by Donna Alward
She turned her attention to Riley for a moment as she pulled herself together. He wasn’t smiling, and his tongue was between his teeth as he ran a brush over Pokey’s hide. “Riley looks tense.”
“Riley’s very precise. He likes things a certain way, and it’s easy for him to get overwhelmed. Riding’s only part of it. Right now they’re grooming. Once they put the horses back in their stalls they’ll make sure they have fresh water and a little treat.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “Jennie and Riley both have autism but they’re very highly functioning. It works putting them together because they both get overwhelmed and stressed very easily, and frustrated when they can’t communicate. Riding is soothing—the gait is very rhythmic and calming—and working with the horses is tactile. And by having to care for them they are practicing making connections, you know? That’s so important.”
“Mister Blake!” Riley came running up. “Mom brought carrots for Pokey.”
Blake smiled at the boy and nodded. “When he’s brushed, you can give him one.”
Riley looked over at Jennie. “Maybe Jennie would like one for Mist...Mist...”
“For Minstrel? Why don’t you ask her?”
They watched curiously as Riley hesitantly approached Jennie.
Jennie nodded at Riley, her ponytail flopping, and Blake smiled. “I’ll be...” he murmured. “They don’t talk to each other much. Mostly to the horses. It’s a big thing that Riley went to her just now. Look.”
Riley’s mom gave him two carrots, and he promptly took one to Jennie. “Not ’til they’re all brushed,” Riley instructed.
Jennie nodded solemnly and tucked the treat into her jacket. Blake laughed as Minstrel nudged at Jennie’s pocket. “Not yet,” she chided the horse. “Soon.”
“You’re not taking any pictures,” he noted, keeping an eye on the kids but confident things were well in hand.
Truth be told Hope had forgotten about her camera. Her interest had been captured by the workings of the place and talking to Blake. “I got a few of the barn while you were in the ring.”
He wrinkled his brow. “None of the session? There’s no problem with having our kids in the photos.”
She looked past him when she answered. “If you’re going to use the pictures for promotion you’d have to get all the parents to sign a release. This way is just easier.”
Jennie came over. “I’m done. Can I put Minstrel in his stall now?”
Blake laughed. “That carrot burning a hole in your pocket?”
Jennie looked puzzled as she took his joke literally and didn’t understand, so he turned to Hope. “Hope, this is Jennie. Jennie, this is Hope. Hope takes pictures, Jennie. She’s going to take pictures of the ranch for me.”
Hope said a quiet “Hi,” but Jennie’s smile faded and she seemed to withdraw.
“It’s okay,” he said to Hope as Jennie turned and trotted back to Minstrel. “She finds meeting new people daunting. That she even came over while you were standing here is progress. She hardly talked when she started.”
“How do you know all this stuff?” Hope asked, looking up at him curiously.
“I had to be certified through the Canadian Therapeutic Riding Association. That’s the national board that governs everything. Anyway, we’re still pretty small here, and this time of year isn’t as busy—especially the few weeks leading up to Christmas. Spring and summer, when the weather turns nicer, it really books up. We do outdoor trail rides then, and other activities rather than just using the ring—including summer camps. I have some volunteers who come in to help, and some of our kids have medical teams that we work closely with—like physios or occupational therapists. This afternoon you’ll meet Cate Zerega. Completely different situation than Jennie and Riley.”
“How so?”
He kept one eye on the kids’ progress as he answered. “She’s got cerebral palsy and she’s in a wheelchair. It’s a lot to deal with when you’re six.”
Riley was having trouble getting Pokey unclipped so Blake stepped forward. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he said, leaving Hope standing there alone.
She watched as he smiled at Riley and soothed the boy’s nerves. Together they unclipped the horse, and Riley put him in his stall without further incident. It was then that the carrots came out, and Blake laughed as he showed them how to hold out their hands flat. Jennie giggled as her horse’s fuzzy nose touched her hand. Blake spoke for a few minutes with the mothers.
Hope had been thinking a lot about what Blake had said last night about her expecting people to be perfect. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. She liked things a certain way. Didn’t everyone? But it had made her think about growing up, and how many times she’d wished her parents had been different—wished they’d stop fighting, stop getting on and off the merry-go-round of their marriage.
That was what had kept her awake late into the night last night. She’d remembered how for a while things would be good, but then the arguing would start again, and then Dad would have had enough, and Mom would decide to take the girls on a new adventure. It hadn’t always felt very adventurous. Hope and her sisters had had little stability through those years. Gram had been it.
Hope had tried her best for her sisters. She’d tried to hold it all together by getting perfect grades and trying to fill the gaps that their mother had left in her wake. She’d always felt like a failure, though. Every time Grace got in trouble or Faith got tears in her eyes from having her feelings hurt. Hope, being the oldest, had always felt she understood more about what was happening than the other two. Faith, the tenderhearted one, and Grace, the defensive one. It had been Hope who’d had to step in to dry tears or fix what was broken. Hope who had made sure everyone had a packed lunch and their homework completed.
And now the sisters hardly spoke. How was it she had messed it all up despite trying so hard, and Blake seemed to manage to put pieces back together so naturally?
