by Donna Alward
He was wiping dishes for Anna when Hope came downstairs, carrying her suitcase. She was dressed in her silly boots again and the wool jacket that looked like a winter coat but which they both knew was useless against real cold. Her hair was up in some sort of artistic twist and her makeup was flawless.
Oh, yes, her barriers were well in place, weren’t they? And he’d been the one to make them go back up after he’d worked so hard to tear them down.
“You’re all ready,” Anna observed, drying her hands on Blake’s dish towel.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Hope replied, trying to sound perky.
But he heard the wobble.
“I have something for you,” Anna said, going to her recipe book. “Recipes for your favorites.” She held out a sheaf of cards. “It’s not much, but...”
Blake watched as Hope took them.
“It’s perfect,” she said warmly. “Whenever I get to missing this place I’ll be able to make them and think of you. Thanks, Anna, for making me feel so welcome while I was here.”
“You take care.”
Anna barely came up to Hope’s chin but Hope bent down a little and gave Anna a hug.
“You, too,” she replied.
Anna stood back and flapped the dish towel at Blake. “Go on,” she said. “Get out of my kitchen, you two, so I can get some work done.”
He knew what she was doing. Making sure he and Hope had a smidgen of privacy to say goodbye. But voices carried in the house.
Blake followed Hope down the hall to the front door. “Wait a sec. I’ll put on my boots and help you with your bag.”
Hope paused by the door. “I left a CD with my pictures on it on top of your desk,” she said quietly. “My email’s there, too, if you have any questions or need a little more editing. I’ve saved them all.”
So a glimmer of hope for more contact. But not nearly enough, and more of a formality than an invitation.
“Thank you.” He opened the door and picked up her suitcase. “Careful. We’ve had a bit of snow. The walk could be slippery.”
Like it had been when she’d arrived. He remembered seeing her go down, flat on her back, and the moment his breath had caught, hoping she hadn’t hurt herself. That same breathlessness had happened again when she’d taken his hand and he’d helped her to her feet.
And again the first time he’d kissed her when they’d decorated the tree.
Damn. That had been the moment. The precise second that he’d begun his freefall, when he’d dropped the shield around his heart and let her in in a way he’d never let anyone in before.
She popped the trunk of her rental and he stowed the bag inside. “Be careful. The highway should be fine, but these side roads might be slippery. Is your phone charged?”
“Of course. Don’t worry. I’ve got time. My flight doesn’t leave for a few hours.”
She stopped by the driver’s-side door and fiddled with the keys. She was as nervous as he was, it seemed. It hadn’t been this awkward since the very beginning between them.
“Hope, about last night...”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking up at him with tortured eyes. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Nor I you.” He stopped just short of admitting she was right; it wouldn’t change a darned thing now. She was determined to go and nothing would change her mind. Not even if he bared his heart and soul to her. “I don’t want you leaving with this negativity between us. I want a good memory to hold on to when you’re gone.”
She swallowed, her throat bobbing as her lower lip quivered.
“Ah, hell,” he said, giving up and stepping in.
He cupped his hand around her neck, feeling the soft skin beneath his fingers and the silky texture of her hair. If this was the last time he was going to see her, he’d be damned sure to kiss her goodbye.
Her mouth opened beneath his and she gave a little breathy sigh that only served to fuel both his desire and his frustration. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was impossible. At the very least it was crazy to feel this way after such a short time. He nibbled on her lower lip for just a moment before pulling away. And yet he still held her, one hand on the nape of her neck and the other resting on her rib cage, unwilling to let her go, because when he did it would be for good.
He was relatively certain now that the feelings he had went deeper than he had ever expected. Why else would it hurt so much to watch her leave? He kept the words inside, though, not wanting to make it any harder for either of them to say goodbye. Because they must say it. There was no other thing to do.
“I’ve got to get going,” she whispered.
“I know.”
He reached around her and opened her door. “Be safe.”
She got in behind the wheel and started the car, letting the engine warm up. A swipe of the windshield wipers swept the snow away from the glass.
Blake kept his hand on the top of the door for one more minute. “Merry Christmas, Hope. Enjoy your time with your family.”
“Merry Christmas, Blake.”
He shut her door, not wanting to, not knowing what else to do.
She started off down the lane and he watched as she reached the road and turned left, heading out toward the highway, on to Calgary, to Massachusetts, to Australia.
A world away.
It was only when she was out of sight that he remembered she hadn’t opened his present.
* * *
Beckett’s Run hadn’t changed much. Even at night it was clear the old businesses were much the same. And, like it did every year, the town had gone all out in Christmas decorating—perhaps even more than Hope remembered. Lights twinkled like multicolored stars, porches were strung with evergreen garlands, and the statue of town founder Andrew Beckett sported a plush wreath around his neck. Even nature had been accommodating, supplying a blanket of pure white snow for the holiday.
A few weeks ago Hope would have rolled her eyes at the blatant demonstration of peace and goodwill toward men. But now the familiarity of being home made the backs of her eyes sting as she drove through town in yet another rented car, heading toward her grandmother’s house. She’d found them stinging more often than she was comfortable with ever since leaving Alberta.
