Читать книгу The Complete Christmas Collection - Джанис Мейнард, Rebecca Winters - Страница 84

BLAKE opened the gate and brought the horses from the corral. Each one plodded to its own stall, where it was warm and where fresh flakes of hay and water waited. A storm was brewing. Blake could feel it in the air—a blend of moisture and expectation that he recognized after living his whole life in the shadow of the Rockies. The gray cloud cover that had made the day so bleak and the air raw was bringing snow. This close to the mountains it was bound to get ugly.

It was a good thing Hope had arrived when she had.

He closed up the stall doors and frowned. His grandmother had called after it had all been set up, and then Hope’s grandmother had followed up, calling him personally. He’d said yes to Hope staying here for one reason only: because Mary had promised that Hope would take pictures for him, providing professional shots to be used on the facility’s website and in promo materials for organizations all over western Canada. He appreciated the favor because money was tight and he tried to put every cent he could back into the facility. Bighorn needed a better professional presence, and he wasn’t going to get it with a few snapshots and a website he’d put together from a template. He knew where his strengths were. IT support wasn’t it.

But then Mary had insinuated that Hope was in desperate need of a holiday, too, that she was really struggling and a place like his was just what she needed.

He’d tried to ignore that last part because he had no desire to get personally involved. It was uncomfortable enough having her stay in the house with him, but what else could he do? Say no and ship her off to a hotel miles away? His mother would have something to say about that and the Western hospitality he’d been sure to point out to Hope just minutes ago. He’d resigned himself to having a house guest, and made sure that Anna had prepared the guestroom for her in welcome.

But he hadn’t expected a tall, elegant blonde with sleek hair and the slightest lilt of an acquired Australian accent to show up. She was the kind of girl who, in his high school days, had intimidated the hell out of him. The kind of girl who wore the best clothes and hung with the cool people and looked down her nose at guys like Blake. Guys who were less than perfect. He’d had her pegged the moment he saw the expensive high-heeled boots and the stylish scarf looped around her neck in some crazy, fashionable knot.

She’d hooked her hand into his and he’d felt the contact straight to his belt buckle as he helped her to her feet. Before he’d even been able to put the reaction into perspective she’d looked into his face.

He’d seen that look before. Revulsion. Disgust. Over the years he’d grown more patient with people. He knew the scar was ugly. Shocking, even. And the reactions were just that—reactions. People naturally expected a perfect face, and his was anything but. He never faulted anyone for a moment’s reaction. So why did Hope’s make him scowl so?

Maybe because she’d been worse than the others. Not surprise or a small wince before glancing away. She’d actually paled and swayed on her feet. His pride had taken a hit and he’d heard the echoes of his school nickname in his head... Hey, Beast. The Beauty and the Beast movie had been out a few years earlier than his accident and all the girls remembered the words from the songs, taunting him with them through the hallways when the teachers weren’t paying attention.

There was nothing he could do about his disfigurement. Nor had they understood the fact that the pain of it was nothing compared to the agony of losing his twin, Brad.

Enough time had passed now that the memories had become a part of who he was, so intrinsically a part of him that he usually forgot all about it. But not today. Today he was off his stride and she’d shown up with her superior airs, making it sound like he wouldn’t want her here when it was clear that she was the one who would rather be somewhere else. It was only his sense of hospitality and the promise he’d made his grandmother that had kept him from answering with the words that had hovered on his tongue.

His mother had raised him to be a gentleman, after all. And so by the time he’d got Hope’s suitcase to her room he’d calmed his temper and attempted pleasantness.

He shut the last stall door and slid the bolt home with a loud thunk. Before he left he ventured into the storage area of the barn and ran his fingers over the wood of the sleigh he’d bought from a rancher near Nanton. It was old, but solid. The green paint had been chipped when it was delivered. Now it was stripped and sanded, the runners reinforced, and the whole thing waited to be repainted. He’d been planning this for a while, keeping his eye out for a used sleigh he could refinish—one big enough to seat a driver upfront and a group of kids in the back. A group of kids who needed help making the kind of Christmas memories that Blake had known growing up. The kind that came with hot cocoa and cookies and visits from Santa Claus.

It shouldn’t bother him that a look of surprise and aversion had touched Hope’s face. He had more important things to think about. But it irritated him just the same. His hands moved over the gentle curves of the wood as he considered, picturing her flawless skin, her waterfall of soft hair, her sweetly curved body... She was tall and long-limbed and, despite being jet-lagged, moved with an innate grace he admired.