A more grounded man she’d never met. He seemed comfortable in any situation, didn’t he? He had his place in the world and was secure in it. It was evident in his business, his house, the way he grabbed a dish towel and washed dishes or shoveled a walk. This was his corner of the world. And, while Hope loved her life in Sydney, she’d never quite called it home. Home was Beckett’s Run, and even then it had never had the permanence that she craved.
She turned away from the cozy scene with the kids and bit her lip. She’d been here two whole days and already it was bringing back things she didn’t like to think about. What was the use of dredging up past mistakes? She couldn’t change the past. And the truth was she couldn’t make everyone fit into the ordered existence she wanted—she needed. They’d all left her anyway. Every single one. She’d given up trying so she could save her own sanity.
It was time she got out of her own head and back to work. She went back into the ring and walked around the edge, snapping different angles. If she could get a good picture of the barn—despite the snow—and a long shot of the stable area, she could probably put together a good spread featuring the main facilities. It wasn’t exactly art, but that wasn’t what Blake was looking for, was it?
He found her standing in the middle of the dirt floor, much in the same way she’d found him standing only an hour before. “Hey.”
She turned and watched him stride across the loam, his long legs eating up the distance. He moved purposefully, with a loose-hipped grace that was sexy as all get out. His cowboy hat shadowed his face, but she could see his lips were set. Her fingers tightened around the camera and without thinking twice she began snapping—rapid shots, one after the other.
“What are you doing in here?”
“Trying some things out. Do you think I could get up there somehow? It’d be cool to get a bird’s-eye view of the ring from above.”
His eyes opened wide and there was a long pause. Then, “I could get a block and tackle,” he mused, rubbing his hand along his chin.
“Really?” She stared up at the beams and then heard his low chuckle. He was making fun of her. “Ha, ha.”
“You took off before you could meet the moms.”
“I didn’t realize you wanted me to.”
He frowned. “I wanted you to talk to them about including Riley and Jennie in your pictures. They’ll be back next week for the Christmas party. You could get shots then, I suppose. But we won’t have a regular session with them again while you’re here. You missed the opportunity.”
“I didn’t know you were serious about that.” She looked up at him and felt a little spiral of guilt as she offered the teensy white lie. “I thought it would just be easier if I took pictures of the rig empty.”
“Shouldn’t your pictures include what we do, not just where we do it?”
She bit her lip, unwilling to confess that she’d had to escape the corridor because she’d gotten emotional. “But those pictures are harder to get right. Do you really think Jennie and Riley would take to being positioned and posed, and all that goes into a photo like the ones we’re looking for?”
“Why would they have to pose? Can’t you just snap as we’re working? You’re a pro, Hope. You’ll come up with something that’ll work.”
Her lips dropped open as he unwittingly brushed aside all the hard work that went into her job, treating it as if it were nothing. “Something that will work? You’re right about one thing, Blake. I am a pro. And if I’m going to put my name on something it’s not going to be merely adequate. It has to be the best.”
He stepped closer and she felt the proximity of his body practically vibrating against her. She had to tip her chin up to meet his gaze, and for one delicious moment his eyes dropped to her lips before moving back up to her eyes again.
“I’m not interested in perfection.” His voice was an intense rumble in the quiet of the riding ring.
“And I never settle for anything less,” she retorted.
“I bet you don’t,” he replied.
His voice was so knowing that she wanted to smack the snide smile off his perfectly shaped lips.
“How about compassion, Hope? Do you have any of that?”
If he’d reached out and slapped her it wouldn’t have stung more. “Ouch,” she said quietly. “You do know how to aim, don’t you?”
He glowered at her. “Me with my scar. Jennie and Riley with their issues. Cate with her deformity. All of us—we come as a package deal. That’s what Bighorn Therapeutic Riding is about. That’s what you’re hired to take pictures of. Not an empty barn.”
Could he insult her any further? Goodness, she hadn’t meant him—or the children. She’d meant perfection in herself.
She ignored the tiny voice that said he might be a little bit right and let her anger build up a head of steam. “Hired? I wasn’t hired. I’m doing this for free, remember? You couldn’t possibly afford what I charge an hour.”
The indignant light in his eye dimmed and she felt like an utter heel for bringing money into it. He was doing a good thing here, and she knew his operating budget was probably a precise work of art from year to year. It had been a low blow. Maybe even lower than his dig about compassion.
It was only remembering his low opinion of her that kept her from apologizing—again.
“You’re right, of course,” he replied, his voice dangerously low.
“Take it or leave it.”
Her words hung in the air for several seconds.
Blake stepped back, his eyes icy and his expression hard and closed-off. “Take your perfect pictures,” he stated, then he smirked. “Oh, wait. You’re still searching for the perfect shot. Good luck with that.”
He spun on his boot heel and strode out of the ring, leaving her standing there alone.
She looked down at her toes, trying to put her jumbled emotions in order, surprisingly stung by his harsh words. There was anger at being told how to do her job. Guilt for lashing out. And, most surprising of all, attraction. With their bodies close together and his gaze flashing at her there’d been a shiver of excitement that had zinged up her spine.
