Rocky Mountain Proposal

by Pamela Nissen

  But even more than hearing his encouragement was the desire to hear him laugh again. The hearty, almost desperate sound she’d heard a few days ago when she’d lost two of her undergarments to Penelope and Patience, undermined her sense of composure more than any naughty goat could. And his smile…the boyish twinkle in his blue eyes and his handsome easy grin had made her knees weak and the base of her stomach all aflutter.

  But she couldn’t help remembering the sting she’d felt at his response after she’d tidied up his home. Her hurt had been short-lived when she reminded herself just how closed off this part of his life had been.

  “Good morning,” Jane called from behind Hope.

  The woman’s, aren’t-you-aware-that-I’m-here kind of tone, jarred Hope’s senses. It set her nerves on end—instantly.

  She dipped deep into her well of manners and stood, straightening her dress. Turning, she waved as Jane strode up the lane, her rigid gate adding to Hope’s wariness. She wore the same faded black dress, at least a size too small and an ankle too short. Paul’s sister had stopped by several times since the funeral two weeks ago, and although her sneak glares and sideways cuts had all but disappeared, Hope didn’t feel the least bit inclined to let her guard down.

  “Good morning, Jane.” She brushed off her white-gloved hands, noticing the way the gloves were wearing thin. “What brings you over this morning?”

  “I thought I’d stop by and check in on you.” Jane slowed to a stop, her small-eyed gaze inspecting Hope’s attire as though she was some fashion authority. “I see you’re not dressed appropriately again.”

  Hope forced a smile to her face, choosing to ignore the caustic barb. “Would you like to gather some more of Paul’s things? Or maybe you’d like to join me for a cup of tea?” she proposed, prepared to lay out her finest for the woman.

  “I thought I told you already that I don’t drink tea.” A scorn-filled look creased Jane’s high brow. Her thin lips curled.

  “I’m sorry.” Hope bit her lip trying not to react. “I didn’t remember.”

  Jane waved her hand in clear dismissal. “I actually came by because I wanted to talk with you about something very important.”

  “Certainly.” When the horse gave an eager snort, Hope had to tamp down the impatience she felt at Jane’s surprise visit. “What about, might I ask?”

  Hugging her arms to her thick waist, Jane began. “I wanted to let you know how worried I am. About you.”

  “Worried?”

  Jane ambled up to Hope. “Yes. Why, yesterday when I happened to be here when Aaron and Zach were over working on the plow,” she began as Hope seriously questioned the happened to part of that sentence. Paul’s sister seemed to show up, more often than not, when Aaron was here. “Well, you looked so tired, Hope. I thought you were going to fall asleep standing up.”

  Hope’s mother would have a fit with the way Jane bunched her shoulders up in that utterly unfeminine way of hers and hugged her arms to her waist as though she was ready to wilt away to nothing, when it was obvious she had more than enough extra to carry her through the harshest of times. “I was feeling just fine, as I recall.”

  Furrowing her shapeless eyebrows, Jane scrutinized Hope. “I think you’re trying to do too much.” She pursed her thin lips, making them nonexistent. Then she paused for a strategic, baited moment, but Hope didn’t feel the slightest bit inclined to bite. “It may be none of my business, but I do worry that this farm is too much for you. After all, Paul had worked every bit as hard as his workhorse.” She pointed to the enormous animal, scowling as though the horse had contracted leprosy.

  Hope couldn’t resist pulling off her gloves and running a hand down the horse’s sleek, muscled side. “Chester, isn’t that his name?”

  “How would I know?” Jane scoffed, taking a cautious step away, as though the grazing horse was liable to trample her beneath his enormous feet.

  “Honestly, it has been a challenge trying to learn how to do everything, but I’m feeling just fine. Truly.” She smoothed her hands down her dress. “I never realized just how meaningful it is to work hard.”

  Jane’s crumpled gaze softened some as she turned and peered at the thick timberline flanking Paul’s property. “My dear brother worked so very hard, but then I’m sure you’ve learned that by now. Aaron said that the day Paul died, he’d been cutting down trees to build an addition onto his house.” Her attention slithered over to Hope again. “Probably to please you.”

