by Donna Alward
“The temperature’s dropped. Animals are in for the night, though. Snug as a bug.”
“That’s good,” she said, skimming the photos. A few weren’t half bad, she realized, though her instincts had been correct—the lighting wasn’t right. She might be able to play around with them, but none stood out as anything special or noteworthy.
“Anna’s gone?” he asked, rubbing his hands together and going to the sink. He ran water and washed his hands, reaching for a towel hanging on the inside of a cupboard door.
“I think I heard her leave just before it started getting dark. When I came downstairs I checked, and there’s what looks to be a lasagna in the oven for dinner.”
“Gosh, that sounds good.” He hung the towel back up. “I’ll throw together a salad and some garlic bread to go with it.”
“You’re quite the cook.”
“Lots of guys cook, you know.”
She did know, but she had a hard time picturing Blake in the kitchen. He was so...large and manly. She smiled to herself. Maybe she’d been working in fashion too long. “So why keep a housekeeper if you’re so capable?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Anna needs the work. I know how to run a washing machine and the vacuum and kitchen appliances. But it’s nice sometimes, especially after a long day, to not have to worry about it. I cook for myself on the weekends. I make a French toast to die for.”
She imagined Blake pushing a vacuum over the living room rug, pictured his long fingers wrapped around a spatula, flipping eggy bread. She found the image strangely attractive.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
She looked up and grinned. “I was just picturing you in an apron.”
Something odd and strangely exciting seemed to curl through her stomach as she looked up at him. He was so reserved. Not just reserved...guarded. He’d mentioned an accident today but stopped short of giving any real insight. She found herself growing more and more curious about him.
“Blake, about this afternoon...”
At her serious tone he put a loaf of French bread down on the countertop beside her. The breakfast nook and stools were a great place for her to work but she suddenly felt like he was very close and her pulse quickened in response.
“What about it?”
“I think I owe you an apology. Some of your questions made me uncomfortable and I think I came across as rude.”
He studied her carefully until she wondered if she was starting to blush beneath the scrutiny. There was something simmering between them, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but it felt suspiciously like he could read her mind. She wasn’t sure she liked someone poking around in her thoughts.
“No hotel rooms available, eh?”
Heat flashed to her cheeks. She was definitely blushing now. He’d seen clear through her apology, hadn’t he? She was totally busted. A bit irritated, too, though—because her remorse was genuine.
“Even if there were,” she said quietly, “I was snippy with you and you didn’t deserve it.”
“Why were you?”
“You always ask the hard questions, don’t you?” She put down the cover of her laptop and looked up at him.
“Not hard. Just real.”
“From where I’m sitting they’re the same thing.”
His gaze softened. “I’m used to challenging people, I guess. Pushing to break through what’s holding them back.”
“I’m not here to be fixed or rehabilitated,” she reminded him firmly. He’d been rather cryptic himself, out on the ridge. But she wouldn’t bring that up right now. She was trying to smooth things over, not begin another argument. “I just keep to myself, you know? When I said today that your scar reminded me of someone, you asked if it hurt. It does.”
“Who was he?”
She paused, surprised that he’d assumed it was a man she was speaking of—though she supposed she shouldn’t be. She was thirty years old. Blake probably assumed she’d had relationships before. And she had, though never anything serious.
“Not a he. A she. My best friend. Her name was Julie.”
She took a breath, surprised that she’d actually come right out and said it. She never talked about Julie. Her throat tightened but she forced the heavy feeling away, shutting it out.
She swallowed away the pain and forced herself to continue. “We shared everything. Work, interests, TV shows...an apartment.”
“What happened?”
“There was a fire at a nightclub.” Hope’s throat felt like it was going to close over, and she fought to swallow, to keep going without thinking about it all too much. She could say it, offer a basic explanation so they could move on, right? “She was burned very badly. It was the worst thing ever to see her like that. First with all the bandages and then, briefly, without.”
“What happened to her?”
Hope blinked, but her eyes were stone-dry. “She died. It was too much for her body to take and she went into organ failure.”
She didn’t have to say more for them both to understand how it had been a long and painful illness.
“I’m sorry.”
She felt grief hover around the edges and began to panic. She had to change the focus. Put it somewhere else. She looked up and saw Blake’s scar before her eyes. Painful truth slammed into her heart. “I saw you yesterday...” She heard her voice shake and tried to steady it. “I saw you and it was like seeing her...”
She couldn’t finish.
Blake’s hand closed over hers, warm and strong. The contact rippled through her, past the wall she usually built around herself, past the wall she sensed he kept around himself, too. Oh, it felt good to be connected to someone again. Terrifying but reassuring all at once.
All too soon he pulled away. It was just as well, she thought, tucking her fingers into her lap. She didn’t trust it. Didn’t trust the caring, tender gesture. Didn’t trust herself to be objective.
“When?”
The simple question took her by surprise. “When what?”
“When did she die?”
Her gaze was drawn to his. There was no judgment in the blue depths, just patience. “About six months ago,” she found herself answering.
“You haven’t grieved yet.”
