Rocky Mountain Proposal

by Pamela Nissen

  “Are you trying to prove something?” His breath fanned over her hot face as he glanced at her lips. “Because if you are, you might as well save yourself the pain. You’ve proven plenty already.”

  She indulged herself in the way his blue eyes sparkled in the blazing sun and the way he’d set his perfectly squared jaw in that dashing, signature look of frustration, the way his lightly bronzed skin glistened with perspiration and the way a delightful colic kicked his light brown hair off to the side of his forehead.

  The sound of the horses plodding, slow and steady, behind them, was like the graceful lull of some grand hall clock. Her eyes hung heavy, weighted with exhaustion.

  “Do you know what, Aaron Drake?” she murmured, feeling heady with utter and undeniable fatigue.

  He sighed. Then he pulled her closer, his manly woodsy scent lapping at her poise, undermining her good sense. “What?”

  “You’re awfully handsome when you’re upset,” she whispered, closing her eyes and relaxing completely into his powerful arms.

  When he grew rigid all of a sudden, her words swung back around and hit her square in the face. She flipped her eyelids open and stared at the brilliant blue sky, praying for a brief moment that God would take her right here, right now.

  How could she be so reckless?

  So bold?

  So unabashedly truthful?

  She gulped and braved a glance at Aaron.

  From the unsettled look blanketing his face, he was just as shocked. He swallowed hard, his throat visibly convulsing. He stared into her eyes, his face mere inches from hers as he came to a slow stop a good ten feet from the house. “You’re right I’m upset.”

  The way his expression swerved between tenderness and anger and fear in the space of a few seconds struck Hope dead in the heart, jerked her to her senses.

  He was grieving, for goodness’ sake. She was grieving, too. So how could there be such an undeniable draw between them?

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say—”

  “Don’t,” he ground out, his mouth clenched tight. “Just answer my question. Are you trying to prove something?”

  Her throat grew tight. Tears burned her eyes. “No.”

  On a sigh, he angled his gaze down at her in that quiet subtle way of his.

  “Well, perhaps,” she finally admitted.

  He gave a quiet sigh, his breath fanning over her like a mesmerizing summer breeze.

  “I just feel so very guilty.”

  “Guilty?” Confusion etched his face. “Why?”

  The hair at the nape of his neck brushed against her wrist, sending chills up her arm and straight to her heart. “Because I wanted to relieve you of some of the burden you’ve carried here, and I don’t want you doing one single thing out of obligation.” Never obligation. She hardly felt worthy of his hard work, let alone his sense of duty.

  He paused for a moment. “I don’t feel obligated.”

  “Aaron, you’ve gone way above and beyond what any good friend would in carrying this burden.”

  “Not in my book.” He drew his mouth into a grim line.

  “You’ve even gone so far as to carry me.” She splayed her hands, instantly regretting the action when pain shot through the open wounds.

  “I had my doubts whether you’d make it back to the house on your own. And, for the record,” he added, raising his eyebrows, “this hasn’t been a burden. You haven’t been a burden.”

  After a long moment, he slowly set her feet on the ground again. She was grateful for his steadying hands at her waist because the blisters on her feet burned anew, sending a wave of nausea tumbling over her. She breathed deep to ward it off.

  “I’ve enjoyed every single minute of my time here,” he finally said, his voice decidedly tight.

  Jane’s words, that Aaron had to be exhausted from having to do so much for Hope, flailed about in her mind. “Surely, you can’t mean that.”

  His eyebrows raised in challenge. “I can. And I do.”

  “You can’t maintain your work here, the chores at your own place and your carpentry job forever, Aaron.” She drew in a sharp breath, helpless to ward off the fiery pain that burned her hands and feet. “It will eventually take its toll on you.”

  He braced a hand at her back, his brow etched with concern. “How ’bout if you let me be the one to make that decision?”

  “I’ve interviewed six men, now. And each time you give an emphatic no,” she argued, feeling way too close to tears for comfort.

