Rocky Mountain Proposal

by Pamela Nissen

  His jab stung, yet she maintained her poise. “I am ever so grateful. You saved their lives.” Her heart swelled even now thinking about how Aaron’s eyes had misted over when the calf had finally appeared alive and well. “It was a beautiful thing to see, a moment in time I shall never forget.”

  “But you couldn’t have done it without me.” The harsh gaze he narrowed on her sliced right through her composure. “And what about the crops? They wouldn’t have been planted without my help. Or the other critters? They’d have flown the coop or barreled through their fenced enclosures without my help.”

  Pierced straight through by his callous words and the truth they carried, she edged into the corridor and took a few steps back. Why was he being so hurtful? He’d always been so encouraging, saying that she’d done far more than most women would have given the same circumstance.

  “You’re right,” she conceded, hoping to waylay his obvious resentment. “Are you satisfied now?”

  She couldn’t help but wonder if he viewed Jonas as his ticket out of his vow to Paul. Maybe he was just grasping at the many strands of reasons why she was unfit to stay here in the hopes that she’d move on.

  But she didn’t want to move on. And if ever she did, it certainly wouldn’t be with a man like Jonas.

  Yanking his hat from his head, he slapped it against his leg. He raked a hand through his thick hair. “I’m just trying to point out that as much as you want to get rid of me, you still need me. Even if you had all of the chores down pat and could do them in your sleep, there are just some things that you’ll need help with.”

  Noticing the way Daisy was shifting nervously in the stall, Hope strode down the corridor to the outdoors, Aaron eating up the distance behind her with his long strides.

  He stepped up to meet her, that alluring masculine scent of his, all natural and woodsy and earthy, wafting to her senses. She felt her resolve slip. Reminded herself that she didn’t want to need him. “I can find another way.”

  “What other way?” He jammed his hat back on his head as Theodore appeared, meowing sweetly at his booted feet.

  “I—I can hire someone—whether or not you agree. There’s got to be a good man or two out there.” Hope slid her quivering fingers over each pearl button trailing down the front of her light blue-and-cream damask bodice, helpless to think of any other way.

  “So far the rakes you’ve interviewed for a farmhand position would’ve presented a very real threat to you,” he retorted, his voice laden with caution.

  “Well, I won’t have you helping out of obligation—not any longer.” She tugged at her bodice. “I can find someone.”

  “This is the height of the busy season for farmhands, cowhands and the like. Anybody who isn’t already employed isn’t worth a look. So, what’s your plan then?” When he stooped to pick up Theodore, her resolve slipped a little more at his show of tenderness. “Your garden is bursting with ripe produce. Do you even know what to do with all of it?”

  “No, but I’m sure I can figure it out,” she dismissed, bothered by the contented and unfaithful purr coming from her cat. Where were Theodore’s loyalties? Didn’t he know that Aaron was being insufferable?

  “And what about your first hay crop? It’s due to be cut any day now.” With a deliberate measure of calm, Aaron stroked her fluffy kitten, as though to goad her. “How do you plan on harvesting that? Or the other things we planted?”

  “I can hire someone.” She leaned against the barn, the golden rays of sunshine seemingly blocked by the cloud of discord hovering over them.

  “So, does that mean you’re staying?” Setting Theodore on the ground, he pinned his defensive gaze on her, his throat visibly constricted. “I put my heart on the line when I kissed you, Hope Gatlin. I drug it out of hiding. I opened it up again. I took a gigantic painful risk.”

  Hope couldn’t breathe for the way her heart thundered inside her rib cage. Had she really been so uncaring? So insensitive? She searched her heart for the hint of misconduct or thoughtlessness on her part but came up empty-handed. All along, she’d bowed to his lead, let him set the pace. Had he heard her thoughts or seen deep into her heart, he would’ve known how much she really cared. “Aaron, I didn’t ask for you to kiss me.” Her whispered words scraped across her throat.

  “You didn’t stop me, either.” Squeezing his eyes shut, he paused.

  “You said that you didn’t know if you were ready,” she whispered, moved by his struggle. “I’m not.”

