Sleigh Ride with the Rancher

by Donna Alward

  In the end she gave it one last longing glance and moved on.

  She still had to find something for Grace—the hardest present of all. What could she get for a woman who didn’t settle down? Who lived her life from a suitcase? Perhaps Faith and Hope lived oceans apart, but they’d made lives for themselves in one place. Grace traveled endlessly.

  At a gallery she spent more than she’d planned on a small painting for Grace—a grove of trees leading to a river. It reminded Hope of summer days in Beckett’s Run. The colors were soft and blended, giving it a lazy, nostalgic feeling. Looking at it, she felt her throat tighten. Her sisters hadn’t given up on her, had they? She’d given up on them. Or, more accurately, she’d given up on herself.

  It was too late now to get those years back. Grace in particular was angry with her, and rightfully so.

  Before she could change her mind, she handed over her credit card and bought the piece. Grace traveled, but she did still have an apartment. A home base. Maybe the girls couldn’t go back to those days, but if they were all going to be together for Christmas perhaps they could remember some good times.

  With her sisters and grandmother taken care of, that just left Blake. As Hope wandered farther into the historic district she saw a store boasting Westernwear. Unable to resist, she went inside.

  It smelled of leather and cotton, and Hope couldn’t hold back the small smile that touched her lips. This was Blake’s world, wasn’t it? Boots and leather, jeans and belt buckles. She didn’t know why she was here, really—her plan had been to pick up the sleigh bells and that was it. But there wasn’t anything wrong with getting him a small something to say thank you, was there? After all she’d been staying in his house and eating his food for more than a week already.

  And she was giving him plenty in return—professional photos, a part of her argued.

  She ignored the thought. She could buy someone a present if she wanted. She ran her fingers over the soft fabric of a red long-sleeved shirt. Blake looked good in red. It set off his complexion and made the blue of his eyes stand out somehow. Kind of like it had just before he’d kissed her in front of the Christmas tree.

  She swallowed. It was just a shirt, right?

  And she really should get something for Anna, she justified. After all, Blake was her host but Anna cared for the house and did most of the cooking. That was all these things were—host and hostess gifts. Nothing deeper than that. She found a silver hair clip set with turquoise that was gorgeous, and added it to her purchases.

  Ten minutes later she walked out, hands full of shopping bags and well satisfied with the morning’s work. A quick stop at another department store secured wrapping paper and bows. She was all set now, wasn’t she? To her surprise she found she was actually excited for the holiday—something that hadn’t happened in years.

  Her stomach growled, so she stopped for a sandwich and a coffee and opted to eat outside. It was cool, but not cold; she took her simple lunch to Olympic Plaza and sat, enjoying the sight of skaters swirling around what was a wading pool in summer, and admiring the arches built for medal presentations during a previous winter Olympics. She sipped her coffee and sighed. She liked it here. It was a big city, with big oil and gas money, but there was still a feeling about it—a down-to-earthness that she appreciated. She’d bet this place was beautiful in the summertime.

  And the mountains were only an hour away.

  And so was Blake.

  Disturbed at the direction of her thoughts, she threw her wrapper and cup in a garbage can and made her way back to the parking lot. She still had to drive to the southwest corner of the city to pick up the bells, and then make her way back to Bighorn before dinner.

  As she brought up the address on her GPS she frowned. She’d taken a day away from the ranch to get away from Blake, to stop thinking about him. And instead he’d been in her thoughts all morning. More than in her thoughts.

  He’d been everywhere. And it was more than just appreciating the sight of him in well-fitting jeans and boots. It was inside. She cared for him. When he was with her it was like someone lit a candle inside her, warm and bright. She was falling for him, and that was so not the plan.

  It was only the indisputable knowledge that nothing could come of it that kept her from moving forward, from exploring what might be between them. As she’d told Faith, the idea of a long-distance relationship was ludicrous, as was the notion that she’d leave everything behind in Sydney without a hint of a guarantee.

