“Aaron,” she taunted in the same exasperated tone. “I fed the cows in the exact way you feed them every morning, and they were just fine. In fact, I believe that all of the animals are getting very well acquainted with me.”
Speechless, he shook his head.
She edged closer, enough that he caught that sweet scent of roses that seemed to be Hope. “Do you think Isabel will be all right?”
“It’s pretty safe to guess that she’s laboring, which means you’ll have your very first calf of the season soon.” When her eyes grew wide with surprise, he added, “You’ll really enjoy that. They’re as cute as can be the way they frolic around the pasture.”
On a gasp, she grabbed his arm. “We should get Ben. He should be there for the birth.”
Aaron covered her hand. He didn’t move an inch, mostly because of what her touch was doing to him. The simple connection beckoned some hidden part of him, a deep desire to protect, care for and know a woman. He’d avoided her as much as he could over the past days but couldn’t seem to get her out of his mind or his heart.
And by the way her touch sent quivering sensations coursing headlong through his veins, he was pretty sure he’d have a hard time getting that out of his mind, too.
He jammed his hands into his pockets, battling to keep his wits about him. “The cow seemed to be fine last night, but if we run into trouble we can get Ben or go for Zach—he’s got lots of experience, being foreman at the Harris ranch,” he assured, leaning against the mantle again. “Most of the time, though, these things work out just fine.”
Most of the time…
As uncertain and sometimes disastrous as the process could be, Aaron didn’t want to scare Hope.
He ran a hand over his freshly shaved jawline. “Unless the calf is breech, we let nature take its course. But just to be on the safe side, I’ll stick around at your place this morning to make sure everything goes well. All right?”
“What about Joseph?” she asked. “Will he need you?”
“He knows that if I’m not there that something important came up.” His gaze drifted to the picture of Ellie again. When Hope’s gaze followed his, he could almost hear her unspoken question. “That’s Ellie. She was my wife of four years.” He swallowed hard as he forced the next two words out. “She died.”
Her mouth opened in silent shock. Understanding dawned in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Aaron,” she whispered. “Did she pass away recently?”
He peered at the picture again. “Last summer. She gave birth to our baby boy, Jeremiah, who was stillborn, and then died a day later.” When he felt Hope’s hand rest on his arm, he turned and looked at her, wondering if sympathy always felt like this…heart-wrenching and gut clenching.
Soothing.
He’d tried to be strong. He had deflected sympathy and pity from others because he just didn’t want to feel. But maybe he had to feel in order to find healing. “I buried them within two days of each other.”
“Oh, Aaron. I’m so very sorry. I had no idea.” Her words and her voice were like a comforting embrace. She drew her slender hands to her mouth in a prayerful pose. “Paul had asked me to pray for a friend of his who’d lost…” She peered up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I want you to know that I did pray for you even as new as I am to the faith.”
He dragged in a long, steadying breath, struggling to hold back the depth of emotion. For some reason, some tangible, weighty reason, just knowing that Hope had prayed for him, a nameless stranger two thousand miles away, settled into the deepest, darkest part of his heart like a healing balm.
“I had no idea it was you, Aaron,” she whispered. She ran a single fingertip over the tarnished silver frame. “May I look?”
He held out the frame and watched as she cradled it, with gentleness, caution and great care.
“You know, over the months most folks have seemed to avoid talking about Ellie.”
Her eyelashes fluttered down over her eyes for a brief second. “That must hurt terribly. To feel like they’ve forgotten.”
Aaron peered around the room, a flood of memories meeting his gaze in every single place he looked. “I suppose they think that if they talk about her it will make me remember.” He pulled a hand down over his face. “As if I’ve ever forgotten.”
“Of course, you haven’t forgotten.” She inched her concentrated gaze over Ellie’s picture.
“That was the day of our wedding.” That had been the best day of his life. Crossing to a small table beside Ellie’s rocker, he retrieved another picture. “See, this is us after the wedding.”
