Rocky Mountain Proposal Page 13

  He just had to figure out how he could be with Hope on a daily basis and remain unaffected by her charm and wit and unflappable determination.

  “Uncle Aaron, don’t leave yet.” Seven-year-old Libby raced down the aisle to meet him, stopping briefly to backtrack a few feet and grab the hand of her little friend.

  “You did great tonight, Libby-Loo.” He tweaked the big pink bow in her auburn hair.

  “Thank you. This is my friend, Elsa. Her papa—” Libby pointed at where Maclean and Hope stood “—said she could be in the play with me.”

  “Good to hear you’re joining us, Elsa.” He smiled down at the girl, and the sadness that was so evident in her gaze sent his glowering mood packing. He could only imagine the kind of sorrow that could steal the enthusiastic flow of words from a little girl.

  “We have to go talk to Mama and Papa cuz Lukey told us we had to have our scripts.” Libby looped her arm through her friend’s. “And Elsa doesn’t have one yet.”

  “Then you’d better get going.” Grinning, he gave Libby a pat on the back as she scampered off with Elsa in tow.

  Glancing up, he met Maclean’s watchful gaze as the man came this way with Hope.

  Aaron nodded to Hope and then held out a hand to Maclean. “Good to see you again, Maclean.”

  “You as well.” The man took Aaron’s hand. “Libby tells me she’s going to watch out for my young one, then.”

  “I’m sure she will. Callie and Ben, too,” he assured.

  “They’ve said as much. I’m appreciating the kindness shown to her. It’s not been easy for her, with all of the changes.” He inclined his head to where his little girl stood next to Libby and Luke on stage. “She’s pleased to be having a friend such as Libby.”

  “Libby is delightful,” Hope added, her gaze flitting as light as a butterfly from Maclean to Aaron.

  “I imagine it’s been hard moving and starting over.” And losing a wife and mother. Aaron nodded to the unspoken sentiment, knowing from the somber way Maclean met his gaze that the man understood exactly.

  “Aye.” Deep sadness weighted Maclean’s gaze. “I’m grateful to be near my kin again. They’ve been a help with my little girl. With the ranch, too.”

  “Brodie said you’d brought a few head of cattle with you in the move.”

  “That, I did.” He nodded, shoving his large work-worn hands into his pockets as he glanced over at Hope. “I brought the best I had but sold the others off else I’d have too many on my hands for the journey.”

  “Are they adjusting to your new place?” Hope’s sweet innocence and concern stirred Aaron’s heart. She’d barely even been around cattle and yet treated them as though they were house pets.

  Maclean nodded as he set his Stetson on his thick head of dark hair. “The land is good. Better than where we came from, seventy miles east of here. And I’ve got a large enough plot to add many more head when I’m ready.”

  “You sure do.” The Lockhart land stretched to several hundred acres, total. With the eldest brother and renowned horse trainer Callen Lockhart’s horse ranch and now Maclean’s cattle, they needed every bit of the grazing land. “If you ever need a hand repairing fences or outbuildings, you be sure to let me know.”

  “Thank you.” When Elsa walked up and eased into Maclean’s side, he reached down and settled his big hand on her shoulder.

  Aaron couldn’t miss the way Hope regarded the interchange, her eyes shimmering and her hands clasped beneath her chin as Maclean hunkered down and spoke in low soothing tones to the girl.

  If Aaron was inclined at all to follow the way his heart had been heading, he better stay focused because, like it or not, he was going to have to come face-to-face with his own pain and sorrow or else risk losing Hope—if he ever even had her at all.

  Chapter Twelve

  “How did you escape?” Aaron looped a rope around the prized stallion’s massive neck, gleaming with sweat. He set his back teeth, irritated that Paul’s costly horse had gotten loose. “I’m afraid your fun is over, buddy. I’m going to have to take you back home.”

  Aaron’s mare had come into heat just a few days ago, and he’d been diligent about keeping her confined.

  But from the triumphant satisfied look in the black stallion’s eye, and the tamed docile stance of his mare as they grazed side by side, not diligent enough.