  “That’s because I don’t trust them. Not one bit.” He scooped her up in his arms again and carried her the last twenty feet to the house. “Did you see the last one you interviewed? The way he was gawking at you? It wouldn’t be safe for you, Hope.” His vulnerable gaze was nearly her undoing. “I’ll say it again…it hasn’t been a burden being here helping you.”

  He climbed up the three steps to stand on the sprawling front porch. “And I’ll tell you another thing, Miss Gatlin, I never say anything that I don’t mean.”

  Aaron trembled from way down deep as he wound the bandage around the last bit of Hope’s blistered hands. Ever since he’d found her out there in the field plowing less than an hour ago, he’d been shaken to his core.

  She’d been drenched in sweat, red-faced and barely able to stand. He’d been sure she would faint, and the thought of her falling into the plow blades or hitting her head on some rock protruding from the soil nearly stopped his heart cold.

  His heart did stop when he’d carried her back to the house. The way it felt to care for and protect a woman like that—to care for Hope like that—had settled in the furthest reaches of his soul, stirring an innate age-old rhythm.

  “I’ll need to put some salve on the blisters and change your bandages again tomorrow.” He swiveled in his chair to place the medicinal supplies back into the wood box.

  “I’m sure that I can manage,” she dismissed, her voice edged with pain.

  “Knowing you, I’m sure you’d try, but I’d feel a whole lot better if you’d let me make sure they’re all right.” Turning to face her, he folded his arms at his chest as he noticed how her face still flamed red. “In fact, I think I’ll bring Ben out to see you later.”

  She sat a little straighter in her chair. “That is completely unnecessary.”

  “Maybe,” he responded, catching her resolute gaze in his, “but I’m going to bring him by anyway.”

  When she wiped her brow with her sleeve, he pulled out his handkerchief and gave the fabric a small snap to unfold it. “It’s clean.”

  Before she had time to reach for it, he gently patted her brow and face while she followed his every move with her vulnerable gaze.

  “Thank you.” She sighed, her breath whispering against his hand and sending a quiver shooting straight through him. “Actually, I’ll be seeing Ben and Callie a little later. I can see if he has time to look at my hands then.”

  “I’m sure he’ll make time,” he ground out, forcing his rogue emotions to line up.

  When she rose from the table and limped toward the sink, he followed behind. “Your feet, too?” He angled a glance down at her brown-booted, dirt-scuffed feet poking from beneath her tattered hem.

  Gentle as he could, Aaron grasped her shoulders and guided her back to the chair. “Have a seat.”

  “I was just sitting down,” she weakly protested, collapsing into the chair on a heavy sigh. “I have far too much to do.”

  “Hope, you won’t be doing anything for days if you don’t take care of yourself.” He hunkered down and reached to unlace one of her boots. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

  When she gave her head a defeated shake, his heart squeezed inside his chest. “Aww, Hope. You’ve got to be in a considerable amount of pain to forgo a protest. I promise I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

  “Of that, I have no doubt.” Hope stiffly leaned back against the chair, furrowing her brow as he removed one boot.

  “You’re an hono
rable man, Aaron Drake. Honorable and good.”

  “I’m glad you think so.” He was, too, because for some reason, knowing that she had a favorable view of him meant more than he was willing to admit.

  Chapter Eleven

  Clenching his jaw, Aaron stalked across the town hall stage where the first play rehearsal had just finished. He’d maintained his calm for the past two hours, but his frustration was in full swing now as he moved in on Ben, determined to let him know exactly how he felt about this setup.

  “What in the world were you and Callie thinking, Ben?” Aaron jammed his fists to his waist and stared at where he’d cornered his brother near the rear of the town hall stage. “You heartlessly roped me into this like I was some lame calf.”

  “What are you talking about?” The scrunch of concern carved into Ben’s face was as shallow as a puddle and far from convincing.

  Aaron edged closer, grabbing his hat from his head. “Don’t think I’d be gullible enough to fall for your innocent act.”

