her saying he couldn’t possibly lift her, Ryder swept his wife into his arms and headed for the car. “Tim,” he called, “she’s going into labor.”
“Stop it,” she insisted. “Ryder, really! I’m too heavy. I can walk. It was only the first pain.”
But the thing was, she didn’t feel heavy to him at all.
She felt light. And he felt light. And all of it, the skaters on the pond, Tess, the Fenshaw girls, the laughter, the scrape of blades on ice, Tim racing toward them with a look on his face that reminded Ryder of the soldier he had been, all of it suddenly seemed as if it was swirling together, becoming one immense energy.
Ryder realized, suddenly, his heart swelling until he thought it would break, that he really believed.
And in that shining second of pure love, his breath, his bone, his life, his whole world, became a reflection of the Light.
Donna Alward
Stetsons and snowflakes
A week before Christmas, city girl Hope McKinnon finds herself snowbound with rugged rancher and all round do-gooder Blake Nelson. What is it about this handsome, generous man that has her blood boiling and her pulse racing?
Blake knows his ranch is the last place that Hope wants to be, but somehow her presence feels so right! Hope is the first woman guarded Blake has wanted to be around for a long time. Her visit may be temporary, but he has one more night to convince her to stay....
THE cold air penetrated clear through Hope McKinnon’s jacket as she stepped out of the rented car and looked up at the home base of the Bighorn Therapeutic Riding Facility. It was December in Alberta yet it felt like the arctic! It was a shock to her system after she’d reluctantly left the hot brilliance of the Sydney sun only hours before.
She huddled into her woolen coat and popped the trunk for her bag. The wheels of her suitcase squeaked and dragged on the snow covering the path to the wraparound porch of the big log home. Coming up the long lane, she’d thought it had a fairy-tale quality, like a romantic ski chalet nestled in the mountains. Twinkling fairy lights were intertwined through evergreen boughs on the railing, glowing softly in the waning light of late afternoon.
But that had been in the warm car, with the heater going full blast. Now she shivered. The house was rapidly losing its winter magic as she gave the case a tug over a ridge of packed-down snow. She heaved it up the stairs one at a time, growing more and more irritated until she plunked it down beside her leg and rang the doorbell.
Three times.
She huddled into her jacket as she waited.
By this time her legs were cold and her feet were beginning to go numb in the soft leather boots she wore. She looked around and saw a truck parked next to the barn. She was supposed to meet a man named Blake Nelson, the guy who ran the ranch. She’d been guilt-tripped by her grandmother into coming and taking pictures of his operation, and she wasn’t all that pleased about it. She could think of a million other places she’d rather be in December than in the icy cold of Alberta.
But she was here, and she was freezing, so she left her suitcase by the door and made her way across the yard toward the barn. A light glowed from a window within, a warm beacon against the grayness of the afternoon shadows. It would be warm inside, wouldn’t it? She quickened her step as she neared the door.
The next thing she knew she was slightly airborne as her boot hit a piece of ice camouflaged by a skiff of snow. The weightless sensation lasted only a second and was immediately followed by a bone-jarring, breath-stealing thump as she landed squarely on her rump.
“Ow!” she cried out as her tailbone struck frozen ground. She fought for a few moments as her emptied lungs struggled for air, and then gasped it in painfully, closing her eyes.
When she opened them she was looking at a pair of worn leather cowboy boots that disappeared into two very long, denim-clad legs. Humiliation burned up her neck and into her cheeks as she forgot the pain in her bottom. What a way to make a first impression!
“You must be Hope,” said a warm, deep voice with just the barest hint of a drawl. “Let me give you a hand up.”
The rich voice sent shivers down her spine and she struggled to keep her breath even. She looked up then, and couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her lips. This Blake guy—assuming it was him—was stunning. Incredibly tall, and the form he cut was that of the quintessential cowboy, complete with sheepskin jacket and a dark brown cowboy hat to match. His breath made white puffs in the wintry air.
Her photographer’s eye was already framing him as if she were behind the lens, capturing him like a great Western icon.
“Did you hit your head or something?” He still held out his hand and she realized she’d been staring at him like he was the eighth wonder of the world.
“Sorry,” she said, holding up her hand and grasping his wrist. He gave a quick tug and she was on her feet again. She hid her flaming face by twisting and brushing the snow off her pants and the tails of her jacket. She didn’t stand much hope of dignity now. She might as well make the best of it.
“You have to watch out for the odd bit of ice in the yard,” he cautioned. “Those boots don’t look like they have much tread. I hope you brought something heavier.”
She tried to ignore the humiliation that seemed to burn her cheeks at his chastising tone, making her feel foolish and about five years old. She lifted her eyes and tilted her head to look up, studying his profile as he turned to inspect her heeled boots.
The looking up was a rarity. At five-foot-ten, and with a modest two-inch heel, she stood an even six feet. And she still had to look up at Blake Nelson. He had to be at least six-four, six-five. Most of the time she felt like an ungainly giant, but next to his strong build she felt positively feminine. Or she would, except she could still feel the bump on her butt, reminding her of her grand entrance. Perfect.
He turned his head slightly so he faced her squarely, and the part of his face which had been shadowed by his hat was now clearly visible. Her heart seemed to drop to her toes, and a small cry escaped her lips before she could stop it.
For the space of several heartbeats she was back in the hospital again, trying terribly hard to look at her best friend Julie in the face as the bandages came off. To smile when she felt like weeping; to tell Julie it wasn’t that bad when in truth the raw shock and ugliness of her friend’s injuries had made her sick to her stomach. The same queasiness threatened now and she gulped in air, needing to steady herself. This cowboy wasn’t so perfect, after all. A long scar ran from his right temple clear to his jaw—pink, ugly, and puckered.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve gone quite pale.”
The words were polite but Hope was aware enough to realize how very cold they were. He knew exactly what had happened. She’d