  He led the horse through the gate when a movement from the meadow caught his attention. Turning, he spotted Hope running through the ankle-high grass, waving frantically. Even from a good forty yards away he could see the way worry had etched her brow. He could also see the way her hair had tumbled down in soft chocolate waves around her porcelain face, dotted pink from exertion—the way her feminine form strained against the bodice of her dress with every single breath.

  His pulse kicked up a notch—or two. The core of his stomach grew tight as she neared. Sweat beaded his brow.

  “Oh, thank goodness, you found Edmund.” She slowed to a jog as she approached the corral. “I was looking all over—”

  “I found him, all right.” Aaron ran a hand over the stallion’s massive shoulder, feeling the horse’s power bunch beneath his touch. Knowing how this could mess up his mare’s bloodlines. “And believe me, he couldn’t be happier than he is right now.”

  Bending at the waist, she rested her hands on her knees and sucked in several deep breaths. “I was so worried.”

  “You should’ve been. Paul saved long and hard to purchase such a fine horse from Callen Lockhart’s brood.”

  “Lockhart?” She popped back up and inhaled a lungful of air, tempting the strength of the pearl buttons trailing down her blue-green dress. “Is he any relation to Maclean?”

  Aaron studied her face for a moment, looking for the hint of hopefulness at the mention of Maclean. “He’s Maclean’s brother and a well-known horse trainer in the region. His stock brings in some of the highest prices in all of Colorado.”

  “I’m so grateful that you found Edmund and that he’s unhurt. Thank you so very much.” When she pulled pins from her hair, the remainder of her silken strands fell down around her shoulders, distracting his thoughts all the more. “I tell you…I don’t know how he escaped. I tuck him in every—”

  “Tuck him in?” Aaron swallowed hard, grasping for patience and control over his rebellious thoughts.

  She nodded, then held the pins between her teeth and threaded her fingers through her hair. “I check his gate every night before I go to bed. Just like you said,” she said, enunciating around the pins. Twirling her hair around, she fastened it at the back of her head again in no time flat.

  But it was not fast enough. With the way his chest was pounding so hard watching her, a person would think that he was the one who’d just run two miles.

  His heart was so traitorous. How could he be acting like an oat-sowing, whipped puppy schoolboy? He loved Ellie. He had vowed to take care of her, to love her and cherish her until—until death.

  The reality stung hard and deep.

  Too deep to know what hit him and deep enough to feel pain.

  “I am positive that the gate was securely fastened.” Hope’s gentle voice was like some lifeline out of his realization and a reminder of why his loss had become so tangible.

  “Well, apparently not.” Desperate to ease his pain, he grasped for a reason—any reason—to dislike Hope. “Because the stallion made his way over here and had a grand ole time with my mare.”

  Hope winced at his gruff tone, sending shame barreling through him at breakneck speed.

  She didn’t deserve his anger; after all, she’d run all the way over here for help. “Look, I know you’ve been trying very hard to make a go of things, but doggone it all if you don’t frustrate me with the headlong way you go about huge tasks.”

  And he was also frustrated with the way her very presence called up from within him age-old, innate emotions that rocked him deep.

  “Would you rather I sit back and whine about m
y circumstance?” she challenged. Lifting her chin a notch, she glanced to where the mare nickered softly by the fence, dipping her head in an effort to get the stallion’s attention. Understanding as to what had transpired between the two horses dawned in Hope’s innocent expression. Her throat convulsed as she swallowed. Her eyes grew wide. And her mouth, glistening with moisture, fell open ever so slightly.

  She patted her sleeve across her perspiration-beaded brow, dodging his rapt focus. “I am terribly sorry, Aaron. I will not let this happen again.”

  “It’s a little late.”

  “I don’t know how he escaped,” she said, meeting his intense gaze. “But I will do my best to ensure that it doesn’t happen again.”

  Nodding, Aaron guided the horse away from the corral—away from all of the sensations this woman called from within him.