  Jane may as well have slapped Hope across the face for the impact of her words. Hope had asked nothing of Paul. In fact, she’d felt bad when he’d had to pay her train fare out here. She’d only wanted his love, and he’d offered her much more.

  She dearly wanted to defend herself but wouldn’t give Jane the satisfaction. Besides, she had to keep reminding herself, she didn’t really know what it was like to lose someone so close. Jane was grieving, and sometimes grief could change a person. Death had always been a distant, unobtrusive entity in Hope’s life—until she’d come to Boulder.

  But even then, her grief didn’t seem as deep as what others experienced. She had to wonder just how one-dimensional her relationship with Paul had been; her parents had cautioned her of exactly that. Words, ideals, pledged love…it’d all been her sustenance back in Boston. But had she only loved the idea of a good man? Had she loved the comfort and guidance he’d given in his letters? She had no doubt that, had Paul not died, they would’ve discovered true love—in time.

  “Oh, that probably sounded horrible. I mean, the look on your face.” Jane sliced a breath through her teeth. “All I meant to say was that, knowing Paul, he would’ve done anything for you. I’m sure of it.” She hugged her arms tighter to her waist, her slumped-shoulder posture suddenly turning all rigid. “And poor Aaron. It’s not as if he doesn’t have his own job. But then he has to come over here and help so that Paul’s years of hard work don’t waste away under your care.”

  Rubbing a newly callused patch on her palm, Hope sighed with discouragement. As harsh as Jane’s words were, they were also true. Guilt’s burdening weight had been getting heavier with each passing day and with each hour Aaron took off from his job to help her on the farm.

  She’d interviewed several farmhand candidates, but for each one Aaron had given an adamant no.

  She knelt down next to the plow, its blades gleaming and ready to cut through the spring-thawed ground. “Believe me, I’m doing all I can to relieve him of some of the tasks, but he’s determined to help.”

  “Aaron’s just too noble to let a woman flounder.”

  Flounder? She wasn’t floundering, was she?

  Feeling her poise slip some, she grasped for control, reminding herself that even Aaron had noted how well she’d been doing. His stellar attributes flashed through her mind. He was noble, good, kind and ever so patient. The growing list of his fine character traits would easily fill a page.

  She hadn’t been able to ignore the way her stomach had fluttered the last few times he’d been here. It was the gentle way he’d spoken, his heart-stopping smile. Even though he’d worked hard just to honor some promise he’d made to Paul, he hadn’t once made her feel beholden to him.

  But it was his lingering gaze—its warmth penetrating deep, as though he was peering into the furthest reaches of her soul—that made her feel so utterly undone.

  Jane came to stand right beside Hope, jerking her from the stirring emotions. “Do you need some help with the plow?”

  Hope bit back a surprised gasp. “That would be wonderful.”

  “I used to give Paul a hand with this all the time. In fact, he used to say I was as accomplished as any man he’d seen.”

  Inferiority pricked Hope, but she refused to let it get to her.

  “All you need to do is line that flat-looking thing up…” she began with a measure of forced patience as she pointed to the front end of the plow. “With that other—that other thing.”

  “Do you mean this?�
�� Hope crawled over to where the other tonguelike contraption rested on the soil next to where the horse nickered softly.

  “Yes, that.” Jane rested her fists at her nonexistent waist, producing a patronizing mmm-hmm, every now and then as Hope heaved the plow forward by herself and hooked it up. “Oh, well, aren’t you doing a fine job? See how easy that is?”

  Hope bit her lip and stood up straight. “All right. Now what?”

  “Look at you. It’s as if you know just what to do.” With a condescending smile, Jane gave a small round of applause, irritating Hope all the more. “Now, all you have to do is just hold on to the reins and plow handles and let the horse do the work. It’s very easy.”

  Hope slid her white gloves on and took her place behind the plow. “Like this?”

  “Exactly.” Jane rewarded her with an enthusiastic smile. “It should be very easy. Why, even a child could do it.”

