Pamela Nissen - Rocky Mountain Proposal

He glanced around one more time, certain he must’ve missed a parcel or passenger, because this woman surely couldn’t have been who Paul had sent him after.

“I’m waiting for Mr. Thompson.” She cleared her throat. “Mr. Paul Thompson. Do you know him?”

Aaron flipped his gaze to the woman. “Yes, I do.”

He knew Paul almost as well as his own brothers. As sturdy on the outside as he was on the inside—Paul’s faith was unwavering.

Surely, there was something Aaron could’ve done to prevent the accident. Maybe if he’d been more attentive and noticed that the oak was splitting he could’ve warned Paul in time.

He pulled in a steadying breath. “Actually, Paul sent me to pick you up.”

Confusion crossed her face, and that same faint look of disappointment came once again, making him feel downright awful. “I see. Was Paul detained, then?”

“I’ll explain on the way out to his place. Why don’t I get your trunks loaded up in the rig?” He glanced at the trunks again as he wondered what relation this woman was to Paul. And more, how he was going to break the news to her about the accident. “My name’s Aaron Drake, by the way.” He held out his hand to her, but her arms were too full to exchange any kind of handshake. “Here, let me take that for you.”

“Thank you so much.” The slightest blush colored her cheeks as she handed her bag to him. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Drake.”

“If you don’t mind, Aaron is fine.” Realizing that the satchel handle had ripped, he tucked it beneath his arm. “We’re not much for pretense around here.”

She paused. “All right then, Aaron.”

“I’m a good friend of Paul’s—been friends for years. Are you a relative of his?”

He took in her features, looking for some similarity, but where Paul was hearty and stocky in his build, this woman was delicate and refined. Her fair skin seemed as if to glow where Paul’s skin showed the effects of countless hours of sunlight.

The hint of the smile he’d initially seen warmed her face. “I’m his bride-to-be.”

“His what?” he choked out.

This woman was as opposite to Paul as a mountain lion was to one of Ben’s pampered house cats. She seemed utterly unfit for the West. Was this some joke? Paul hadn’t said anything, not one thing about some fancy bride-to-be. Surely, he would’ve shared this small bit of information. He’d often talked of having a wife and family—someday—but he’d never indicated he was already halfway down the aisle.

“Did you say bride-to-be?”

The way her brow inched together just slightly in the minutest look of hurt gave him pause.

“We’re to be married today,” she answered, her voice soft and vulnerable as she trailed her slender fingers down her elaborate skirt.

“Today?” He swallowed hard.

“Just as soon as the minister is available—at least, that’s what Paul had written in his last letter.” She took her parasol from him and popped it open. “My name is Hope Gatlin.”

He struggled to hold his disbelief in check. It just wasn’t like Paul to keep such a monumental secret. “Nice to make your acquaint—”

Hope…

Hope?

Alarm shot down Aaron’s spine as Paul’s words galloped through his mind with the reckless speed of a wild stallion. Promise me you’ll hold on to Hope. Don’t ever let her go.

Aaron would never give his word on something he didn’t intend to fulfill. And he prided himself on wearing loyalty like a favorite shirt, but right now, taking in the gravity of it all… What had he promised?

“Can you go any faster?” Hope queried yet again, the wagon creaking in protest. She could not remember one time in all of her twenty-two years when she’d begged for a quicker pace, but for the last mile since Aaron had broken the news to her about Paul’s accident, Hope had actually made the request three times.

Glancing over at Aaron, she fought to ignore the way her stomach still pitched from the last hairpin curve they’d lurched around. “Please?”

His blue eyes grew wide as he passed a glance from her parasol to her. “Ma’am, I’ll say it again. If I go any faster over these rutted roads, I run the risk of breaking the rig.” On a sigh, he turned onto a long path leading to a farm. “Besides, we’re here. This is Paul’s homestead.”

She stared ahead at the quaint farm, taking in every rustic nuance: the two-story clapboard house, the barn and chicken coop, the fields, the cows. Paul had described this place to her in his letters. He’d built everything from the ground up and had told her of how the barn had been erected in a day with the help of friends. He’d been slowly adding to the number of cows he had and was looking forward to purchasing more this spring.

Hope had marveled at his love for the land, but having been raised in a family of means in Boston, she didn’t know the first thing about farming. She’d told him that she didn’t mind hard work and would help out wherever she could, but Paul had insisted that she not dirty her pretty little hands. He’d been set on pampering her.

That sweet memory only added to the lump in her throat and the pain in her heart. She’d never imagined looking for love through the mail-order bride advertisements, but her friend had found love there. Hope had answered an ad strictly to relieve her family’s financial burden shortly after her father had lost his small fortune a year ago. With her mother insisting on keeping the house staff and with six girls at home, her father was working himself nearly to his grave, trying to manage, and this seemed the only way Hope could help.

Aaron brought the team to a stop and swung down to the ground. While he strode around to her side, she made a discreet attempt to follow him with her gaze. If the man would crack a smile on his stony face, he might be half-pleasant looking. She took in the scruff of beard on his face and his filthy clothes and couldn’t help wondering why his congenial demeanor had changed so abruptly back at the train station. His dirt-smudged face had gone ashen after she’d introduced herself, his already tense expression turning almost angry. For the life of her, Hope couldn’t figure out why.

She’d struggled to tamp down her extreme disappointment once she’d realized that Paul hadn’t mentioned her arrival to Aaron. Was Paul embarrassed by her, as Jonas had been after her family’s financial demise?

She’d been engaged to Jonas Hargrave, a longtime family friend, for two years. She’d loved the idea of marriage to a man who professed undying love. But right after her family had lost their means, she began glimpsing regret in his gaze, and as far as she was concerned, a marriage rooted in obligation would be no marriage at all.

Holding fast to her dignity, she’d eased him off the marriage hook.

He didn’t even flinch.

But then she’d met Paul. His letters had been so wonderful—almost too good to be true. He’d shown her the way to God. And her newfound faith had seemed almost too good to be true as well. The ten months she’d corresponded with Paul had been filled with hope and excitement and anticipation. She’d been certain that life would be wonderful. But now…

Paul had been seriously injured—that’s what Aaron had said. If they couldn’t get married today, that was perfectly acceptable to Hope. She could wait a day or two. She’d just do what she could to help him get better. Perhaps she’d apply cool cloths to his forehead or fluff his pillows every now and then or prepare some broth to help him keep up his strength.

“Ma’am.” The gentle sound of Aaron’s voice catapulted her to the present as he stood at her side. “I can’t help you get your feet on the ground if you don’t pry those hands loose.”