Despite her resolve, she’d left a bit of herself behind, after all.
She turned the corner and saw Gram’s house. A delighted laugh escaped her lips. The blue Cape Cod–style house was decorated just like it had been when they’d been kids—every single shrub and tree frosted with lights, a giant wreath on the door, and a candy cane walkway leading to the porch. She pulled in the yard and cut the engine, content just to look at it for a while, feeling the fulfillment of being home. She should have come back before now. Should have made the time instead of avoiding the place.
She got out of the car, and had grabbed her suitcase from the back when the front door opened and Gram stood in the doorway, wearing a reindeer apron and a wide smile.
“You’re here!” she called, excitement and welcome filling her voice.
“I’m here,” Hope answered, grinning, and then on impulse she left her suitcase in the snow and ran up the steps to give her grandmother a hug.
“Oh, my precious girl,” Gram said, hugging her back. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“Of course I came.”
“And the drive?”
“The drive was lovely. Roads were terrific.”
Gram stood back and held her by the arms. “Have you eaten?”
Hope shook her head. It was the same old pattern and it felt good: love, questions, followed by food. “I only had a sandwich on the plane.”
“Hours ago,” Gram stated. “Bring in your bag and I’ll heat up some chowder.”
Hope took her bag inside and slid off her boots before carting it up to her old bedroom. The spread and wallpaper were exactly the same as they’d been the last time she’d visited—just before taking the Sydney job. In the desk d
rawer were old notebooks and pens, and a really old lip gloss that had dried out but had once been waxy and strawberry-flavored.
Gram had kept all her things just as she’d left them. In the hope that one day Hope would come home? An ache spread across her chest. For all her grievances and reasons she knew they were mere excuses. She had stayed away too long. Gram deserved better. If anything had come from this trip at all it was her determination that she’d get it.
Back downstairs, Hope got a good look at her grandmother. A little older, but still with her cheerful face, sparkling eyes, and soft white hair. She wore a sweater with a holly pattern on it. Gram had always loved the holidays, no matter what was going on. Maybe she was getting older, but she kept herself young.
“Sit down, honey. I’ve got some fresh bread to go with that.”
Hope sat at the table and looked around. “Oh, it’s good to be home,” she said at last, as Mary put a bowl in front of her. “Where’s Grace?”
“Oh, I’m guessing she’s with J.C., putting the final touches on the plans for the festival tomorrow. She’s been helping him out, you know.”
“Grace? And J.C.? Working together?” She raised an eyebrow and gave her grandmother a telling look. “How many trips to the E.R.?”
Gram’s face took on an innocent expression. “They seem to be getting along just fine.”
“And Faith?”
“Faith and Marcus arrive tomorrow.”
“Faith and Marcus?”
Hope’s spoon clattered to the bowl. What? Last she’d spoken to Faith she’d claimed the Earl was getting on her nerves. But then, Hope remembered, there had been a particular tone in her voice that suggested something quite different...
“It appears Faith has decided to hold on to her earl,” Gram said, picking at the crust of a slice of bread. She put it down, folded her hands on the table and looked at Hope. “And what about you, dear? How was your trip to Alberta?”
Hope studied her bowl. “It was good. Mr. Nelson...” how strange it was to call him that! “...has a great facility, and the children were wonderful. I left him with a CD full of pictures.”
“And that’s it?” Gram sounded disappointed.
Hope schooled her features and looked up. “Was there supposed to be more?” she asked innocently.
Gram watched her closely but didn’t say anything.
“You wouldn’t have been playing matchmaker, would you, Gram?” She sent her grandmother a sly look.
“Of course not!” Gram protested, but roses appeared on her cheeks. “Well, maybe. He’s very good-looking, and right around your age, and I know he’s from good people...”
Hope fought the urge to laugh and patted Gram’s hand. “This chowder is as good as I remember. And the ten days away were good for me—so you’re forgiven for issuing ultimatums.”
Mary’s face relaxed. “It’s good to see you, Hope. I never thought I’d see all my girls under one roof again.”
“It’s good to be back.”
But a bit of Hope was still stuck in a sleigh in an arctic breeze, watching the northern lights. She missed it already—the coziness of the log house, the barn, the sight of the mountains in the distance and Anna’s cooking in the kitchen while Blake teased.
How was it she could be homesick for a place she hardly knew? She’d only been there for a few days. And she’d been gone for hours, not years.
“You all right, Hope?”
Hope shook the thoughts away. “Just tired. I think I might have a hot bath and an early night. Can we catch up more tomorrow?”
“Of course we can. You go ahead. I’m not going to be far behind you. Gotta keep up my energy for tomorrow’s hoopla.”
Hope kissed her grandmother good night and headed up the stairs. In the bathroom the scent of pink rose soap was in the air—a scent she always associated with Gram. She started the bath and went to her room while it was running to open her suitcase and take out pajamas. She found the flannel pants toward the bottom and was pulling them out when Blake’s present fell out onto the floor.