But all that aside the kicker was that he was right. She’d never accomplished perfection, no matter how hard she tried. She did settle for less—all the time. And, truth be told, seeking perfection was becoming rather exhausting.
Worse than that was that she knew how he’d taken her words. No one was perfect here, and that was the whole point. Everyone was scarred, flawed in some way. There was no cure. No permanent fix. There was just acceptance—and she’d essentially thrown that back in his face just now. He’d actually looked hurt underneath the angry set of his features. Because she hadn’t just put down this place, she’d put him down too—even if it had been misconstrued. And she felt utterly rotten about it.
She had to fix it. Soon she’d be heading to Beckett’s Run and Christmas with Gram. Somehow between now and then she’d find a way to give both herself and Blake what they wanted.
And then she’d get back to her previously scheduled life.
CHAPTER FIVE
IT WASN’T often that Blake was in danger of losing his cool, but little Miss Perfect Pants had just about driven him there. He was used to people’s misconceptions and, frankly, misunderstandings when it came to his work. He considered it part of his job to work to dispel them.
What he wasn’t used to was this feeling of impotence that seemed to envelop him whenever Hope looked at his face. He hated that she could make him feel like a self-conscious boy all over again. The boy who’d been pitied at first, because of his tragedy, and then scorned for his appearance. Scorned and laughed at by his schoolmates, with adults frowning and shaking their heads in what he now recognized as condolence and sympathy. As if he’d died right along with his brother somehow. In some ways he’d preferred the teasing to people always feeling so damned sorry for him. At those times he had always felt like he was somehow too pitiful to be worth teasing.
And then there had been the girls who’d cringed when they looked at his face. He hadn’t even gone to his own prom. He hadn’t had a girlfriend and he hadn’t wanted a pity date for the rite of passage either.
He’d grown older and wiser and had developed the confidence to know what he wanted to do with his life. Not everyone turned away in disgust. He’d even started dating along the way—and one relationship in particular he’d thought had potential. Until a few months in when the offhand comments about his scar got more regular. And then she’d suggested plastic surgery.
He’d never forgotten that moment. He’d thought that girl was different. But she’d come right out and said it. You can’t possibly want to go through life with that atrocity on your face.
Any dating he’d done since then had been short-lived. A man couldn’t live like a monk, but he never quite trusted that anyone would see past his face to the man beneath. And he could never accept anything less.
Hope McKinnon made him feel all those uncomfortable, powerless feelings again and he hated it. And he hated himself for letting her get to him and making him say things he already regretted.
So he’d walked away before he could do any more damage and left her in the ring to take her precious pictures.
Now, an hour later, he pushed all his thoughts aside to focus on Cate Zerega. Cate was one of those children who reached in and stole your heart without you seeing it coming. Dark curls touched her shoulders and enormous brown eyes dominated her face, but her body appeared twisted and her muscle control and coordination were impaired. Cerebral palsy had made it impossible for her to walk without forearm crutches, but it hadn’t taken away her bright smile, even though now and again her speech would slur when she was excited, Blake had accepted long ago that Cate was someone special.
When Cate had her appointments one of Blake’s volunteers attended, too. Shirley was a physiotherapist from Canmore who had been donating her time for nearly two years. Together with Cate’s mom, Robbi, they formed a strong team.
Today he
’d saddled Queenie, one of the ponies he kept for the smaller children. Queenie was eighteen, and had never been overly ambitious. She was a dull gray, and not the prettiest equine specimen on the ranch, but she was gentle as a lamb and ten times as patient.
Cate’s eyes lit up as Blake led Queenie to the ring.
“Hi, Mister Blake.” Cate’s eyes were round as dollars and Blake’s earlier irritation slipped away.
“Hey, cupcake. You ready to ride?”
She nodded. “I’ve been waiting all week.”
Her words were clear, with only the slightest hitch.
She gave her crutches to her mother and Blake lifted her in his arms. He took in a breath and was enveloped in a sweet cloud of little girl smell...strawberry shampoo, fabric softener and what he guessed was a fruity sort of snack eaten during their drive out from Calgary.
As gently as possible he settled her in the saddle. “There you go, munchkin. Queenie’s all ready for you.” He reached up and made sure the black helmet was secure on her head, then gave it two knocks with his knuckles.
“Who’s there?” she asked.
“Ya,” he said solemnly.
“Ya-who?” she asked, equally sober.
“Yahoo? Are you a cowboy, too?”
She giggled and he saw Robbi roll her eyes as she grinned. “Do you two never get tired of that joke?” she asked.
“Nope,” Cate answered for them both.
Blake looked at Shirley and Robbi. “She’s ready to go. Shall I lead first?”
They started the session in the ring, Blake leading Queenie around the perimeter while Shirley and Robbie walked along on either side. They stopped occasionally to adjust, and invariably Cate gave Queenie a pat on her mane before they started again. Blake smiled. Cate had improved since starting here months earlier, due to the simple act of riding. It got her blood pumping, helped with her core strength, posture and muscle tone.