Hope held both frames and was so attentive while she took in every detail. “She’s lovely, Aaron. Beautiful.” Peering up at him, she smiled in a way that made him feel like maybe she understood his joy and pain. A little. “You both looked so happy.”
He swallowed hard and pulled his mouth tight. “We were. Very happy.”
When she lightly brushed her fingers over his arm, he felt some much-needed solace. “I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been losing her—and your only child, too.” She gently held the frames to her chest in a cherishing kind of way that made his eyes sting with unshed tears.
He’d done the same countless times, lying in bed at night or sitting alone by a warm fire on a winter’s evening, hoping that by holding Ellie’s image close he would somehow find comfort. But a picture couldn’t give an embrace in return. A picture couldn’t talk. A picture couldn’t heal his pain. So usually his loneliness only worsened.
He’d decided it was easier not to feel.
Jamming his hands into his pockets, he dragged in a breath. “Losing them was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to face.”
But when he looked at Hope and saw the way compassion had stolen over her fair and delicate features, the way soft vulnerability had masked that stoic composure of hers, he had to wonder if he would face an equally difficult task if he actually allowed himself to feel again.
Chapter Nine
Hope’s heart nearly twisted in two seeing the grief that stole over Aaron’s features—especially when he’d shared his cherished pictures of Ellie. She’d had no idea he’d endured so much suffering. Knowing that now answered many questions as to his sometimes abrupt and confusing behavior—or his emotionless offer of marriage.
He was brokenhearted. He was sick at heart for having lost the love of his life—and newborn baby, too.
Although Hope’s faith was perilously new, she silently vowed, right then and there, to pray for Aaron every day. She had a feeling that Aaron found it difficult to pray for himself. She didn’t necessarily know what God would do with all of her prayers, but Paul had once written that if she took the time to talk with God, He’d listen. He wanted to be close to her, to help and to love her through her perils and triumphs.
Aaron sighed and headed to the door. “I’m going out to finish up the last of my chores and hitch up the wagon. Do you mind waiting in here since it’ll be a few minutes?” He passed a weary gaze around his home as he clutched the door handle.
She returned Ellie’s photograph to the mantel. “That will be fine.”
He opened the door and paused at the threshold. “There’s a little coffee left if you’d like to warm it up for yourself.”
“Thank you,” she managed as he walked out and closed the door.
Hope swung her tear-stung gaze around Aaron’s house, seeing the clutter and the way things appeared as though they hadn’t been moved for months. Likely, they hadn’t. Maybe Aaron didn’t want to deal with things or wasn’t adept at cleaning. Or maybe he would rather avoid this place, altogether—that certainly would explain why he seemed unfazed by the discomfort of sleeping in the barn. Whatever the reason, she wanted to help.
Surely, in the amount of time he was gone she could tidy the place a little. She could do the dishes, at least. After all, he’d worked so hard to help her over the past ten days.
Rolling up the sleeves of her taffeta dress
, she found an apron and a kettle nearly full of water, apparently left over from breakfast, on the small stove. While it was heating, she swept the place then cleared the counter to lay dishes to dry. With every dish she scrubbed, she sent up a prayer that Aaron would find peace and comfort and hope for the future.
A satisfied smile spread over her face, feeling the way she did at this moment, so useful and so needed. She was fairly certain that her life, until this very instant, had been rather empty. Yes, this was the least she could do for him. It’d put her prayers into action, and as far as Hope was concerned, that had to be every bit as meaningful as articulating them to God.
After she’d washed and dried the dishes, she made quick work of tidying up the place, collecting Aaron’s shirts he’d strewn about the place and fluffing the two pieces of upholstered furniture. She also stacked all of the stray items she found in a pile so that he would have a clear table on which to eat at again.
She wasn’t even close to being done, but she was a far cry from where she’d begun twenty-five minutes ago. Perching her hands at her hips, she stood back and took in the results of her labors.
“What are you doing?” Aaron’s voice, tight and forced, broke her silent reverie.
