by Donna Alward
“I think she’s ready,” Shirley said quietly, and Blake halted the team.
“Your turn,” he said to Cate. “My arm’s tired. Do you think you could take the reins now?”
She nodded. “I can.”
“That’s good news. Now, your mom will be right beside you. Just take her in a nice slow walk around the ring, okay?”
He put the reins in her hand, ensuring they were even and secure before stepping back. “I’m going to watch from over here.”
He backed off and watched as Cate seemed to sit up even straighter from the simple act of being in charge. He smiled to himself. It was amazing what a little confidence and pride could do. She loved being in control of Queenie, even if it was just plodding around the ring endlessly at a walk.
“I’m doing it, Mister Blake!” she called out.
“You sure are!” he shouted back. “Good job, sweetie!”
Something caught the corner of his eye. He looked over and saw Hope, her camera raised, clicking away.
She lowered the camera and caught his eye. Something passed between them; something wordless and honest and accepting. It was an apology from Hope, a willingness to bend demonstrated by her returning to the ring to take some shots of Cate.
Blake dipped his head in a subtle nod—a tacit thank-you and his own apology—and the tension and bitterness that had snapped between them earlier melted away.
Instead something else hummed in the air between them—something warm and exciting. He now understood why he’d felt as he had earlier—powerless. He wasn’t in high school anymore but it was the same jumped-up feeling he’d gotten when he’d liked a girl...when he’d been attracted to someone...and when he’d considered that someone out of his league. Back then the girls had always looked away when he’d met their eyes.
The difference now was that despite her angry words Hope wasn’t looking away. She was looking directly at him. No flinching. And as the seconds spun out he started thinking about her long blond hair, and the blue of her eyes that was clear as a glacier stream, and her long thoroughbred legs. He loved that she was so tall. So... He swallowed. Accessible. At six foot five, he usually towered over women—and a number of men, too.
“Good girl, Queenie!”
He snapped out of the moment at Cate’s cheerful words as horse, rider and entourage passed by. He heard the clicking of Hope’s camera as the group passed close to where she was standing.
Blake shoved his hands in his pockets. He was a smart man. He knew well enough what was going on. Curiosity. Awareness. Back and forth arguing that set off sparks in both of them.
And strategic retreat—him to the barn and her behind the lens of her camera.
But it was there all the same. The big question was, would he be smart and do nothing?
Or stupid and see what would happen?
He kept his gaze on horse and rider. He wasn’t—and never had been—a stupid man.
* * *
Hope blinked furiously against the stinging in her eyes and focused on what she saw within the frame of her camera. She took picture after picture of the little girl sitting atop the aging pony. That was what Blake had asked of her and that was what she was going to do.
Even if it hurt. Even if parts of her heart that she’d thought closed off years before were coming slowly, painfully to life at the sight of the gruff rancher smiling at a poppet of a girl on a horse.
She hadn’t known he could be this way.
But she’d keep the camera focused on the little girl and pony, even though she was tempted to turn around and take pictures of Blake. The way he rested his weight on one hip. The soulful expression in his eyes as he gave her that tiny no-fuss nod. The way his eyes lit up and his smile broke over his face like a prairie dawn when he spoke to the child on the pony.
She was far too aware of Blake, so she resolutely kept her eye on the team of people in the center of the ring and not on Blake on the sidelines.
When the session ended Blake moved forward and took the reins. He led the horse and rider to the edge of the ring and the concrete floor. Hope stayed to the side, still snapping, as one woman retrieved the forearm crutches and Blake reached up and lifted the girl from the saddle. He put her down carefully and helped her with the crutches.
Hope swallowed tightly. The girl wore small brown boots, and with the black riding helmet looked like the perfect tiny equestrian. The way she was looking up at Blake was pure hero-worship. And why not? He was a big, strong man who treated her with gentleness and kindness. He was good with kids. No, more than good. He was a natural, and it made her long for something she had stopped hoping for years ago. For someone—for him—to turn that gentleness on her. To make her feel as special, as treasured, as the little girl on the pony.
The center of someone’s world.
“There you go. Time to put Queenie away.”
“Mom says there’s no more lessons until after Christmas.”
Blake tipped back his hat and squatted down in front of her. “That’s right. Everyone gets a bit of a vacation over the holidays.”
“But I don’t want a vacation,” Cate said, her lower lip pouting just a bit.
Hope hid a smile, but didn’t turn away from the scene.
Blake smiled at Cate. “Well, you’re in luck. Because next week instead of riding we’re doing something else.”
“We are?”
He nodded. “Yep. Next week we’re having a Christmas party.”
“With cookies?”
“Of course.”
“And hot chocolate?”
“Naturally.”
Cate used her crutches to step closer, and Hope couldn’t hold back the smile now, even as the sight of her sent a pang through Hope’s heart. The girl was playing Blake like a violin. Whatever she asked for Blake would probably agree just because she’d asked it.
“And Queenie?”
His smile fell. “Nope, not Queenie.” He waited a beat and then added, “But better. We’re going on a sleigh ride.”
“A sleigh ride?” The excitement was back. “With bells on the horses?”
