Читать книгу Rocky Mountain Proposal - Pamela Nissen - Страница 12

“I’m coming, Hope. Whatever you do, don’t make any quick moves,” Aaron warned. He slowed his pace, resisting the urge to throw open the gate since doing so could spook the cattle. His pulse pounded through his veins. The situation could turn disastrous in a mere fraction of a second if she panicked…if he panicked.

She hurled a cursory glance his way and then yanked the hem of her dress, tearing it free from beneath the hoof of a black Hereford bull—a bull, that minutes ago, had been corralled in a solitary confinement of sorts. With an irritated huff, she turned and gave the bull’s wet nose a single swat, eyeing the massive creature as though he’d purposely ruined her garment—her wedding dress.

“What in the world!” Ignoring his own trepidation, Aaron wedged himself between this woman and the cattle that had closed in on her like a giant litter of two-thousand-pound, menacing puppies. She either had a death wish or was completely naive to the unpredictability of ranch cattle—especially that of an aggressive bull. Wrapping his arms around Hope, he couldn’t miss the way her entire body trembled or her indignant look as he steered her through the small opening to safety.

Once he’d latched the sturdy wood gate and gathered one gigantic steadying breath, he turned and clamped a scolding gaze on her and folded his arms at his chest as he attempted to calm his raging pulse. “What were you doing entering the corral like that? You could’ve been injured or worse.”

“This poor little guy…” Hope nuzzled her cheek against the yellow tabby. Her hands quivered as she pulled the bedraggled kitten close. “He was about to get trampled beneath all of those enormous feet. This sweet little kitten’s life could’ve tragically ended right there.”

The kitten gave the smallest, most pitiful meow as it strained to climb higher, right into the crook of Hope’s slender neck.

“Shh. It’s all right,” she whispered, placing a kiss on top of the kitten’s head, its long hair fraying every which way.

“So you not only entered the corral, but you opened the bull’s pen and went in after the kitten?” he prodded, dreading the thought of having to coax the bull back to his own pen.

If Aaron hadn’t been seeing this with his own eyes, he might not have believed she could be so oblivious to the danger she’d put herself in just seconds ago.

“What else was I to do? He wandered in there.”

“You could’ve called for help,” he answered, remembering how enormously afraid Ellie had been of cattle—all cattle. He’d always wanted a milking cow and a few beef cattle, but Ellie had been outright terrified, and he refused to put her through the stress it would’ve caused. “We would’ve been out here in no time.”

“There was not a second to waste.” Her incensed gaze drifted up to Aaron and then shot over to the cattle as though to wound them straight through. “Badly done, cows. Shame on all of you.”

Amazed by her complete naivety, Aaron made no attempt to hide his dismay as he stared, slack-jawed, at Hope.

Her perfectly arched eyebrows furrowed for a brief moment as she took him in. Then she glanced down at her sullied dress and tattered hem. “I can barely believe the nerve of that cow,” she whispered, her words obviously meant for the kitten she cradled like some baby. She glared straight into the eyes of the bull at fault, her audacity making Aaron question whether the sturdy gate could withstand a sudden charge.

The angry puff of breath forced through the Hereford’s flaring nostrils was a sure sign that Hope was treading on shaky ground. “That’s really not a good idea, ma’am.”

“To what are you referring?” She narrowed her gaze on the guilty party again.

“Staring at him that way.” Sidestepping, Aaron made an effort to block her view of the accused.

“But look at him.” She craned her neck to glare at the culprit. “He’s being a bully.”

“They don’t call them bulls for nothing.” Incredulous, he gave his head a slow shake as he closed in on her, grasping her arm firmly enough so that she’d know he meant business and tenderly enough to assure her that he meant no harm. He led her away from the corral, stopping only to grab her parasol from where she’d dropped it.

When he recalled the trace of fright on her face as she’d bravely made her way through the herd with the kitten in her hands and then the sweet and tender way she cradled the scrawny tabby—likely a stray who happened to be searching for a scrap of food in the wrong place—he had his answer. She had no idea.

“We best get you back to the house before that bull decides to rally his friends and break through the gate.”

She gasped. “He wouldn’t dare.”

“This isn’t the cultured streets of Boston, ma’am.”

When a confused and almost fearful look passed over her fair features, he had a hard time getting mad at her. She was a delicate city flower dropped into the West, where only the heartiest took root and grew. And for some reason he felt compelled to make sure she was well protected.

