As ridiculous as this was, he couldn’t stop the smile from stretching across his face. Threading his arms through his suspenders he realized that Paul’s mail-order bride didn’t know the backside of a horse from a train caboose when it came to western ways and country living.
She was something, Hope. Here she was perched on a stool in her fancy clothes, ready to milk the cow at the crack of dawn.
Did she even own a work dress? So far, the garments he’d seen draping her feminine form had been more elegant than most women in Boulder dreamed of owning.
But just seeing her sitting there all elegant and refined looking, he realized that he’d definitely underestimated her. He’d figured that she’d drag herself out of bed sometime around eight o’clock and still consider that early. Well, he was a big enough man to recognize when he was just plain wrong.
“Now, you just let me know if I’m hurting you. All right?” She held the china cups under the cow’s teats and waited…and waited, and it was all Aaron could do to remain perfectly silent. “Hmm…maybe if I try this.” She slowly maneuvered a long white-gloved hand to the cow’s teats. The dainty teacup perilously cradled in her other hand would barely catch enough milk to feed a fat and sassy cat.
Her naive tenacity…now that was strangely and undeniably refreshing. It awakened a tender part of his heart he thought had died right along with Ellie.
From this vantage point, he could tell that she was barely touching the cow as she began squeezing—pinching, really. He listened for the ping of milk hitting the vessel, knowing full well that it’d be difficult. She tried again and again, then bent at the waist and peered beneath the cow as though looking for written instructions.
He’d been awakened by the soothing sound of her voice filtering through the barn to where he’d been sleeping in the hayloft. For two nights now, he’d slept up there, and though it wasn’t home, it eased his mind knowing that he was within earshot—even if she didn’t know it yet. Tucking in his shirttails, he had to bite his lip to keep from grinning at her as she worked so diligently to milk the cow.
When the cow mooed and shifted, Hope startled. She stood suddenly, stumbled.
Aaron sprang into action, bolting through the stall door and catching her under her arms just as she was about to hit the ground.
She let out a muffled scream, and then gasped as her upside-down gaze met his. Swallowing hard she stared, up at him.
He cleared his throat, unable to keep a grin from curling his lips. “Do you need some help?”
Her stunned expression infused her features with a feminine, rosy glow. “Why do you ask?”
He couldn’t begin to wipe the smile from his face, especially when she was trying so hard to appear nonchalant as she smoothed a hand down her skirt.
“Oh, I don’t know. Just a hunch, I guess.” He gave his head an exasperated—albeit amused—shake, perplexed by her stubbornness, stirred by her determination. “I’d be glad to give you some pointers, if you’d like.”
He maintained his hold on Hope as she tried to get her footing, but her flourish of skirts caught her up. She scrambled to right herself and stumbled against Aaron, falling backward once again and bringing him down beneath her.
“Oh, my, I apologize,” she gasped as she lay there, seemingly helpless as a bug on its back. “How positively clumsy of me.”
“Are you all right?” He angled his gaze at her, trying not to notice how her slender form molded to his or how he could almost feel her body sigh with relief, as though she was grateful to have someone catch her when she fell. “You’re not hurt, are you?”
He also struggled to ignore the way his heart seemed to exalt—rebelliously so—in the opportunity to hold someone again. He’d cherished his wife, Ellie—with his words, his touch and his deeds. He’d loved her deeply—and he’d been loved deeply. It was as if his arms had ached, these ten long months, for the chance to protect, offer support and to care.
Hope sputtered. She took a deep breath as she rolled off of him and stood. “I’m fine. I’m just so sorry for the awkwardness of this situation. The cow startled me, and when I took a step back I tripped and—”
“No apologies are necessary.” He pushed himself up in one solid movement, unable to ignore the way her astute gaze took in his every move. “As long as you’re all right, that’s the main thing.”
“Really, all is well. I’m as good as new,” she added, picking bits of straw from her dress and her snow-white gloves.
