Pamela Nissen – Rocky Mountain Proposal (страница 8)

Aaron cleared his throat. He gently grasped her chin and turned her head to look her in the eye. “First of all, never, and I mean never, stare into the eyes of a bull.”

“But I—”

“Never,” he interrupted, with more severity than he’d intended given the way she shuddered. But as the image of Hope getting trampled dashed through his mind, fierce protectiveness for her rose up strong and sure—and completely unbidden. “Do you understand me?”

After a long moment, she gave a single, conceding nod.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, desperate to wipe away the tingling sensation coursing through his fingers from holding her chin. “They take that sort of thing as a challenge. As unfair and rude as you think that fella was being to your little friend there—” he nodded toward the purring kitten “—or stepping on your dress the way—”

“My dress is simply an irritation. Nothing more.” She cuddled the kitten in the crook of her slender neck. “It’s this helpless one who gave me such a fright.”

“Lady, you gave me a fright,” Aaron choked out. He set a hand to his chest. “My heart nearly pounded right out of my rib cage. In fact, it’s still pumping like there’s no tomorrow,” he ground out, the admission carelessly spilling from his mouth without warning. It wasn’t as if he was fond of her. But he did feel obligated—no, honor-bound, he corrected himself, remembering Zach’s scolding—to watch after her. “If that bull decided to take you on,” he added, perusing her slight, feminine form, “all five-foot-two of you wouldn’t have a fighting chance.”

Just then he glanced over to find Ben and Zach standing at the window, their arms draped in a lazy fashion at their chests and irritatingly innocent grins plastered across their faces. They peered with shameless mirth through the crystal clear window as though watching some theater production. They’d done nothing to help him out here. They appeared to enjoy the fact that he’d pledged himself to this woman’s safekeeping.

He had to wonder…did he have a fighting chance?

The sun’s first light bathed the spare bedroom at the back of Paul’s home in a soft, rosy glow. At any other time the effect would’ve been soothing, but Hope didn’t feel any more at peace than she had eight hours ago. She’d lain awake all night long, thinking, praying and trying not to be angry.

She was angry at Paul for leaving her so soon.

She was angry at God for taking him.

She was angry at Aaron for being so unkind and severe.

Restless, she pulled in a deep breath, bracing herself to face the unknowns that today would bring—meeting Paul’s sister, going to the funeral, tending to duties on the farm…her farm.

Did she belong here?

After the way Aaron had scolded her about the whole cow fiasco, as if she were a small child, she had to wonder. And knowing what a contrast this kind of life was to her privileged upbringing she questioned even more. But she had no choice. Paul had been kind and loving enough to ensure her well-being. Even though he’d given her a way out at summer’s end, she couldn’t let him down.

Moreover, she couldn’t let herself down by giving up.

Reaching for where the kitten slept beside her under the covers, she stroked the tabby’s downy-soft fur. Theodore was what she’d named him, although she often called him sweetie. With all of his fluff of orange fur and his perfect little face, she couldn’t bear letting him fend for himself when he’d almost died right in front of her eyes. Besides, she’d never had a kitten of her own. It was nice having something to hold when it seemed she was so alone.

Last night after Aaron and his brothers had left her to herself, she’d brought Theodore inside. Hope’s mother could never stomach animals, inside or otherwise, but Hope had never understood the reasoning. And Aaron, as nervous as he was acting yesterday, would probably tell her that this innocent little kitten was liable to scratch her eyes out.

Aaron had seemed pretty intent on doling out a list of don’ts—almost as if he didn’t trust her to walk five feet without making some kind of grave or dangerous mistake.

She’d make mistakes, of that she was certain. But surely he was being a bit overbearing. Take the cows, for instance. They’d seemed perfectly fine to her. Certainly she wouldn’t have ventured into their midst had it not been for Theodore nearly being trampled, but really they’d seemed gentle enough. Even that lonely cow in his own pen had seemed sad when he’d received her scolding swat on the nose. Why, she was almost sure she’d heard him sniffling.

