by Donna Alward
“I don’t know. He asked if I’d come back after Christmas for a while. But it’s impossible, right? I mean...I live in Australia. It’s no way to run a relationship. And I’m hardly going to throw all that away after a ten-day...well, whatever. Flirtation?”
“You want to know how I see it?” Grace pushed her coffee cup across the table. “You were the oldest. You tried really hard to fill the gaps, especially when we weren’t here with Gram. You tried to be perfect for everyone. But no one is perfect, Hope. And no matter what any of us did you were the responsible one. Faith never wanted to rock the boat, and me...? Well, I tried to get attention in other ways. But none of it made a bit of difference. And now you’re so afraid of getting hurt that you push everyone away.”
She reached over and in a move that was so not Grace, touched Hope’s hand.
“I know a lot of people think I’m the most like Mom. I never stay in one place for long. I’m always after the next thing. But I think you are, Hope. Because you are spending so much time fighting who you really are by trying to be who you think you ought to be. No wonder you’re exhausted.”
In an odd, twisted way Grace made perfect sense.
“I’m scared,” Hope admitted. There was a slight tremor in her voice; it was a tough thing to confess. “I’m scared to take that leap.”
“After our upbringing, of course you are! All I’m saying is don’t let your job stop you. If you love him, wouldn’t he be worth it? You’re a brilliant photographer, Hope. Why else did you think I asked you to do that assignment with me? I’ve been freelancing for years—nothing to say you can’t do the same. Your job is just an excuse.”
Hope chuckled. “Today is one day I appreciate your bluntness,” she said. “I’ll think about it. In the meantime, there’s Christmas to get through, right?”
She didn’t have to decide anything right now.
“Which reminds me—I really need to get out of here.”
“What about you and J.C.?” Hope asked.
Grace grinned at her. “Like I said, I really need to get going. See you around town, Hope.”
“Don’t think you’re off the hook,” Hope replied as Grace put her cup in the sink.
“Believe me,” Grace replied acerbically. “I’m nowhere near off the hook. Anyway, bring your camera today.”
She slipped out of the kitchen, leaving Hope in peaceful silence. With plenty of time to think. Was Grace right? Had she forgotten who the real Hope was? When had she disappeared? And was there a chance she could find her again?
She’d had hopes and dreams once. She’d wanted things—like love and a family. She’d been so sure, knowing that if she had them she’d never let them go like her mother had.
And it hadn’t been any one particular thing that had caused her to throw those hopes away. No, it had been a constant chipping away. Every time they moved, every time there was a disappointment or an argument, or every time Hope tried to hold things together and failed. She’d been eighteen and the girls had been teenagers. Of course they hadn’t wanted to listen to her. But years of insecurity, of little failures, had drained her of energy. Of hope. She gave a bitter laugh. Ironic that that was her name, when she thought of it.
She’d given up hope a long time ago, and her other plans with it. Someone to share her life with. The sound of a child’s laughter. Blake had given that back to her, even if it was just for a brief moment. Those kids weren’t just his surrogate family, they’d been hers, too, for a very short time.
She went back upstairs and fired up her laptop, sitting at the small desk where she’d once written in her journal and sometimes done her homework. Within seconds she’d brought up the pictures. Looking at Blake’s laughing face during the hockey game made her both smile and feel weepy. She clicked through each image. Each one was attached to a memory. The picture wasn’t always perfect but the memory was. The boys unlacing their skates. The farmyard during a snow flurry, with flakes softening the edges of the barn and the trees. Anna in her apron, holding a casserole in her hands.
Hope hadn’t even looked at the ones from the party—just copied them to the disk for Blake. But she clicked through them now, each one a tug on a tender heartstring. The children in front of the tree, Blake in the middle. The two kids she’d met the first day, sitting together and sharing a plate of cookies. A small boy playing with a new set of toy cars, his grin dominating his whole face.
This was Blake’s family. She understood it now. This was the reason he got up in the morning. The reason he sacrificed. She blinked. They really were alike, weren’t they? They would do anything to make life better for the ones they loved. Except Blake hadn’t closed off his heart, had he? She’d accused him of doing that, of not having a family of his own, but he’d opened his heart by choice, to those who needed him.
The final picture popped up on the screen. Blake was holding Cate in his arms with the Christmas tree behind them, its colored lights muted and providing a warm backdrop. Cate’s hands rested on each side of his cheeks and above their heads was a sprig of mistletoe. Blake’s eyes were closed and his lips were in an exaggerated pucker as the little girl kissed the man she clearly idolized.
In all her years of taking pictures Hope had never accomplished it—not until now. But this was the perfect picture. Not because of the lighting or the balance or the colors or exposure. But because it hit her square in the heart and squeezed, making it difficult to breathe.
Blake’s words—the ones she’d dismissed so easily from the first—came back clearly, echoing through the empty chambers of her heart, filling them with bittersweet love.
