Rocky Mountain Proposal Page 23

  Paul’s last words threaded through Aaron’s mind again. Promise me you’ll hold on to Hope. He’d been all but void of hope, and then Hope had come into his life. She’d turned it upside down without doing a thing.

  Just then a shuffling sound came from behind him. Turning, he expected to see the sheriff or Brodie coming down the barn aisle.

  The peaceful feeling that had engulfed him just moments ago scattered at the sight of Jonas Hargrave.

  “What are you doing here?” Aaron ground out, half-heartedly groping for congeniality and finding none. “I thought you walked back to town.”

  “That’s not much of a greeting, now, is it?” Hargrave’s gait was clumsy as he sidestepped, his foot knocking into an empty pail.

  “You’ve been drinking, Hargrave.” Even from a good ten feet away, Aaron could smell the scent of liquor tainting the earthy barn smells.

  A smile curled Jonas’s thin lips as the bellow of hungry cattle filled the air. “What would make you say that?”

  Aaron nailed the man with a disgust-filled gaze. “You need to get yourself back to the hotel. And the sooner the better. When I get done feeding the goats and cattle, I’ll take you back to town.”

  “That won’t be necessary. And I do believe I’ll leave when I’m good and ready.” Jonas tugged at the sleeves of his fancy dove-gray jacket. Reaching inside his coat, he pulled a shiny flask from a pocket, uncorked the thing and emptied the last drops into his mouth. An insincere smile twisted his lips. “I’d offer you some, but as you can see, it’s gone.”

  Aaron stalked past Jonas to retrieve the pail the man had kicked. “You’ll either leave this property on your own accord now or you can wait right there and go with me when I’m done. Take your pick, or I’ll make the decision for you.”

  “I didn’t think you owned this piece of land,” Hargrave spat as he followed, his steps heavy as he stayed close on Aaron’s heels. “That being the case, and since Hope didn’t ask me to leave, I believe I have every right to be here.”

  Aaron’s jaw tensed as he dove the bucket into the grain bin for Penelope and Patience. Images of that day he’d shown up here to find Hope chasing the goats around to retrieve her fancy female garments flashed through his mind. He’d laughed that day. For the first time in months, laughter had erupted from deep within.

  “I’m here to watch out for Hope, and that’s what I’m going to do,” he warned, as the bleat of two hungry goats filtered into the barn. He turned and eyed Hargrave. “And frankly, I’d feel a whole lot better knowing you weren’t skulking around here—especially in the condition you’re in. Hope doesn’t need this extra stress right now.”

  “Just a few hours ago you came in town for me—at Hope’s request, if I remember right.” Hargrave attempted to straighten his cravat, but finally gave up and gave the fluff of fabric a halfhearted pat. “I’m worried about her. I want to make sure she’s going to be all right.”

  “She’s going to be fine,” Aaron assured him, wondering if maybe he was judging the man too harshly. Jonas had been out here four times in the past day, though all but once Hope had been resting and Aaron had sent him away.

  “We had quite a conversation earlier.” Jonas stretched out his hands as though inspecting them for signs of dirt, then brushed them together in such a pristine way that Aaron disliked him all the more. “You see, Hope and I…we always could talk for hours.”

  Conniving and very astute, Hargrave knew just what to say to pierce Aaron’s pride.

  “Well, there won’t be any talking now. Hope is likely worn out from a long day.” Willing himself to calm down, he loosened his grip on the pail and walked out of the barn to the goats’ pen. He unlatched the gate, moved around the goats and spread the grain in the trough. Pivoting, he peered at where Jonas stood just inside the barn. “You’re riding with me in a few minutes—whether you like it or not.”

  Hargrave fixed his gaze on something off to the side. “I want to see her for myself.”

  “You saw her earlier. You should know that apart from a broken arm and that bad cut on her forehead, she seems to be faring better than any of us expected after such a horrible accident.”

  He’d wracked his brain trying to come up with someone who might want him injured or dead, but not one face flashed in his mind.

  Except Hargrave’s.

  Exiting the pen, he grabbed a pad of hay from a square bail. He separated two equal chunks from the pad, fluffing them out and setting them on the ground so that each goat would have their own pile—a request Hope had made early on.