  With a sly grin, Ben winked at Callie as she approached. “Aaron, here, thinks he’s gullible.”

  “No…you said I was gullible just the other day,” he argued, pointing at his brother. “I said—”

  “That’s what is so adorable about you, Aaron.” Callie stood on tip toes and reached up to adjust his shirt collar. “You’re so willing to help—and for such a good cause, too.”

  “Oh, for land’s sake. Now I’m adorable, too?” Rolling his eyes to the vaulted timbered ceiling, he raked a hand through his hair. He then ran it down his neck to massage the knots that had formed over the past hours from plowing, and from fighting so hard to be unmoved by Hope’s presence. “Please. Have a little respect for my manhood, would you?”

  The minute he’d returned to Hope’s place around lunch-time, she’d been out in the field again, trying to rig up the plow. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Why would she choose to go back out there?

  But the almost desperate, unwavering way she’d sidestepped his anger and concern had pulled him up short—way short. He couldn’t help but wonder why concern for her well-being affected him to such a degree.

  “Where’s your sense of humor?” Ben jabbed him in the arm.

  “Sorry, but calling me gullible and adorable rub me the wrong way. I draw a line at my masculinity.” He lowered his voice a notch in case the cast members mulling about were in hearing range. “What I’m talking about is casting Hope opposite me—and in a play that ends in a happily-ever-after?”

  “Coincidence, Aaron.” Ben held his hand out. “Strictly coincidence.”

  “Oh, come on. How old do you think I am?” Aaron flexed his hands, overwhelmed by the instant need to shove his fist into…into something.

  “Twenty—” Ben began.

  “Five,” Callie finished. “Twenty-five.”

  “Why? Did you forget?” Ben absently glanced at the script in his hand.

  “No, of course I didn’t forget. But I didn’t just drag myself out of the birthing straw.” He shrugged off the way his own hands and arms ached from plowing, and he was twice the size and strength of Hope. “I’m not stupid enough to believe that the way you cast the play is coincidental.”

  Ben turned and peered to the back of the hall, giving a thumbs-up to Luke, his young shadow and the son of one of the women Callie and Ben had been helping to get on her feet again. The boy’s erect posture and all-business look on his face as he stood beside his mama, making sure everyone had their scripts as they left the building, brought a smile to Aaron’s heart.

  “By the way—” Ben tapped his disorganized script into some semblance of alignment “—did I tell you that this play is written by our very own, albeit anonymous, romantic advice columnist here in Boulder? Maybe you should ask for advice for whatever it is—or whomever it is—that’s gotten under your skin.”

  Aaron sighed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Callie commented, nodding up at Ben with a bit too much eagerness. “I’m sure the woman could help you, Aaron.”

  “She has enough success stories to create quite a legacy, that’s for sure.” Ben brushed a lock of hair from Callie’s face.

  Folding his arms at his chest, Aaron stared at them. “It’s a good thing you two are in charge of the production instead of playing a role. You’re terrible actors.”

  “Aw, Aaron, you wound me.” Ben held a hand to his heart, his face scrunched in mock pain.

  Aaron jammed his hat on his head. “I had my suspicions before—that you all were trying to manufacture a connection between me and Hope. But now…”

  “I do believe that you’re the one who proposed marriage to the woman.” Callie angled a glance up at Ben, her overly earnest expression rankling Aaron further. “Isn’t that right, dear?” she asked, glancing briefly at Ben.

  “You know…if I hadn’t grown so attached to you, Callie, I might just detest you right now.” Aaron folded his arms at his chest.

  “All bark,” Ben commented. “And, yes, I witnessed the proposal myself.”

  “You know why I proposed.” Aaron shook his head at their lame act. “And it sure as Sunday wasn’t because I fell in love at first sight.”

  The challenge-infused way Ben arched one eyebrow made Aaron want to haul back and hit him square in the jaw. He made a halfhearted grab at good sense, struggled to temper his surly mood and wondered why he was feeling so defensive. He hadn’t fallen in love at first sight, had he?