“You can’t organize perfection. You can’t plan it. It just happens. And when it does, it’s magic.”
Magic.
To start with, she’d been in control. At the first sign of stinging behind her eyes or wetness on her lashes she’d locked it down—even when Blake had got her talking about Julie. But it was impossible now, as she stared at the courageous little poppet and the man who held her in his arms.
The man Hope had fallen in love with. She was sure of it now.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as, for the first time since she was eighteen, she let her heart out of its prison. She wept for the girl she’d been, and the one she’d become. She cried for Julie and the loss of someone who’d been more than a friend. And her heart cracked as she thought of Blake. He’d seen past it all to the truth of her—something she hadn’t even been able to see in herself. And now he was there and she was here.
She heard again the words she’d said to him that last night and felt the heavy weight of regret. She hadn’t been fair, and he’d been right all along.
After she’d mopped up her eyes and washed her face, she picked up the phone in the quiet house and dialed Blake’s number.
“Hello?”
It was a woman’s voice—probably his mother, already in from Arizona.
“Hello, is Blake there?”
“I’m sorry, he’s out. Can I leave a message?”
She paused. What could she say? Tell him Hope called was too little. Anything more was too much.
“No—no message, thank you,” she said, her voice faltering as she put the receiver down.
She stared at the phone for a few minutes and then took a deep breath. Okay. So it wasn’t going to be fixed today. She could accept that. She had to accept it. Right now she needed to get ready and head downtown to the festivities, enjoy the time the family had together. Faith would be here later, and after this morning’s peacemaking session with Grace it would be good to hang out.
But when she got back she was going to call the airline and switch her ticket. She was going back to Alberta and she was going to face her feelings rather than run away. Everything after that she would take as it came.
* * *
The batteries in her camera had run out and a check of the camera bag had come up empty. Rather than stand in line at the drugstore, Hope walked the extra few blocks home to grab a new set.
She’d enjoyed the day. The variety of food had been staggering—including the chowder lunch she’d had at the Steaming Mug. The spiced cider had been piping hot, the decorations had been splendid, and the children’s activities had put a smile on her face. And yet it had all left her feeling a little down, too, because each time she saw a couple pass by holding hands she wished Blake were there to share it with her.
He’d love this sort of thing—a real sense of togetherness and holiday spirit. Hope had spoken to the few journalists in town, covering the events, and she was proud of what J.C. and Grace had accomplished. Grace was a writer and Hope took pictures. It was better late than never—maybe they could do something together about Beckett’s Run.
She shut the front door behind her and heard the porch board squeak beneath her feet. Smiling, she’d turned to go down the steps when she saw someone standing at the end of the driveway.
She looked up and everything in her body seemed to drop to her feet, then rebound to fill her whole body with joy.
He came.
Blake Nelson was here in Beckett’s Run, dressed in boots and jeans and a soft sheepskin jacket and his hat. The brown cowboy hat made him seem impossibly tall and, yes, even a touch exotic, and she swallowed, thinking he looked absolutely gorgeous.
Anything she’d thought of saying to him deserted her. All her apologies were jumbled in her head. All her proclamations seemed small and paltry next to the reality that he’d flown all the way to New England on Christmas Eve and shown up on her doorstep.
He took a step through the snow, and another, and when he was close enough for her to hear him clearly he stopped.
“I don’t want to fix you,” he said.
The air stilled between them, carrying only the faint sound of music coming from downtown and the soft plop of clumps of snow dropping off cedar branches.
“I don’t want to fix you, Hope. I love you just the way you are.”
It was like she could suddenly hear the “Hallelujah Chorus” in her head. She slowly dropped her camera bag and went down one step, then another. He took one step forward, then a second. A smile blossomed on her face and she was rewarded when he smiled back, slightly sideways as his scar pulled at his lip. It didn’t matter. She adored the roguish tilt to it.
When she reached him she stopped and tilted her face up to his. “You came.”
“I had to. I shouldn’t have let you go in the first place. It was all wrong from the moment you left. I knew I’d made a terrible mistake.”
“So you came after me?”
He put his gloved hand on her collar, squeezing the inside of her shoulder. “It was high time someone did.”
Oh, he did get it! She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him close. It had been so long since she’d felt she was first in someone’s life.
“It wasn’t trying to be perfect that made me put up walls,” she whispered, holding him tight. “It was wanting to feel like I mattered. No matter what I did I never felt like anyone thought I was important enough to waste time on. Never thought anyone would ever think enough of me to stay, you know? Gram was the only anchor I had.”
“Now you have me,” Blake said softly, wrapping his arms around her. “No matter what happens between us, Hope, you’ll have me. Because I know you matter. You matter to me. More than you can imagine.” He gazed into her eyes, his wide and earnest. “I didn’t say it right that night on the sleigh. I’m not sure I’ll say it right now. I know you’re scared. I know this is crazy. But I didn’t expect to feel this way. You were right. I don’t even think I knew I was doing it. I was afraid. I am afraid. Of loving someone so much and losing them.”
