by Donna Alward
Now Blake usually came alone. Sometimes to remember. Sometimes to look down at the awesome view—the way the land dipped and then extended straight out to the mountains—and to realize that he was just one small part of the big world out there. It helped him put things in perspective after a bad day.
He’d been surprised at himself for issuing the invitation to Hope. Perhaps it was that little glimpse of vulnerability that had prompted him to do it. And the knowledge that he felt the need for the wind on his face and it wouldn’t be very hospitable to take off and leave her stranded at the house alone.
Maybe he wasn’t entirely pleased with the houseguest arrangement, but he liked to think his parents had taught him decent manners.
“This is nice,” Hope said, climbing off the snowmobile and peeling the helmet off her head. Her hair was matted down beneath a thin toque and she pulled the hat straight. Pieces of blond hair stuck out like straw around her ears.
“Nice?” he repeated, somehow deflated by her bland reaction to the spectacular panorama before them. He breathed deeply, watched as his breath formed a frosty cloud that disappeared. “It’s kind of a miracle, don’t you think? That places like this exist?”
“I suppose,” she answered, taking a few steps through the snow toward him. “It certainly is a big view.”
He turned his head to study her. “The best adjectives you can come up with are ‘nice’ and ‘big’?”
She smiled then. “So my attempts to downplay it are a major fail?” She shrugged, then took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay, you win. I admit it. It’s stunning up here.”
“That’s better.” He nodded and went to the biggest rock, used his arm to dust the snow off its surface. “Care to sit, Your Highness?”
He offered her his hand but she ignored his gesture, climbed up nimbly and perched on the rock, drawing up her knees and looking out over the landscape. “What is this place, anyway?”
“The outer edge of the ranch property. We used to own more, but I sold a chunk of it off years ago.”
“Why?”
He was a little startled at her question, especially as she’d shown very little interest in the ranch side of things since her arrival. “I didn’t need as much grazing land once I sold off the cattle. I just needed enough for the horses and feed.”
“You had cattle?”
“My family did, yes.”
“Why did you sell them off?” She was quiet for a moment but he knew she wanted to ask something more. Finally she looked over at him. “Was the ranch in trouble?”
He shook his head. “No. But when my dad decided to go into early retirement after a heart attack scare the ranch was left in my hands. It was up to me to make the decisions. This is what I chose.” He shrugged. “The therapy part and the funding I receive covers the operational expenses. The horses I board give me something to live on.”
And it hadn’t been easy either. Despite being in charge, he had wanted his parents’ support. His father had thought he was crazy when he’d broached the idea of selling off the majority of the ranch to fund a rehabilitation program. Once the assets of land and cattle were gone they were gone for good. But when he’d explained about how difficult it had been, growing up with not only the scarring but the lingering effects of the accident, about how he needed to do something worthwhile, they’d come around. Now his parents helped out during the spring and summer. In some ways this program was a living memorial to Brad.
“Where are your parents now?”
“Phoenix. They’re snowbirds. They have a condo down there and avoid the cold Canadian winters. They’ll be back for Christmas though, flying in Christmas Eve. Mom always says it doesn’t feel like Christmas without snow.”
Hope didn’t answer, and Blake studied her profile. She was tanned from living in Sydney, her blond hair streaked from the sun. She turned her head and looked at him and he realized the combination made her eyes stand out. Right now, in the cold crisp air, they were the precise color of a mountain bluebird.
“What about you? What are you doing for Christmas?”
She shrugged, but he thought he saw a shadow pass over the brightness of her eyes. “I’ll fly out of here to Boston, and then on to Beckett’s Run to spend the holidays with my grandmother. And I suppose any other members of my family who might show up.”
“You’re all spread out, then?”
She rubbed her hands together as if they were cold. “So what made you switch from cattle producer to equine therapy?”
She was changing the subject. Clearly her family was a sore spot with her. Was that the problem that her grandmother had mentioned? He reminded himself that it was none of his concern, but found he was curious anyway. Were they estranged?
But she’d turned the tables and asked a question and he knew she expected an answer. He pointed at his scar. “This.”
She looked away.
“I know it’s bad,” he said. “I see it every day.”
“It’s not that bad,” she said quietly, but she looped her arms around her knees, shutting him out. “I’ve seen worse.”
Those three words seemed to explain a lot and nothing all at once. “But it does make you uncomfortable?”
She looked at him. “I suppose that makes me a bad person?”
She was so defensive. He let out a breath. “Depends. Depends on why, right? Someone like you—you’re used to dealing with beautiful models all day long. You’re probably not used to—”
He broke off. He refused to refer to himself as ugly. He’d spent too long digging himself out of his hole of grief to allow negative thinking.
“Now who’s judging and making assumptions?”
It bugged him that she was right.
She looked him square in the face—not to the side, not over his shoulder—dead in his eyes.
“If it makes me uncomfortable it’s not for the reasons you think. I just... It just reminds me of someone, that’s all.”