  “Thank you so much, Jane.” Hope made a mental note to cook something special for her just as soon as she was done plowing the field.

  “Oh, please, what are neighbors for?” Jane turned and started walking back down the lane, only pausing long enough to call out, “Happy plowing.”

  Chapter Ten

  Hope fought to pull on the reins, struggling to bring the horse to a halt, but she could barely keep a hold of the plow handles let alone manage the reins. And the horse, he seemed to have a mind of his own and kept plodding over the ground.

  She’d probably only been at it for an hour, but already exhaustion had nearly consumed her entire being. She’d long since thrown her useless gloves to the side after holes had formed in short order. Now her hands were blistered raw and her dress was drenched with sweat, the hem ripped in several places, only adding to her frustration when she’d trip on the torn edges.

  Just then she stumbled on a dirt clod. She grappled for the plow handles and tripped on her torn hem, landing face-first on the ground as the horse, mercifully, came to a stop.

  Tears stung her eyes as she let out a pathetic whimper, loathing the sound but helpless to keep it locked up any longer. Her hands burned fire-red as she pressed her palms into the musty smelling soil to push herself up. She paused for a moment, relishing the way the cool and damp, freshly turned earth brought a needed bit of relief to her pain and to the work-induced heat that consumed her body.

  When she lifted her head and glimpsed the three rows she’d labored so hard to plow, her heart sank. There was nothing straight or even about them. They wandered across the field like a meandering creek bed with long stretches where she’d either barely skimmed the surface or had gone way too deep.

  Maybe Jane was right. Maybe she’d taken on too much.

  She was floundering like a fish out of water, and her attempts to breathe and live in this new land did not come easy. Here she’d wanted to have the field plowed for Aaron, and she’d barely gotten a start.

  To add to her already-long list of chores, she’d promised Callie she’d participate in the fundraiser. She’d been thrilled when Callie had thought enough of her to ask her to participate in the play. When Hope was a girl, she and her sisters used to put on plays with their dolls. But right now she could barely even hold up her head enough to finish this one task let alone make it to play rehearsal tonight.

  Dropping her forehead to the soil, doubt and despair pummeled her like thick chunks of hail falling mercilessly from the sky. She’d been giving her grandest effort over the past two weeks, but it just didn’t seem to be enough.

  What else could she do? Aaron had rejected every candidate she interviewed. And she refused to skitter away like some spoiled child, tired of playing house. She had a responsibility to Paul, to the land and to the animals she’d grown to love—and to herself.

  Emotion clogged her throat as she searched for some kind of answer. She was so frustrated, tired and upset that, if she’d allow herself, she could’ve watered the freshly turned earth with her tears—flooded the field, maybe.

  But tears wouldn’t get the field planted. They’d only prove to be a painfully short relief from her current and growing dilemma.

  She rose to her elbows to see the cows—her cows—grazing contentedly in the pasture next to the field. She heard the chickens’ whimsical bawk-bawking sound. She felt the steady June breeze dance over her sweat-dampened dress and skin, and her spirits were bolstered.

  Pushing her weary body up to standing again, she got her bearings about her then grabbed the reins, the worn and smooth leather cutting into her blisters with relentless force. A surge of nausea rose fast. She pulled in a steadying breath. Then she pulled in another as she prepared to set her hands on the rough wood handles once again.

  “Hope! Stop!” Aaron’s command cut through a chorus of birds chirping in the nearby trees.

  She shaded her eyes against the blazing sun to see him racing his horse over the field. Even from almost a hundred yards away, she could see distress etched in his brow.

  “What in the world are you doing?” He brought the horse to an abrupt halt and dismounted in one smooth movement. “I warned you not to try this yourself.”

  Hope’s entire body ached. Every muscle screamed in pain.

  Her pride hurt just as much.

  “Look at you. You’re about ready to collapse.” He lifted her wilted European-made hat from her head and threw it to the side. He cupped a hand under her chin and looked at her, the concern depicted in his scrunched features, almost her undoing.

  Sheer panic coursed through her veins, thinking that he might see just how desperate she felt at this moment, that he might somehow read the words I quit in her gaze.