  “That has been made painfully clear.”

  “But I don’t think I’ll ever be ready. It’s not been easy…letting go of Ellie.” He pulled a hand over the back of his neck as he often did when he grew frustrated. “I’ve been fighting my attraction to you, Hope. And I can’t seem to get rid of it.”

  She forced herself to look at him. “What a lovely thing to say.”

  Gazing skyward, he hauled in a deep breath. “What I meant to say was—”

  “Aaron, I’ve fought the same thing.” She grasped at what little pride she had left. “But I can’t allow myself to care for you as more than just a friend. If ever I marry I’d like to believe that I’m not just some pale second.”

  His emotionless expression did nothing to ease her pain. “Hope, you’re—”

  “I can’t live up to her—to Ellie’s memory. Nor do I want to. She was special. She must have been to have acquired your lasting love and devotion.” Plastering her arms to her side, she refused to reveal the fragility of her heart. “But more, I will not be some man’s obligation.”

  “You’re not an obligation, Hope. You’ve never been an obligation.”

  Her heart ached at the harsh reality she faced. “You’re so very loyal and honorable, Aaron. But you hemmed yourself in so tight by the blind promise you made to Paul that you couldn’t find your way out even if you wanted to.”

  “Who said I wanted to?” His demeanor was so rigid she thought that he might just snap in two. “I thought that he meant to stay strong in my faith, to hold tight to God. I had no idea that Paul meant I was supposed to marry you. But even so, I never said that I wanted out of the promise.”

  “Well, you can rest assured that, just like I stated from day one, I will never marry you. The past couple of days have confirmed that for me.”

  His defensive gaze bore straight through to her heart. The air between them grew stiflingly thick with tension and hurt as he stared at her. Slow and steady, he raked his gaze from her toes to her head. He gave his head a single measured shake. “I didn’t see this coming,” he uttered, his voice eerily hardened.

  “What do you mean?” Chilled by the callous look flashing in his eyes, she hugged her arms to her chest.

  “I didn’t think you’d go off gallivanting with that fancy suit.”

  Aaron’s heart ached as he watched Hope drive off toward town in his wagon since he hadn’t finished reshoeing her horses. Even from this distance, he could see her chin angled slightly upward in that familiar, I’m-not-giving-in look of hers. But the way her brow had crimped in distress as she’d mounted his rig just moments ago had cut him deep.

  Reaching down to where Theodore rubbed against his legs, he gave the kitten a scratch behind the ears. His gut pulled as taut as a readied bow just thinking about how harsh his words to Hope had been two hours earlier. He’d thought of nothing else as he’d busied himself mucking the stalls, reshoeing her horses and filing their hooves, all the while praying that God would make some sense of his turmoil so that he could have some kind of reasonable conversation with Hope—so that he could let her know exactly what was in his heart.

  So that he could understand what, exactly, was in her heart.

  He had his guesses, had been almost certain she was having similar feelings toward him—she’d even said as much. Her willing response when he’d kissed her had said as much, too. But as soon as Jonas had arrived, she’d changed, and he had to wonder if she viewed Hargrave as her way out of a very difficult circumstan
ce.

  Just a few minutes ago when she’d emerged from the house where she’d fled to stitch costumes for the play, he’d been prepared to apologize. Even if Hope was swayed by another man, he had no right to accuse her as he had—that much he knew to be true. He had no claim on her—none. And she was capable of making her own decisions.

  But his apology would have to wait since she was already going to be late for costume fittings at the town hall. Offering for her to take his rig was the least he could do after he’d been downright rude to her and to Jonas Hargrave. He knew almost nothing of the man, other than the single, irritating fact that Hargrave had been engaged to Hope. That was enough to rake him the wrong way.

  How could he blame the man, though, for caring for a woman like Hope? She was beautiful in every possible way.

  And how could he expect Hope to wait in the wings while he stumbled toward some kind of acceptance of Ellie’s death—at least enough to move on? Although he felt his grip on the past loosening more and more every day, he couldn’t expect her to wait for him. He wanted her to be happy.

