Rocky Mountain Proposal. Pamela Nissen

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.”

      “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, Ben,” was all he could force out as he peered up at where his brother stood on the porch. Had it not been for Mrs. Duncan waylaying him, maybe Aaron would’ve made it back sooner. And then there were the trunks he’d lugged to the wagon; that had taken a fair amount of time.

      When he heard a small sniffle next to him, he turned to see Hope’s mouth drawn into a line. Her brow crimped. She held her reticule so tight to her chest that whatever she had stashed inside would be crushed.

      “I’m sorry.” He set a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, feeling anything but natural in doing so.

      Ever since she’d given her name, Hope, he’d been silently writhing in sheer panic. He’d tried to be congenial, and he’d worked at being caring when he’d told her about Paul a mile back, but all he could think about was the promise he’d made and what it meant—and how he was loyalty-bound to fulfill his words.

      He’d promised to hold on to hope and not let her go.

      But he didn’t know that hope was Hope.

      He could pay her passage back to where she came from, though he couldn’t exactly make good on his promise to watch out for her from a distance, could he? But the idea of being anywhere near Hope threatened like a gun aimed directly at his vows to Ellie.

      It might be easier if Hope was some dowdy spinster lucky to snag a strapping man like Paul. But Hope was nowhere near dowdy. She was beautiful…striking…elegant.

      She was also a city slicker.

      And that particular attribute was nothing like Ellie.

      “It’s just all so sudden.” Her eyes grew moist, sending a trickle of compassion through him.

      He braced himself for her to let loose a flood of tears, but instead she drew in a steadying breath, lifted her chin a little higher and ascended the steps.

      Ben cleared his throat and motioned them inside. “You must be Hope,” he uttered as they preceded him into the house.

      “Yes, I am.” Her voice shook slightly.

      When Aaron spotted a few drops of blood that had splattered on the floor when they’d carried Paul inside, he pulled out his kerchief and hunkered down to rub them away. He wasn’t sure how Hope would respond and was intent on getting rid of the remnants before she screeched in fright.

      “I’m Ben. Aaron’s oldest brother.” He closed the door behind them. “Paul just told us about you, Hope. He said you’d be coming.”

      Paul had told Ben and Zach about her? Aaron angled a glance down the hallway to Paul’s room. He could hear the sheriff’s voice and Zach’s voice, too, and had to wonder what exactly Paul had said after Aaron had left for the station.

      She moved into the room and set her bag and parasol at the door. She looked around her as if to get her bearings.

      “Where is he now?” she asked, unpinning the matching velvet half of a hat she’d worn and sweeping it off her dark brown hair. Small tendrils wisped down to frame her face. “May I see him?”

      Ben sliced a concern-filled look to Aaron.

      “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Aaron finally responded. He and his brothers had done their best to clean Paul up, but all of the