  Her knees nearly buckled. Tears threatened at the corners of her eyes as she willed her limbs to stay strong.

  “Hope, darlin’. What were you thinking?” Gentle as could be, he brushed at a bead of sweat—or was that an errant tear—trailing down her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

  In spite of her pain, she felt a shiver of awareness at his tender touch. “I was only trying to help.”

  He gently grasped her shoulders. “Can’t you see that it’s too much for you?”

  Thick shame enveloped her as she remembered Jane’s words, that plowing was easy enough for a child and that Paul had considered Jane as useful as any man.

  Hope couldn’t admit that she’d failed miserably to Aaron. The small bit of regard for her that he likely had left would diminish, altogether.

  “I’m sorry,” was all she could seem to manage.

  He slid his grasp down her arms and gently took her hands in his, peering at her palms. “Aww…Hope. Your hands.”

  She pulled them away and clasped them behind her back, wincing at the way searing pain bolted through the open wounds. “They’re fine.”

  “No, Hope. Your hands are not fine.” His fingers trembled as he drew her hands in front of her again, his gaze crimped with compassion. “They’re blistered raw. They’re going to get infected if we don’t tend to them.”

  “Aaron, please do not worry so. They’ll be as good as new tomorrow.” She’d heaped as much conviction as she could into her words, given the fact that her hands were torn to shreds and that she was light-headed and nauseous. “I promise.”

  With the back of her hand, she brushed the hair from her face and tried for an unconcerned expression.

  He shot her a worried gaze. “This is no time for you to be trying to outdo yourself—or anyone else—for that matter. Your hands are a serious matter.” Aaron reached out and tucked the remainder of her hair behind her ear, as if he knew just how much it hurt to use her hands.

  “I just fell, that’s all,” she breathed, his compassionate gesture nearly overwhelming. “I’m sure that the dirt makes them look far worse than what they truly are.”

  Whipping his leather gloves out of his back pocket, he held them up to her. “I even wear these things when I work.”

  “But I had my gloves on,” she argued, glancing over at where she’d tossed them a
t the edge of the field.

  “Those things?” He pointed to her gloves. “Fancy party gloves were never meant for farmwork. They’re useless.”

  When a swell of dizziness assaulted her, it was all she could do to maintain her balance. “I’m well aware of that now, Aaron. That’s why I threw them over there. With the holes in them it was just as easy for me to use my bare hands.”

  He grasped her elbow as if he could tell that she was unsteady on her feet. “There was a good reason why I told you not to try plowing. Do you see now?”

  “It hasn’t been all that bad. Really,” she argued, trying to convince herself as much as him.

  “Well, compared to plowing the rugged mountainside,” he retorted, jerking his head to the west, where the mountains stretched Heavenward in unforgiving yet marvelously beautiful lines, “I’m sure it’s been surprisingly easy.”

  Feeling all but defeated, she sidled up next to Chester and smoothed the back of her hand over his thick, muscled neck. She brushed her cheek over his downy-soft nose, loving the scent and feel of the horse.

  Aaron gave his head a slow, measured shake. “You are stubborn and determined. I’ll give you that.”

  Both perturbed and flattered by his graceless estimation of her, she stepped over several clods of dirt, toward where he bent over the plow and unhitched the implement.

  “Why are you doing that?” She wobbled then caught her balance, willing her blistered feet to stay standing as he loosely draped the long reins over the yoke. “I wasn’t done plowing.”

  When he clicked his tongue, Chester and his horse turned to follow him like obedient dogs. “Oh, yes you are.”

  Her pulse swished and churned in her head. She blinked hard. “But I—”

  “Come on, boys,” Aaron said as he scooped Hope up in his arms. “Hope, this is no place for you.”

  The feel of his strong arms cradling her stopped her protest somewhere between her mind and her mouth. She barely had the strength to loop her elbow around his neck as he set off up the sloping ground. She wanted to be angry at his implication—that she didn’t belong here—but for the life of her, she couldn’t seem to think beyond the feel of his muscle-bound arms carrying her past the barn toward the house.