Rocky Mountain Proposal. Pamela Nissen

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      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.”

      Hope looked at where she clutched her parasol and at where she’d curled white-gloved fingers in a death grip over the rough wood seat. She grappled for composure as she released her hold, her hands and arms aching from hanging on so tight. “I guess that perhaps the ride was a bit fast.”

      He raised his brows over his steel-blue eyes as if to challenge her a bit fast estimation. When he stuck his hand out to help her down, she glimpsed a tremor of nervousness there. She felt a swell of compassion for the man, no matter how cold he’d been.

      “Do you think Paul will feel up to having visitors?”

      He no sooner got her feet on the ground than he released his hold as though her waist had been beaded with thorns. “My brother Ben is a doctor.” He started toward the house at a brisk pace. “He’s been here with him from the minute the accident happened, and he’s doing everything he can to make Paul comfortable.”

      Clutching her reticule and parasol to her chest, she scrambled to catch up with Aaron, nearly tripping over the hem of her ivory brocade wedding dress. Wanting to be prepared for this momentous occasion, she’d changed out of her emerald-green taffeta dress at the train’s last stop before arriving in Boulder.

      “Is he…is Paul in pain?” She almost ran into Aaron when he came to an abrupt halt at the yawning front porch that stretched across the front of the house.

      His wary gaze passed over her like the dank fog that often permeated Boston Harbor. “Yes. Ben tried to give him laudanum earlier, but he wouldn’t have it. Said he wanted to be awake and aware of things until the—well, for as long as he could.”

      She considered his words for a moment. Was he bracing her for the worst? Could Paul die—when she’d only just arrived? Surely, not.

      Imagining her future husband lying in excruciating pain, she dabbed at tears crowding the corners of her eyes.

      “I’m advising you to stay out of the house if you have a weak stomach,” he warned, his admonishing tone bordering on degrading. “Paul needs us to be strong.”

      “Of course. Of course, I will,” she assured, but remembering how weak-kneed she’d been when her best friend’s little dog, Edward, had howled in pain after being kicked by a horse just last month, she wasn’t so sure.

      “He’s a sturdy man, but a body can only take so much. And believe me…he’s endured more than any man I know.”

      “He is strong, though. Very strong.” She remembered the reassuring way Paul had shared his faith with her in the letters. His words had been a lifeline, a fortress in the midst of a very difficult time. Surely, God wouldn’t let him die now, just as they were to marry. “I’ll do everything I can to help, but I’m sure he’ll be just fine.”

      The door swung open in front of them at that moment, and a darker-haired version of Aaron stepped out onto the porch, his face grim and his eyes red-rimmed.

      “He’s gone, isn’t he?” she heard Aaron ask, his voice low and strained.

      The man nodded. Visibly swallowing, he blinked hard.

      Hope’s knees went weak. Her head spun and her vision narrowed, but she willed herself to stay standing. She could barely take it all in.

      Pulling her reticule closer, she strained to hold on to some hope. “Gone?”

      Aaron pulled his mouth tight, battling to hold his raw emotion in check.

      The slow finality in Ben’s nod sent Aaron’s heart to his stomach. “He passed away no more than five minutes ago.”

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