with fixing her, did it?
And yet her words still echoed in his head, because he thought she might be right. He’d invested in his surrogate family because the idea of going through what he’d gone through—what his parents had gone through—after Brad died wasn’t anything he wanted to experience again. Whether it had been intentional or not, that was what he’d done. And it had been easier to let Cindy go and say it was about her nonacceptance of his scar than it was to face the fact that he’d done exactly what Hope had done—protected his heart from being hurt again.
He was wiping dishes for Anna when Hope came downstairs, carrying her suitcase. She was dressed in her silly boots again and the wool jacket that looked like a winter coat but which they both knew was useless against real cold. Her hair was up in some sort of artistic twist and her makeup was flawless.
Oh, yes, her barriers were well in place, weren’t they? And he’d been the one to make them go back up after he’d worked so hard to tear them down.
“You’re all ready,” Anna observed, drying her hands on Blake’s dish towel.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Hope replied, trying to sound perky.
But he heard the wobble.
“I have something for you,” Anna said, going to her recipe book. “Recipes for your favorites.” She held out a sheaf of cards. “It’s not much, but...”
Blake watched as Hope took them.
“It’s perfect,” she said warmly. “Whenever I get to missing this place I’ll be able to make them and think of you. Thanks, Anna, for making me feel so welcome while I was here.”
“You take care.”
Anna barely came up to Hope’s chin but Hope bent down a little and gave Anna a hug.
“You, too,” she replied.
Anna stood back and flapped the dish towel at Blake. “Go on,” she said. “Get out of my kitchen, you two, so I can get some work done.”
He knew what she was doing. Making sure he and Hope had a smidgen of privacy to say goodbye. But voices carried in the house.
Blake followed Hope down the hall to the front door. “Wait a sec. I’ll put on my boots and help you with your bag.”
Hope paused by the door. “I left a CD with my pictures on it on top of your desk,” she said quietly. “My email’s there, too, if you have any questions or need a little more editing. I’ve saved them all.”
So a glimmer of hope for more contact. But not nearly enough, and more of a formality than an invitation.
“Thank you.” He opened the door and picked up her suitcase. “Careful. We’ve had a bit of snow. The walk could be slippery.”
Like it had been when she’d arrived. He remembered seeing her go down, flat on her back, and the moment his breath had caught, hoping she hadn’t hurt herself. That same breathlessness had happened again when she’d taken his hand and he’d helped her to her feet.
And again the first time he’d kissed her when they’d decorated the tree.
Damn. That had been the moment. The precise second that he’d begun his freefall, when he’d dropped the shield around his heart and let her in in a way he’d never let anyone in before.
She popped the trunk of her rental and he stowed the bag inside. “Be careful. The highway should be fine, but these side roads might be slippery. Is your phone charged?”
“Of course. Don’t worry. I’ve got time. My flight doesn’t leave for a few hours.”
She stopped by the driver’s-side door and fiddled with the keys. She was as nervous as he was, it seemed. It hadn’t been this awkward since the very beginning between them.
“Hope, about last night...”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking up at him with tortured eyes. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Nor I you.” He stopped just short of admitting she was right; it wouldn’t change a darned thing now. She was determined to go and nothing would change her mind. Not even if he bared his heart and soul to her. “I don’t want you leaving with this negativity between us. I want a good memory to hold on to when you’re gone.”
She swallowed, her throat bobbing as her lower lip quivered.
“Ah, hell,” he said, giving up and stepping in.
He cupped his hand around her neck, feeling the soft skin beneath his fingers and the silky texture of her hair. If this was the last time he was going to see her, he’d be damned sure to kiss her goodbye.
Her mouth opened beneath his and she gave a little breathy sigh that only served to fuel both his desire and his frustration. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was impossible. At the very least it was crazy to feel this way after such a short time. He nibbled on her lower lip for just a moment before pulling away. And yet he still held her, one hand on the nape of her neck and the other resting on her rib cage, unwilling to let her go, because when he did it would be for good.
He was relatively certain now that the feelings he had went deeper than he had ever expected. Why else would it hurt so much to watch her leave? He kept the words inside, though, not wanting to make it any harder for either of them to say goodbye. Because they must say it. There was no other thing to do.
“I’ve got to get going,” she whispered.
“I know.”
He reached around her and opened her door. “Be safe.”
She got in behind the wheel and started the car, letting the engine warm up. A swipe of the windshield wipers swept the snow away from the glass.
Blake kept his hand on the top of the door for one more minute. “Merry Christmas, Hope. Enjoy your time with your family.”
“Merry Christmas, Blake.”
He shut her door, not wanting to, not knowing what else to do.
She started off down the lane and he watched as she reached the road and turned left, heading out toward the highway, on to Calgary, to Massachusetts, to Australia.
A world away.
It was only when she was out of sight that he remembered she hadn’t opened his present.
* * *
Beckett’s Run hadn’t changed much. Even at night it was clear the old businesses were much the same. And, like it did every year, the town had gone all out in Christmas decorating—perhaps even more than Hope remembered. Lights twinkled like multicolored stars, porches were strung with evergreen garlands, and the statue of town founder Andrew Beckett sported a plush wreath around his neck. Even nature had been accommodating, supplying a blanket of pure white snow for the holiday.
A few weeks ago Hope would have rolled her eyes at the blatant demonstration of peace and goodwill toward men. But now the familiarity of being home made