  He’d been so fraught with worry over Paul and then confused as to what he’d been sent to the train station for that he’d barely even noticed what Hope had looked like, right?

  But he had noticed. And since then he’d dedicated himself to trying to forget. He’d failed.

  The image of Hope standing on the train station platform over two weeks ago, surfaced with brilliant and undeniable clarity—again. It made him almost wish that, in that moment, he’d been as blind as Joseph. Had he not been so intrigued by her, he might not have been so curious about how she would react to her situation. But then he’d been permanently charmed by her determination and her naive innocence. And like some curious and hungry animal following his heart instead of his instinct, Aaron had wandered right into a sunlit valley.

  Danger lurked down the trail where his thoughts were headed. If he knew what was best, he’d turn around and head back to where he came from—back to the vows he’d made to Ellie.

  He shoved his focus to his brother. “First, you use my cute little niece to get me to volunteer, which, I might add—” he edged a little closer “—was a very low-down, sneaky thing to do to your own flesh and blood.”

  “If you remember right, she did pray.” Callie scanned the room, her face brightening the moment she spotted Libby.

  Aaron sighed. “I’m fighting a losing battle with you two.”

  “Maybe you’re fighting against God,” Ben measured out, his low voice void of all joking. “Have you given that any kind of serious thought?”

  The idea had swung through his mind a time or two. But Aaron had dismissed it just as quickly as it appeared—like now.

  He flipped his gaze toward the back of the hall where he spotted Hope standing and talking with Maclean Lockhart, her script in her bandaged hands. Aaron wasn’t sure how she’d managed to clean up with all of her bandages and the way she had to hurt. She looked beautiful, in a rose colored dress that matched the hint of color dotting her fair cheeks. In fact, as far as he was concerned, she’d looked perfect this morning, too, all dirt-smudged and tattered and bedraggled.

  “If it’s really that hard for you, well, then we can try to rearrange the roles.” Ben peered down at his script as Callie looked on with him. “Maybe put Jane opposite Aaron and then have Hope take Jane’s part. What do you think?”

  “That would be a good alternative,” Callie agreed, her index finger resting against her lips. “As fast as Hope memorized all of her lines, I doubt she’d ha
ve any trouble with Jane’s few lines.”

  Aaron narrowed his focus on Ben then shot it back to Hope and Maclean. And out of nowhere, a wave of uneasiness, as if some kind of claim on her was being threatened, stole his balance. “Just keep things the way they are.”

  “Are you sure?” The corners of Ben’s mouth tipped upward the smallest bit.

  When Hope smiled in that relaxed way of hers as she talked with Maclean, he jammed his hands into his pockets and set his jaw. “Forget I ever said anything.”

  “All right, then. Forgotten,” Ben agreed as Aaron turned to leave.

  “Oh, and by the way—” he pivoted to face his brother “—did Hope ask you to check on her hands?”

  “She didn’t. But seeing the bandages, I did, anyway.”

  “What do you think?” Concern for her well-being overrode jealousy’s tightening chords for the moment.

  “I think that you better make sure you’re out there as much as possible—” Ben raised his brows and pulled his wife close “—so that she doesn’t try something like that again.”

  “Done,” he answered. He’d already decided that much. “Anything else?”

  “Just keep your heart open,” Ben answered.

  Aaron turned and stalked across the stage and down the steps, trying to shrug off the taunting irritation and jealousy nipping at his heels. He grabbed his script from the front row and wound it into a tight roll.

  He didn’t know Maclean well, but he’d known most of the other Lockhart clan and had been good friends with Maclean’s brother, Brodie, a U.S. marshal. In fact, Brodie had played an integral part in finding Callie’s daughter, Libby, last fall.

  There wasn’t one thing about Maclean that would point to Hope being in danger or at any risk—not one thing.

  But there was plenty of danger when it came to Aaron. If his heart continued the way it was heading, she would be in danger of being hurt—by him. Because he’d never be able to love another woman like he’d loved Ellie.