  When she caught up to him as he trudged toward her house, he tried to stay focused. “Hope, this is the second time something like this has happened. First it was the goats, and then it was Paul’s stallion.” He tried to ignore the endearing image that flashed through his mind of her chasing the goats or the brave way she’d forged through the cattle or the stalwart way she’d stood behind the plow in the field. “And then there was the headstrong way you insisted on trying to plow.”

  Plowing should be easy enough for a child. Jane’s words sprang to the forefront of Hope’s mind. She grappled for composure in the face of Aaron’s exasperation. “I was simply unaware of the correct method.”

  Tired from running all the way over to Aaron’s place, she struggled to keep up with him as he headed back to her home through the meadow. His back muscles bunched beneath his shirt, his powerful legs ate up the ground with long, steady strides.

  “That’s for sure. Your rows couldn’t have even qualified as rows the way they snaked all over the field.”

  “I tried,” she defended quietly, his words stinging. She pulled her mouth tight, remembering how she’d done her best. But her three meager rows had looked uncommitted and rambling, at best.

  When Aaron brought the horse to a halt and pivoted to look at her, regret hung in his gaze. “I’m sorry I said that. I know that you tried. You’ve been trying very hard.”

  She swallowed a bit of her anger. “Thank you.”

  “But where would you get the idea that plowing is easy?” He furrowed his brow. “Unless they have some fancy, new contraption out East that does the work of a man, there’s no substitute for good, old-fashioned hard work. At least not in these parts.”

  Hope worried the French linen fabric of her dress, its refined elegance in direct contrast to the raw, earthy nature of the West. For three weeks she’d lived in Boulder, and each moment that had ticked by and every task she’d put her hands to had taken her further from her roots, further from a true sense of who she really was.

  She was so confused, because at times she wondered if she’d ever truly known who she was. Or maybe she was only now discovering the real Hope Gatlin.

  Smoothing a hand down her skirt’s tiny pleats, she was tempted to tell him exactly where she’d gotten her information. Instead, she stuffed any vindictive or blame-casting words back down her throat. For the most part, she could handle Jane’s caustic barbs and hateful looks just fine. Besides, they’d lessened a great deal. But from here on out, she’d be a fool not to take what Jane said with a heavy grain of salt.

  “Well, you’re definitely not going to be plowing again.” His words ruffled the hairs at the back of her neck yet gave her a warm and wonderful sense of comfort that she’d longed for. “I’m sure that any woman who’s ever had to plow would tell you that it’s backbreaking work—and that she’d rather not do it.”

  Hope wholeheartedly agreed, but that wasn’t something she was about to admit. Even now her back still ached.

  When he held out his hands, revealing the blisters that marred them from three days of plowing with gloves on, she felt an abrupt sense of guilt. “Hands down, there’s no question as to whether it’s hard labor.”

  Hope stared at the angry red blotches covering his palms remembering how her own hands had been unbearably sore. They were still rough and ridged with torn skin. “I’m sorry about your hands. If there was any way—”

  “I didn’t show you my hands for sympathy but to let you see how hard it is, even for a full-grown man.” Sighing, he folded his arms at his chest. “I just have to wonder if you’re trying to take on too much and that’s why you’re making mistakes. Like leaving this guy’s gate open.” He nodded over his shoulder toward the stallion.

  “But I—” Hope severed her excuse, fuming inside as she reached out and trailed her fingertips over Edmund’s downy-soft nose. The goats…she had to wonder if they’d somehow finagled a way to open the gate. And the plow…Jane had led her wrong there, although Hope would’ve attempted the feat even if Jane hadn’t spurred her in that direction. But the stallion…she was sure that she’d secured the gate last night.

  Aaron’s questioning look of disappointment sent her frustration climbing even higher. This man could charm her and delight her and make her emotions swirl out of control in the span of a few moments. He was nothing like Jonas or other men she’d known back in Boston—refined, neatly manicured and cunning. He was without guile. He was genuine, loyal. He was every bit a gentleman yet without the pomp and circumstance.

  And that was refreshing and completely unnerving.