After Aaron had accompanied her to a safe distance from the anxious herd, he brought her to a halt. “Listen, I know you’ve been in Boulder less than two hours and that your world has been turned on end, but if you’re going to stay here then there are some things you should know.”

There were plenty of risks she should know about, and if she was going to survive the next twenty-four hours on Paul’s farm, and if Aaron was to have peace, he’d have to set her straight. But even then he was sure that serenity would elude him, just like the river bass always dodged his fishhook.

But when he looked into those emerald eyes of hers, he suddenly had a hard time remembering those precautions that had seemed so imperative only seconds ago.

“Yes.” Her voice eased him from his silent perusal.

Jamming the toe of a boot into the dusty soil and kicking up a cloud of dirt, he struggled to clear his mind.

“What is it that you wanted to tell me?” She raised her chin a notch then glanced over to the herd of agitated cattle mulling about at the fence line.

Aaron cleared his throat. He gently grasped her chin and turned her head to look her in the eye. “First of all, never, and I mean never, stare into the eyes of a bull.”

“But I—”

“Never,” he interrupted, with more severity than he’d intended given the way she shuddered. But as the image of Hope getting trampled dashed through his mind, fierce protectiveness for her rose up strong and sure—and completely unbidden. “Do you understand me?”

After a long moment, she gave a single, conceding nod.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, desperate to wipe away the tingling sensation coursing through his fingers from holding her chin. “They take that sort of thing as a challenge. As unfair and rude as you think that fella was being to your little friend there—” he nodded toward the purring kitten “—or stepping on your dress the way—”

“My dress is simply an irritation. Nothing more.” She cuddled the kitten in the crook of her slender neck. “It’s this helpless one who gave me such a fright.”

“Lady, you gave me a fright,” Aaron choked out. He set a hand to his chest. “My heart nearly pounded right out of my rib cage. In fact, it’s still pumping like there’s no tomorrow,” he ground out, the admission carelessly spilling from his mouth without warning. It wasn’t as if he was fond of her. But he did feel obligated—no, honor-bound, he corrected himself, remembering Zach’s scolding—to watch after her. “If that bull decided to take you on,” he added, perusing her slight, feminine form, “all five-foot-two of you wouldn’t have a fighting chance.”

Just then he glanced over to find Ben and Zach standing at the window, their arms draped in a lazy fashion at their chests and irritatingly innocent grins plastered across their faces. They peered with shameless mirth through the crystal clear window as though watching some theater production. They’d done nothing to help him out here. They appeared to enjoy the fact that he’d pledged himself to this woman’s safekeeping.

He had to wonder…did he have a fighting chance?

The sun’s first light bathed the spare bedroom at the back of Paul’s home in a soft, rosy glow. At any other time the effect would’ve been soothing, but Hope didn’t feel any more at peace than she had eight hours ago. She’d lain awake all night long, thinking, praying and trying not to be angry.

She was angry at Paul for leaving her so soon.

She was angry at God for taking him.

She was angry at Aaron for being so unkind and severe.

Restless, she pulled in a deep breath, bracing herself to face the unknowns that today would bring—meeting Paul’s sister, going to the funeral, tending to duties on the farm…her farm.

Did she belong here?

After the way Aaron had scolded her about the whole cow fiasco, as if she were a small child, she had to wonder. And knowing what a contrast this kind of life was to her privileged upbringing she questioned even more. But she had no choice. Paul had been kind and loving enough to ensure her well-being. Even though he’d given her a way out at summer’s end, she couldn’t let him down.

Moreover, she couldn’t let herself down by giving up.

Reaching for where the kitten slept beside her under the covers, she stroked the tabby’s downy-soft fur. Theodore was what she’d named him, although she often called him sweetie. With all of his fluff of orange fur and his perfect little face, she couldn’t bear letting him fend for himself when he’d almost died right in front of her eyes. Besides, she’d never had a kitten of her own. It was nice having something to hold when it seemed she was so alone.

Last night after Aaron and his brothers had left her to herself, she’d brought Theodore inside. Hope’s mother could never stomach animals, inside or otherwise, but Hope had never understood the reasoning. And Aaron, as nervous as he was acting yesterday, would probably tell her that this innocent little kitten was liable to scratch her eyes out.

Aaron had seemed pretty intent on doling out a list of don’ts—almost as if he didn’t trust her to walk five feet without making some kind of grave or dangerous mistake.