Maybe he’d been working with physical disabilities too long if he could make that complete an assessment of her based on a five-minute acquaintance.

As usual, working with the animals helped him sort out his thoughts. While the ranch catered for children with visible disabilities, he was well aware that not all problems could be seen by the naked eye. He dedicated his life to helping people look beyond the scars and disabilities of others. Not a day went by that he didn’t think of Brad and how they’d planned a life that was no longer a possibility. It was the driving force behind Bighorn Therapeutic Riding, after all.

Maybe, just maybe, he owed that same courtesy to Hope. If he didn’t, he’d be as closed-minded as all the people who had turned away from him over the years. So, he mused, as he turned out the barn lights and closed the door, he’d put his first impressions of Hope aside and give her the benefit of the doubt.

It was silent inside the house, and for a minute Blake wondered if Hope had taken a nap. She’d been dead on her feet, her eyes slightly unfocused as she’d stared at him in her room. The scent of roasting meat, garlic and bay leaves permeated the hall from the kitchen and his stomach growled. Should he wake her for dinner or save her a plate?

And then he found Hope sitting at the breakfast counter, laptop open, her delicately arched brows wrinkled in the middle as she focused on something on the screen, prissy little glasses perched on her nose. The stylish kind of spectacles that looked more like an accessory than anything else.

“So, not asleep, after all?”

She started at the sound of his voice. “Oh, goodness!”

“You didn’t hear me come in?”

“I tend to block things out when I’m editing,” she explained, tucking a silky sheet of her hair behind her ear. “Sorry.”

“Editing?”

“Of course. I find the imperfections in the pictures and then work to make them better. Come look,” she said, turning the laptop a few degrees so he could see the screen better.

He was off step again, expecting one thing and finding another. He’d been about to apologize for his earlier coolness and here she was looking refreshed and businesslike, as if things hadn’t been awkward at all.

He went to the counter and peered over her shoulder.

The picture was of a female model, posed in a white overcoat and stilettos, her hair artfully blowing around her face.

“Looks good,” he said. Truthfully, it looked a bit sterile and lifeless. There was too much white and the model looked like she might be blown away with the first stiff breeze to ruffle her umbrella. With her hair blowing like that, and a coat on, he would’ve expected an outdoor shot rather than...what? It looked like she was standing inside a cube. Why would she need an umbrella in a cube?

“Let me show you the original.” She brought up another picture and put them both side by side. “See?”

Her smile was wide and expectant as he looked at the screen again. Honestly, he couldn’t see much difference.

“You’re clearly a pro,” he commented, stepping back.

Her brows knit closer together. “Don’t you see? Look right here.” She pointed to the model’s jaw. “This line is totally different now. And that spot?”

He had to lean right in to see where she indicated.

“It’s gone in this one. And I lightened everything just a bit as the exposure wasn’t quite right. It’s totally different. Now it’s nearly perfect.”

“And perfection is important?”

She looked at him like he’d suddenly sprouted an extra head. “Of course,” she chattered. “I mean, I’m always looking for the perfect shot. That’s what I do. I haven’t found it yet, but I will someday.” Her lips took on a determined set. “Until then I keep trying, and I tweak and fix what I have. It’s so different than in the old days, before digital.”

Perfection. His mood soured. If she was looking for perfection, boy, was she in the wrong place.

“Yeah, well, I’ve always been a point-and-shoot kind of guy.”

He went to the counter next to the sink and took the cover off the Crock-pot. Steam and scent assaulted him and he breathed deeply. No one did elk roast like Anna.

“Dinner’s in ten—I’m going to make some gravy,” he said, taking out a large platter.

He put the roast in the center and scooped out potatoes, carrots and golden chunks of turnip, arranging them around the roast. Then he tented them all with foil while he poured the broth into a saucepan and set it to heat, mixing flour and water to thicken it. He marveled at the change in her. Not only had she traded her wet clothes for dry, but the dazed look in her eyes was gone and she seemed full of chatter. Like she was two entirely different people. Which one was the real Hope?

The chatter was annoying on one hand but somehow pleasant on the other. The house often felt too quiet with just him here in the winter months. He supposed that one of these days he should get off his butt and think about having a family of his own.

And yet every time he considered it something held him back. Something he didn’t want to examine too closely. Things were better the way they were now.

“Mr. Nelson?”

He paused, his hand on the flour bin. “It’s Blake, remember?”

“I just... I want to apologize for earlier. I think we got off on the wrong foot. I was terribly tired, you see...”