  Desperate to ease her pricked pride, and eager to find a shaded spot away from the warm sun, she beelined toward a gigantic pine tree, surrounded by smaller ones in the meadow. If the sense of guilt she carried didn’t subside, she’d have to hire someone with or without Aaron’s consent. No matter how much Aaron had said he was fine with helping out, there were moments like these when she saw something different, some distinct struggle in his eyes, his tone, his demeanor.

  When she reached the tree, something caught her eye on the trunk. She peered closer at the bark, her stomach pulling taut. She traced a fingertip over the sentiment carved into the craggy bark. Aaron loves Ellie, 8th of May, 1886, and a heart-shaped etching surrounding the sweet declaration of love.

  She’d always dreamed of some man making such a bold announcement, etched into nature, but had long ago given up such a fanciful dream. Once Jonas had turned his nose up at her, she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to believe in true love. But Paul’s sweet words had made her believe. He just hadn’t lived long enough for her to find it in his arms.

  “That’s the day I asked Ellie to be my bride,” Aaron uttered, his voice barely audible right behind her.

  Compelled by his openness, she turned to look at him. He was so strong and mysterious at times that when he made himself vulnerable, like now, she felt privileged—privileged that he would share his private world with her.

  The way he stared at the etching, as though remembering the day he’d conveyed his feelings there, made her chest squeeze tight. Anguish ran deep in his expression, cloaking the carefree glimpses she’d seen of him recently.

  “How lovely to remember the moment in such a way,” she whispered, trying to control her emotions as she took in the beautiful surroundings. “The way this tree sits out here like some steady beacon, it’s perfect, really.”

  He shrugged. His mouth grew all tight. “It was our tree. We loved sitting out here at night and listening to the wind whisper through the branches.” He stared up the enormous trunk then shot his gaze down to the ground. “I haven’t visited here once since she died.”

  “It can’t be easy facing familiar places for the first time. Alone.” She remembered well the disorderly state of his home and how he’d appeared to have left things just as they were the day his life had changed so suddenly.

  Aaron flipped Edmund’s lead rope around a low-hanging branch and hunkered down to the right of the tree where the ground lumped in places. He parted the tall, dead weeds that had probably been last summer’s splendor to reveal two grave markers.

>   Hope’s breath caught. Her eyes stung with tears.

  “These are Ellie and Jeremiah’s graves.” He gently touched the simple stones, his hands trembling.

  Kneeling down beside him, she could almost feel the pain radiating from his soul. “What a perfect burial place, Aaron.”

  His throat visibly convulsed. “It’s so overgrown.”

  “Winter is harsh,” she whispered, grasping for some consolation.

  Clutching a handful of dried grass, he dragged it out of the ground and flung it to the side, his motions stiff, almost mechanical. “I should be a lot better about keeping up on the weeds.”

  For several moments they knelt in silence, the seconds likely ticking away memories in his mind. When he finally levered himself to standing, his hands trembled as he covered his face.

  Hope’s throat had gone raw with emotion as she stood beside him, compassion for him drowning all frustrations she’d had only moments ago. When his shoulders shook on a silent sob, she thought her heart would break right in two. “Oh, Aaron. I’m so sorry.”

  Moved by his utter vulnerability, she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his thick muscular chest. She was desperate to bring him some kind of comfort, but being around him made her feel so undone. And her faith, it felt so shaky.

  Since Hope had committed her life to God six months ago, she’d assumed her burden would ease, but things had seemingly gotten worse—and the way Aaron’s shoulders heaved on another silent cry, he could likely say the same. How could someone as kind and as good as Aaron go through something so harsh and cruel? Had God looked the other way when Aaron’s wife and baby had died? She didn’t understand enough of God to know the answers. Perhaps she’d never know. All she had to base her faith on were the remnants of Paul’s beliefs that he’d sprinkled into his letters—the seedlings that had started her faith.

  She silently prayed for Aaron as she had many, many times before. She tried to trust that God would hear her prayers, that He really was as close as her next breath. An ever-present help in times of trouble.