She’d make mistakes, of that she was certain. But surely he was being a bit overbearing. Take the cows, for instance. They’d seemed perfectly fine to her. Certainly she wouldn’t have ventured into their midst had it not been for Theodore nearly being trampled, but really they’d seemed gentle enough. Even that lonely cow in his own pen had seemed sad when he’d received her scolding swat on the nose. Why, she was almost sure she’d heard him sniffling.

She’d just have to get to know the farm and the animals as quickly as possible so that she didn’t feel so out of sorts.

When a long all-encompassing yawn commanded Hope’s attention, she realized that she’d not gotten more than an hour of sleep combined. But even so, she had to get up and face the day.

When she felt Theodore nestle in closer against her legs, she lifted the covers and peeked at her kitten. The adoring way he squeezed his eyes shut and purred brought a smile to her face. She wasn’t alone. She had this sweet one. And Paul had once written that God was always there in the best and worst of times—that He was an ever-present help in times of trouble.

Picturing Paul’s broken body, she had to wonder if God had been a help for Paul when he’d been pinned beneath the tree. She’d counted on Paul showing her the way in her newfound faith. Would her miniscule understanding of God be enough to find what had been so real to Paul?

Maybe Paul’s sister would be a help. If she was anything like her brother—kind, understanding, tenderhearted—then Hope would have nothing to worry about. She’d be all right. She had to believe that from here on out there would be an endless swath of blue skies.

Jane was nothing like Paul.

In fact, Hope would’ve vowed the woman was some imposter, if not for the way Aaron and his family and the townspeople crowded around her now. They’d all gathered for Paul’s funeral beneath one of the large pines anchoring the small cemetery. And now they offered their condolences as the lanky undertaker dropped shovelfuls of reddish dirt, reminiscent of his mat of red hair, over the simple pine box.

Hope struggled to steady her hand as she dabbed at her eyes and grappled for composure. Closing her eyes, she listened to the last bit of musky earth being thrown over Paul’s grave and then the shovel’s dull clang as the undertaker struck the soil to pack it down—as if to seal Paul’s fate.

When she opened her eyes to see the gangly man yield one final clanging blow to the earth, she wished she would wake up from this horrible nightmare…to open her eyes and find herself standing at the church altar, at the very cusp of a brand-new life with Paul.

She grieved the man she knew from his letters. She grieved the life they could have had. But seeing the way each person in attendance was wrought with such deep sorrow, she realized that she grieved never really knowing Paul.

These people…they’d known him. They’d seen how he walked and how he rode a horse. They’d heard his voice, his laugh. They’d felt his touch.

She was an outsider.

There was no mistaking that Jane was incensed by Hope’s presence and clearly thought she was an intruder. From the outset this morning when Jane had arrived home, she’d been cold and frosty whenever she was alone with Hope. She’d made no bones about her displeasure with Paul’s deathbed decisions. Jane had seemed equally incensed by Aaron’s assurance that he would watch out for Hope. She’d even said as much.

Witnessing the way the woman’s shoulders heaved on a loud sob, Hope’s heart swelled with compassion. After all, Jane had lost her brother, suddenly and tragically.

When she felt a gentle touch at her elbow, she looked to find Aaron standing at her side.

“I’ll see you and Jane home now—that is, if you’re ready.” His voice was low, and his blue eyes were moist and undeniably sad—a sadness that seemed to be almost permanently etched into his roguish features.

“That’ll be fine. Thank you.”

When he gestured for her to walk with him down the footpath, she turned and stared at where Paul had been laid to rest beneath the newly turned earth. “Will you give me just one more moment, please?” She glanced back at Aaron.

When he nodded and walked away, she approached the grave and stood there for a long moment. She’d had no problem dreaming of what life would be like with Paul when she was back in Boston, but the harder she tried to generate some kind of image of herself with him now, the further removed she felt. She couldn’t seem to see anything other than the glaring fact that she barely knew him.

“He was a real nice feller, wasn’t he?” The undertaker stood beside her, wedging his shovel into the earth and barely missing her foot.

“Yes, he was.” She tucked her right foot next to her left one, resisting the urge to turn and see just how far away Aaron had gone. “A fine man.”

Pulling one overly large floppy glove off, the long-limbed man reached out to shake her hand. His razorlike Adam’s apple bobbed so severely she thought it likely to cut straight through his throat. “Name’s Pete. Pete O’Leary.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. O’Leary.” She shook his hand, struggling to school her expression against the way his sweaty palm clamped against hers.

“If’n you ever need anything. You jest give me a holler.”

She smiled, though not enough so as to encourage the man in any way. “Thank you for your kindness, but I’m sure I’ll be just fine.”

