Rocky Mountain Proposal. Pamela Nissen

what are you referring?” She narrowed her gaze on the guilty party again.

      “Staring at him that way.” Sidestepping, Aaron made an effort to block her view of the accused.

      “But look at him.” She craned her neck to glare at the culprit. “He’s being a bully.”

      “They don’t call them bulls for nothing.” Incredulous, he gave his head a slow shake as he closed in on her, grasping her arm firmly enough so that she’d know he meant business and tenderly enough to assure her that he meant no harm. He led her away from the corral, stopping only to grab her parasol from where she’d dropped it.

      When he recalled the trace of fright on her face as she’d bravely made her way through the herd with the kitten in her hands and then the sweet and tender way she cradled the scrawny tabby—likely a stray who happened to be searching for a scrap of food in the wrong place—he had his answer. She had no idea.

      “We best get you back to the house before that bull decides to rally his friends and break through the gate.”

      She gasped. “He wouldn’t dare.”

      “This isn’t the cultured streets of Boston, ma’am.”

      When a confused and almost fearful look passed over her fair features, he had a hard time getting mad at her. She was a delicate city flower dropped into the West, where only the heartiest took root and grew. And for some reason he felt compelled to make sure she was well protected.

      After Aaron had accompanied her to a safe distance from the anxious herd, he brought her to a halt. “Listen, I know you’ve been in Boulder less than two hours and that your world has been turned on end, but if you’re going to stay here then there are some things you should know.”

      There were plenty of risks she should know about, and if she was going to survive the next twenty-four hours on Paul’s farm, and if Aaron was to have peace, he’d have to set her straight. But even then he was sure that serenity would elude him, just like the river bass always dodged his fishhook.

      But when he looked into those emerald eyes of hers, he suddenly had a hard time remembering those precautions that had seemed so imperative only seconds ago.

      “Yes.” Her voice eased him from his silent perusal.

      Jamming the toe of a boot into the dusty soil and kicking up a cloud of dirt, he struggled to clear his mind.

      “What is it that you wanted to tell me?” She raised her chin a notch then glanced over to the herd of agitated cattle mulling about at the fence line.

      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