“So what changed?”
“You drove away and I’d lost you anyway. Lost you and missed out on all the wonderful things we might have had. I couldn’t let you go—not when I’d found what I’d been looking for all along.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I realized that you need to hang on to wonderful things in life with both hands when you have the chance. So they don’t get away.”
He gripped the sleeves of her coat in his fingers and gazed deeply into her eyes.
“With both hands.”
“Oh, Blake.”
He wasn’t sure of her. She got that now. And why should he be? She hadn’t been sure herself until this morning—until she’d been without him and seen the reminder of all she’d left behind. She stood on tiptoe, feeling utterly feminine for once, and not like the awkward beanpole who’d been too shy to take the initiative. She tilted her head and kissed him. Really kissed him—without hesitation, without reserve. He angled his head and her hand bumped his hat, knocking it to the ground, but they didn’t stop. Not until the kiss had settled from a question into a certainty. He could be in no doubt of her feelings now.
“We can make it work,” he said, holding her close. “I know we can somehow...”
“I was going to change my ticket this afternoon anyway,” Hope said, grinning. “I was going to come back after Christmas. I wasn’t sure what would come after that, but I knew that yesterday couldn’t really be goodbye.”
“You were?”
She nodded. “I had a rather interesting conversation with my sister this morning. She told me I was using my job as an excuse to avoid intimacy. She’s right. My feelings for you scare me. But I don’t like who I’ve become, Blake. You did fix me—or at least you started to while I was with you. You reminded me of things I once wanted but had given up on. Family. Closeness. A house full of children. And presents and get-togethers.”
“You want those things?” He leaned back and looked into her face. “But you always hung back.”
“It seemed easier not to hope at all rather than continually be disappointed,” she replied. “But I was just pretending to be something I wasn’t.”
“When you were standing in the kitchen in that apron with flour on your nose I knew,” he said. “You belonged there. I didn’t know how to make you see it. But you looked happy. It seemed right.”
“It was right. You gave me the greatest thing of all, Blake. Acceptance. You accept people. Yes, you try to fix them—not to make them someone different from who they are, but to show that they are already valuable and worth your time. I love you, Blake. I didn’t expect to, and I certainly didn’t want to, and I wasn’t even sure I could. But I do—so much. You’re my Christmas miracle and I wasn’t even looking for one.”
His eyes sparkled at her. “Hope? I want to kiss you again, but we’re still in the middle of your grandmother’s yard. And if this town is like most small towns then nothing is private. Do you suppose we could go inside, where it’s warmer and more...um...?”
She took him by the hand and led him up the porch, over the squeaky board, and inside. He immediately swung her about until she was in his arms and he was kissing her—without the caution of that first time by the tree, and not in the lazy way they’d kissed in the snow, or even the desperate, unsure way they’d kissed only minutes ago in the yard. This one was deliberate, confident. Like coming home and Christmas morning and all the good, fine things she could imagine rolled into one.
When it broke off they were both smiling, and the weight that had been on her shoulders—the one he’d seen right from the beginning—suddenly rolled away. She laughed as she realized she had one final present to give him.
“I finally did it, Blake. I took the perfect picture.”
“You did?”
She nodded. “Stay here. I’ll show you.”
She raced upstairs, boots and all—she’d clean up later—and grabbed her laptop. “I haven’t had a chance to print it yet, but look.” She brought up the picture and held it out. “It’s you and Cate in front of the tree.”
“And this is the perfect shot?”
She nodded again, watching his face and not the screen. “It has everything I truly want in it.” She took the computer from his hands and put it down. “I saw my mom and dad today. I think they might finally be on the road to h
appiness. But, Blake, I’ve realized that I don’t want it to take me so long. I want happiness now. I want love and a family of my own. Anyone who sees you work with the kids knows you’d be an amazing father. You’re kind and loving and you make me laugh.”
“Why, Miss McKinnon, it almost sounds like you’re proposing.”
Was she?
“That might be moving a little too fast,” she admitted with a sideways smile, “but Grace was right. I can freelance anywhere. It doesn’t make sense to stay in Australia when my heart’s in Alberta, does it?”
“Definitely not,” he agreed. “So, tell me. What are we doing for New Year’s Eve?”
“Still have those sleigh bells?”
He reached out and touched her cheek. “Always,” he murmured.
“In the meantime you need to meet my family. Come to the rest of the festival. It’s my first freelance gig with Grace. She just doesn’t know it yet.”
Blake grinned and took her hand.
They stepped outside just as Gram’s Christmas lights came on with the timer. In the waning afternoon the yard was transformed into a twilight fairy tale.
She squeezed his fingers. “Merry Christmas, honey.”
“I like the sound of that,” he replied, tugging on her hand and leading her down the candy cane path.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt of The Cowboy Comes Home by Patricia Thayer!
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