out of your wet pants. The snow is starting to melt. You’re going to be quite uncomfortable in about thirty seconds.”
She looked down and saw a puddle by her boots. She hadn’t taken them off when she came inside. Hadn’t done anything but march dutifully up the stairs. She looked back up, but her head seemed to lag half a second behind her eyes. Uh-oh. Having the equivalent of an out-of-body experience was no time for a conversation about the whys and wherefores of the next few weeks. It would keep.
“Coffee would be great, thank you.”
He went to leave but turned back, his right cheek facing her so she couldn’t look at him without seeing the scar in all its angry, beastly detail. The funny tingling sensation she recognized as anxiety crawled down the backs of her legs again but she forced herself to hold his gaze.
“I’ll be back inside at dinner. Anna put a roast in the crockpot this morning, so we can eat when I come back.”
Anna? Hope felt a rush of relief. Perhaps they weren’t going to be alone, then. Maybe Gram had been wrong. Maybe Blake had a wife, or a girlfriend.
That would be very welcome news, because while Hope certainly lived in the twenty-first century, there was a small part of her that felt odd knowing it was just going to be the two of them under the same roof.
Wouldn’t her friends have a chuckle about that? Who knew she would be so traditional, after all? Of course she might just be feeling that way because, despite the scar and the cool attitude, she did find Blake rather attractive in a raw, rugged sort of way...
“Is Anna your wife? Girlfriend?”
He grinned then, and the sight of it changed his face completely, making her catch her breath.
“That’d give her a laugh,” he chuckled. “Anna’s my part-time housekeeper. You’ll meet her tomorrow.”
He stepped back and touched the brim of his hat, a gallant gesture that took her by surprise.
“Make yourself at home. I’ll be back in a few hours. And, Hope?” The momentary smile was wiped away as he frowned, and his face was all planes and angles again. “Get some rest before you fall over again.”
His boots clomped down the stairs and she heard the front door slam.
She sat to take off her boots and her pants chafed against her legs.
Dammit, he was right. About the pants, the falling over—all of it.
And it was probably a very good thing that she was too tired to care. It was going to be a very long ten days.
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