“I heard that he went and left his farm to you. And that you was to be married. Is that the truth?” he inquired with as much candidness as Hope imagined possible.

Just then a weasellike animal poked its head out from a pack strapped to the man’s back. “All right, Conroy. You seen the perty lady. Now you get yerself back in there, ya hear?” Mr. O’Leary reached over his shoulder and gave the animal’s head a gentle pat. “Conroy’s my ferret. Bought him off’un a travelin’ salesman.”

“He’s a fine-looking ferret,” she commented as the adorable animal wiggled his long-whiskered nose at her and then dived into the sturdy denim pack.

“He goes with me most places—cept’n fer church. Though, Lord knows that bein’ there’d do his thievin’ soul some good.” Mr. O’Leary leaned a gangly arm on the shovel handle and sighed as the ferret rebelliously popped up again, perching his front paws on the man’s rail-thin shoulder. “The critter can’t seem to keep his dishonest paws from takin’ that which ain’t his.”

The earnest show of the man’s distress and the delightful look of innocence on the ferret’s whiskered face coaxed a smile from Hope. She was grateful for the diversion so that she didn’t have to field the man’s inquiries. “With a face like that, how could he possibly mean to be ill-behaved?”

“That’s what I been tellin’ myself, but after a while a body’s gotta wonder.” He shrugged out of the pack and folded his legs beneath him, then tucked the long, lean ferret back inside. “This is not social hour at the opera house.” Jane’s terse voice sounded at Hope’s ear.

Hope turned just in time to see Jane’s cutting glare swing from her to the undertaker then back again, but she refused to cower in response.

“Stop your fraternizing and come along. Can’t you see that we’re waiting for you?” Pivoting, the woman stalked down the trail toward the wagons, not even bothering to give Mr. O’Leary an appreciative look for his labor and not thinking enough to pass one last look at her brother’s grave.

“Thank you for your hard work, Mr. O’Leary.” Hope peered up at the man, deciding that although he was a little rough around the edges he seemed harmless enough.

“Glad to do it.” He looped his arms into his pack and tugged his shovel out of the dirt. “It’s my job.”

Turning, Hope made her way down the trail. She caught Aaron’s gaze fixed on her as if he’d been watching for a long while. Had he sent Jane up to get her? He’d seemed completely oblivious to the woman’s spiteful ways.

When she’d almost reached the cluster of mourners, Aaron came to meet her and guided her toward his wagon. My family, as well as a few others, will be coming over in a little while with plenty of fixings for a meal. I hope you don’t mind the lot of us barging in on you, but this is how we do it here in Boulder.”

“That’s perfectly fine.” She managed a dim smile as she maneuvered through the tall grass. “As soon as we get there, I’ll do what I can to get things prepared.”

He shook his head. “You won’t be doing anything, Hope. That’s what the others will be there for.” He came to a stop and stared down at her as if to enforce his point.

“Until the past twenty hours, these people had no idea that I existed. To be counted among family now,” she reasoned, thinking about how Jane clearly viewed her as an outsider, “is a bit uncomfortable.” And to have Aaron telling her what to do settled over her with equal unpleasantness. Besides, she would rather busy herself than to field the questions she was sure would come her way—just like with Mr. O’Leary.

How did you and Paul meet? How long had you corresponded? When were you to wed? And most inevitably, why had Paul not told us about you?

“Paul obviously didn’t view you as an outsider,” Aaron argued.

“Please. It’s not that I don’t appreciate your consideration—” she tugged on the strong thread of gracious manners that had been woven into her from the time she was young “—but I would feel better if I could be helping.”

For a long moment, Aaron peered down at her as though taking her full measure. Yesterday she’d refused his apathetic proposal of marriage. Honorable, though it may be, seeing as how this man considered it his job to make decisions for her, declining his hand was a very wise decision—just like breaking off her engagement with Jonas had been.

“Aaron,” Ben called, motioning him to the other side of the grassy knoll, “Jane’s going to need your help here.”

Hope followed in Aaron’s wake, lifting the skirts of her cobalt-blue dress as she picked her way around the tender spring flowers that had poked through the soil. She hadn’t dreamed she’d need traditional mourning attire upon her arrival, and her lack of it only seemed to irritate Jane further. Paul’s sister had scanned her up and down not once but several times today, as though to make some silent barbed statement.

“She says she’s feeling pretty weak,” Ben commented, his voice low and measured. When he slid a cautious gaze to Hope, she couldn’t miss the hint of apology there.