She picked it up and examined the wrapping, touching it with her fingertips, feeling the texture of the silver foil and the soft curve of the ribbon. She went to the bathroom and turned off the bath, and then went back and sat on her bed. Slowly she untied the ribbon, putting it carefully on her dresser. She split the tape with a fingernail, wanting for some odd reason to leave the paper perfectly intact.
Inside was a square box. She removed the lid to find an exquisite dream catcher inside, lying on a nest of soft cotton.
She lifted it out, admiring the intricate weave and the gorgeous gray and black feathers drifting down. She wondered if Anna had made it. She wouldn’t be surprised; the woman could do just about anything.
Folded on top of the cotton was a note. Her heart pounded as she took it out of the box and opened it.
There are different stories of the dream catcher, but this is my favorite: the hole in the center of the dream catcher is to let good dreams pass through and bless your sleep. The web is to catch all your bad dreams so they disappear with the dawn.
May all your dreams be sweet ones, Hope.
All my love, Blake
All my love. Hope stared at the note, stared again at the beads and feathers, and touched each bit tenderly.
All my love. The words repeated in her head and she bit down on her lip. Was that the feeling she couldn’t seem to pinpoint? Was it love? It must be, because why else would she feel so miserable?
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHRISTMAS Eve morning dawned as all Christmas Eve mornings should—cold, clear, with a robin’s-egg-blue sky and beams of sunlight that bounced off crystalline snow.
Hope slept in past the sunrise, waking shortly after nine. In Alberta it would be just past seven. Blake was probably up already and finished with the chores. His parents would arrive today from Phoenix for the holiday. He’d open his presents tomorrow, including the one she’d placed under the tree for him before she left.
The idea made her so lonely she curled up in the covers once more, soaking in the last bit of warmth.
But it was Christmas Eve, and there were things to be done. The festival was today, and events were going on all over town. She forced herself out of bed, straightened the covers, and looked in the mirror.
Should she straighten her hair? She looked at the curls tumbling over her shoulders, tighter than usual because it had still been damp when she went to bed. She’d been straightening it for years, but today she wanted to let it go. It looked...relaxed. And she was going to try to relax more. Accept things as they were rather than trying to be in control.
Besides, everyone in Beckett’s Run would remember her with corkscrew curls. She smiled to herself as she dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Why shouldn’t she enjoy the holiday? There’d be street vendors with food and hot chocolate, music and events all over town.
And if she joined in maybe she wouldn’t think of Blake quite so much.
That plan was soundly thwarted when she arrived downstairs. Grace was standing at the kitchen counter, pouring a cup of coffee. When Hope walked in Grace simply got another cup out of the cupboard and poured her a drink.
“Hey,” Hope said quietly, wondering if Grace was still mad at her. Their last conversation hadn’t exactly gone well. “Where’s Gram?”
“Hey, yourself.” Grace handed over the cup. “Gram’s helping out with one of the events today. She said you went to bed early. I got in late...”
“I heard you. That board on the porch, remember?” Hope grinned at her sister. “It always did cause you trouble. With J.C. then, too, if I remember right.”
Grace raised an eyebrow. “There was a lot to do to get ready for today. I need to be out the door soon.” She paused. “It’s good to see you, Hope.”
“Really?” Hope sat down at the table. “After our last talk...”
But Grace waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter now. It was good for me to come
back. To see Gram. To...”
But she didn’t finish the sentence. “Anyway, how was ranch life? Gram said you were taking pictures for some therapy-type place.”
“It was good.” Hope felt her cheeks heat but ignored it. “It’s a therapeutic riding facility. I took pictures, had a chance to recharge.”
“Is that all?”
The same question Gram had asked. Suddenly Hope felt like she needed her sister very much. Perhaps that had been a lot of the problem—she’d never let herself confide in Grace or Faith. She hadn’t wanted to burden them with her troubles. But they were all grown up now. And, while Hope didn’t want to spill her guts to Gram and get her hopes up, she had the strange urge to tell Grace everything.
“No, it’s not all.” Shyness and a fear of being rejected made her backpedal. “But I doubt you want to hear it.”
Grace sat down at the table. “Try me.”
“I thought you had to skedaddle?”
“I can manage a few minutes.”
Something passed between them then—a simple sort of acceptance, a closeness that had been missing for too long. “The guy that owns the place—Blake—and I...we kind of got involved.”
“How involved?”
Hope felt her face flame yet again. “There’s a slim chance I may have fallen a little bit in love with him.”
Grace sat back in her chair and laughed. “A slim chance? You may have...? Oh, Hope. You haven’t really changed, have you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You always hold back, refuse to let in people who would help you. Who would care for you. You’re so busy protecting yourself from getting hurt that you forget how to live in the process.”
“Don’t sugarcoat it on my account,” Hope said, still feeling the sting of Grace’s words. “I’m sorry I said anything.”
She made a move to get up, but Grace’s next words made her sit right back down again.
“Does he love you, too?”
Did he? He hadn’t said as much.