He slapped a hand to his forehead. “I plumb forgot about bells.”
“You can’t have a sleigh ride without bells.”
Hope heard how excitement put a slight lag on the girl’s speech. How could anyone remain immune to such an enchanting creature?
Hope stepped forward, her heart pounding with uncertainty. “If there are bells to be had, Blake’ll find them.” She smiled tentatively.
The dark eyes were turned up at her now. “He will?”
It was such an honest, heartfelt question that Hope didn’t stand a chance either. Hard as she might try to keep her distance while she was here, there was something about this little girl that reminded her of herself at that age. She blinked as she realized it was her name—Hope. Cate had it in spades. And Hope missed having that trusting innocence.
“Has Blake ever let you down before?”
Cate shook her head.
“Well, there you go, then.”
The girl turned back to Blake with more questions and Hope straightened. She turned to the pair of women looking on and smiling.
“Hi,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m Hope McKinnon. I’m doing some photography for promotional materials. I wondered if it would be okay to use today’s shots? I’ll have an official release drawn up, but for now your okay would be great.”
“I’m Shirley, and of course you can. I’m a physiotherapist from Canmore, and I volunteer to work with a lot of Blake’s more physically challenged clients.”
“Then you must be the mom of this angel,” Hope said, shaking the other woman’s hand. “She’s got Blake wrapped around her little finger, hasn’t she?”
“Oh, and the other way around, too. I’m Robbi, and I’m happy to let you use any photos you like of today, Ms. McKinnon. Anything to help the facility. This place means a lot to Cate and our family. It’s just wonderful.”
/> They chatted a few minutes more. Out of the corner of her eye Hope saw Blake remove Queenie’s tack while Cate, using her crutches, followed him like a faithful pup, keeping a safe distance as instructed, chattering the entire time. Hero-worship indeed. What was amazing was that Blake didn’t seem the least bit fizzed by her incessant talk. He looked like he enjoyed it.
At the end he grabbed an apple, took out a jackknife and cut it into quarters, and then knelt beside Cate on the concrete floor. “You want to give Queenie a treat now?”
Cate let go of one of her crutches and balanced on the other, then held out the apple on the palm of her hand. Queenie lapped it up and crunched lazily while Cate laughed.
Robbi sighed. “Every time I see them together I wonder why that man isn’t married with a bunch of his own kids.”
Something seemed to expand in Hope’s chest. She’d never even thought to ask if Blake had a girlfriend or if he was interested in anyone. Did Robbi have designs on him? She wondered how many of the moms talked about Blake like he was the next best thing to sliced bread. The idea made her feel unusually plain and un-special—especially as she was already aware that she stood a whole head taller than this very attractive mom.
Robbi laughed. “If I weren’t already happily married...”
Well. That answered that question. Robbi looked at Shirley.
“You coming to the sleigh ride?”
Shirley shook her head. “Afraid not. We’re heading to Cranbrook for Christmas the day before.”
“Have a good holiday, then.” Robbi called to her daughter, “Are you ready, honey?”
“Awwww,” Cate complained, “do we have to?”
Robbi looked at Hope. “And this is why we love it here. School is a bit of a challenge this year, but when she’s here she seems so incredibly typical. Does that make sense?”
Hope smiled. “It does. Thanks for your permission.”
“You bet. See you at the sleigh ride?”
Hope had been thinking she would give it a miss, but now she was curious. And she was thinking. She didn’t normally do candid shots, but what if she did some at the party? If none of them turned out well, she wouldn’t have to use them. But there’d never be a better chance to get a variety of clients all together. Staging shots was difficult, but one group shot might be doable. If nothing else she could give it to Blake as a present. She got the feeling he’d like something like that.
“Yes, I’ll be there,” she replied.
“Be where?” Blake’s voice said behind her shoulder.
She turned and pinned on a bright smile. “At the sleigh ride, of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”
His eyebrow was raised. She suspected it was half in surprise and half unspoken challenge. “You’re sure? It’s going to be hectic.”
It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. “You’re forgetting I deal with temperamental models all day. If I can handle the divas, I think I can handle this.”
He grinned. “Suit yourself. And in that case...”
“What?”
“Oh, nothing. Yet. I’m still working on some ideas.”
He moved off to say goodbye to the group.
What ideas? And why did she have a very bad feeling they were going to involve something she didn’t want to do?
* * *
For the rest of the week Hope and Blake managed to form a truce. Quite often Anna ran interference between them in the house during the day, contributing to the status quo, and Hope spent a lot of time in and around the barn taking pictures.
As she watched during Saturday’s session it continually amazed her how hands-on Blake was with the kids, and how he genuinely enjoyed working with them—even when things didn’t go particularly well. She’d started thinking along the same lines as Cate’s mom—why on earth hadn’t he married and started his own family? Clearly he liked kids. He was stable, secure...and despite the scar on his face not bad to look at either. For the right woman he’d be quite the catch—so what was the holdup?
Of course she wasn’t that woman. Marriage, kids, the whole settling down thing? The very idea scared her to death. She’d already attempted to raise one family and hadn’t done such a great job of it. It wasn’t something she wanted to screw up twice.