He was getting too close to the truth. It wasn’t any of his business if she had or hadn’t. What was the point in indulging in a fit of grief? Crying and self-pity wouldn’t bring Julie back and it wouldn’t fix anything—another lesson learned the hard way at too young an age.
If only tears had the power to make things right life would have been so different. For all of them. She and her sisters wouldn’t have been dragged from pillar to post. There wouldn’t have been the arguments that Hope had always heard, even through walls. There wouldn’t have been the crying for Daddy in bed at night with the covers over her head. She would have been able to hold them together. They would have been one big happy family instead of the mess they became.
“Of course I have,” she lied, more shaken than she cared to admit.
“Grief can be crippling in itself,” he explained. “At some point you have to deal with it.”
She was starting to get angry now. How dared he talk to her like he had her all figured out? He knew nothing about her.
She took a slow, deep breath and held her temper. Losing it wouldn’t do either of them any good. Instead she tried a smile that felt stretched and artificial. “Look, I just didn’t want you to think it’s...well, that it’s you. Or that I’m...” She found she couldn’t go on, couldn’t say the word that had flashed into her brain. Superficial. The words trailed away.
“That you’re prejudiced?”
Her gaze clashed with his. “Why would I think less of someone because of a scar?”
“I don’t know. It makes me wonder if you look for perfection in people like you do in your pictures.”
“People aren’t perfect. Everyone knows that.”
His lips curved up a little bit. “I a
gree. And apology accepted. Let’s eat.”
She felt utterly off balance as Blake let the topic drop and shifted gears into dinner mode. She put the photos away and went to help him with the garlic bread and salad. The sound of the evening news on the television provided a welcome chatter in the silence. But as she set the table his words echoed uncomfortably in her mind. Did she expect people to be perfect? Or was it knowing they weren’t that made her keep everyone at arm’s length?
CHAPTER FOUR
THE snowplows had been and the roads were open the next day. The ranch yard was a hub of activity by midmorning. There were extra cars in the driveway. Blake had had the chores done before Hope was even out of bed, and she’d eaten breakfast alone in the kitchen—Anna had the day off to do Christmas shopping in Calgary.
Hope looped her camera strap around her neck before putting on her puffy red jacket. It looked cold, so she put mittens on her hands—the kind with flaps that flipped up to leave her fingers exposed—and a knitted hat with a small funky peak on top of her head. Maybe she needed to be warm, but that didn’t mean she had to be styleless. It had been a while since she’d put up with a northern winter but she did know how.
And after last night, and the confidences she’d shared with Blake, she felt the need to hit a reset button. It would be better to keep things businesslike from here on in, right? Professional. She was here to take pictures, and that was exactly what she was going to do.
The barn was warmer than she’d expected, considering the frosty bite to the air outside. Voices came from the riding ring and she made her way in that direction, taking in the scent of horse and hay as she walked down the corridor. It was a pleasant scent, and reminded her of early adolescence when, typical for her age, she’d gone through a horse stage and wanted her own. The answer had always been no, though eventually she’d worn her parents down and they’d agreed to riding lessons.
She’d had exactly three wonderful lessons when Mom had left Dad—again—and they’d moved.
She sighed. And people wondered why she didn’t let herself count on anyone—or anything—too much. Her parents’ marriage hadn’t been an easy one. Whoever said opposites attract was dead wrong. It was a recipe for disaster. Her mom and dad hadn’t balanced each other out. They’d driven each other crazy—Lydia with her flighty ways and Greg always trying to clip her wings. Hope had felt left in the gap—a child herself, but with the responsibility of raising her sisters. She hadn’t done a very good job.
She stopped and took a few pictures of the long corridor of stalls. The floor was neat as a pin, and the inside of the tack room was exactly the same—saddles lined up precisely, bridles hung on thick pegs, a stack of heavy blankets a splash of color in a room that was decidedly brown. She liked it, actually, the leather and wood were rich and redolent with character and a certain Western charm.
She experimented with a few different angles and adjustments for several minutes, losing herself in the task. Finally, when she was satisfied, she made her way to the entrance to the riding ring.
The first thing to catch her eye was Blake. He stood in the middle of the ring, boots planted a few feet apart and his hands on his hips. He wore a red long-sleeved shirt with a puffed black vest over the top and a cowboy hat on his head. Her gaze traveled up his long legs to the worn pockets of his jeans and her lips went dry.
On impulse she lifted her camera, turned it to capture him from top to bottom. She zoomed in so that his tall figure filled the viewfinder. There was no posing, no setting the scene, but right now he didn’t need it. Besides, this wasn’t an official photo for the site or anything. She’d work with him on that, so he’d have some sort of head shot he could use for promotion. This, she admitted to herself, was purely self-indulgent. A whim. She’d probably end up hitting the “delete” key in the end anyway.
Two horses with riders slowly circled the ring, and Hope watched as the first rider—a girl of perhaps ten—looked at Blake and smiled widely. He called out some encouragement, and then something else to the next rider—a boy who looked to be a similar age. As Hope watched the girl stopped her horse and stayed to the side, while the boy trotted up to Blake, turned and trotted back to his first position. Then it was the girl’s turn.
