by Donna Alward
“But...?”
Explaining her family dynamic had always been a challenge. “But they usually tried again. It was pretty confusing. Hard on my younger sisters, mostly, I think. Faith was shy and didn’t say much, and Grace tended to act out for attention.”
“And you?”
She put down her fork and picked up her coffee, half hiding behind the cup and curls of steam. “Oh, me,” she said easily. Perhaps too easily to be believable. “I tried to help where I could.”
Which was the grandest understatement of the century. She’d tried to provide the stability that the three girls had been missing. And, as much as she’d understood her mom’s need to spread her wings, she’d wished in the deepest corners of her heart that her dad would come and sweep them all home and tell Lydia that this was enough nonsense.
She’d wanted them to be a regular family. Desperately.
“You’ve gone quiet,” he observed softly.
She cleared her throat and busied herself cutting into her breakfast. “Never mind,” she said briskly. “Look, Blake. I’ve seen the kids that you work with all week. I could boo-hoo about my past all I want, but the truth is, I’ve never had to deal with what those kids and parents are dealing with. I just need to get over myself, and that’s that.”
His wide hand closed over hers and the fork stilled. “That is easier said than done, and I know it.”
She stared at his fingers, at the way they completely dwarfed her hand, how strong they felt wrapped around her skin, and before she could think about what a bad idea it was she turned her wrist so that her hand rolled and their fingers clasped together.
Not just a gesture of comfort now, but a real, honest-to-goodness physical link between them, and Hope felt it clear to her toes.
His thumb rubbed against her wrist, warm and reassuring, and she made no effort to pull away. Just another few moments. It felt so good to feel like a part of something, even if it was as simple as holding hands at a breakfast table. She’d been alone a long time. By choice, but alone just the same.
“You got over yourself,” she reminded him. “You didn’t let your accident stop you.”
His fingers tightened on hers. “Didn’t I? There were a lot of years between the injury and starting this place. I felt plenty sorry for myself. Plenty guilty.”
“Guilty?” Hope looked up into his face. “What on earth did you have to feel guilty about?”
His eyes were the saddest she’d seen them as he said, “My brother was in the car, too. He didn’t make it.”
CHAPTER SIX
“DIDN’T make it?”
Hope felt like she needed to pull her hand away, but she couldn’t. It would be a deliberate withdrawal and a step back—not at all what she should do at this moment.
Blake had had a brother? She swallowed. As much as she’d argued with her sisters, having them had always been a blessing. Because of them she’d never felt alone. Despite the strain of the responsibility she’d felt, and it hadn’t been easy, they’d been there, given her a purpose. Even if they’d acted out in their own ways, the reason for it had tied them together.
She couldn’t imagine what it would have been like to lose one of them.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “That must have been terrible for you.”
“Brad was my twin,” he said roughly. “We did everything together. The bond between twins is...”
“I’ve heard it’s different. That the connection is deeper.”
“I knew what he was thinking, sometimes what he was feeling. We played hockey together and sometimes we were so in tune with each other it was like music.” He pulled his hand away then, and gave a sad smile. “I think of him when I watch the Sedin brothers play now. We could have been like that.”
Hope didn’t know who the Sedin brothers were but she didn’t need to know to understand that Blake still felt the loss keenly.
“I can’t imagine not having my sisters,” Hope replied.
“You’re close?”
She looked down at her plate, annoyed with herself for bringing the conversation back to herself when she really wanted to learn more about him.
“Not particularly. But...I know they’re there.”
She suddenly felt guilty about not keeping in touch more. Not making more of an effort now that they were all grown up and leading their own lives. Faith and Grace weren’t her responsibility any longer, but instead of trying to redefine their relationship, they’d drifted apart. Anytime either of them had asked her for anything she’d turned her back. Maybe it was time that changed.
“I spent a lot of time wishing for Brad back,” Blake said. “It felt like a piece of me was missing. And I really struggled with why he was taken and I was left behind. At the same time I was a teenager, going through all the things that teens go through. We’d talked about going to the NHL together. All the dreams and plans were ours, and without him I had nothing.”
“So what did you do?” She looked up at him, feeling strangely bereft at the grief still shadowing his voice. Had Blake hit rock bottom like she had?
“Got by day to day. Lived in a shell. Shut people out.”
Hope’s throat swelled as she remembered the day she’d finally given up on holding her family together. She’d broken down, and Gram had been there to pick up the pieces, but things had been different from that point on. Ever since she’d kept people at arm’s length. She wasn’t blind. She knew that if she didn’t let anyone too close she didn’t have to worry about disappointments or goodbyes.
Blake had come out of his shell and built this place. She hadn’t, and she hid behind a camera.
“How did you come out of it?”
Blake had, and he’d done something extraordinary.
“My dad.” Blake seemed to relax, and resumed cutting into what was left of his pile of French toast. “He and Mom took the accident hard. It was awful around here. But he showed up in the barn one day and handed me a pair of skates. I hadn’t played hockey in three years—the accident ended my season and I never went back. He told me he’d lost one son and he’d be damned if he’d lose another and told me to put on the skates.”