“And remembering hurts?”
She looked back out over the fields, but he saw a muscle tick in her jaw. “Yeah. I guess it does. So I try not to. It’s easier that way.”
He could relate to that more than she’d ever know. Instead of answering he let the quiet of the winter day work its magic. He sat on the rock beside her—far enough away that they weren’t touching—and listened. To the wind shushing through the stand of spruce trees nearby. To the faint sound of the sparse flakes of snow touching the ground. No traffic. No nothing. Just space.
“How did it happen?” she finally asked.
He’d explained it many times, but each time his throat clogged up a little. The memory never dimmed. It was never less horrific, even after all this time.
“We were coming home from a hockey tournament in British Columbia. We had an accident.”
“You played hockey?”
He tried to smile. “Still do—a little pond hockey. You’ll see. Some of the neighborhood teenagers come over and have a go at it. I’ll have to clean the rink off tomorrow. It’s covered in snow now.”
“You’re a real kid person, aren’t you?”
“I suppose I am.” He aimed a level look at her. “Kids are great. Full of energy and curiousity.”
“Loud, destructive, unpredictable...”
She was smiling a little now. She looked awfully pretty when she smiled like that.
He cleared his throat, uncomfortable at her observation. He liked to keep his personal life personal. It was easier to talk about the ranch and his program than it was to talk about himself.
“Perhaps. But they’re also generally accepting.” At least the younger kids. Older ones could be cruel—his high school experience could attest to that—but the teens around here had known Blake long enough that his face was no big deal.
“The way most adults aren’t?” Her smile slipped. “I suppose it has something to do with loss of innocence. It makes us grown-ups a bit jaded after a while.”
Damn, but she had
a knack of saying a lot without revealing much of anything. He kind of admired that. “I take it you’re not much of a kid person?”
“I don’t think I’ve actually thought about it much.”
“You’ve been too busy searching for the perfect picture?” Burying herself in work, if he could venture a guess. He got the feeling that Hope McKinnon was a pro at losing herself in her job. They had that in common, then.
Her lips twitched. “Something like that. It’s not something I’d want to do on my own, if ever. I’m only thirty. I haven’t really thought much about the whole marriage and kids thing.”
There was something about the way her gaze slid from his that made him think she was lying. “Building your career, I suppose?”
She brightened. “Of course. I love what I do, and with all the long hours and the travel it’s not really conducive to husbands or kids. Anyway, I still have time, right?”
Her smile was bright—possibly too bright.
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “How much time do any of us really have?”
“You’re a great one for philosophical questions, Blake.”
“I have a tendency to overthink.”
She put a hand over her mouth in feigned surprise, then dropped it to her lap. “A fault? Surely not? I was starting to think you didn’t have any.”
“How could you possibly know in less than twenty-four hours?”
“Oh, I’m a quick study. Occupational hazard. And you’re an easy read.”
Something inside him started to warm as he realized with some surprise that they were bantering. Was she flirting? Hard—no, impossible—to believe. “Are you teasing me?”
“I am. You’re awfully serious.”
“That’s what I thought about you.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m focused. Big difference. I know I probably seemed serious yesterday, but really I do know how to have fun. I know how to relax. Who wants to walk around stressed all the time? I like my job, my apartment, my social life. No worries and all that.”
They were silent again for a few minutes, but then Blake had to ask the question that was burning in his mind. “If that’s true, then why does it seem you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders?”
And there it was. That flash of vulnerability. Just for a moment, but there all the same. Hope might put on a strong, capable show but underneath there was more. A lot more.
And Blake knew that unfortunately he had a soft spot for birds with broken wings. Seeing as he’d been one once upon a time. He should take her back to the house and keep it strictly business from here on out. But Hope McKinnon was intriguing. The face she showed the world wasn’t the real Hope, was it?
Hope hopped down from the rock. “I’m cold. I’m going to walk around a bit and take a few pictures.”
He let her go, holding back the observation that she’d said she didn’t do landscapes. He watched as she took her camera out from beneath her jacket and moved around, studying angles and light as she snapped. The camera was what had dug into his back on the drive out, he realized. He liked watching her in action. Her face took on a determined set as she focused. But he noticed too that she frowned a lot, a crease forming between her brows. That search for perfection again?
He looked around him at the splendor of the Rockies. It never failed to catch his breath and fill his soul. What could she find to fault in such a magnificent creation?
He hopped down, too, now that the cold of the rock was seeping through his lined pants, making his butt chilly. “What’s the matter?” he called, wading through the snow to where she stood, glaring at a particular peak.
“It’s not right. The lighting is wrong. With this cloud, that side of the mountain is going to be too shadowed.”
“Can’t exactly control that, right?”
“Exactly. This is why I don’t do landscapes and nature shots. There are too many variables. I like to be able to set it up, get the conditions right.”
“Yet in all that planning you still haven’t found the perfect shot?”
The look she threw in his direction was annoyed. “No. Not yet.”