Aaron righted the stool, determined to hide his unwelcome attraction to her. “Come here. I’ll show you.”
Hope fingered the hair at the nape of her creamy white neck and kept her distance, but he couldn’t miss the way her gaze flitted to him. “He’s been just fine. Very agreeable, actually. I’m certain I’ll be able to manage just fine from here on out.” She retrieved the china cups from the straw.
“Maybe,” he half lied. “But just in case—” hunkering down next to the cow, he braced a hand against the bovine’s side and grinned up at Hope “—first of all, let’s get something straight. He’s a she.”
“Who?” Her brow furrowed.
“Your friend here,” he answered patting the cow. “Females are the ones who bear babies, and that’s why they have these.” He pointed to the cow’s teats. “She’s a cow, not a bull.”
She sank her hands on her hips and gave him an I-am-well-aware-of-that look. “So what is a bull then? I was under the impression that cows were cows.”
“Hmm…not exactly.” He crossed to the small window and motioned her over. Resting his hand on her shoulder, he pointed out at the big bull. “That’s a bull. See the difference?”
She studied the animal for a moment, her cheeks growing pink as understanding dawned.
“Just clarifying,” he added on a brief chuckle, enjoying her obvious discomfort as he hunkered down next to the cow again. “Anyway, this is where calves get their milk.” He gently touched the cow’s udder, grateful the cow was so even tempered and happy to be chewing her cud to pass the time. “How’s that for an agricultural lesson?”
Hope adjusted the hem of her satin bodice. “You are a veritable wealth of information, Aaron. Thank you. I will gladly keep those things in mind,” she responded, evenly—too evenly.
He would’ve been willing to wager his next breath that she’d just pricked him with a barb, however cloaked in politeness it may have been. And for some reason, he was proud of her for doing so.
Patting the stool for her to join him, he studied her for a long moment. “I’m curious as to what exactly is going through that head of yours right about now.” She seemed skilled at schooling her expression, an art she must have learned in her upbringing. But the way she held herself…that had a way of slipping secrets to those who were attentive enough to notice. Like now.
“Nothing that would interest you, I’m sure.” She clearly avoided his gaze.
With the courage of a brave little songbird facing off a stalking cat, Hope perched on the edge of the stool, her shoulders held back and her hands threaded into a tight ball.
That gave him pause. She was trying—hard. She was trying harder than most women would when faced with the same situation.
Angling his gaze to her gloves, he tried for an indifferent tone. “Are you planning on wearing those milking?”
She threaded her fingers together as though Aaron was likely to rip her gloves right off. “I had planned on it, yes. Is there something wrong?”
Sure, there was something wrong with wearing long, fancy gloves to milk, but how would she know that?
“Well, not exactly. But I’ll give you a little hint.” He cupped a hand on one side of his mouth and leaned toward her.
“And what would that be?” She hesitated then leaned closer, the subtle hint of rose petals wafting to his senses.
“It’ll be a whole lot easier if you use your bare hands. Like this.” Grasping two of the cow’s teats, he squeezed and tugged in a well-trained r
hythm he’d learned through the years.
When two streams of milk shot down into the straw, she started, but the soft awe-filled gasp Hope gave next coaxed another grin from Aaron’s lips.
She held out the teacups. “Here you are.” The complete sincerity in her expression was the only thing keeping him from all-out chuckling at the woman—at her innocence, at her earnestness, at her determination.
Aaron settled a bridled expression on Hope. “Sorry, darlin’, but those wouldn’t hold enough to feed that orange tabby you saved the other day. What was his name…Theodore?”
“Yes.” She peered at him. “I’m surprised you remember his name.”
“I’m not sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.” In truth, he remembered her kitten’s name and a whole lot more about this woman that he’d just as soon forget.
Her gaze softened some, and that touched him way down deep. “A compliment, to be sure.” When she reached up and plucked a piece of straw from his hair, his breath caught. “It seems that you have been sleeping on the job,” she teased.
