Rocky Mountain Proposal Page 14

  She wanted to believe so, because life without Him had seemed unbearably empty. But life with Him…

  When Aaron drew in another heart-wrenching, shuddering breath, Hope struggled to shove aside her doubts to pray that Aaron would truly find God in the midst of his pain, because even though she had her own questions regarding her faith, she had a very tangible sense that God was Aaron’s only hope.

  She splayed her hands at his back where his heart pounded wildly into her touch. She pressed her cheek to his chest where his masculine scent seeped into her senses. She held him for a long and lingering moment, was undone by the way he slowly, almost fearfully wrapped his arms around her in return. After a measurable pause, he seemed to relax into her embrace, but it was several moments before she felt his violent shaking subside, before she felt her own shaking subside.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was nearly impossible for Aaron to focus on his lines as they stood on the town hall stage and rehearsed. His pulse pounded loud enough that he was sure Hope could hear it as she stood next to him. All of the sensations that had shaken him to his very core as they’d embraced this morning still made his heart thump wildly.

  He’d grieved the loss of his wife and baby but always in private and never like he had this morning. So when he’d faced the graves, and sorrow had hit with such ferocity, all of the emotions he’d penned up came rushing out with mudslide force. Hope’s arms had been a lifeline.

  And it was also a captivating promise of what could be if he let his heart lead. When she’d chucked propriety aside and wrapped her arms around him, it had felt so right, so consoling. It was so much like healing that he hadn’t wanted to let her go.

  “Aaron. Your line,” Callie prompted quietly from the front row of seats.

  His face flushed hot as he flipped to the next page, searching for his line yet barely able to focus on the words. His anxiety only deepened knowing that the end of the play, just a page from now, concluded with sweet nothing words and an embrace.

  He swallowed hard, straining to find his voice as he forced his line out of his mouth. “I’ve been a fool. I hope you can forgive me.” The words tasted like dust in his mouth.

  All day long he’d barely accomplished one doggone thing other than the chores at Hope’s farm. Even Joseph had questioned him at work as to his preoccupation. And if matters hadn’t been bad enough, when he’d returned home for supper, he’d found that Ellie and Jeremiah’s graves had been cleared of all weeds. His chest had grown so tight that he’d struggled to breathe when he saw the small posies of wildflowers that had been laid there as a memoriam. Hope.

  Her thoughtfulness infused his heart with faith. Her sweet concern soothed his weary soul. And her spunk lit a fire in him that had been all but doused by death’s dark and stormy cloud.

  “Uncle Aaron,” Libby whispered, tugging him to the here and now. “You need to say your line.”

  “Sorry, sweetie.” He glanced up to see Ben and Callie staring at him with looks of bewilderment. “Which one was that?”

  Libby leapfrogged the five feet over to him and pointed at his line. “See, it’s right after mine. I say—” she scurried back to her position, her expression turning all serious “—I hope there will be a bride for the wedding,” she recited. “And you say…”

  He cleared his throat of all trepidation. “I’ll have to remedy that,” he recited, his words sounding as lackluster as his dirty windowpanes at home. “Because it wouldn’t very well be a wedding without a bride, now would it?”

  Clamping his jaw tight, he pinned his gaze to the page as he scrambled to find his footing. But it seemed that everywhere he stepped there was a potential trap leading him to Hope.

  Perspiration beaded his brow at the way she’d set her unwavering focus on him as she recited one of her lines, her voice washing over him like a cool breeze on a sultry day. Her faint touch on his arm was a tender connection, an irrevocable draw for his soul. She probably didn’t have the foggiest idea what was wrong with him and deserved some kind of explanation, but how could he tell her what kind of battle raged in his soul? Sure, he’d been able to talk with her some about his loss, but if he gave her a true glimpse into his heart, he would risk hurting her. And he’d grown so fond of Hope that he couldn’t imagine doing anything to cause her pain.

  Jane’s voice pierced the air with lightning-bolt force as she recited one of her lines and walked across the stage—stomped, actually—with the big black bow she wore in her hair flopping around like some big old coon dog’s ears.

