in the air for several seconds.
Blake stepped back, his eyes icy and his expression hard and closed-off. “Take your perfect pictures,” he stated, then he smirked. “Oh, wait. You’re still searching for the perfect shot. Good luck with that.”
He spun on his boot heel and strode out of the ring, leaving her standing there alone.
She looked down at her toes, trying to put her jumbled emotions in order, surprisingly stung by his harsh words. There was anger at being told how to do her job. Guilt for lashing out. And, most surprising of all, attraction. With their bodies close together and his gaze flashing at her there’d been a shiver of excitement that had zinged up her spine.
But all that aside the kicker was that he was right. She’d never accomplished perfection, no matter how hard she tried. She did settle for less—all the time. And, truth be told, seeking perfection was becoming rather exhausting.
Worse than that was that she knew how he’d taken her words. No one was perfect here, and that was the whole point. Everyone was scarred, flawed in some way. There was no cure. No permanent fix. There was just acceptance—and she’d essentially thrown that back in his face just now. He’d actually looked hurt underneath the angry set of his features. Because she hadn’t just put down this place, she’d put him down too—even if it had been misconstrued. And she felt utterly rotten about it.
She had to fix it. Soon she’d be heading to Beckett’s Run and Christmas with Gram. Somehow between now and then she’d find a way to give both herself and Blake what they wanted.
And then she’d get back to her previously scheduled life.
IT WASN’T often that Blake was in danger of losing his cool, but little Miss Perfect Pants had just about driven him there. He was used to people’s misconceptions and, frankly, misunderstandings when it came to his work. He considered it part of his job to work to dispel them.
What he wasn’t used to was this feeling of impotence that seemed to envelop him whenever Hope looked at his face. He hated that she could make him feel like a self-conscious boy all over again. The boy who’d been pitied at first, because of his tragedy, and then scorned for his appearance. Scorned and laughed at by his schoolmates, with adults frowning and shaking their heads in what he now recognized as condolence and sympathy. As if he’d died right along with his brother somehow. In some ways he’d preferred the teasing to people always feeling so damned sorry for him. At those times he had always felt like he was somehow too pitiful to be worth teasing.
And then there had been the girls who’d cringed when they looked at his face. He hadn’t even gone to his own prom. He hadn’t had a girlfriend and he hadn’t wanted a pity date for the rite of passage either.
He’d grown older and wiser and had developed the confidence to know what he wanted to do with his life. Not everyone turned away in disgust. He’d even started dating along the way—and one relationship in particular he’d thought had potential. Until a few months in when the offhand comments about his scar got more regular. And then she’d suggested plastic surgery.
He’d never forgotten that moment. He’d thought that girl was different. But she’d come right out and said it. You can’t possibly want to go through life with that atrocity on your face.
Any dating he’d done since then had been short-lived. A man couldn’t live like a monk, but he never quite trusted that anyone would see past his face to the man beneath. And he could never accept anything less.
Hope McKinnon made him feel all those uncomfortable, powerless feelings again and he hated it. And he hated himself for letting her get to him and making him say things he already regretted.
So he’d walked away before he could do any more damage and left her in the ring to take her precious pictures.
Now, an hour later, he pushed all his thoughts aside to focus on Cate Zerega. Cate was one of those children who reached in and stole your heart without you seeing it coming. Dark curls touched her shoulders and enormous brown eyes dominated her face, but her body appeared twisted and her muscle control and coordination were impaired. Cerebral palsy had made it impossible for her to walk without forearm crutches, but it hadn’t taken away her bright smile, even though now and again her speech would slur when she was excited, Blake had accepted long ago that Cate was someone special.
When Cate had her appointments one of Blake’s volunteers attended, too. Shirley was a physiotherapist from Canmore who had been donating her time for nearly two years. Together with Cate’s mom, Robbi, they formed a strong team.
Today he’d saddled Queenie, one of the ponies he kept for the smaller children. Queenie was eighteen, and had never been overly ambitious. She was a dull gray, and not the prettiest equine specimen on the ranch, but she was gentle as a lamb and ten times as patient.
Cate’s eyes lit up as Blake led Queenie to the ring.
“Hi, Mister Blake.” Cate’s eyes were round as dollars and Blake’s earlier irritation slipped away.
“Hey, cupcake. You ready to ride?”
She nodded. “I’ve been waiting all week.”
Her words were clear, with only the slightest hitch.
She gave her crutches to her mother and Blake lifted her in his arms. He took in a breath and was enveloped in a sweet cloud of little girl smell...strawberry shampoo, fabric softener and what he guessed was a fruity sort of snack eaten during their drive out from Calgary.
As gently as possible he settled her in the saddle. “There you go, munchkin. Queenie’s all ready for you.” He reached up and made sure the black helmet was secure on her head, then gave it two knocks with his knuckles.
“Who’s there?” she asked.
“Ya,” he said solemnly.
“Ya-who?” she asked, equally sober.
“Yahoo? Are you a cowboy, too?”
She giggled and he saw Robbi roll her eyes as she grinned. “Do you two never get tired of that joke?” she asked.
“Nope,” Cate answered for them both.
Blake looked at Shirley and Robbi. “She’s ready to go. Shall I lead first?”
They started the session in the ring, Blake leading Queenie around the perimeter while Shirley and Robbie walked along on either side. They stopped occasionally to adjust, and invariably Cate gave Queenie a pat on her mane before they started again. Blake smiled. Cate had improved since starting here months earlier, due to the simple act of riding. It got her blood pumping, helped with her core strength, posture and muscle tone.
“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