Her voice trailed off, but her blue eyes looked both hopeful and perhaps a touch bashful, which surprised and pleased him. They were both aware that she hadn’t slept, so he saw the apology for what it was—trying to smooth the awkward moment over. He could be graceful and accept it, or reject it. Considering they had to spend the next week and a half together, rejecting it probably wasn’t such a smart idea.

“What brought you around?” He chose to move the conversation along and start over. “When I left you, you looked ready to drop.”

He turned his head and looked her square in the face, waiting for her answer. To his surprise she smiled.

“Your coffee. It’s very good.”

“Kicking Horse. Comes from a place a few hours that way.” He thumbed ambiguously toward the west.

“Oh. Well, it’s delicious. And I snooped in the pantry and happened to find a jar of the most delicious cinnamon cookies. Caffeine and sugar have given me my second wind.”

“Good to know.”

He turned back to his broth, now bubbling on the burner.

“Can I help?”

“You can set the table if you like,” he replied, focusing on running a whisk through the gravy, trying not to think about how soft and sweet her voice sounded. “Plates are to the far right of the sink. Glasses one door in.”

As she busied herself setting the table, he whisked thickener into the boiling broth. “So, what are you editing, anyway?”

“Just a shoot I did a week or so ago, for a fashion magazine. I’d rather wait to sleep tonight and try to reset my clock—know what I mean? Working keeps me alert.”

“You brought work on your vacation?”

She shrugged. “It’s hardly a vacation, is it? I’m here to take some pictures for you to use for promotion, right?”

“And take some downtime. Mary said you needed it.”

Hope’s hands paused on the knives and forks. “What exactly did my grandmother say anyway? That’s the second time you’ve mentioned that I ‘need’ to be here.”

Satisfied with the gravy, he poured it into a glass measuring cup which doubled as a low-class gravy boat. Ah, so he’d struck a nerve, if the edge to her voice was anything to go by.

“All she said was that a place like this could do you a world of good. She didn’t elaborate.”

“‘A place like this’?” she repeated, her words slow and deliberate. “This is a rehabilitation ranch for children with injuries and disabilities, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. And clearly you’re not a child. Nor do you have any disabilities that I can see.”

He met her gaze then, and something sparked between them. She was about as close to flawless as any woman he’d ever seen. Without her hip-length coat now, and changed into casual jeans and a soft sweater, he could appreciate the long length of her legs and the perky tilt of her breasts beneath the emerald-green material. Her eyes looked the slightest bit tired, but her lips were the perfect balance between being full without being overly generous, and her eyes were the color of bluebells when they bloomed in the pasture in summer. Her silky hair framed a flawless face. Yep—she was beautiful, and his reaction was purely physical.

But he wasn’t sure what could be responsible for the reciprocating spark on her end. He certainly wasn’t anything to look at. He’d accepted that long ago. In a way he considered his disfigurement part of his penance for being the one left behind after the accident.

The marks were a part of who he was. Take it or leave it. All it took was a look in the mirror to remind him why the ranch and the program were so important. It was all because of Brad and a desperate need to have something good come of their family tragedy. And as Blake had been the one who’d made it out alive, the one who’d been left behind, it was up to him to make it happen.

Her lips thinned as she straightened, her posture was flawless, too. Regal, even. He felt a flicker of admiration.

“I think there’s some mistake,” she said, her voice clear. “I don’t know why on earth my grandmother would have said such a thing, but rest assured, Mr. Nelson. I am perfectly fine and I’m only here because I would walk over broken glass for her.”

So he was Mr. Nelson again, and she had made it perfectly clear that she certainly wasn’t doing him any favors.

“She sounded like she would do anything for you, too.”

Blake chafed at her abrasive tone but kept his patience. Tired or not, Hope’s pronouncement sounded an awful lot like denial. And he’d put money on it having something to do with her extreme reaction to his face.

“I’ll take pictures for you, as she promised on my behalf. But I’m hardly in need of any sort of rehab. In any way. As you can see, I’m perfectly fit.”

Oh, she was fit, all right. The way he was noticing the soft curve of her waist and the swell of her breasts beneath the soft sweater was proof enough of that.

“She didn’t say it was physical. She led me to believe that it was more...” He was used to talking about these things in a practical manner, so why was it suddenly so difficult with her? So trite and clichéd? “More emotional,” he finished. “A different kind of hurt.”