  “You know,” Hargrave began, “she wouldn’t have been injured if she hadn’t been on your rig.”

  He froze on the spot. He slammed his gaze to the man’s pasty white, perspiration-beaded face. The hair at the back of his neck prickled to attention. “How would you know she had my rig?”

  “She shouldn’t have been driving, Drake,” Jonas warned, his words sounding as sober and steady.

  Aaron was as sure as Hope was beautiful that Hargrave was no saint. In fact, he’d be willing to bet that the man had no character or integrity, at all—that his smooth, gentlemanly demeanor was nothing more than a facade.

  “How would you know she was driving my rig?” he questioned, his suspicions growing thicker by the second.

  “Word gets around.”

  Alarm prickled every nerve. “I heard some news, Hargrave. Some very disturbing news.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I heard that someone sabotaged my wagon,” he measured out. “Do you happen to know anything about that?”

  Jonas planted his hands at his waist. “Now, why would I know about that?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I’m just a newcomer here in Boulder, a lonely visitor who’s been enjoying the lovely sights.” Malevolence flashed in Jonas’s eyes, belying his congenial tone.

  Aaron clenched his jaw. The idea of this man ogling Hope grated like harsh sandpaper over soft wood. He moved a step closer, his attention riveted to Jonas. He flexed his hands. He drew them into tight fists. What he wouldn’t give to shove them right through Hargrave’s face, but what would Hope say once she found out? How would she feel, knowing how unwelcoming Aaron was being to her beau?

  At this point, Aaron didn’t care. He had to consider Hope’s safety, first and foremost. And the way the man was acting all shifty, he didn’t trust him one bit with Hope’s heart let alone her life. He’d rather follow his instinct and err on the side of caution.

  And his gut feeling screamed that Jonas Hargrave was directly responsible for Hope’s accident.

  “I have to get the chores done. So if you’ll excuse me…” Edging past the man, he walked to the gate where just moments ago he’d been watching Daisy and her new calf. If Jonas had sabotaged the wagon then Aaron had to make quick work of the chores so he could take him back to town—and deliver him to the jail.

  With a large bucket of grain in his hands, he unlatched the gate and made his way inside the corral where a dozen cattle and three new calves were loping this direction, their bellows of delight echoing in the farmyard. “You all act like you’re starving. You’ve spent enough time grazing in the pasture over the past few days that you should be full.”

  Over the past two months under Hope’s care, these cattle had gone from being skittish to nearly tame, a feat that had surprised him. He spread out the grain in the large trough then returned to the barn for two more bucketfuls. After he fed them, he turned to see Caesar staring sadly over the slatted fence of his bull bachelor quarters.

  “You’re next, buddy.” Grabbing the bucket from the hard-packed ground, he retrieved a healthy dose of grain for the bull then walked out into the corral again and opened Caesar’s gate. He kept his eye on the enormous beast as he made his way to the small feeding trough where Caesar stood ready to eat. For some reason, he trusted this bull more than he trusted Hargrave—and that wasn’t saying much.

  Never trust a bull. That ver
y first day, he’d said those words to Hope after she’d swatted Caesar’s nose, accusing him of picking on Theodore. In spite of his growing unease with Hargrave, a half grin tipped his lips at the endearing memory.

  Hope. She was a wonderful and innocent breath of fresh air. She’d brightened his days in more ways than he could count. And she’d landed in his life at a time when he’d least expected it, when he was sure he’d never love again.

  God had given him a gift. Hope.

  His heart swelled with that knowledge as he emptied the bucket and watched Caesar dip his nose into the grain. While the bull munched away, Aaron crossed to the water pump by the barn, grabbed the handle and began furiously pumping, coaxing water to stream and splatter into the water trough.

  “Jonas, no!” Hope’s scream shattered the late afternoon calm, jerking every nerve ending to high alert.

  Aaron pivoted just in time to see Jonas bringing the pitchfork down right on Aaron’s head.

  He fell hard. He hit the ground, his head spinning. His ears were ringing. Groaning, he squeezed his eyes against the bright flashes of light pulsing in his vision.