It wasn’t until Hope took a moment to take a full look around the perimeter of the ring that she saw two women, probably the moms, standing to one side, smiling and chatting.
There was too much activity right now to get the pictures she wanted. She’d rather the ring was empty. In her mind she analyzed the different views and vantage points, the available natural light and what fixtures were installed within the building. Wouldn’t it be neat to be able to get a bird’s-eye view of the ring? But she had no idea how she’d get up to the rafters to take it. She’d done some daring things to get a shot before, but suspending herself from a ceiling was one she hadn’t tried yet.
The lesson ended and the boy and girl dismounted and began leading their horses to the exit. Hope slid aside, pressing herself to the wall to give them lots of room as they passed. She tilted her head as she watched them go by. They didn’t look disabled in any way. They looked like a normal boy and girl.
Blake was right on their heels and he gave her a brief nod, but that was all. She hung back and watched as he efficiently cross-tied the animals in the corridor. The kids, barely five feet tall, began the process of removing the tack. Blake stepped forward and helped take the weight of the saddle from each of them. But the rest he let them do alone.
He came over to her then, keeping an eye on the children the whole time. “Hey,” he said. “Wondered if you were ever going to get up.”
“My days and nights are still a little messed up,” she commented. “You were out here already when I dragged my sorry butt out of bed. It was a pretty cozy nest I had going on.”
His gaze fell on her and she tried to ignore the warm buzz of awareness that ran through her.
“They do all that themselves?” she asked.
He grinned easily and she realized he was quite different out here in his element. More relaxed, less of a chip on his shoulder. He moved his attention from her and nodded in the direction of the children. “They do now. Not at first, though. Both Jennie and Riley are autistic. It took quite some time for us to get them to this point.”
“I wondered. They look like normal kids.”
He frowned. “They are normal kids.”
Oh, she’d hit a nerve, she realized. Quite unintentionally, but she probably should have chosen her words better. “What I meant to say is they don’t have a visible disability.”
“I know what you meant. It’s a bit of a battle, though. Drawing the line between normal and abnormal is what can make it so hard for these kids, you know? It really shouldn’t matter what challenges they have. They have feelings like anyone else.”
There was a sharpness to his tone that made her look up. The line of his jaw was firm and, if her guess was right, defensive. “Of course they do. I never meant to imply otherwise.”
“I find it hard to take off my crusader’s hat at times.”
She wondered if that was because at one time he had been one of those kids. Had he been teased, picked on? Had there been more to his injury than facial deformity? She wasn’t any stranger to that either. She’d been a head taller than every other kid in her class from an early age. The names “Beanpole” and “Spider Legs” had hung on for years. Her prom date had been two inches shorter than her, and she’d worn plain flats when all her friends had on heels. Her own father had called her Stringbean.
It was a far cry from a disability, but the teasing had hurt just the same, making her sensitive to the situation of both Blake and his clients. Even now she had to remind herself to stand up straight, rather than slump in an attempt to conceal her height.
“Don’t apologize for being passionate about what you do. You’re clearly good at it,” she said gently.
She bit back her questions about why he’d be
come that crusader. Even if she did want to know more about him, now was not the time or place. Any answer she got would be short and unsatisfactory.
He leaned against the wall and folded his arms, watching as the little girl returned from the tack room with a bucket of brushes and began grooming her mount.
“Why don’t you tell me a little about them?”
The question seemed to satisfy him, and the harsh expression melted away as he watched the duo closely.
“Well,” he said, affection warming his voice, “take Jennie, there. I put her on Minstrel and Riley on Pokey from the beginning, because the gelding and mare are gentle and work well together. That’s important when there’s more than one rider involved. We couldn’t actually put them together at first. It took a lot of work. But they have similar issues and are a similar age. By pairing them up it’s not just the two horses that work well with the riders, but the riders work together, too.”
“They clearly like you,” she added. Blake was quite easy to like, after all—at least in this setting. Easier than she was comfortable with. “The way Jennie smiled at you out there...”
“She’s something, isn’t she?” He grinned as he watched the youngsters work. “At the beginning she nearly froze in the saddle and didn’t say a word. I had to walk Minstrel around the ring while her mom stayed alongside. Finally she started taking the reins herself, but her mom was always right there. Now Heather watches from the sidelines. Seeing Jennie that comfortable and confident—well, that’s what this program is all about.”
His easy speech took Hope by surprise. In the two days she’d been here he hadn’t ever said so much, and so freely. “Is it always just you? It must be a lot of work running this by yourself.”
“Oh, no. Jennie and Riley are at a point now where I don’t need extra staff or therapists for their sessions. We have to look at the individual child’s needs. Safety is the first priority.”
Hope looked up at Blake again, examined the dark scar running down his face. Julie had needed someone like Blake. Julie—who’d cried pitifully and without tears when she’d realized her career was over. When she’d understood that she’d never be beautiful again. Hope’s throat swelled and she found it hard to swallow. Julie had realized that she’d never get married, have children, be a grandmother. Seeing a person’s face when they understood they were going to die was a terrible, terrible thing.
