Rocky Mountain Proposal. Pamela Nissen

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.”

      “Nice to meet you, Mr. O’Leary.” She shook his hand, struggling to school her expression against the way his sweaty palm clamped against hers.

      “If’n you ever need anything. You jest give me a holler.”

      She smiled, though not enough so as to encourage the man in any way. “Thank you for your kindness, but I’m sure I’ll be just fine.”

      “I heard that he went and left his farm to you. And that you was to be married. Is that the truth?” he inquired with as much candidness as Hope imagined possible.

      Just then a weasellike animal poked its head out from a pack strapped to the man’s back. “All right, Conroy. You seen the perty lady. Now you get yerself back in there, ya hear?” Mr. O’Leary reached over his shoulder and gave the animal’s head a gentle pat. “Conroy’s my ferret. Bought him off’un a travelin’ salesman.”

      “He’s a fine-looking ferret,” she commented as the adorable animal wiggled his long-whiskered nose at her and then dived into the sturdy denim pack.

      “He goes with me most places—cept’n fer church. Though, Lord knows that bein’ there’d do his thievin’ soul some good.” Mr. O’Leary leaned a gangly arm on the shovel handle and sighed as the ferret rebelliously popped up again, perching his front paws on the man’s rail-thin shoulder. “The critter can’t seem to keep his dishonest paws from takin’ that which ain’t his.”

      The earnest show of the man’s distress and the delightful look of innocence on the ferret’s whiskered face coaxed a smile from Hope. She was grateful for the diversion so that she didn’t have to field the man’s inquiries. “With a face like that, how could he possibly mean to be ill-behaved?”

      “That’s what I been tellin’ myself, but after a while a body’s gotta wonder.” He shrugged out of the pack and folded his legs beneath him, then tucked the long, lean ferret back inside. “This is not social hour at the opera house.” Jane’s terse voice sounded at Hope’s ear.

      Hope turned just in time to see Jane’s cutting glare swing from her to the undertaker then back again, but she refused to cower in response.

      “Stop your fraternizing and come along. Can’t you see that we’re waiting for you?” Pivoting, the woman stalked down the trail toward the wagons, not even bothering to give Mr. O’Leary an appreciative look for his labor and not thinking enough to pass one last look at her brother’s grave.

      “Thank you for your hard work, Mr. O’Leary.” Hope peered up at the man, deciding that although he was a little rough around the edges he seemed harmless enough.

      “Glad to do it.” He looped his arms into his pack and tugged his shovel out of the dirt. “It’s my job.”

      Turning, Hope made her way down the trail. She caught Aaron’s gaze fixed on her as if he’d been watching for a long while. Had he sent Jane up to get her? He’d seemed completely oblivious to the woman’s spiteful ways.

      When she’d almost reached the cluster of mourners, Aaron came to meet her and guided her toward his wagon. My family, as well as a few others, will be coming over in a little while with plenty of fixings for a meal. I hope you don’t mind the lot of us barging in on you, but this is how we do it here in Boulder.”

      “That’s perfectly fine.” She managed a dim smile as she maneuvered through the tall grass. “As soon as we get there, I’ll do what I can to get things prepared.”

      He shook his head. “You won’t be doing anything, Hope. That’s what the others will be there for.” He came to a stop and stared down at her as if to enforce his point.

      “Until the past twenty hours, these people had no idea that I existed. To be counted among family now,” she reasoned, thinking about how Jane clearly viewed her as an outsider, “is a bit uncomfortable.” And to have Aaron telling her what to do settled over her with equal unpleasantness. Besides, she would rather busy herself than to field the questions she was sure would come her way—just like with Mr. O’Leary.

      How did you and Paul meet? How long had you corresponded? When were you to wed? And most inevitably, why had Paul not told us about you?

      “Paul