  “No. Don’t do this, Jonas.” Hope’s cry filtered to his senses.

  He forced his eyes to open, labored to drag his senses into place as he pushed himself up to his knees. He willed his eyes to focus.

  “You were the one who should’ve been driving the wagon. Not her,” Jonas snarled as Aaron caught him throwing a glance over at where Hope was trying to climb over the fence from the farmyard.

  “Hope, no! Stay out!” Aaron’s blood rushed through his veins like a raging river. He struggled to stand, his head pounding with obscene force.

  “You should’ve been the one,” the man accused again. He brought the pitchfork around, catching Aaron’s arm.

  Aaron stumbled to the ground once more, his arm searing with white-hot pain. His head was spinning out of control.

  “She’s mine. And the money would’ve been mine if you hadn’t been so ready to lend a hand,” Jonas accused.

  “What in the world are you talking about?” Aaron forced through clenched teeth. He reached behind him and groped for the watering trough, his head whirling. His vision pulsing in and out of darkness. He drew in a deep breath as Jonas stood over him, the pitchfork poised to spear.

  “No, Jonas. Leave him alone,” Hope pleaded from the fence line.

  Aaron angled his pulsing gaze to see her laboring to climb the fence, her tangling skirts and one able arm making it nearly impossible.

  “Stay back, Hope. Don’t come in here,” he implored as she beelined toward the main gate.

  Hargrave’s expression contorted to feral desperation as he gave the pitchfork a quick thrust, the tines piercing Aaron’s flesh.

  Slicing a breath through his teeth, he struggled to get up. It was all he could do to stand, but he had to make sure that Hope was safe. Glancing around for something…anything to use as a weapon, he spotted the bull rope hanging over the fencepost. He’d kept in there just in case but had never needed to use the thing with Caesar.

  Hargrave thrust the pitchfork at him, piercing his chest and knocking him down again. “I would’ve sauntered in here pretty as you please and won her over. She would’ve come crawling back to me, too, if it hadn’t been for you.”

  Over the man’s hissing breath, Aaron could hear the corral gate opening. Images of Hope entering Caesar’s pen and falling at Jonas’s rage flashed through his mind. “God, help,” he breathed as he did a fast roll to the right and levered himself to standing. “Please, Hope. Stay away. Don’t come any closer.”

  “Drake isn’t worth your time,” Jonas growled over the herd’s agitated moos. He honed in on Aaron, the pitchfork poised for another strike. “He’s just some dim-witted westerner who’s deemed you, a helpless eastern beauty who just happened to land in a nice little sum of cash, an easy mark.”

  “Aaron would never be so vulgar!” she defended, her words bolstering his sinking heart. His sinking hope.

  Jonas cast an enraged gaze Hope’s way, pinning her with it long enough for Aaron to reach out and snatch the bull rope from the fencepost.

  “Fella, if you think she’s helpless,” Aaron ground out, hiding the rope behind his back, “then you don’t know Hope.” He blinked hard, laboring to bring his world into focus as Hope unlatched Caesar’s gate and rushed toward them.

  “I know her a whole lot better than you do, Drake.” Hargrave closed in on Aaron.

  “Stay back, Hope. Please.” Each time he moved or even dragged in a breath, his world spun out of control.

  “Don’t do this, Jonas,” she pleaded, her eyes brimming with tears. She grasped Hargrave’s arm and struggled to yank him away. “Please. Aaron has done nothing wrong.”

  “Get out of here, Hope.” Jonas gave her a quick shove, sending her stumbling backward. Then he thrust the tines at Aaron, piercing his stomach.

  Aaron teetered off balance as Hargrave’s thin lips curled into a menacing smile.

  “Are you all right, darlin’?” he ground out, barely taking notice of the stabbing piercing pain in his stomach or the warm trickle of blood oozing from the puncture wounds. Aaron fumed. In his book, any man who intentionally harmed a woman wasn’t fit to breathe the air God gave him.

  With a snarl, Jonas closed in on Aaron.

  “No!” Hope’s face crumpled in fear. She shoved herself to standing and honed in on Jonas again.