  She only had a few more days. If she and Blake gave in to temptation it would only make leaving more difficult, wouldn’t it?

  Hope headed south on Macleod Trail and let out a huge breath. She just had to get through this party thing, which shouldn’t be too difficult, right? There would be plenty of people around running interference. She’d probably hardly even see Blake during all the ruckus.

  And damned if that didn’t make her feel even more lonely.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  HOPE tried to stay out of Blake’s way the next day. She sorted some laundry and wrapped her presents, and waited until she saw him walking across the yard to the barn before heading for the kitchen to scrounge some breakfast.

  She put her bowl and coffee mug in the dishwasher before booting up her laptop. Today she was going to go through the pictures she had and make a short list, then start editing. Blake needed a good dozen images to use in his brochure and on his website.

  She frowned as she moved two unusable pictures of Cate into her discard folder. Blake had more than one PR problem. Hope could give him the best photos in the world, but his current website design wasn’t doing him any favors. She wondered what his plans were. He could do with a redesign. Something that captured the feel of the place and the program rather than a standard template straight from a hosting package. She knew of several people who had the know-how to set it up, and then it would merely be a matter of updating; something Hope, even with her basic skills, could show him.

  Except she wasn’t going to be here, was she? And she’d guess that Blake would find it hard to take money from his budget to hire a web designer. Which left him with his basic site.

  It was past noon when Hope lifted her head and rubbed her eyes. She gazed absently out the living room window and saw Blake walking back and forth with a gigantic snow scoop. Curious, she went to the window. She could see now. He was clearing a large patch of ice. With the snow removed Hope could see that the rink was bordered by planks, forming a perimeter. He put the scoop aside and brushed off two huge logs beside the rink. Seats? She smiled to herself. Benches?

  His hat was pulled low over his head, his breath making frosty clouds in the air as he picked up shovel and scoop together and headed back to the barn. She swallowed. She couldn’t deny—at least to herself—that she found his strength and physicality incredibly attractive. She’d never considered herself a fan of the big, rugged outdoorsy type, but Blake’s roughness was what made him different, made him stand out. Paired with what she knew now was a gentle heart... Well, it made a devastating combination.

  She managed to keep a grip on her hormones when he came in for lunch. Anna had fixed her a sandwich. She ate sitting at her laptop and then went to change her laundry over to the dryer while Blake ate his standing at the counter.

  “Sorry to rush,” he said between mouthfuls. “The guys will be here anytime.”

  “The guys?”

  “Weekly game. We usually have it on a Sunday, but now that high school’s out for the holidays we planned it today. Anna’s son, John, comes over and captains the other team, and a bunch of local teenagers keep us on our toes. You can come and watch if you want.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Be a puck bunny.”

  He seemed to be oblivious to everything that had happened before. The long looks, the dim lights, the way they’d kissed next to the Christmas tree. It was like nothing had ever happened between them, and on one hand she was relieved and on the other annoyed. The least he could do was sh
ow a bit of the awkwardness that she was feeling when they were in the same room together. But there was nothing. He was completely at ease.

  She blinked and stared at her monitor without really seeing. Maybe she was the one making too big a deal out of everything. Maybe she was the only one who stared at the ceiling at night, unable to go to sleep, knowing he was just down the hall. She’d asked him what he wanted from her and he’d said nothing. Maybe he was right and she was making a mountain out of a molehill.

  She ignored the puck bunny reference deliberately. “I really should keep working. I only have a few more days to get this sorted for you.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. Part of his figure was obscured by the frame of her reading glasses.

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  He went out the door minutes later and Hope let out a breath. Shortly after she heard the low drone of a snowmobile go past the house, and then a few trucks pulled into the yard. Her concentration shot, she watched curiously as nets were set up at either end of the rink and a line of boys—men, rather, looking at their size—sat on the logs, lacing up skates and putting on helmets.