He swallowed hard. “Well, actually, yes. I’ve been sleeping up in the hayloft since you arrived—just to make sure you’re all right.”
Her mouth fell open for a brief moment. “There is no need for you to inconvenience yourself.”
“Those containers will do the trick,” he said, waylaying her protest. He nodded to the corner of the room where a couple of four-quart pails hung from hooks.
She gave a short harrumph. “Did you hear me?”
“I heard you.” He’d had a feeling she’d react this way, which is why he’d not informed her sooner. “Like I said, those containers over there will work just fine.”
On a semi-defeated sigh, she followed his gaze to the pails then slid her wide-eyed focus back to him. “But I thought you said a single milking would necessitate only two containers.”
“I did.” He felt the cow’s udder, heavy and warm with milk. “But I meant those.”
She eyed the pails. “I can hardly drink all of that in one day.”
He clenched his jaw to keep from smiling. “That would be a sight to see…you sitting at the table, determined to down that much milk, just to be polite.”
The way her eyebrows crowded in ever so slightly doused his amusement some.
“Ahh…don’t worry. You won’t have to drink it all yourself,” he amended.
On a weighted sigh, she lifted the pails from their hooks.
“You can give the rest away to neighbors, if you like, use it for some of the other animals on the farm or churn it into butter. Cheese. Whatever suits your fancy.”
Hope handed him the pails, relief evident in the way her shoulders had relaxed some.
“All right now, sit on the stool and place your hands like this on the cow’s teats.” He demonstrated, his skin tingling as his arm brushed hers.
When she raised her gloved hands to do the same, he cleared his throat. “Are you sure about the gloves?”
“Oh, dear. I forgot.” When she rolled the long, silky things down, stripping them from her arms and hands, he suddenly wished she’d left them on. Her arms, fair and delicately beautiful, made his pulse pound a little harder.
Why was he being affected in this way? He was getting all pulse-poundy and grinny and tingly. She was nothing more to him than a…than a woman in need of help. That’s all. He could honor his promise and not lose his head over her. It shouldn’t be that hard. With her high-class ways, fancy dress and superior attitude, she was nowhere near his type.
But as images of Hope marching through the throng of crowding cattle—and all for the sake of a stray kitten—darted through his mind, he had a hard time holding her to those not-so-complimentary ideals.
Even Ellie would’ve thought long and hard about going into a corral of unpredictable beasts for a scrawny kitten. Sure, she’d have cared about the kitten’s welfare, but she would’ve been more inclined to scream for help than to take the bull by the horns, so to speak.
He silently admitted that there was something markedly foreign and vulnerable about Hope that made him want to protect her. He’d seen it on her face two days ago when she’d realized that Paul hadn’t come to meet her at the train station and when she was informed that this spread was now hers. He saw it yet again when he’d listed off the duties of the farm for her yesterday.
He’d nearly wrapped her up in a comforting hug at that moment. The way she remained outwardly stoic was in direct conflict to the angst that flashed through her gaze.
“Aaron? Like this?” Her pleasant voice seeped into his awareness. “Is this the correct way?”
He directed his attention to her hands, trying to shake off his wayward thoughts. “Not bad, not bad. Here.” He moved a little closer and grasped her hands to make the slightest adjustment.
He froze, completely unprepared for the jolt that traveled all the way up his arms to his heart. It was all he could do not to jerk away, as though he’d just been burned. But something had happened, was happening as he held her hands in his. It was as if the seemingly impenetrable vows he’d made to Ellie four years ago had been penetrated. He fought wildly to patch the hole, reminding himself of the loyalty and love and dedication he had for Ellie, for her memory.
This was a harmless, helpful gesture. Right? Assisting Hope in this way? He’d done it for others in the past.
“Am I doing it correctly now?” Hope peered over at him, her eyes all open and honest.