“And you did?”
He grinned. The way his mouth pulled made him look rakish. “You haven’t met my dad. You don’t argue with him. We went to the pond over at Anna and John’s, laced up our skates and took shots at a net for three hours.”
He mopped up some syrup with a chunk of bread.
“After that I spent some time deciding what I wanted to do. I read an article about the therapeutic benefits of riding and it clicked. The one thing I’d done through it all was work with the horses. They were my saving grace. The more I looked into it, the more I knew. And when Dad retired I made it a reality.”
Hope pushed away her nearly empty plate. “You’re very good at what you do, Blake. And very good with kids. I’m kind of surprised you don’t have any of your own.”
His gaze touched hers. “Been wondering about me, have you?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replied, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. “I’m not the only one to speculate. Half the women that walk through your stable doors wonder the same thing.”
His eyes looked confused for a moment, but then they cleared and he brushed off her observation. “Women don’t tend to be interested in a man like me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
His blue gaze pinned her again. “You know. They take one look at my face and...” He put his knife and fork on top of his plate. “It’s a lot to get past.”
Was he serious? Hope didn’t know what to say. Sure, she’d reacted to his scar, but she hardly noticed it now. It was hidden by his other fine qualities. His kindness, the way he smiled at the children, the light in his eyes and the strong, sure way he carried himself. Once she’d seen him in his element she’d glimpsed the real Blake. He was the kind of man who could be quite dangerous to a woman like her.
She could reas
sure him, but that would reveal way too much, so she came up with the only paltry platitude possible. “Someday the right woman will come along and sweep you off your feet.” She smiled. “You’ll see.”
She pushed back her chair and picked up her plate. But Blake caught her wrist as she went to move past him.
His fingers were strong and sure as they circled her wrist. “This place is the most important thing to me right now. And I haven’t said it yet, but thank you for what you’re doing. You were right. I couldn’t afford you by the hour.”
She stared into his honest face. “I’m sorry I ever said that. You touched a nerve that day with the perfect thing.”
He let go of her wrist. “I know I did.”
“Not the way you think,” she answered. “It’s not you I expect to be perfect, Blake, or the children, or anyone else except me. It’s me who keeps falling short of the mark.”
That little bombshell dropped, she escaped to the sink to rinse off her plate.
She heard the scrape of his chair as he pushed back from the table, knew he was behind her. She kept her back to him, the water running uselessly in the sink now that her plate was rinsed.
“There are things in life that happen and that we can’t see coming. That’s just reality,” he said, his voice quiet but full of conviction. “Expecting yourself to be perfect is setting yourself up to fail.”
“How can you say that?” she asked, turning back around and facing him. “How can you, when you are so good at what you do? Do you even have any flaws, Blake? And I don’t mean physical ones.”
“Plenty,” he whispered. “I’m far from perfect, Hope. I just try to stay on the positive side. To find joy in things.”
“But sometimes the heartache doesn’t allow you to trust in the joy,” she replied. “Because you know it could be ripped away at any moment.”
There was a long silence. Finally he lifted his hand and placed his palm along her cheek. “I look at you and I know that there are many ways to grieve without having experienced death. What are you grieving for, Hope?”
“When my friend Julie died...” She scrambled to put together the words, but he shook his head. His hand was warm, comforting on her skin and she bit down on her lip so it wouldn’t tremble.
“No, it’s more than that. There’s something else. Something you lost and never got back.”
She blinked and sidestepped away from his hand, away from his eyes. “Don’t,” she warned. “I told you when I first got here not to go all shrink on me, remember?”
“I just want to help.”
“Then leave me alone. Let me be, Blake, please. It’s been a good week. I took some pictures and got fresh air and I’ve relaxed. Just let that be enough, okay? In a few days we have the sleigh ride, and then I fly out to Boston.”
“For a family Christmas?”
“Yes. Let’s just chill for the next few days, okay? No more digging into our personal lives. I won’t if you won’t.”
She wanted to know more about him, but fair was fair. She couldn’t expect him to open up while she remained a closed door, could she?
There was a long pause, and then Blake’s shoulders dropped. “Okay.”
“Okay. Now, since you cooked I’ll tidy up. And this afternoon I’m going to start going through the pictures I have. Layout’s not my specialty, but I’ll put together a portfolio of shots you can take to a good designer.”
“I’ve got a few jobs to do, as well. I’ll be back by midafternoon. Maybe you can show me then.”
“That’d be good.”
He looked like he wanted to say something more, but then he shook his head. “All right. See you later.”
“Later.”
* * *
When she saw him again she was sitting at the table listening to the hum of the dishwasher, her laptop open before her. Her gaze caught a glimpse of a thick red hat above his black ski jacket. He wore heavy pants, too, and she gathered that whatever he was going to do it was going to be out in the bitter December weather. He’d be cold when he got back in. Maybe she’d make some cocoa to warm him up.