  One by one they stepped onto the ice, sticks riding close to the surface. A puck appeared and there was some passing back and forth, and shooting at the empty nets. Two players shuffled onto the ice in full goalie gear—pads, mask, glove and blocker. They smacked their sticks on the ice in a testosterone-fueled show of hubris as they began making practice saves.

  And then the disorganized scrimmaging became a game.

  It was easy to tell Blake from the others. He stood a good three inches taller than anyone else on the ice, and he moved the puck with a grace and finesse that the other players lacked. For the first few minutes he didn’t get a chance at the net: a pass was intercepted, and a poke check turned over the puck. But then she saw it...the opening. And Blake did, too. With fast feet he zoomed up the ice, let the puck sit on his stick, before flicking his wrist and sending it flying—straight over the glove of the goalie and into the mesh at the back of the net.

  Hope let out the breath she’d been holding and laughed. She hadn’t watched hockey in years, but spending time in Massachusetts meant that she’d watched her share of Bruins games. She knew enough about the sport to appreciate the players below.

  A few congratulatory slaps from his teammates and they were off again. Hope looked over at her computer and then at her camera, sitting in its bag at the end of the table. She couldn’t resist.

  Within five minutes she’d dressed in heavy coat, hat and boots and made her way toward the ice, camera dangling around her neck. She waded through the snow to the edge of the fence—Blake wouldn’t see her here unless he was looking, but she had a clear view and could zoom in to capture everything she needed.

  She took pictures for over an hour. Pictures of the men swooping and swirling on the ice. Pictures of sticks raised in victory after a goal. Of Blake, his long legs extended as he raced for the puck, his arms lifted as he released the puck, and—the best one of all—Blake laughing. His eyes sparkled blue fire and his mouth was open as he laughed, his cheeks ruddy with color beneath the black helmet.

  She could hear the glorious sound of it across the snowy field and it warmed her from the inside out. She found herself smiling in response. Blake’s laugh made her happy, she realized. And she also realized that while she’d shed tears this past week she’d also laughed more, smiled more—more than she had in a really long time.

  She felt alive here.

  And she was going to miss it when she left.

  That was the biggest surprise of all. Never in her life had she lived in a place this isolated. She couldn’t even see another house from here. It was a long drive just to the nearest convenience store, and almost an hour to the closest city when she was used to everything being within a few blocks. But it had little to do with the place. It was bigger than that. It was Blake, and the simple acceptance he offered toward everyone who passed through the gates.

  She didn’t have to pretend to be anyone she wasn’t when she was here, and it had made the pressure inside her seep away. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this relaxed, without the weight of expectation and responsibility on her head. Being here, with Blake, had made her want things she hadn’t wanted in a very long time.

  The game wound up and she continued taking pictures. There was one she knew she was going to like—six huge male bodies, their backs to her, sitting on a log taking off their skates. Their voices mingled in the crisp air. And then she was sure one of them caught sight of her. She paused, her heart seizing, as he elbowed Blake and nodded in her direction.

  She didn’t need to zoom in to know that Blake’s gaze had found her. His teeth flashed as he smiled, and he picked up the bag that held his gear.

  Then he started walking toward her.

  His stride was long and purposeful and as he drew closer Hope could make out the impish smile on his face and...oh, yes. A glint in his eye. He dropped his bag and catcalls echoed out behind them. Intuition told her she was in trouble, and she hurried to zip her camera back into the vinyl case sitting on the snow beside her.

  “Taking pictures, are we?”

  His voice was deep and rich, and it sent tingles down her spine it was so delicious.

  She lifted her chin even as she continued walking backward. “Isn’t that my job?”

  Blake scooped up some snow, molded it in his hands, and kept walking.

  “Did you get everyone to sign a release?” he teased, his steps menacing as he drew closer.

  “D-don’t,” she stammered, stumbling backward and feeling the oddest temptation to burst out laughing.

  A snowball fight? Just when she thought she had him figured out he came up with another surprise. His sense of humor was definitely suited for children...