Something flickered through her eyes. Fear, vulnerability, pain. Just as quickly it disappeared, but he’d seen it. Her grandmother was right, wasn’t she? Hope was doing a fair job of hiding it, but something was causing her pain.

“She’s wrong. She hasn’t even seen me in over two years,” Hope replied coolly, folding her hands. “Sorry. Nothing to fix here.”

He shrugged, knowing better than to push right now. “It’s okay. I’m just happy to have the pictures for our promo materials. And you never know. Sometimes a few days of R & R can do miraculous things. It doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that. I’m just a rancher, Hope. I don’t have any interest in prying into your personal life.”

Indeed not. He’d been dreading her arrival for days. He might be good at his job but he was hopeless at playing host. Social situations were so not his thing, and as a rule he avoided them as much as possible.

His words did nothing to ameliorate the situation. If anything they seemed to make it worse. She straightened her shoulders.

“Since that’s the case, perhaps it would be best if tomorrow I find another place to stay nearby.”

There was an imperious arrogance to her voice that grated on a particular nerve of Blake’s. There was being private, and then there was just being uppity, as his father would say. And Hope McKinnon was being uppity. He wondered what it was that put her on the defensive so completely. Clearly she wasn’t any happier about being here than he was.

“Suit yourself,” he replied smoothly, refusing to take the bait. He had enough to worry about without babysitting a woman who didn’t want to be here. At this point as long as he got his pictures he was a happy boy.

He took the platter to the table and put it down in the center. He was very good at being patient. Maybe he was annoyed, but she could issue all sorts of decrees and pronouncements and she wasn’t going to fizz him a bit. He’d had tons of practice at hiding his true feelings. Years of it.

Besides, he had more important things to worry about. Like Christmas. And making sure the program kids had some extra good memories to carry them through the holidays. And a sleigh to paint. All of which would keep him out of her way.

Hope sat down at the table and opened a paper napkin, spreading it over her lap like a visiting princess.

As Blake grabbed the carving knife, he set his jaw.

Nothing was going to get in his way. Especially her.

* * *

Hope stretched beneath the covers, luxuriating in the soft blankets. The light coming through the window was strange...dim, but somehow bright at the same time. She rubbed the grit from her eyes and checked her watch. Seven-thirty in the morning. She’d slept for ten hours. Considering the time difference, that was very close to a miracle. She had worked after dinner until she could barely keep her eyes open. That had been the plan. Work. Fall asleep. No time to think.

No time to feel.

She could be very productive this way.

The floor was cold beneath her feet as she tiptoed to the window. Ah, the reason for the odd light was fresh snow. Mounds of it piled up around the barn and fenceposts. Great dollops of it balanced on the branches of the spruce trees in the yard. It looked like a winter fairyland and it kept falling—big, fluffy flakes of it. She felt as if she were looking out on an interactive Christmas card. The kind that landed in her in-box this time of year, with snowmen and Christmas trees to click on.

For a moment it reminded her of home—of Gram’s place in Beckett’s Run. She imagined Gram would be baking Christmas cookies and getting out the decorations by now. Something that felt like homesickness swept through her as she stared at the snow, so familiar and yet so foreign.

In New England they’d always hoped for a white Christmas. She and her sisters had put on hats and mittens and boots and made snowmen and had snowball fights. Grace had accused Hope of being too bossy about where to put Frosty’s nose and Faith could no longer play peacemaker.

Hope smiled to herself. Poor Faith. Hope and Grace hadn’t made things easy on their middle sister. Things were slightly better with their relationship now, in so far as Faith wasn’t not speaking to Hope. Grace was still put out with Hope for not agreeing to go on an assignment with her. In Hope’s defense, the opportunity to do a shoot for Style-Setter magazine was too good to pass up, but Grace hadn’t understood.

Now Faith was in a similar predicament to Hope—Gram had asked a favor of her, too, and she was doing some special stained glass project for an English earl.

Sometimes it seemed like the three of them were on different planets.

A movement to the right caught her attention. It was Blake, bundled in a heavy coat with a black knitted cap on his head and huge gloves on his hands, shoveling the walkway that ran from house to barnyard. Snow flew off his shovel in great puffs as Hope took the time to study him more carefully.

He’d annoyed her with his assessment last night, making her react when she’d truly wanted to be pleasant after getting off on the wrong foot. And in his words he was no therapist. Just a rancher.

Looking at his scar, though, she knew he wasn’t any ordinary rancher. This was personal for him, wasn’t it? Someone didn’t run a place like this without a history. She’d bet it was all wrapped up in how he’d got that scar.

