Emma felt so flustered when the front doorbell rang that she nearly tripped over her feet to answer the door. She could hardly focus with her emotions in such turmoil—anger at her father, disgust at her mother, worry over Lynette, annoyance at her brother. And underneath it all was an unbearable ache that made her want a man’s strong arms wrapped around her. A man to take her away from all this anguish and fear and make her feel safe and loved.
When she threw open the door, she found Randall standing on the stoop with a bouquet of beautiful red roses in one hand and a bulky wrapped package in the other. He was dressed in a smart three-piece wool suit and looked as dashing as always. He tipped his hat at her, revealing an unusual nervousness in his demeanor. His smile was a welcoming shoal of warmth in this utterly dreary, depressing day. The heavy weight lifted from her heart upon seeing his sweet smile looking upon her with adoration. How had she forgotten what a comfort he was to her?
“Oh, Randall. I’m so glad you’re here. Come in,” she said, ushering him inside. In a whisper, she confided, “I think it best if we took a walk.” She tipped her head to the back of the house, and even though she could hear nothing from where they stood, Randall immediately understood the gist of her comment. How many times had they snuck out of his house when they’d been children, to get away from the scrutiny of adults?
“There’s a park nearby. We can talk there,” he said, his comforting tone washing over her like warm sunshine.
She set the roses down on the hutch and grabbed her long woolen coat from the entry closet and put it on. Then she picked up her bonnet and tied the strings under her chin. Randall waited with the patience of a man who’d grown up with four fashion-conscious sisters, and his eyes told her he was in no hurry. She was grateful for his calm, gentle spirit after the aggravation of the last few hours.
Once she was ready, he took her arm and they went out into the brisk afternoon, a steady wind blowing around them as they walked. Emma tucked her head into her warm collar, wondering if the park would be too cold to enjoy. But when they’d walked the few blocks to the small corner park with the whitewashed gazebo in the center, the wind abated, and sunlight streaked through breaks in the clouds.
“Oh, it’s so good to get out of the house,” she said, the breeze helping to whisk away her sour mood. She breathed deeply, relishing the fresh mountain air, so different from New York’s muggy, thick air. Summer had vanished overnight, and it appeared fall might as well. She smelled snow on the air.
Randall sat her down on one of the ornate scrolled ironwork benches and took both her hands in his and rubbed them together to warm them. She flushed at his forwardness, for his touch seemed so intimate for some reason. He then handed her the package he’d been carrying.
She gave him a big smile. “What is this? It’s not my birthday—”
“I know,” he said sweetly. “It’s something I ordered for you a while back. It only just came in on the train yesterday.”
Puzzled, Emma took the nicely wrapped package festooned with blue satin ribbons and set it in her lap. It had an odd shape to it, and was about as large as a bread box. She shot Randall a glance expressing her suspicion. What might he have ordered that would have taken so long to get here—and from where?
“Go ahead,” he urged, his childlike excitement spilling over. Suddenly she was back in the playroom at his house, looking at the pile of presents he had just gotten under the Christmas tree. She was aware of how easy it was to sit with him, to laugh and share her innermost feelings without worrying what kind of impression she might make.
Randall—she hadn’t seen him in all those years, yet she felt as if they’d never lived apart. She knew him so well, and he her. How could she ever feel this comfortable with any other man?
Why had she forgotten this when she came out to Colorado? She had presumed he had changed, now that he was living and working with his father. But he hadn’t—not at all. One look told her he was the same kind, sweet boy she’d spent many a summer with. And his expression showed how much he cared for her. Was he merely shy about his feelings? Maybe he just needed time to say just what he felt. All this time she’d thought he didn’t really care for her, but now she realized how wrong she was. And how badly she had treated him by practically ignoring all his advances. And being so unforgiving about his lack of help at the picnic. Maybe he hadn’t really seen that cowboy paw at her.
She carefully untied the ribbons, then worked at peeling back the tape binding the package.
He laughed at her slow, meticulous method of opening his present. “Oh, just rip it open,” he said with a chuckle.
She showed mock scorn in her frown. “Now, that’s an improper way to unwrap a package. Besides, I want to keep this lovely wrapping. It’s so pretty. I can’t imagine you bought it anywhere in Greeley.”
A flush of red tinted his ears. “No, it’s from France, actually . . .”
Her brows lifted. France? She finally got the stubborn bits of tape to cooperate and unwrapped his gift. She gave out a little gasp at seeing the beautiful French handmade paper—a whole block of it—and a set of very expensive inks. His gift had cost a small fortune, and although she knew it probably did not set him back financially in any way, the fact that he had taken time to special-order these wonderful drawing supplies all the way from Europe touched her greatly.