  It just didn’t sit right with him to think of her finding that happiness in another man’s arms—especially Hargrave’s.

  The man was every bit as refined as Hope, his words rolling off his tongue like some well-rehearsed speech. His attire was impeccable and nothing like Aaron’s simple way of dressing. His demeanor was commanding yet steeped in a certain air of self-importance that made Aaron want to haul back and hit him, hard enough that Hargrave’s aristocratic nose would be permanently cocked off to one side.

  Aaron released the chestnut mare’s hoof, swiping a hand over his sweaty brow as he moved to the last and final hoof. Jealousy had never been so near as it had in the past few days. Nor had the absolute fear that if he let himself love Hope, he could well lose another gigantic chunk of his heart if something were to happen to her.

  Most folks probably didn’t think along those lines, but he did. He had to know if he could withstand that kind of heartbreak again. If there was some way he could ensure her well-being then maybe he could step ahead. But life offered no guarantees. Aaron had to know if he could trust himself and God with the life of someone he loved—at least enough to follow his heart.

  Closing his eyes, he hauled in a breath as he recalled that morning, almost a year ago, when he’d found Ellie’s body draped over the freshly turned grave of her baby boy. All night long she’d begged and pleaded to see where her newborn son had been laid to rest, but she’d been so weak. Aaron had promised to show her just as soon as she gained strength. He couldn’t have fallen asleep for more than twenty or thirty minutes when she’d managed to crawl out of bed and make her way out to the place where Jeremiah’s body had been laid to rest.

  That’s where he’d found her that gray and stormy morning—dead. Her nightgown was stained with blood, and the booties she’d knitted for little Jeremiah were dangling from her lifeless, dusky hand.

  Aaron pried the last horseshoe off as he swallowed past the harsh lump clogging his throat. The horrifying image burned into his mind. There hadn’t been a day or night that had slipped by without that memory playing over and over again, blasting away any and all peace. The memory had resounded in his soul like a clanging bell tolling the way he’d failed to protect the love of his life.

  As much as he’d blamed God, he’d faulted himself equally so. He was the one who’d fallen asleep. By the time he’d found her, she was gone from his arms forever.

  Filing the hoof, he lined up the new shoe and tapped it into place. Until he could line up the gross discrepancies in his heart and forgive God and himself, he would never be able to fully give his heart to another—at least not in the way Hope deserved.

  She deserved his whole heart. She deserved to be cherished, not suffocated—loved for the treasure she was, not compared to another.

  Laying his tools down, he scooped up a purring Theodore and peered out the double doors as he realized just how hard he’d tried not to compare Hope to Ellie. Some of the differences were just so glaringly apparent, though.

  But maybe the stark distinctions were for the best.

  Where Ellie had been as natural and carefree as a mountain wildflower, Hope was as manicured and rich as a rare and costly orchid from some faraway land. Where Ellie had enjoyed life around her, Hope was in a constant state of awe. He’d wanted to wrap her in his arms and kiss her soundly on more than one occasion because of that, too. Just being with her, looking at things through her eyes, renewed his awareness of creation. Where Ellie had been content to stay indoors, knitting or baking, Hope couldn’t wait to greet the day, traipsing out to the barn at dawn’s first light. She’d grown so attached to the farm animals, had named each one. And she’d marveled over every single inch the crops had grown. Ellie didn’t know an enemy, but Hope had made friends with even those folks Ellie had sometimes avoided—like Pete O’Leary.

  Aaron would never forget the day of Paul’s funeral, when Hope had lingered at the grave after everyone else had trailed off to the wagons. He’d watched her from afar, marveling at the tender and patient way she’d dealt with the undertaker, Pete, and his sneaky little ferret, Conroy. She could’ve dismissed the rough weedy-looking man and his furry-faced counterpart, but instead she’d put aside her own distress to show kindness.

  Just then he heard the distant jangle of a rig coming this way. He glanced up to see two horses, his two horses, ambling down the lane toward the house. When he noticed the hitch dragging in the dirt behind the team, his heart came to screeching halt.