She whipped around to find him standing there, his large muscle-bound frame filling the doorway, blocking out the light. The look of shock, and maybe even anger, that flickered over his face sent a tiny trickle of fear snaking up her spine.
“I—I was just cleaning,” she measured out, trying to steady the small quiver in her voice. “And tidying things up for you.”
She untied her apron and hung it up exactly where she’d found it, unable to miss the way his intense gaze focused on her every move. Or the almost mechanical way he turned his head and looked at the place.
“I didn’t think you’d mind,” she added, trying desperately to interpret the mixed reaction etched into his features. “I don’t know what got into me, barging into your personal life like this.” She slid back a step and braced her hands on the chair behind her. “I’m sorry. Very sorry.”
He removed his hat and stepped inside, closing the door with a nearly silent click. “No one has done something like this. At least not since Ellie. Katie tried to get me to let her clean, at first, anyway, but I didn’t want her touching things. And, honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about you messing with things now.”
“Uncle Aaron,” Libby squealed, throwing open the wood shop door and running toward him. She leaped into his arms. “Oh, say you will, say you will, say you will,” she pleaded, her words coming faster than a herd of wild horses.
“What about me? Don’t I get a hug?” Joseph grinned as he moved around the workbench where he’d been doing the final sanding on a chest of drawers.
“I gotta ask Uncle Aaron something first. Then I’ll give you a hug, Uncle Joseph.”
Aaron smiled at Libby’s exuberance. She was a constant reminder as to how far he had to go to find simple trust in God again. “Say I will what?” he asked when she hugged him tighter as if trying to squeeze an answer from him.
He couldn’t help thinking about the appreciative hug Hope had given him yesterday after he’d watched over Isabel as she delivered her calf. She’d made the whole process alive with awe and delight.
She pulled back and peered at him. “Help Mama and Papa with a fun-raiser.”
“A fun-raiser, huh?” he echoed with a chuckle. “Do you mean a fundraiser?”
“Yes.” Nodding, she clamped her little hands on both sides of his face to ensure his full attention. “Just say you will. Promise, pleeeze.”
“Of course, I will. I’ll be glad to help.” He’d donate whatever Ben and Callie needed to get the Seeds of Faith boarding house, a home for women in need of a fresh start, off the ground. “Anything for you, Libby-Loo.”
He winked at Ben and Callie as they entered the wood shop.
“So, what’s the verdict, Lib?” Ben sauntered over and brushed a lock of dark auburn hair from her round cherub face.
“She’s got him wrapped around her fingers and toes. That’s the verdict.” Joseph grinned in Ben and Callie’s direction.
“You’re one to speak, Uncle Joseph,” Ben teased. “So, what’d he say, Libby?”
“He said yes.” She scrunched her shoulders almost up to her ears, her expression laden with self-satisfaction. “Didn’t you, Uncle Aaron.”
“I sure did.” He touched his nose to hers.
“That’s very big of you,” Callie remarked, eyeing him as though he’d just consented to the railroad detouring straight through his property.
But when Ben gave him a no-backing-out-now, raised brow look, Aaron set Libby down. He folded his arms at his chest as she scampered to the other side of the work bench to launch into Joseph’s waiting arms. “Um…what, exactly, did I just promise to do? Construction of some sort, right?”
Callie exchanged a cautious look with Ben then shoved a wad of papers into Aaron’s hand. Her growing smile was too sweet and way too triumphant for reassurance. “You’ve just agreed to play a part in our fundraiser theater production we’re putting on for the Seeds of Faith boarding house.”
“Uh…I don’t think—”
“Sure you can.” Ben clapped a hand on Aaron’s shoulder, shoving the rest of Aaron’s words back down his throat. “Libby prayed you’d say yes. Didn’t you, Lib?”
“Yes, I did. Last night I said, God,” she began in earnest, closing her eyes and clasping her hands beneath her chin as Joseph held her, “please help my Uncle Aaron be in the play with me.” She popped one eye open and met his stinging gaze. “Did you know that I prayed for my friend, Elsa Lockhart, too?”
