All too soon he pulled away. It was just as well, she thought, tucking her fingers into her lap. She didn’t trust it. Didn’t trust the caring, tender gesture. Didn’t trust herself to be objective.
“When?”
The simple question took her by surprise. “When what?”
“When did she die?”
Her gaze was drawn to his. There was no judgment in the blue depths, just patience. “About six months ago,” she found herself answering.
“You haven’t grieved yet.”
He was getting too close to the truth. It wasn’t any of his business if she had or hadn’t. What was the point in indulging in a fit of grief? Crying and self-pity wouldn’t bring Julie back and it wouldn’t fix anything—another lesson learned the hard way at too young an age.
If only tears had the power to make things right life would have been so different. For all of them. She and her sisters wouldn’t have been dragged from pillar to post. There wouldn’t have been the arguments that Hope had always heard, even through walls. There wouldn’t have been the crying for Daddy in bed at night with the covers over her head. She would have been able to hold them together. They would have been one big happy family instead of the mess they became.
“Of course I have,” she lied, more shaken than she cared to admit.
“Grief can be crippling in itself,” he explained. “At some point you have to deal with it.”
She was starting to get angry now. How dared he talk to her like he had her all figured out? He knew nothing about her.
She took a slow, deep breath and held her temper. Losing it wouldn’t do either of them any good. Instead she tried a smile that felt stretched and artificial. “Look, I just didn’t want you to think it’s...well, that it’s you. Or that I’m...” She found she couldn’t go on, couldn’t say the word that had flashed into her brain. Superficial. The words trailed away.
“That you’re prejudiced?”
Her gaze clashed with his. “Why would I think less of someone because of a scar?”
“I don’t know. It makes me wonder if you look for perfection in people like you do in your pictures.”
“People aren’t perfect. Everyone knows that.”
His lips curved up a little bit. “I agree. And apology accepted. Let’s eat.”
She felt utterly off balance as Blake let the topic drop and shifted gears into dinner mode. She put the photos away and went to help him with the garlic bread and salad. The sound of the evening news on the television provided a welcome chatter in the silence. But as she set the table his words echoed uncomfortably in her mind. Did she expect people to be perfect? Or was it knowing they weren’t that made her keep everyone at arm’s length?
THE snowplows had been and the roads were open the next day. The ranch yard was a hub of activity by midmorning. There were extra cars in the driveway. Blake had had the chores done before Hope was even out of bed, and she’d eaten breakfast alone in the kitchen—Anna had the day off to do Christmas shopping in Calgary.
Hope looped her camera strap around her neck before putting on her puffy red jacket. It looked cold, so she put mittens on her hands—the kind with flaps that flipped up to leave her fingers exposed—and a knitted hat with a small funky peak on top of her head. Maybe she needed to be warm, but that didn’t mean she had to be styleless. It had been a while since she’d put up with a northern winter but she did know how.
And after last night, and the confidences she’d shared with Blake, she felt the need to hit a reset button. It would be better to keep things businesslike from here on in, right? Professional. She was here to take pictures, and that was exactly what she was going to do.
The barn was warmer than she’d expected, considering the frosty bite to the air outside. Voices came from the riding ring and she made her way in that direction, taking in the scent of horse and hay as she walked down the corridor. It was a pleasant scent, and reminded her of early adolescence when, typical for her age, she’d gone through a horse stage and wanted her own. The answer had always been no, though eventually she’d worn her parents down and they’d agreed to riding lessons.
She’d had exactly three wonderful lessons when Mom had left Dad—again—and they’d moved.
She sighed. And people wondered why she didn’t let herself count on anyone—or anything—too much. Her parents’ marriage hadn’t been an easy one. Whoever said opposites attract was dead wrong. It was a recipe for disaster. Her mom and dad hadn’t balanced each other out. They’d driven each other crazy—Lydia with her flighty ways and Greg always trying to clip her wings. Hope had felt left in the gap—a child herself, but with the responsibility of raising her sisters. She hadn’t done a very good job.
She stopped and took a few pictures of the long corridor of stalls. The floor was neat as a pin, and the inside of the tack room was exactly the same—saddles lined up precisely, bridles hung on thick pegs, a stack of heavy blankets a splash of color in a room that was decidedly brown. She liked it, actually, the leather and wood were rich and redolent with character and a certain Western charm.
She experimented with a few different angles and adjustments for several minutes, losing herself in the task. Finally, when she was satisfied, she made her way to the entrance to the riding ring.
The first thing to catch her eye was Blake. He stood in the middle of the ring, boots planted a few feet apart and his hands on his hips. He wore a red long-sleeved shirt with a puffed black vest over the top and a cowboy hat on his head. Her gaze traveled up his long legs to the worn pockets of his jeans and her lips went dry.
On impulse she lifted her camera, turned it to capture him from top to bottom. She zoomed in so that his tall figure filled the viewfinder. There was no posing, no setting the scene, but right now he didn’t need it. Besides, this wasn’t an official photo for the site or anything. She’d work with him on that, so he’d have some sort of head shot he could use for promotion. This, she admitted to herself, was purely self-indulgent. A whim. She’d probably end up hitting the “delete” key in the end anyway.
Two horses with riders slowly circled the ring, and Hope watched as the first rider—a girl of perhaps ten—looked at Blake and smiled widely. He called out some encouragement, and then something else to the next rider—a boy who looked to be a similar age. As Hope watched the girl stopped her horse and stayed to the side, while the boy trotted up to Blake, turned and trotted back to his first position. Then it was the girl’s turn.
It wasn’t until Hope took a moment to take a full look around the perimeter of the ring that she saw two women, probably the moms, standing to one side, smiling and chatting.
There was too much activity right now to get the pictures she wanted. She’d rather the ring was empty. In her mind she analyzed the different views and vantage points, the available natural light and what fixtures were installed within the building. Wouldn’t it be neat to be able to get a bird’s-eye view of the ring? But she had no idea how she’d get up to the rafters to take it. She’d done some daring things to get a shot before, but suspending herself from a ceiling was one she hadn’t tried yet.
The lesson ended and the boy and girl dismounted and began leading their horses to the exit. Hope slid aside, pressing herself to the wall to give them lots of room as they passed. She tilted her head as she watched them go by. They didn’t look disabled in any way. They looked like a normal boy and girl.
Blake was right on their heels and he gave her a brief nod, but that was all. She hung back and watched