She shivered and turned back to her photos. Scratch the cocoa. After this morning she’d realized she was spending far too much time concerned about Blake’s welfare. She could still feel the gentle touch of his hand along the side of her face. Aw, hell. She was starting to care for him more than she was comfortable with. When he’d talked about his brother her heart had cracked just a bit, and she’d had the crazy urge to take him in her arms and comfort him.
Which made her just about as starstruck as the moms who gazed at him like he was perfection in a cowboy hat.
* * *
He’d seen it on their snowmobile ride, and now Blake trudged the last hundred feet into the barnyard, towing the toboggan behind him. The perfect Christmas tree—eight feet of spruce, perfectly tapered, just the right size for the vaulted ceiling in the family room—was sprawled over it. A good shaking to get the snow off, a couple of taps with the hatchet on the trunk and it would be ready for the tree stand.
He expected Hope would balk at the idea of putting up a tree, but he wanted it up for the Christmas party, and his parents would be arriving Christmas Eve. He gave the rope a hard tug and pulled the toboggan over a small snowbank. If she didn’t want to help decorate, that was fine. He’d done it by himself lots of times. Usually with a hockey game on in the background.
He’d seen the look of longing in Hope’s eyes this morning, though. Felt the squeeze of her fingers in his. She wasn’t as immune as she wanted him to believe. And everyone deserved to have a good dose of Christmas spirit. It didn’t have to go any further than that. Shouldn’t. No matter how attractive he’d found her.
No matter how much she’d surprised him by saying what she had this morning.
Her reaction to his face had been the worst, but now she was acting as though it didn’t matter anymore.
Well, fool me once, as the saying went. They were just words, after all.
But it didn’t change the fact that he sensed she was sad and wanted to cheer her up. He knew what it was like to be in that abyss. So he’d dig out the decorations and make the best of it.
He stood the tree on the porch and went inside, clomping his boots to get the snow off before disappearing into the basement to the storage area for the stand. When he came back up, Hope was looking down the staircase curiously.
“What are you up to?”
He held up the stand. “Christmas tree. Wanna help?”
Just as he’d expected, she took a step back. “You were out getting a tree?”
“Of course. After the sleigh ride we’ll have cookies and hot chocolate in here. The kids will expect a tree.”
He didn’t mention the second part of the plan—the part where he’d be dressing up like Santa Claus and needing an elf. He wanted to hit her with it at the right moment, and give her as little chance as possible to try and get out of it.
“Oh.”
She stepped aside, but he handed her the stand and bent to unlace his boots. He looked up as he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on a peg.
She looked awkward and uncertain, and he smiled on the inside. “Come on,” he prodded, nudging her through the door and toward the family room. “Help me move some furniture to make room.”
Together they rearranged the furniture that sat next to the fireplace by moving the sofa down a bit and shifting a heavy side table to the other corner, pushing it against a matching table so that it made one wide rectangular surface. Blake eyeballed the vacant space and put down the tree stand in the precise spot he wanted it.
“You loosen the screws and I’ll bring in the tree,” he suggested, and without waiting for her response went out on the porch in his stockinged feet and picked up the spruce.
Together they fit the tree into the stand, and he held it level while Hope knelt on the floor and tightened the wing nuts. When it was secure she stood up, and he stepped back, admiring. It was the
perfect fit. The perfect amount of fullness except for one spot that was a little sparse. He turned that side toward the wall—problem solved.
“Oh, my gosh, that smells so good!” Hope exclaimed, brushing off her hands.
“Wait until we get lights on it,” he said, finally feeling some Christmas spirit. There was nothing like the scent of a real tree to put you in the holiday mood.
“I haven’t had a real tree since...”
“Since?” She’d hesitated, leaving the sentence incomplete. Good memories or bad ones? he wondered.
“Since our family Christmases with my grandmother.”
He looked over at her and caught her smiling wistfully.
“We always had a real tree, too. And Gram did her holiday baking and the kitchen always smelled good.”
“You don’t have a real tree now?”
She shook her head. “I live in an apartment and I travel a lot. A small artificial one is enough.”
“Not this year, eh?” he asked, thinking that the idea of spending the holidays alone in an apartment with a plastic tree sounded very lonely indeed. “I’ll go bring up the boxes of decorations.” He nodded at the television. “There’s a Christmas Classics channel in the music section. Why don’t you turn it on?”
“Really?”
She sounded skeptical, and that just wouldn’t do.
“You can’t decorate without Christmas carols,” he decreed.
By the time he found the boxes and got them upstairs Christmas songs were playing and Hope had disappeared.
“Hope?”
“In the kitchen.”
Her voice came from around the corner, and he put the first box in the living room before going to find her.
She was standing in front of the stove, stirring something in a pot that smelled fantastically spicy.
“Mulled cider,” she announced. “I found the seasonings when I was looking in the cupboard the other day. This is as good a time as any, right?”