And just like that she knew it would be best if she did move lodgings. What good would come of any sort of curiosity? She didn’t want to get caught up in anyone else’s drama. She’d had enough of her own to last a lifetime. She had a good life now and she’d fought hard for it, worked hard. Gram was wrong. She didn’t need fixing at all. What she needed was to keep busy.

She wished she could snap her fingers and it would be Christmas already. She’d spend it with Gram and then head back to Sydney, where she belonged. She’d rather just forgo all this nonsense altogether.

Hope showered and dried her hair, then got dressed, did her makeup carefully and straightened her unruly curls with a flatiron until they lay soft and smooth to her shoulders. When she finally went downstairs Blake was inside, curling his hands around a coffee cup while steam rose in wisps in the air.

“Good morning.”

He turned and smiled as if the tension of last night had never existed. It appeared they were both making an effort.

“Morning.”

“Is there more of that?”

He moved his head, gesturing to the coffeemaker. “Help yourself. How’d you sleep?”

She reached for a cup. “Better than I expected. Maybe it’s the mountain air. Or going without sleep for nearly forty-eight hours. I slept right through.”

“It was still dark after sunrise, thanks to the storm. We really got dumped on overnight. I figured we would.”

She poured the coffee and took the first sip—ah. The restorative, caffeine-injected brew suddenly seemed to make everything a little more right in the world.

“How much came down?”

“Maybe a foot and a half, and it’s still falling.”

Her bubble of happiness popped and the coffee didn’t taste quite so good. “A foot and a half? Like, eighteen inches?”

“Yeah. Afraid the roads are closed from here to the highway unless you’ve got a four-by-four. And of course there’s always the problem of trying to realize where the road ends and the fields begin. Try it and you’re in a ditch and calling a neighbor to haul you out. No one’s going anywhere today.”

And there it was. Her brilliant plan to be friendly but insist on going to nearby Banff to find a hotel room blown out of the water. “For how long?” she asked.

“Oh, rest of today for sure. If it lets up things’ll be clear by tomorrow sometime. Added to what we already had, there’s no doubt it’ll be a white Christmas this year.”

He grinned with satisfaction—only the second time she’d seen him smile. It seemed the gruff rancher had a soft spot for the holidays. Good for him.

Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. She could manage one more night. She could make some calls today and book a room. She let out a breath.

“You should have some breakfast. I ate early, but Anna’s here. She’ll fix you up. Anna?”

“You called?”

A raspy voice came from the hall and a woman appeared just after it. She was small—barely over five feet—with eyes black as night and golden-brown skin. “Hope, meet Anna Bearspaw.”

The woman smiled, making the skin around her eyes wrinkle, and now Hope understood why her question about whether Anna was his wife or girlfriend had made him laugh. The woman was easily fifty, her graying black hair pulled back in a sleek low ponytail.

“Hope.” She grinned. “Blake says you liked my elk last night.”

“Elk?” she struggled to keep the pleasant smile pasted on her face. She’d assumed the flavorful meat was beef. Didn’t Alberta boast about its beef?

“The roast,” Blake offered. “No one does it up like Anna.”

Hope had to swallow the saliva that pooled in her mouth at the thought of eating what had to be hunted game. She rarely ate red meat, but had made an exception rather than rock the hospitality boat. She was used to meat coming in neatly wrapped packages at the market. Her stomach turned as she imagined the process of getting a wild animal to the table.

“It was...uh...delicious,” she offered weakly.

“My boy John’s the hunter. We kept some for ourselves and gave the rest to Blake in trade.”

“Trade?”

“It’s nothing,” Blake said, putting his cup in the sink.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Anna parroted. She looked at Hope. “Blake has given me a job, and now that it’s just me and John at home he looks after us, whatever we need. He’s a good man.”

It made no sense to Hope why she’d be curious to know more about Anna, but she found herself asking, “Looks after you?”

The woman beamed. “He’s a good neighbor.”

“We all look after each other out here, that’s all,” Blake replied.

That was just the sort of thing Hope tried to avoid. She didn’t like having to rely on other people. She’d rather rely on her own two hands and abilities. She liked being independent. She liked her job and her circle of friends in Sydney. She had life just the way she wanted it, didn’t she? And it was a good life. Relying on help meant people thought they had the right to pry into personal matters. She much preferred privacy.

It hadn’t always been that way, though. Not when she’d been a child. Once upon a time the three sisters had stuck together. After their parents had finally split for good they’d had to—they’d only had each other. And Gram.