She focused on the job. Soon she’d really have to sit down and start organizing the photos—picking and choosing the best ones and doing some editing. But for now, in the evenings, she found herself more often than not alone in the house while Blake spent his time in the barn. He was painting the sleigh and getting things ready for the party, he explained. There was always a glint in his eye when he mentioned it, and she was afraid to ask what had put it there. Truth be told, she was enjoying her evenings of solitude. A cup of tea and a book or a DVD while curled up next to a blazing fire was not a bad way to spend an evening. Whenever she felt like she was being indulgent she thought of Gram. Gram would be happy to know she was taking some downtime, if that was her worry.
Sometimes, before she went to bed, Blake would come and sit for an hour and watch a program with her. During those times they’d let the television do the talking. It was amazing to Hope how they were both comfortable to do so.
* * *
Anna had taken the day off to finish up her Christmas shopping.
Hope wandered downstairs at half-past nine, dressed in pyjama pants and a sweatshirt. The sun was bright and the light through the windows was diamond-sharp as it glinted off the snow. She squinted her way to the coffeepot, and was pouring her first fragrant cup when Blake came through from the laundry room.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” he said, reaching for a mug.
“You’re too cheerful for this early in the morning,” she remarked, affecting a scowl.
He chuckled. “Chores done, and I threw a load of laundry in.”
“Disgusting,” she commented, but his good mood was contagious. She took a sip of coffee and closed her eyes. The man did know how to brew a decent cup of joe.
“I haven’t eaten yet, and my morning appointment has cancelled today. Doctor’s appointment. You hungry?”
“I guess.”
“Great.” He reached beneath the cupboard and plunked an appliance on the countertop.
“What on earth is that?”
“A griddle. I’m making French toast. I told you it’s my specialty.”
Her mouth began to water. “Real French toast? Like dipped in egg batter and drowned in maple syrup?”
“Of course. And bacon to go with it.”
Sweet mother—bacon, too? She’d be as big as a house after ten days of eating this way—first Anna’s fine cooking and now Blake’s. “I love bacon.”
“Then you’re in charge of that.” He grabbed a pound from the fridge and got her a frying pan. “Cook it all. I’ll use what’s left for BLTs later.”
They worked around the kitchen easily, Hope turning the bacon and putting the crisp pieces to drain on paper towel while Blake mixed up milk and eggs. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him add vanilla and cinnamon. The first slice of French bread soon sizzled on the griddle, and as it cooked Blake got real maple syrup out of the fridge, along with butter and orange juice. When the slices were done he put them in the oven to stay warm and repeated the process.
When all the bread was gone and the bacon was cooked, they sat down at the kitchen table to eat. The earth was frozen and white outside the windows, but inside Hope was warm and relaxed. There really was something about this place. The dominance of natural wood in the design and the rustic decor was growing on her, and her new favorite thing was the stone hearth and the flue for the fireplace.
It was about as far removed from her modern apartment in Sydney as you could get, but there was something here that her apartment would never have. She looked around and realized it was permanence—rock and logs and land. This place was built to last. The people here stayed here. The reality of that was foreign to Hope, but the dream wasn’t. It was what she’d searched for her whole childhood
and never found.
She’d given up believing in it, but Blake lived it every day. She wondered if he appreciated it.
And yet...his parents weren’t here. They’d gone off to warmer climes and sunnier days. There was no wife, no babies bouncing on his knee. Maybe Hope was only seeing what she wanted to see. She certainly had a habit of doing that. How many times over the years had she painted castles in the air only to have them tumble back to earth again?
How many times had she put her trust in people only to have them let her down?
He turned on the radio and a local station played country music interspersed with Christmas carols. Hope poured syrup on her toast and took the first delicious bite. When was the last time she’d had French toast? Probably the last time she’d had breakfast at the pancake house in Beckett’s Run. She’d always put maple syrup on the first piece, and then load the second with icing sugar and whipped cream and fruit for “dessert.”
Good memories. She took a hasty sip of juice to hide an unexpected burst of emotion. So many of her memories were tied up in anger and disappointment that it was a revelation to have such a simple, positive one pop up out of the blue.
“What are you smiling at?” Blake asked, helping himself to bacon off the plate.
She cut another piece of toast, savouring the rich vanilla and cinnamon flavor. “I was just remembering going to the pancake house in the town where Gram lives. She’d take us there when we were kids and we’d eat until we were nearly sick. This brought back memories, that’s all.”
“You spent a lot of time with your grandmother?”
She nodded as she finished chewing and swallowed. “We moved around a lot as kids, but we spent holidays and summers at Gram’s. That’s the real home I remember.”
“What about your mom and dad?”
She shrugged, determined not to let things get dark and depressing. It was what it was, and nothing would change it now. “They were on again, off again a lot. My mom’s a free spirit type, and my dad’s more...traditional,” she finished. “For lack of a better word. He always wanted her to settle down and face reality. She wanted him to lighten up. There was a lot of friction. They went their own ways a lot.”