  She swiped at a tear trailing down her cheek. Hugged her wounded arm to her chest. “Drop the pitchfork, Jonas, please. I’m begging you to come to your senses. Aaron has done nothing wrong.”

  His strong sense of protection hummed to high alert as he tightened his grip on the rope and whipped it around, hard and fast. The rope whipped around Hargrave’s throat, the tail end snapping his cheek with a loud crack.

  Jonas yowled and grabbed at the rope, desperately trying to free himself.

  Aaron yanked hard. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Caesar staring intently this way, his nostrils flared. His enormous neck muscles, bunching. The bull lowered his head in a clear threat, snorted, pawed the ground once and then charged—straight into Jonas’s side.

  Hargrave flew ten feet into the barn. His wail pierced the air as he crumpled to the ground. He writhed in pain.

  “Aaron, are you all right?” Hope’s hand trembled as she held his arm.

  “I’ll be fine.” Dragging in a deep breath, he clenched his jaw to keep from wincing as he stalked over and snagged the pitchfork from where it lay beside Jonas. He heaved it over the fence then gently wrapped an arm around Hope’s shoulders, moved that she would risk her life for him. “How about you? Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine.” The vulnerability and strength and deep affection he saw in her gaze as she peered up at him was enough to make a man realize his own heart.

  Was there still a place for him in her life? Because he loved her. He loved Hope Gatlin.

  “Get him away!” Jonas screeched as the bull stood over him, snorting and stomping as though preparing to finish the job. “He’s going to kill me.”

  Aaron gave her shoulder a tender squeeze. He ignored the searing pain radiating across his stomach and chest, head and arm, and peered down at to where the man was whimpering, scrambling to sitting.

  Hargrave inched back against the barn. Curled into a ball, hiding his face in his hands as Caesar closed in on him, his shoulder muscles bunching and quivering with untapped power. “Get this murderous beast away from me!”

  The bull drove his front hooves into the ground inches from Hargrave, dusting the man in a plume of filth. He snorted and threw his massive head from one side to the other.

  “He’s killing me. He’s killing me.” Jonas peeked through his hands, his gaze wild and terrorized. “Somebody do something! Get this crazed animal away from me.”

  A strong sense of satisfaction rose in Aaron, seeing just what kind of man Jonas really was as he whimpered and whined—v
engeful, weak, cowardly.

  He was not much of a man.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Well done, Caesar,” Hope whispered, sniffing quietly. Her stomach convulsed at the very idea that Jonas had tried to kill Aaron. She smoothed a hand down the bull’s neck, alarm shooting through her as she spotted crimson stains seeping through the ragged remains of Aaron’s ecru shirt. “Aaron, your stomach. You’re bleeding terribly.”

  “It’s nothing,” he dismissed with a strained half smile. “Probably nothing more than flesh wounds.”

  Hope lifted her apron and secured a side in her teeth then tore a thick strip with her good hand. “These look just terrible.” She struggled to keep from crying as she imagined just how empty life would’ve been had Aaron been killed. She pressed the cloth to each of the wounds, trying to determine just how deep they were.

  “You could’ve been killed, Aaron. This never would have happened to you if not for me.” She peered up at him, her eyes burning with the threat of tears. Her heart swelled at Aaron’s steadying glance.

  He grasped her shoulders, settling her with a look of assurance. “I’ll be fine, darlin’. Trust me.”

  The reality of what Jonas had done over the past day hit her with full force then. When a quiet sob escaped her lips, she pressed her fingers to her mouth, struggling to hold herself together. “Are you sure?”

  Aaron reached for her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers, his hand trembling in a sure sign that he wasn’t as unaffected as he’d like her to believe.

  “I promise.” He nuzzled her fingers to his rough cheek, sending quivers down her spine then back again. “I promise.”

  A gentle wave of peace lapped at her soul as she touched his lips. She could count on him. And she absolutely knew that she could count on God. Just minutes ago, when she’d stepped outside and had seen Jonas standing behind Aaron, a pitchfork in his hands, poised and ready to kill, she’d run as fast as her legs could carry her, all the way pleading with God to spare Aaron’s life.