He tamped down his frustration and focused on Libby. “You did? Tell me about that.”
She opened the other eye then, her sweet face growing serious with concern. “I prayed her daddy would let her be in the play. She can even stand beside me, and I’ll hold her hand if she gets scared.”
“That’s good of you, Libby,” Aaron encouraged. “You’re a good friend for Elsa.”
His heart surged with compassion as he thought of Libby’s new friend. Maclean Lockhart and his daughter, Elsa, had moved to the Boulder area just last month to be near his two brothers and his sister after his wife had died. They’d attended church with his sister one time, but the man was very protective of his daughter, and honestly, Aaron couldn’t blame him. There’d been whisperings that Maclean’s wife had been sick with melancholy and had taken her own life.
Why couldn’t folks just keep their tongues from wagging? No matter what had happened, death was death, plain and simple. Although Aaron had only spoken with Maclean a couple of times, he was sure the man was grieving. His daughter was, too, because from what Aaron had heard, the girl had grown mute right after the death.
“You can do it, Aaron,” Ben encouraged, bracing Aaron’s arm in a sturdy grip. “You’ve always loved to be the center of attention.”
“Yes, but—”
“Yep. I know you can do it,” Joseph added, setting Libby down and stepping around the workbench to join them.
Aaron sighed when Libby smothered his hand with kisses, then scurried off to the scrap box where small odds and ends of lumber were stashed.
“How?” he asked, raking a hand through his hair.
“How what?” Callie brushed a hand down her peach-colored dress as if she were covered in dust.
On a long exhale, he raised a hand to his neck and massaged the stiffness there. “How is it that I end up making these promises?”
Ben looked him square in the face in that big brother way of his that always seemed to set things right. “Because you’re just that kind of a man. True, honest, loyal…”
Aaron shook his head. “Ah…don’t make me out to be a saint. You sent your little girl to do your—”
“And maybe a little gullible,” Ben added, pricking Aaron’s ire.
He narrowed his gaze on Ben, realizing now that he’
d been purposely duped. Before Ellie had passed on, he would’ve gladly jumped at the opportunity to be in the play, but not now. He didn’t want to be the center of attention. Folks were more liable to ask him questions or try to tell him he’d be all right or try to set him up with their long-lost nieces, and he’d just as soon avoid that nonsense.
“I’ll do it,” he finally confirmed, knowing he would never let himself back down from a promise. He slid his gaze over to where Libby was busy building with the blocks. “But only because I promised that adorable niece of mine.”
How hard could it be to connect the plow to the draft horse?
Hope swiped her sleeve across her perspiration-beaded brow. She adjusted her wide-brimmed hat as she knelt down at the edge of the field to inspect the equipment. Dirt marred her dress, and she’d only just begun. She’d picked the most workaday garment she owned, a light blue cotton floral print, embellished with delicate white lace and elegant ruching, but still she’d be overdressed and way too warm given the way she was already heated. But it couldn’t be helped. There was work to be done.
Squinting against the late morning sun blazing overhead, she studied the attachment parts, trying to remember what Aaron and Zach had said yesterday when they’d been over preparing the implement for planting season. She’d asked a long list of questions about the process and had figured that plowing couldn’t be that hard. It was just a horse pulling a blade through the dirt in a straight line, right? Wouldn’t Aaron be surprised and greatly pleased when he got there to find the field done, or at least well on its way?
Until she’d arrived in Boulder, she’d possessed a mere shadow of understanding as to what hard work really entailed. Now, she was eager to tackle each new task, the enormous sense of gratification she felt at her accomplishments, her sole motivation.
Although she’d be remiss not to admit that the way Aaron had recently begun encouraging her had been life-giving. She’d developed a hunger for his heartening words of support, his sweet sentiments bearing his genuine pleasure in her efforts.
Rocky Mountain Proposal Page 10