“So you can create the finest botanical drawings this side of the Mississippi,” he said, his smile full of joy, but at the same time a bit self-conscious and worried. “Do you like them? I mean, did I buy the right kind of paper? The merchant I wrote to suggested this for the kind of fine detail you do—”
Emma’s heart soared. No one had given her such a thoughtful, useful gift. She leaned over and gave Randall a kiss on his cheek, which made his face turn bright red. She had never kissed him before, and a girlish giggle came out of her mouth.
“Oh, Randall, it’s perfect! You have made my day.” She ran her hand over the lovely texture of the pressed paper. “I’ll be able to create wonderful illustrations with this paper. And the ink! This is the finest ink in the world.” She looked into his molasses-brown eyes and lost herself in their depths. “Thank you so much. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
Randall seemed completely flustered at her words, as if he wanted to throw his arms around her. But they were adults now, and such playful affection had to be curtailed. He once more took her hands in his, and as the sun baked the grass around them, the intoxicating scent of mowed lawn ushered a sense of peace into her heart.
There was hope, she thought. Hope that in the midst of this new, challenging, and frightening life in the wilderness she could find a rock to sit on, to give her perspective. Randall seemed in that moment to be just the refuge she truly needed. He accepted her for who she was, and encouraged her dreams. Maybe, together, they could make a life here—or better yet, in New York, as she had earlier hoped.
She dared ask him the question that had been prodding her mind all these months. “Have you considered moving back to New York? I mean, after you get your father’s books in order? Surely he could hire an accountant to do what you do?”
“I have. It’s what I want more than anything.” He took a look around him. “I’m not cut out for the Wild West. I . . . feel so out of place here.” He shook his head. “But, I can’t see any way to leave. My father would never allow it.”
“I don’t understand.” And she didn’t. His father could afford to hire the best accountant in the country. Randall didn’t answer her. He gazed off into space, a frown deeply etched on his face.
A sense of disappointment welled up inside her. “What if you just . . . leave? What could he do? You’re a capable man. Surely you—”
“Emma,” he said, his tone cutting her to the quick. “Please.” He blew out a long breath. “It’s . . . complicated. For now, I must stay. Maybe one day—”
“You could go back to school. Finish your schooling and get your degree. You said you wanted to go into publishing—”
He turned and met her eyes, and his pained look confused her. Why was this such an unattainable dream? Why would he be so willing to give up? Just what power did his father wield over him? She couldn’t imagine Randall giving in to his father over the issue of inheritance.
“That was just a fanciful dream. I’m sure in time I’ll adjust to life out here. Look at all these people.” He gestured to the houses on the street, although no one was outside at the moment. Most were busy at work—in their stores or in the fields. “They’ve made huge adjustments in their lives. They’ve found their place here.”
But his look told her he imagined he never truly would. He was a city man, and he hadn’t come out here on his own volition. He had been forced. Just as she had been. So why should either of them stay? This was not their dream.
He lifted his chin, shaking off his glum mood. He smiled at her, but his smile did not reach his eyes. “So, I’ve decided to make this life work for me. And I believe I could truly be happy here”—he once more met her gaze, but this time he seemed filled with longing—“if I had you by my side, making a life with me.”
Emma sucked in a breath. Even though her father had implied Randall meant to propose to her, she hardly believed he would. Is that what he was doing? Proposing?
Before she could say a word, Randall reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a small box. Even more stunned, Emma watched him drop to one knee and open the box inches from her face. A shiny gold band with a row of sparkling diamonds rested on a velvet cushion.
“Emma Bradshaw,” he said, his voice trembling and cracking, “I would like to ask your hand in marriage.”
His words hung heavily on the air, and Emma stared at him in equal parts of astonishment and confusion. She heard her father’s words in her head: “It’s all been arranged. The sooner she marries . . .”
“I . . . I . . .” Emma willed herself to be calm. But coils of anger and irritation wrapped around her heart. She couldn’t help blurt out the words, “But do you love me?”
Randall was taken aback at her question. No doubt he expected her to give him an answer. What was he thinking? He hadn’t even courted her. Did he think that because they’d been childhood friends, that meant he truly knew her heart, her needs?
Oh why was she thinking these thoughts? He had just proposed to her, and now she was asking him intimidating questions. But she had to know. Did he truly love her? She couldn’t imagine marrying anyone who didn’t. But do you even love him? Isn’t that just as important?
Randall pulled back, awkwardly holding the ring in his hand. His face filled with worry and exasperation. “Emma, I adore you. You must know that. Anyone can speak words of love. But . . . a man shows his love by his actions. By his honor, and the respect he shows his wife. I would be a faithful, loving husband to you. Do you doubt it?” he asked.
She sensed a panic in his tone, and she did so want to reassure him. She knew how hard this must be for him. But she wasn’t ready for this. As much as she wanted to marry—and she felt no one could be a kinder, sweeter husband than he—upon hearing his actual proposal, she felt a rush of doubt. Did she love him? Could she grow to love him in time? Did it matter?