It had been Gram who had told her to stop trying so hard to hold them all together. And Gram who had witnessed her complete breakdown at eighteen, when stress had meant she’d blown her exams and lost her scholarship. It had been Gram who had picked her up and helped her get back on her feet again. No one but the two of them knew how much it had cost Gram. And Hope had paid back every cent. She’d made sure of that.

She was still working on paying back the personal cost to her grandmother—which was why she’d agreed to this stupid scheme in the first place.

She pushed the painful memories aside and tried to smile for Anna. “If the roads are closed, how did you get here this morning?” She was almost afraid to know the answer. Wondered if she’d look outside and see a dogsled. This all seemed so surreal it didn’t feel out of the realm of possibility.

“My snowmobile.”

“Of course,” she said faintly, quite sure now that she’d ended up in a parallel universe.

“We won’t have any clients today. But the snow’s supposed to stop, and I’ve got to scout out a Christmas tree. You can come if you want—see more of the ranch. You could probably use the fresh air after being cooped up in a plane for the better part of two days.”

Hope looked over at Blake. He was leaning, completely relaxed, against the kitchen counter. With Anna on one side and Blake’s long legs blocking the escape to the hall Hope felt utterly trapped.

“I thought I was supposed to be taking pictures,” she replied, scrambling for an excuse. There was no way she was going to straddle a snowmobile and wrap her arms around Blake.

“Bring your camera. I’ll take you up to the top of the ridge. The view from there is phenomenal. Mountains as far as you can see. They’ll be pretty now with the new snow.”

“I don’t do landscapes,” she explained desperately.

The two of them? Alone in the wilderness? Briefly it struck her how many shoots she’d been on with complete strangers. This was no big deal.

Only it was. Because this didn’t feel exactly businesslike. And it was impossible it could be anything else. They didn’t even like each other, did they?

“A picture’s a picture, right?

He was undeterred, and she was feeling more irritated the longer the conversation went on. Anna proceeded to unload the dishwasher as if they weren’t even there. A picture was only a picture if you were an amateur. She kept away from nature photographs because she preferred to have control. Her photos were carefully set up, lighting adjusted, models just so. If there were variables she wanted to control them.

But she wasn’t about to explain that to Blake any more than she’d try to tell him how to do his job. He’d probably find it supernaturally boring. Not many people understood her quest for perfection. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure she’d ever find it, but she still kept trying. It was a constant challenge and one she thrived on. Some days that challenge was what got her up in the morning. The possibility of perfection, out there waiting for her to make it happen. Something no one could ever take away from her.

“I don’t think I have the right clothing.” She tried for a final excuse, knowing this would surely get her out of it. She’d research some hotels instead and book a room, so she could be gone once the roads were cleared. And she’d explain her reasons so he understood. Gram was just trying to look after her, but she was doing just fine looking after herself. She didn’t need to impose on his “Western hospitality” for the whole ten days.

“I think we’ve got gear that’ll fit you,” he said. “Any more excuses?” He lifted an eyebrow in challenge. “You’re not afraid of a snowmobile, are you?”

She really couldn’t come up with anything else. She thought about having to climb on the back of the snowmobile, wrapping her arms around his middle. She swallowed. She’d die before explaining about the whole physical proximity thing. It wasn’t that she was shy. It was more...

She looked into his face. His eyes were focused on her in a way that made her heart flutter unexpectedly. This was the problem. In the small bit of time since her arrival there’d been an awareness she hadn’t either expected or wanted. The angry scar on his face added a sense of danger, and she tried to ignore it as best she could—and the dark feelings it evoked. But his size alone practically screamed masculinity and she wasn’t completely immune to that. It was the way he looked at her, the husky but firm tone of his voice that set her nerve endings on edge.

Blake Nelson, for all his broodiness and imperfections, was exciting. It was the last thing she’d expected and it totally threw her off guard.

And now he’d issued a challenge.

She could do this. Besides, after two days of stale recirculated air on the plane she could use the crisp bite of the wind in her face, right?

“I’m game. I guess,” she added. He didn’t need to know he’d tapped into her competitive streak.

“I’m going to finish up a few things in the barn, so I’ll be back in about an hour, okay? Anna knows where the winter gear is. She’ll help you.”

“Sure I will,” the woman answered from behind Hope.

Hope smiled weakly. Well, if nothing else the ride with Blake would give her the chance to talk to him about switching accommodation.

That was one argument she wouldn’t lose.