  “Not so clompy, Jane.” Callie winced, slicing a breath through her teeth. “You’re supposed to be excited, not mad. Can you try it again, only walking a little softer this time?”

  Can we just go home? Aaron silently pleaded.

  But he wouldn’t do that to Ben and Callie or the rest of the cast. He’d committed to being in the play, and that was what he was going to do. He could just go through the motions—that’s all he needed to do. This was a play, for land’s sake. He was playing a role. But hugging Hope again would be too tempting, too wonderful and too much like a gun aimed at his vows to Ellie.

  With a disgruntled huff, Jane pursed her lips, pivoted and stalked to the other side of the stage.

  “Now, this is where you’re going to want to put your arm around her, Aaron,” Callie directed.

  He shot a distraught look her way.

  “Just wrap your arm around her shoulders,” Callie directed as he pried his arm from his side, feeling as stiff as a craggy old oak tree. “That’s right. Now pull her close, like you really care.”

  Libby giggled then, and it was all he could do to keep his focus on what he was supposed to do. There was no supposed to about it, really. If he was to follow the errant beat of his heart, he’d wrap Hope in an embrace like he was doing at this very moment and never let her go.

  “Perfect. That’s just perfect,” Callie praised, her voice a little too enthusiastic to suit him.

  Jane marched across the front of the stage. “If there’s going to be a wedding then I better—”

  She stumbled and screeched. She threw her hands up, the script flying into the air as she tumbled slowly down the three shallow steps to the floor.

  “Jane!” Callie screamed as she and Ben dashed to Jane’s side.

  “Ow!” Jane wailed.

  Collective gasps filled the stage as several pages wafted down to the floor. The entire cast rushed to perch at the edge of the stage.

  “Are you all right?” Ben grasped Jane’s shoulder. “Where does it hurt?”

  She braced her hands behind her and held her left leg out like a child sticking out a sore thumb. “My ankle. I twisted my ankle.”

  Aaron dropped the short distance to the floor and hunkered down at Jane’s other side. Grappling to tamp down the overwhelming sense of relief he felt for the diversion, yet concerned for Jane, he fixed a worried expression on his face.

  “Oh, there you are, Aaron.” On a sniff, she lowered her leg, turned toward him and…and smiled.

  Aaron gave Ben a what-in-the-world kind of glance then peered down at Jane, dragging out whatever amount of compassion he could find in his heart. “Are you all right, Jane? That was quite a spill you took.”

  He played the whole thing over in his mind. He’d purposely focused on her large clomping feet. He hadn’t noticed where she’d tripped. It almost seemed like she’d made a run for the steps then did a weak kind of tumble down the three perches—on purpose.

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know.” She rubbed her right ankle, wincing. “But I don’t think I can do any more tonight.”

  “That’s all right, Jane. We were almost done, anyway,” Callie assured her as Libby and Elsa came to stand next to her.

  Callie wrapped an arm around each girl, giving them needed assurance—but especially Elsa, whose face drew so tight with concern that Aaron considered heading out to find Maclean for the girl.

  Ben grasped Jane’s right foot
gently in his hands and peered with a keen kind of focus at his patient. “It’s this one, right?”

  Nodding, Jane added another set of sniffs as Hope made her way down the steps and knelt beside Aaron.

  “Do you mind if I have a look?” Ben slipped a suspicious glance to Aaron then eyed his patient.

  “Oh, I suppose,” she mumbled as he unlaced her boot and eased it from her foot. She winced, her vigilant eyes darting to Aaron’s.

  “Can I get you something?” Hope’s voice sounded more like she was broaching a slumbering bear than a harmless woman. She folded her hand around Jane’s. “Some water or perhaps a blanket?”

  “No, thank you,” Jane snapped then waved her hand in front of her face. “Goodness, why would you think I’d need a blanket? It’s already blazing hot in this place.”

  When Hope gave a small sigh, Aaron had to wonder what would prompt such a brusque answer from Jane. He’d been concerned by Jane’s peculiar behavior regarding Hope, but her tone, just moments ago, was uncalled for.