Nodding, he slid his hands from hers. He swallowed past the thick lump that had lodged in his throat as Ellie’s smiling image, always there in his mind’s eye, seemed to fade some. Aaron braced his forearms on his thighs, realizing that no matter how innocent the action, no matter how much he could chalk this simple gesture up to helpfulness, a carefully guarded part of his heart had been awakened. And he was scared to death that nothing could be done to bed it down again.
Chapter Seven
“It is just wonderful having another sweet breath of eastern air out here in the West, Hope,” Julia Cranston twittered as she scooted farther into the church pew to make room for others to get by.
Julia had beelined for Hope just as soon as the service had ended, with a certain air of grandeur that seemed more fitting for royalty. But the moment the young woman had begun talking less than ten minutes ago, Hope couldn’t help but like her. She was eastern. She was familiar. And in spite of all of her fanfare, Hope could tell that she was genuine.
She was a lovely contrast to Jane, who’d cast derisive looks her way as they’d ridden with Aaron to church this morning. The ride had been silent, except when Jane would turn and whisper some bit of information to Aaron—even as she did now with some of the young women who’d crowded around her like a protective barrier at the back of the church.
Hope tried not to care what had transpired between Jane and Aaron on the way here, but she couldn’t deny that her heart had swelled slightly when he’d return Jane’s words with a dismissive nod or an indifferent shrug.
Jealous, Hope was not—certainly not.
After all, she’d lost her husband-to-be three days ago.
But for her entire life, she’d maintained a definite aversion to pettiness and had always taken great pains to champion the misunderstood or wronged, which is one very acute reason why she’d been so hurt when her former fiancé, Jonas Hargrave, had turned a cold shoulder her direction after her family’s financial misfortune. She’d tried to convince herself that his indifference was temporary, that he really did love her. But the barest chance that his love was so shallow had undermined any sense of security she’d ever had in his commitment.
She’d called off the engagement and had subsequently born the often-gossiped-about reproach of wounding his poor heart. Not knowing the real reason behind the disengagement, her mother had ridiculed Hope for her pettiness, saying that Jonas was a fine man of means who could offer her so much. Hope had refused to buckle under the weight of pres
sure and had remained true to her decision. True to herself.
“Believe me, it was all I could do not to run straight back to the comforts of Boston in those first few months after Father relocated us to Boulder.” Julia patted Hope’s arm as though burping a young babe, then peered at her with an expression akin to sympathy. “If ever you need a shoulder to cry on, I shall be here for you.”
Hope gave Julia an appreciative smile but remained resolute in her goal to be strong. Running back to Boston was not a possibility for her now—or ever. “Thank you, Julia. Your kindness means so much.”
“So, you and Julia have met?” Katie smiled, stepping up and looping an arm through Hope’s.
Hope nodded, noticing the way Aaron passed furtive glances at her from across the room where he was talking with Zach. Ever since he’d walked in on her in the barn yesterday morning, attempting to milk the cow, she’d been particularly aware of his attention. She’d been beyond embarrassed when she’d tripped and had fallen back on him. Her arms and legs had rebelliously refused to move—even an inch.
But when he’d grasped her hands to show her how to milk correctly, she would’ve been all but dead not to notice the odd way he’d reacted. His breathing had grown short and shallow. His hands, large, work worn and yet so very gentle, had trembled. The pupils of his eyes had grown deeper, wider and more intense as he’d stared at her for a long moment.
Just looking at him then had enticed a distinct quiver at the base of her stomach. She’d never felt that before.
She pulled herself out of the unsettling memory and turned to Katie. “Yes. Julia was good enough to introduce herself to me after the service.”
With a self-satisfied smile tipping her lips, Julia slid her gaze from Hope’s head to her toes as though she was making some kind of historic, newsworthy discovery. “I knew she had to come from the East, Katie. From the moment I saw her this morning, I was convinced.”
“It seems as though we’re acquainted with some of the same people back home.” Hope adjusted her gloves.
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