She bowed her head, and Mr. Mullins shifted his attention.
    “And about your order, Miss Westbrook . . .”
    Elizabeth blinked at the sound of her name.
    “Your shipment finally arrived, ma’am. I’ll get it from the back.” The blue-and-yellow gingham curtain guarding the doorway leading to the storeroom wafted at his passing.
    “Seems you won’t be needing our new doctor after all.”
    Elizabeth smiled at the faint whisper beside her. “No, it doesn’t seem so.” Not yet, anyway.
    The woman’s task seemed complete, yet she didn’t turn to go. The thought was absurd, but Elizabeth briefly wondered whether the woman’s boots were nailed to the floor, she was so still and unmoving, like a child who’d been told to stay put and wait to be gathered.
    A man walked into the store, drawing Elizabeth’s attention, and everyone else’s, it seemed. His hat nearly brushed the top of the doorframe as he passed beneath it, and he paused just inside as though searching for someone.
    When his gaze settled on Mrs. Boyd, Elizabeth noted a subtle change in him.
    He walked in their direction, speaking to everyone he passed without exception, addressing each man, woman, and child by name. If first impressions counted for anything, Elizabeth guessed him to be an official of Timber Ridge. Perhaps the magistrate or mayor, though she’d never seen a mayor so well loved as this man apparently was, so she decided on the former. Protectors of justice inspired adoration like few others.
    “Rachel . . .” He touched Mrs. Boyd’s arm, and the imagined nails in the woman’s boots loosened.
    She leaned into him. “Thank you for coming back for me.”
    He kissed the top of her head and cradled it as he might have a child’s. “The boys are in the wagon. We’ll head home now.” He tipped his Stetson in Elizabeth’s direction. “Miss Westbrook, we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting yet. It’s nice to finally make your acquaintance, ma’am. I’m James McPherson, sheriff here in Timber Ridge.”
    Silently congratulating herself at having guessed correctly, Elizabeth peered up at him. More than just a hint of the