  “Ya want me to go git yer bag for ya, Ben?” Luke asked, dropping to the floor, his half-tamed golden mop of hair drooping into his eyes as he hunkered down next to Ben. “Cuz I can. Wouldn’t be no problem at all.”

  “Thanks, Luke, but I don’t think I’ll be needing it,” Ben answered as he inspected Jane’s ankle. “But if I do, I’ll know who to send. You’re my right-hand man.”

  “I could go with him, Papa,” Libby offered, pulling Elsa with her to stand next to Luke. “I know where you keep your doctor bag.”

  “We’ll see, sweetie.” Ben gave Libby a wink as he continued inspecting Jane’s ankle.

  Aaron smiled at the innocent endearing way Luke shadowed Ben. The boy admired Ben in every way possible—and rightly so. Well over a year ago Ben had taken Luke under his wing when the boy’s mother had been so deep in prostitution that she didn’t seem to care for her own child. The boy would go on house calls with Ben and eat meals with him. Ben had made time for a young boy yearning for love and attention. To see Luke and his mother now, well on their way to healing and wholeness after all they’d gone through, was all Aaron needed to remind him of just how important the Seeds of Faith boarding house was to this community.

  After several moments, Ben drew back on his haunches and peered at Jane. “Your ankle seems to be fine. I don’t feel any broken bones, and so far I don’t notice any kind of swelling.”

  “But sometimes that doesn’t happen right away. It could be broken or sprained, right?” she inquired as though she was searching for a measure of hope following a grave report.

  Disbelief flashed across Ben’s face. “Sure, that could be the case, but I think that if you take it easy for a few days, you should be just fine. You’ll probably feel as good as new tomorrow, in fact.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Callie exclaimed. “Isn’t it, Jane?”

  Hope laid a hand on Jane’s arm. “If you need someone to stay with you tonight—”

  “Absolutely not,” Jane bit off, yet Hope didn’t even flinch. Dousing her boorish expression some, Jane shoved her boot on with barely a wince and continued. “I mean, I wouldn’t think to impose on you like that. You already have more than you can handle with the farm.”

  “That was nice of you to offer, Hope,” Aaron breathed, relieved by the amusement he saw in her gaze. When other women might have marched out of the building, offended, Hope remained at Jane’s side in spite of the woman’s churlish behavior. It was all he could do to stuff down the appreciative grin that tugged at his mouth.

  “Aaron, do you think that you could take me home?” Jane’s whiney voice dripped into Aaron’s thoughts like a leaky roof.

  “Sure, I can.” He glanced at Hope. “Could I give you a ride home, too?”

  Jane’s audible harrumph echoed in the quiet hall.

  “If you wouldn’t mind,” Hope said.

  After the play cast cleared, Aaron hauled Jane out to the wagon—at her insistence that she simply could not walk. With each laborious step—her arms looped around his neck so tight that he had to wrench his head free to breathe—his mind strayed to the time when he’d carried Hope from the field. She’d felt so perfect in his arms that he hadn’t wanted to set her down. Aaron angled a forced smile down at Jane, trying not to grimace at the stale breath she fanned over him in a big sigh. Once he had her settled in the wagon, and Hope had taken the backseat, again, he drove the distance home, the setting sun glinting like an orange flame as it made its slow descent on the horizon.

  “I don’t know how I’ll be able to manage at home,” she whimpered, reaching down and rubbing her left ankle.

  “Hope offered to stay with you.” He cast a wink Hope’s way. “Maybe you should take her up on that.”

  “Like I said, she can’t even keep up with things.” Jane wrenched around in her seat to peer at Hope. “I wonder if the play is too much for you on top of everything else you’re doing, dear?”

  “As far as I’m concerned, she seems to be handling it just fine. Aren’t you, Hope?”

  Hope smiled as sweet as the apple pie she’d brought out to him after chores the other day. “I tend to memorize things very quickly, so truly, it hasn’t been a bit of a problem.”

  “But are you able to get your chores done?” Jane needled, hauling her loglike eyebrows over her eyes. “Are things at Paul’s farm suffering on the evenings you have to come in town for practice? Perhaps you’re making mistakes on the farm?”

