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.
BLAKE handed over the helmet and watched as Hope put it on. He hid a smile, wondering if she was worried about messing her perfect hair. “Put down the visor when we start out. It’ll keep the wind and snow off your face,” he suggested, straddling the padded seat of the snowmobile.
Anna had bundled Hope up in borrowed winter boots, ski pants and jacket, and a thick pair of gloves. She looked different. Approachable. He was enjoying seeing her out of her comfort zone. After last night, with her reading glasses on like armor and her laptop flashed up, he got the sense that her work was her shield.
“Hop on,” he called, starting the machine, letting it idle for a few minutes. She slid on behind him, her legs cushioning his. He swallowed and for the first time wondered about the wisdom of the idea of disappearing into the foothills with her.
Then she slid her arms around his ribs.
Even through the thick material of their jackets the contact rippled through him. He scowled and set his teeth, rejecting the surprising whip of arousal. What was the