Maybe she was just expecting something unattainable. The romance she fantasized about—that all young women dreamed of—how real was that? Wasn’t it more important to be practical and think of things like security and companionship? How could she marry anyone more suitable than Randall? She had to admit it—she couldn’t.
So what if her father had perhaps suggested to Randall to propose? What if he had even bribed him in some way—with some monetary offer? She couldn’t imagine Randall being swayed by an offer of money; that made no sense. And even if her father—or his—had pressured him to propose, would he really do so if he didn’t want to?
As soon as that question came into her mind, her body washed cold. She knew the answer. She didn’t doubt he would do so if his father had demanded it. So she had to ask; she just had to.
“Randall,” she said, trying to sound as kind and gentle as she could. She even took his hand and gave it a little squeeze. “Is this really what you want?” She let out a trembling sigh, and her next words came out on paper-thin breath. “Do you really want to marry me?”
The tiny hesitation that flitted in his eyes before he spoke told all. Her heart sank.
“Of course I do, Emma. I truly believe we were meant for each other. I promise I’ll do everything I can to make you happy—”
“Even move back to New York?”
He shut his mouth, and she could tell he fumbled for an answer. “If I can find a way to do so, I will. If that’s what you really want. It might take some time . . .”
She bit her lip and looked out at the towering mountains sitting like silent sentinels in judgment of her. As if they were mocking her, challenging her to listen to her heart.
She looked down at the ring resting in his open palm. This offering of his. She should be happy. And he deserved happiness too. But could she make him happy?
Without meaning to, Lucas came to her mind. He’d married once, and she imagined he had been happy and in love. Looking forward to his baby, to being a father. And then, his wife died and he lost everything. He’d lost everything he loved. I saw the pain in his eyes—his loss. And his need.
She blew out a shaky breath upon realizing how much Lucas Rawlings might need her. Want her. There was no denying it; she’d seen it clearly in his eyes as he made to kiss her. He longed for her, and just the thought set a fierce longing loose inside her.
She closed her eyes, then opened them to gaze into Randall’s questioning ones. She saw no need there. No fiery longing that cried out to her. All she saw was a sweet, kind friend who was probably asking to marry her because he’d been told to.
She felt suddenly tired and sad. Even if Lucas truly did love her, as Sarah had implied, her family would never approve of him. If she married him, she would ruin their lives, tear her family apart. And right now her family was teetering on the edge of disintegration—with her mother barely keeping her sanity and her brother drinking and Lynette ill and possibly about to lose her baby . . . No, she had to be sensible, practical. Find ways to bring peace and healing to her family. If she meant to live here in Greeley for the indeterminate future, she had to please her parents, and make life as easy on everyone as possible. If only for Lynette’s sake. Maybe, once the baby was born, she could think about what she really wanted in life. She could pursue her dreams.
She looked down at the gifts Randall had given her, sitting beside her on the bench. Randall wanted her to pursue those dreams. He could give her a comfortable life, and she knew he would treat her lovingly and tenderly. Was it wrong to expect more than that?
“I’m sorry I’ve been so quiet, and I haven’t answered your question,” she said, her tone deeply apologetic. “I don’t mean to hurt you, Randall. It is just so . . . sudden.” She smiled at him, hoping to dispel his obvious distress. “Would you let me think about this awhile? Before I give you my answer?”
“Of course,” he said, looking every bit the refined gentleman he was. “I realize it is a bit sudden . . .” He seemed to want to say more, but a silence grew between them, and he looked down at his feet. He slipped the ring back into his pocket without a word.
“Why don’t we head back to my house?” she suggested. “I can certainly boil water, and a cup of tea sounds wonderful right now.”
Randall nodded, seemingly appeased for the moment, and perhaps a bit relieved, Emma noted. Maybe he was hoping she’d say no. But how could she think that? He did look utterly crestfallen by her answer. But she hadn’t said no. She would take some time and ponder his proposal. Although maybe it was silly to wait.
As he took her arm and led her down the street, she thought about Violet’s gushing words and how she’d urged Emma to marry him. “He’s perfect. Don’t let him slip away.” He did feel so right, next to her. And he was so handsome and educated. She could imagine his arms around her, his mouth on hers . . .
A flicker of hope danced in her heart. She imagined children with his deep-brown eyes and rusty-colored hair. She could picture him reading them books, telling adventurous stories with an embellished tone, the way he used to read to her when they were children. Randall Turnbull was a kind man with a tender heart. Surely she could grow to love him, in time—in the way a wife was meant to love her husband.
And if she married him, it would get her out of her house and out from under her father’s harsh authority.
With that reassuring thought, she hugged her new drawing paper close and walked with Randall down the dirt road toward her home.