  “Hope would probably be the first one to recognize a mistake if she’d made one,” Aaron quickly defended, knowing, firsthand how important it was to Hope to do things right.

  But remembering the mishaps that had transpired…he had a moment of doubt.

  “I appreciate your concern, Jane, but you mustn’t worry. I’ll be able to manage,” Hope reiterated.

  “I do worry, though.” Jane gave an insignificant cough. “After all, I did hear that you left the gate open and that Paul’s stallion got loose.”

  While Aaron turned into the short lane leading to Jane’s home, he knew that Hope was probably fit to be tied about now.

  “The horse did get out, yes.” She shot Aaron a bewildered glance as though she’d just been struck across the face. “But how he managed, I have no idea. I didn’t—nor would I ever—leave his gate unlatched.”

  “You see, this is why I worry,” Jane announced, waving her index finger as she turned and pinned her incensed gaze on Aaron.

  Aaron heaved a sigh. “She said that she didn’t—”

  “You could be so tired that you don’t even realize what you’re doing, Hope,” Jane continued with forced concern. “And thereby, make a very costly mistake. And let me tell you…losing Paul’s stallion would be a very costly mistake.”

  At that, Aaron reined in his team in front of Jane’s house—about ten seconds past too late. He dismounted and stalked to the other side, loading Jane into his arms and hauling her into her home. After he made sure she was all settled in, he beelined outside to find Hope gone.

  He peered into the gathering darkness, searching for her pale green dress or lily white skin, but he saw nothing.

  “She couldn’t have gone far,” he muttered under his breath as he climbed into his seat.

  Snapping the reins, he spurred his team to the road and didn’t get more than a hundred yards before he caught up with her walking alongside the wagon path.

  “What are you doing walking home when it’s almost dark?”

  “The opportunity to stretch my legs will do me a world of good,” she called over the clattering wagon. She didn’t even bother to spare him a glance.

  “I don’t mean to scare you, but wolves have been scouting the area lately. You need to be very careful.”

  She paused, her focus drawn across the field to the tree line, darkened by nightfall.

  “That’s not like you, Hope, to take off without a word.” Her feistiness, the way she held her shoulders back and spine arrow-straight,
confirmed her irritation. “Surely, there’s more to this than stretching your legs?”

  She flipped her attention to him then yanked her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I should think that you would know perfectly well, Aaron Drake.”

  Reining in his team, he set the brake and vaulted to the ground. When he reached Hope, he caught her arm and brought her to a gentle stop. “Actually, I don’t have the foggiest idea what’s wrong other than Jane being insensitive and surly, that is.”

  Hope lifted her chin a notch, avoiding his gaze. “That, I can manage just fine.”

  He snatched his hat from his head. “So, tell me then, what’s the problem?”

  Smoothing a hand down his horse’s neck, her gentle touch was wrought with that same wordless awe he’d seen in her the first few days here. “I know that it should not matter, but someone told Jane about Paul’s stallion escaping. And, rest assured, it wasn’t me.”

  “Is that why you took off? You think I said something to Jane?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, I had nothing to do with that.” He jammed his hat back on his head.

  “And I can assure you that the information didn’t come from the stallion. Jane would never hold a conversation with a horse. Believe me.” She eyed Aaron with clear speculation. “So, how, exactly, do you suppose she found out about the incident?”

  “I don’t know.” He held up his hands. And he didn’t, but he wasn’t so sure that she believed him. “Listen, I didn’t say a word to anyone—especially not Jane.”

  She studied him as though mining for a vein of dishonesty. When her gaze softened some, he breathed a sigh of relief because the idea that she might question his integrity rankled like nothing else.

  “You’re right.” Her shoulders sagged a little. “I’m sorry that I even alluded to such a thing.”

  “Don’t give it a second thought,” he responded, concerned with the way distress wrinkled her faultless brow. “With the touchy way Jane has been since Paul’s death, she’s definitely not one I’d feed that kind of information to. Believe me.”