  “I mean it, Blake!” She would not engage in a silly snowball fight.

  The first snowball hit her in the arm.

  She bent down to grab her own snow and quickly pressed it into a ball—she had to defend herself, after all!

  “Blake...”

  He had more snow in his hand. She drew back and let her snowball fly, needing the distraction so she could get away. The ball just grazed the top of his head and he laughed, letting go with another and hitting her square in the chest. A clump of thick snow clung to her zipper. She stared at it for a millisecond before throwing another, missing him completely. As she bent for more snow he ran through the white fluff and captured her, circling her with his arms before she could throw the next one.

  She struggled against his embrace, losing the battle against laughter. “Let me go, you big goon!” she gasped, throwing out her elbows. But it was no use. He was laughing, too, and not even close to letting her go.

  “You show ’er, Blake!” came a call from behind them.

  Hope’s mind raced, searching for a strategy to get free.

  She looped one foot around the back of his boot, stopped struggling long enough to place her hands on his chest—and shoved.

  Blake toppled over like a felled tree, just as she’d planned. But he grabbed her jacket and pulled her over with him—not what she’d planned at all.

  They hit the ground in a mass of tangled legs and arms, with Hope most definitely sprawled on top of him in a most undignified manner, her face inches from his as the other hockey players let out whoops and cries.

  Time seemed to hold still for several seconds as she looked down into his eyes. “Blake...” she warned, but it only added fuel to the fire.

  “I’m sorry, Hope,” he murmured. “I can’t help it.” And then he lifted his right hand, cupped the back of her hat, and pulled her head down until he was kissing her.

  His lips and nose were cold, but his mouth was warm as he held her head in place. She knew she shouldn’t—not after the other day, not after she’d decided there’d be no more flirting or intimate moments. But she couldn’t resist his kiss and she let herself go, let herself enj
oy the feel and taste of him. She reveled in the sound of his breath in the winter stillness, loved how the kiss teased and played.

  He shifted his weight and suddenly she found herself beneath him, pressed into snow that was sharp and cold and yet somehow insulating.

  “I’ve wanted to do that since the other day,” he murmured. “Told myself I wouldn’t. You make it hard on a man, Hope McKinnon.”

  He wasn’t kissing her now. He was just looking at her, and she was looking at him. She couldn’t seem to stop gazing into his eyes. And just when she wondered if he was going to let her up, he lowered his head again and made her go all soft and swoony by using his lips in a very effective manner. She didn’t stop him. It felt too perfect, too wonderful. The flame inside her that he seemed to kindle so easily flickered to life. When he looked at her this way, kissed her this way, she felt alive. Beautiful. Cherished. Like anything was possible.

  She was dimly aware of the sound of vehicle doors slamming, engines starting and trucks disappearing, and still they went on kissing. Soft kisses, light kisses, deep and passionate kisses. His body was heavy and warm as it pressed against her and she shifted the tiniest bit. Blake groaned into her mouth and a surge of feminine power raced through her veins.

  She and Blake could take this inside. It would take very little convincing to move this to a warmer location with fewer clothes.

  And it would be spectacular. She knew that instinctively.

  Everywhere he was touching her now—even through clothing—felt like it was on fire. Blake would be gentle and thorough and intense. The blaze of desire flared inside her. All it would take was the right word.

  The right word and he could be hers.

  But was that really what she wanted? For the next hour, yes. Absolutely. His lips touched her neck and she struggled to breathe. But what about after that?

  It always came back to the same thing. She stilled beneath him and he lifted his head. He was so beautiful, she realized, scar or not. It was more than that. It was how the man inside shone through his eyes and the set of his jaw. She blinked against the moisture that gathered in the corners of her eyes. She cared too much. It wasn’t love—it couldn’t be and she knew that. But there was a connection between the two of them—perhaps there had been from the moment he’d offered her his hand when she’d fallen on the ice. He’d broken through the wall she normally kept around her heart like it had never even been there.