“Oh, I am, Aaron. Very weak. I’m so glad you’re here.” Jane’s breathy whisper filtered to Hope. The woman threw herself into Aaron’s arms—almost.

When he sidestepped to gain his balance, Hope stifled a gasp. But she could hardly fault the woman for being given to exceptional outbursts of emotion after suffering such shock.

“You are a great strength to me. I’m sure that Paul would offer his gratitude if he was—” Jane’s eyes suddenly pooled with fresh tears. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Aaron. Honestly, you are meant for me.”

He passed a disconcerted glance to Ben, his throat convulsing as though he’d just swallowed a small horse. He stared down at where Jane had circled her arms around his chest and burrowed her cheek into his dark gray vest. “Well, I, uh…I’m glad to help.”

“Thank you,” Jane whispered, one side of her thin lips lifting in what looked to Hope like a triumphant grin.

Clearing his throat, Aaron pried her arms loose and took one sizable step away from her. “Don’t you think we should probably go since the others will be coming soon?”

“Yes, of course. You’re right, as always, Aaron.” The way Jane latched onto Aaron and led the way, Hope half wondered if she was making a silent claim. The icy look she sent Hope could’ve frozen one of the yellow spring blooms dotting the grassy knoll within seconds and furthered her suspicion.

“We’ll be right behind you to help with the meal, Hope. Don’t you worry about a thing,” Ben’s wife, Callie, called as she took her husband’s hand and climbed into their wagon.

Hope waved and trailed behind Jane and Aaron, watching as Jane nearly sprinted the last few feet to claim a seat at the front of the wagon, not even bothering to wait for assistance.

“You’ll have to sit in the back again, Hope. There’s just not room up here. You won’t mind, will you?” She gave Hope a sickeningly sweet look, her face all pinched in apology as she took great care spreading out her skirts as though decorating an elaborate layered cake.

Hope struggled to prevent her disbelief from making its way to an all-out expression. “Of course, I don’t mind.”

With a firm but gentle touch, Aaron easily lifted her into the wagon and then took his own seat next to Jane. When Jane clasped a possessive hand over Aaron’s muscular arm, Hope determined that Paul’s sister was definitely marking her territory. As far as Hope was concerned, Jane could have the man. But being a woman of principle, the fact that Jane was being so nasty about the whole thing just didn’t sit right.

Once Aaron had the wagon headed down the road, he glanced at her with a concern-filled look. “Are you sure you don’t mind all of us coming to your house for a gather—”

“Paul’s house,” Jane corrected darting her attention to Aaron then back at Hope. “It’s Paul’s house.”

Hope determined to find some common ground on which to stand with Jane if this day was going to be anything more than horrible. “I’m sure that Paul would’ve wanted it that way.”

Jane twisted in her seat. “Excuse me for saying so, but honestly, how would you know what Paul would’ve wanted?” She narrowed her hazel-eyed gaze and pursed her thin lips, making them nearly disappear. “You never even met him.”

“I—I just thought that Paul, being as kind-hearted and giving as he was—”

“Yes he was, wasn’t he? So generous that he gave you his estate.”

“Jane,” Aaron admonished.

“It’s all right, Aaron,” Hope placated. “She’s had a very difficult day.”

Jane’s shrewd expression suddenly turned sorrowful just like that. “Oh, I’m just so beside myself with grief. My dear, dear brother Paul…dead,” she sobbed, hugging her arms to her chest and dabbing at her eyes.

Surely, this woman couldn’t be so shallow as to exercise such pettiness—especially at a time like this. Hope would love to give her the benefit of the doubt, but she’d deny her own intelligence in doing so. Instead, Hope reminded herself that she was irrevocably connected to this woman, and although she couldn’t help feeling incredulous at Jane’s flagrant show of melodramatics, she must be as gracious as humanly possible.

Aaron gave Jane’s arm a brief squeeze, bringing a peculiar stop to the lamenting. “Why don’t you decide where you think we should have the gathering? How does that sound?”

Jane sniffled. Dabbed at her eyes. Hiccupped. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

After several moments of silence, the woman sniffled once again as if for good measure. She stared up at Aaron, her shapeless loglike eyebrows bunched inward. “I know my brother better than anyone. Why don’t we all gather at Paul’s home?” she announced, as though the idea was brand new. “I’m sure he would have wanted it that way.”

Hope nearly bit clear through her tongue. She couldn’t imagine how a woman could be so petty—especially at a time like this. Determined to stay strong, she silently conceded that Paul’s sister would be no help at all. Hope was in this alone.