over whatever fresh new leaf he could find in the floor of his soul, attempting to find some hope, but so far he’d found pitiful little.
“Bea, are you coming?” Horace called from halfway down the platform.
Mrs. Duncan gave her head a curt shake. “The girl’s right as rain, sturdy as an oak, I tell you. But my Horace, he gets himself worked up into an impatient huff.”
“You better not keep him waiting, then.” Aaron breathed a sigh of relief as she bustled away to catch up to her family.
Shielding his eyes against the sun, Aaron wound around other passengers and those who’d come to greet them, then spotted a woman holding a parasol and an overstuffed satchel. She stood alone on the platform, flanked by five trunks, each big enough to outfit a small army. He glanced around, seeing no other passengers left unaccounted for and no parcels left unattended. Could this be who Paul had sent him to meet?
With a heavy step and an even heavier heart, he approached the woman, who labored to keep hold of her handbag, her parasol and at the same time tuck a fluff of green fabric down into her overstuffed carpetbag. She definitely didn’t look as if she was from these parts, especially with the rich-looking, off-white gown she wore. Folks didn’t dress like that around here—unless they were getting ready to walk down the aisle, of course. The graceful way she held herself once she got settled, staring off into the distance the way she was, made her appear almost like some fanciful statue, her dark hair gleaming like rich melted chocolate in the late sun.
He came to a stop and swept off his hat. “Excuse me, ma’am?”
She startled then pivoted to face him, nearly dropping her satchel. The brilliant smile lighting her fair face faded to obvious disappointment. “Yes?”
He inched the brim of his hat around in his hands. “Seems that you’re waiting for someone. Am I right?”
She swept her gaze over a photograph she held. But when she attempted to tuck it into the side pocket of her bag, her parasol clattered down to the wood planks. “As a matter of fact, yes, I am. I’m sure he’ll be here any moment.”
“It looks like you have your hands full. Can I help?” He gave her a congenial smile as he bent to retrieve her parasol.
She eyed the frilly fashion contraption. “Thank you, sir. But I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
Aaron could’ve walked away right then, but the vulnerable look he glimpsed in her emerald gaze and the almost forlorn way she toiled to keep hold of all of her stuff nailed his feet to the wide-plank platform. “I don’t mean to pry, but do you mind me asking who you’re waiting for?”
She gave the hem of her fancy off-white bodice a gentle tug as though setting herself right, but as far as Aaron could tell, not one hair or fiber lay out of place—city slicker, no doubt. By the bird-in-a-roomful-of-cats look about her, she’d likely not be around long. Although when his focus drifted to the sea of enormous trunks that surrounded her like servants to some fair maiden, he had to wonder. It’d take a lifetime and then some to wear that many garments.
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?
Chapter Two
“Can you go any faster?” Hope queried yet again, the wagon creaking in protest. She