  “Hope.” The strangled sound of his own voice called up his worst fears. It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes since she’d left.

  He dumped Theodore on the ground and sprinted to meet the horses, struggling to keep his mind from descending to the worst situation. But his wagon was nowhere in sight—and neither was Hope. When he scanned the road and saw no sign of her, his stomach bottomed out. His lungs seized up.

  He turned and ran back to the barn, forcing himself to breathe even as he prayed for her. Mounting the freshly shoed chestnut mare, he rode hard down the road, his mind racing with dread and fear. Guilt battered him with relentless force as he thought of Hope having some kind of accident in his wagon. Had he done something wrong in hooking up his rig?

  She’d left the house angry. But he’d never known her to be reckless. She knew that the road to town was wrought with beauty and danger and had even commented on as much a time or two. There were two precarious areas where the road wound around a bend, leaving little to no room for driver error.

  The thought of Hope careening down one of those slopes in an out-of-control wagon played on his every fear.

  He rounded a precarious bend, searching wildly for any indication of her. When he spotted his wagon resting on its side a good hundred feet down a steep slope, horror gripped his heart. His pulse whooshed through his veins at breakneck speed. His vision briefly squeezed to a narrow tunnel as he searched for signs of Hope.

  “Hope!” he called, reining in the horse to scan the slope. “Hope! Can you hear me? Hope!”

  Guiding the horse down the screed, boulder-littered slope, he willed himself to stay focused. But every second that lapsed seemed to drag Hope further from him. And that cut as deep and wounding as any long-edged sword.

  Did he love her? Did he care for her the way he’d cared for Ellie?

  “Hope!” He sidestepped the chestnut mare down a steep area when a flash of color some fifty feet away caught his eye.

  His heart surged to his throat as he peered in that direction, the hem of her blue dress coming into view. “God, no. Not Hope. Please, not Hope, too.”

  He catapulted off the horse and ran in that direction. The thought of losing Hope constricted his chest so tight that he could barely breathe. He silently barraged heaven on her behalf, each prayer set like a foundation stone on which to build love. Had he loved her for some time, but had just been too wrapped up in his gr
ief to recognize it? Too focused on his loss to find the hope that God had dangled before him?

  When he reached her battered and silent body, slumped like a rag doll on its side, he knelt beside her, pleading for God to spare her life.

  “Hope, can you hear me? Come on, darlin’.” He cleared the ground of debris and carefully rolled her to her back, being sure to keep her neck stable. “Please. Don’t leave me.” With trembling hands, he felt for her pulse. It was weak, but the sign of life was there, beating just beneath his fingertips.

  He breathed a small sigh of relief. “Thank You, God.”

  Pulling his kerchief from his back pocket, he dabbed at the streams of blood coursing from an angry gash that angled from just above her ear to mid-forehead at her hairline. He unbuttoned his shirt placket and shrugged out of his shirtsleeves, then ripped several strips to use for bandaging.

  “Hope, darlin’? Can you open your eyes?” Hunkering down, he tried to get a closer look at the gash, caked with sticky blood-soaked hair.

  When she gave a small groan, his eyes burned with relief.

  “Just hang on.” He gently clasped her shoulder, longing to pull her into his arms and hold her tight, but until he was sure that her back or neck wasn’t broken, he wasn’t going to move her an inch. “I promise I’m going to get you out of here just as soon as I can.”

  Her delicate eyebrows drew together just then and her mouth opened ever so slightly. The fact that she was even a little responsive was enough to infuse him with some much-needed hope. But the idea that she was in pain pierced his heart straight through.

  Was he willing to let her go if he had to? He loved her. He did. He loved Hope. The way his heart would surge at the thought of her, and the way his mind raced with frantic thoughts of keeping her near and close and safe was proof enough. He longed for her gentle touch, her sweet voice and that tender way she’d look at him—as though he was all she could seem to see.

  Was he worthy of her glance?

  Or had her glance strayed to another?

  The thought engulfed him with mudslide force, thick and dank and confining. Having been unwilling to settle his heart with God, had he pushed her into Hargrave’s arms?