“I think I know the problem,” he said, starting to smile. “You’re missing the magic.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Did you just say magic?” She made a sound that was both sarcastic and dismissive. “There’s no such thing.”
“And that’s why you haven’t found it. You’re a nonbeliever. You can’t organize perfection. You can’t plan it. It just happens. And when it does, it’s magic.” Confidence filled his voice.
“You’re talking nonsense,” she said, shutting her camera off and tucking it back inside her jacket.
She zipped up the coat right to her neck. If she’d been vulnerable before that was all gone now. Instead she was defensive. He supposed she had a right. He did seem to enjoy challenging her, and they barely knew each other.
“I’ll bet you that by the end of your time here you’ll have your perfect photo, and it won’t have a thing to do with planning or staging the scene.”
She laughed—a sharp sound in the stillness. “That’s an unfair bet. I’d win.”
“What if I win? What do I get?”
She stalked back to the snowmobile. “It won’t matter anyway. I’ll take your pictures, Blake. I’ll do promo shots for the ranch and the program. But I think I’d rather stay somewhere else. This is your private home. I don’t belong here. I’m going to make some calls and book into a hotel in Banff.”
Blake stared at her. He’d really struck a nerve if she couldn’t even stand being in the same house as him for a few days. And, while the whole arrangement had been odd from the beginning, he was somehow a little offended that she was so desperate to leave.
Not that she was actually going anywhere. This close to Christmas there wouldn’t be a room to spare in the resort town. She was stuck here even if she didn’t know it yet. And he wasn’t about to be the one to tell her. He doubted Ms. McKinnon liked to be told anything. She could figure it out on her own.
“Can we go back now? I’m getting cold.”
“Sure,” he answered.
They got back on the snowmobile and he started the engine, revved the throttle and turned them around, heading back to the warmth and comfort of the ranch house.
As they glided over the rolling hills Blake thought about all she’d said, and what she hadn’t. If he were a betting man he’d guess that she was a workaholic and she was lonely. Hope was in some serious need of holiday cheer. Problem was, he was the last person able to give it to her.
* * *
Hope hit the “end” button on her cell phone and scowled at the display. That was the fifth hotel she’d tried and there were no vacancies anywhere. She didn’t even consider calling the Banff Springs—she wasn’t hurting for money, but the hundreds of dollars a night price tag was definitely out of her budget for a ten-day stay.
She should have known. Major resort town, so close to the holidays... She was going to be stuck here at Bighorn.
The thought made her stomach turn nervously. Not just because she’d been borderline rude to Blake up at the ridge and now had to make nice. But because on one level she’d actually enjoyed talking to him. She’d let down her guard for a few minutes and had nearly told him about Julie, nearly mentioned her family. For a moment, as she’d stared at the awe-inspiring peaks and snowy valleys, she’d been tempted to confess that the weight on her shoulders, her search for perfection, came from years of trying to make everything right, to create a perfect family that had never existed and never would.
They’d all let her down. Even Julie. Hope had thought to create her own special family, based on love rather than genetics. But the result had been the same. At the end of the day she stood alone. It was time to accept that she just wasn’t good at family.
That she’d wanted to unload all of that on a virtual stranger hadn’t just surprised her—it had been scary. The last thing she wanted to do was op
en the Pandora’s Box that was her childhood. It was easier to keep it locked away and focus on the here and now. The present was all anyone had control over anyway.
She flopped back on the bed and sighed. She hadn’t been lonely, as such. And she wasn’t bitter, just guarded. Careful. She didn’t share secrets or confidences. She wasn’t even close to her sisters anymore. She and Grace always argued and it wasn’t much wonder that Faith had chosen a calmer path than trying to run interference between them.
It had been lonely, she supposed. At times.
Right now she had to even things out with Blake in order to make the best of the next several days—especially as she had no place to go.
Problem was there had been a moment today when he’d looked in her eyes and she’d had the most irrational impulse to tell him everything.
She’d have to watch that.
She put her phone on to charge and decided to wander downstairs. She could always check the pictures from today and see if any were salvageable. And she really needed to talk to Blake about more practical matters—like what sorts of shots he wanted for his promo materials and how they were going to make that happen. She needed to think of this as a job. It would make the time go faster—and easier.
She’d booted up her laptop and inserted her memory card when she heard the back door open and close, followed by a heavy stomping of boots.
Blake came in, his cheeks ruddy from the cold, his eyes glowing even brighter than before. His hair was disheveled from wearing the heavy hat, giving him a boyish, roguish appearance. If it weren’t for the jagged gash on the side of his face he’d be gorgeous, she realized. The men she knew paid stylists a fortune to achieve that tumbled, rugged look, and spent hours at the gym to gain a physique that Blake had mastered from simple physical labor on the ranch.
She’d been staring at him far too long. She dropped her gaze back to the computer screen and used the mouse to bring up the day’s photos. “You look cold,” she remarked blandly.