She’d just have to get to know the farm and the animals as quickly as possible so that she didn’t feel so out of sorts.

When a long all-encompassing yawn commanded Hope’s attention, she realized that she’d not gotten more than an hour of sleep combined. But even so, she had to get up and face the day.

When she felt Theodore nestle in closer against her legs, she lifted the covers and peeked at her kitten. The adoring way he squeezed his eyes shut and purred brought a smile to her face. She wasn’t alone. She had this sweet one. And Paul had once written that God was always there in the best and worst of times—that He was an ever-present help in times of trouble.

Picturing Paul’s broken body, she had to wonder if God had been a help for Paul when he’d been pinned beneath the tree. She’d counted on Paul showing her the way in her newfound faith. Would her miniscule understanding of God be enough to find what had been so real to Paul?

Maybe Paul’s sister would be a help. If she was anything like her brother—kind, understanding, tenderhearted—then Hope would have nothing to worry about. She’d be all right. She had to believe that from here on out there would be an endless swath of blue skies.

Jane was nothing like Paul.

In fact, Hope would’ve vowed the woman was some imposter, if not for the way Aaron and his family and the townspeople crowded around her now. They’d all gathered for Paul’s funeral beneath one of the large pines anchoring the small cemetery. And now they offered their condolences as the lanky undertaker dropped shovelfuls of reddish dirt, reminiscent of his mat of red hair, over the simple pine box.

Hope struggled to steady her hand as she dabbed at her eyes and grappled for composure. Closing her eyes, she listened to the last bit of musky earth being thrown over Paul’s grave and then the shovel’s dull clang as the undertaker struck the soil to pack it down—as if to seal Paul’s fate.

When she opened her eyes to see the gangly man yield one final clanging blow to the earth, she wished she would wake up from this horrible nightmare…to open her eyes and find herself standing at the church altar, at the very cusp of a brand-new life with Paul.

She grieved the man she knew from his letters. She grieved the life they could have had. But seeing the way each person in attendance was wrought with such deep sorrow, she realized that she grieved never really knowing Paul.

These people…they’d known him. They’d seen how he walked and how he rode a horse. They’d heard his voice, his laugh. They’d felt his touch.

She was an outsider.

There was no mistaking that Jane was incensed by Hope’s presence and clearly thought she was an intruder. From the outset this morning when Jane had arrived home, she’d been cold and frosty whenever she was alone with Hope. She’d made no bones about her displeasure with Paul’s deathbed decisions. Jane had seemed equally incensed by Aaron’s assurance that he would watch out for Hope. She’d even said as much.

Witnessing the way the woman’s shoulders heaved on a loud sob, Hope’s heart swelled with compassion. After all, Jane had lost her brother, suddenly and tragically.

When she felt a gentle touch at her elbow, she looked to find Aaron standing at her side.

“I’ll see you and Jane home now—that is, if you’re ready.” His voice was low, and his blue eyes were moist and undeniably sad—a sadness that seemed to be almost permanently etched into his roguish features.

“That’ll be fine. Thank you.”

When he gestured for her to walk with him down the footpath, she turned and stared at where Paul had been laid to rest beneath the newly turned earth. “Will you give me just one more moment, please?” She glanced back at Aaron.

When he nodded and walked away, she approached the grave and stood there for a long moment. She’d had no problem dreaming of what life would be like with Paul when she was back in Boston, but the harder she tried to generate some kind of image of herself with him now, the further removed she felt. She couldn’t seem to see anything other than the glaring fact that she barely knew him.

“He was a real nice feller, wasn’t he?” The undertaker stood beside her, wedging his shovel into the earth and barely missing her foot.

“Yes, he was.” She tucked her right foot next to her left one, resisting the urge to turn and see just how far away Aaron had gone. “A fine man.”

Pulling one overly large floppy glove off, the long-limbed man reached out to shake her hand. His razorlike Adam’s apple bobbed so severely she thought it likely to cut straight through his throat. “Name’s Pete. Pete O’Leary.”