Blake had come out of his shell and built this place. She hadn’t, and she hid behind a camera.
“How did you come out of it?”
Blake had, and he’d done something extraordinary.
“My dad.” Blake seemed to relax, and resumed cutting into what was left of his pile of French toast. “He and Mom took the accident hard. It was awful around here. But he showed up in the barn one day and handed me a pair of skates. I hadn’t played hockey in three years—the accident ended my season and I never went back. He told me he’d lost one son and he’d be damned if he’d lose another and told me to put on the skates.”
“And you did?”
He grinned. The way his mouth pulled made him look rakish. “You haven’t met my dad. You don’t argue with him. We went to the pond over at Anna and John’s, laced up our skates and took shots at a net for three hours.”
He mopped up some syrup with a chunk of bread.
“After that I spent some time deciding what I wanted to do. I read an article about the therapeutic benefits of riding and it clicked. The one thing I’d done through it all was work with the horses. They were my saving grace. The more I looked into it, the more I knew. And when Dad retired I made it a reality.”
Hope pushed away her nearly empty plate. “You’re very good at what you do, Blake. And very good with kids. I’m kind of surprised you don’t have any of your own.”
His gaze touched hers. “Been wondering about me, have you?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replied, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. “I’m not the only one to speculate. Half the women that walk through your stable doors wonder the same thing.”
His eyes looked confused for a moment, but then they cleared and he brushed off her observation. “Women don’t tend to be interested in a man like me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
His blue gaze pinned her again. “You know. They take one look at my face and...” He put his knife and fork on top of his plate. “It’s a lot to get past.”
Was he serious? Hope didn’t know what to say. Sure, she’d reacted to his scar, but she hardly noticed it now. It was hidden by his other fine qualities. His kindness, the way he smiled at the children, the light in his eyes and the strong, sure way he carried himself. Once she’d seen him in his element she’d glimpsed the real Blake. He was the kind of man who could be quite dangerous to a woman like her.
She could reassure him, but that would reveal way too much, so she came up with the only paltry platitude possible. “Someday the right woman will come along and sweep you off your feet.” She smiled. “You’ll see.”
She pushed back her chair and picked up her plate. But Blake caught her wrist as she went to move past him.
His fingers were strong and sure as they circled her wrist. “This place is the most important thing to me right now. And I haven’t said it yet, but thank you for what you’re doing. You were right. I couldn’t afford you by the hour.”
She stared into his honest face. “I’m sorry I ever said that. You touched a nerve that day with the perfect thing.”
He let go of her wrist. “I know I did.”
“Not the way you think,” she answered. “It’s not you I expect to be perfect, Blake, or the children, or anyone else except me. It’s me who keeps falling short of the mark.”
That little bombshell dropped, she escaped to the sink to rinse off her plate.
She heard the scrape of his chair as he pushed back from the table, knew he was behind her. She kept her back to him, the water running uselessly in the sink now that her plate was rinsed.
“There are things in life that happen and that we can’t see coming. That’s just reality,” he said, his voice quiet but full of conviction. “Expecting yourself to be perfect is setting yourself up to fail.”
“How can you say that?” she asked, turning back around and facing him. “How can you, when you are so good at what you do? Do you even have any flaws, Blake? And I don’t mean physical ones.”
“Plenty,” he whispered. “I’m far from perfect, Hope. I just try to stay on the positive side. To find joy in things.”
“But sometimes the heartache doesn’t allow you to trust in the joy,” she replied. “Because you know it could be ripped away at any moment.”
There was a long silence. Finally he lifted his hand and placed his palm along her cheek. “I look at you and I know that there are many ways to grieve without having experienced death. What are you grieving for, Hope?”
“When my friend Julie died...” She scrambled to put together the words, but he shook his head. His hand was warm, comforting on her skin and she bit down on her lip so it wouldn’t tremble.
“No, it’s more than that. There’s something else. Something you lost and never got back.”
She blinked and sidestepped away from his hand, away from his eyes. “Don’t,” she warned. “I told you when I first got here not to go all shrink on me, remember?”
“I just want to help.”
“Then leave me alone. Let me be, Blake, please. It’s been a good week. I took some pictures and got fresh air and I’ve relaxed. Just let that be enough, okay? In a few days we have the sleigh ride, and then I fly out to Boston.”
“For a family Christmas?”
“Yes. Let’s just chill for the next few days, okay? No more digging into our personal lives. I won’t if you won’t.”
She wanted to know more about him, but fair was fair. She couldn’t expect him to open up while she remained a closed door, could she?
There was a long pause, and then Blake’s shoulders dropped. “Okay.”
“Okay. Now, since you cooked I’ll tidy up. And this afternoon I’m going to start going through the pictures I have. Layout’s not my specialty, but I’ll put together a portfolio of shots you can take to a good designer.”
“I’ve got a few jobs to do, as well. I’ll be back by midafternoon. Maybe you can show me then.”
“That’d be good.”
He looked like he wanted to say something more, but then he shook his head. “All right. See you later.”
“Later.”
* * *
When she saw him again she was sitting at the table listening to the hum of the dishwasher, her laptop open before her. Her gaze caught a glimpse of a thick red hat above his black ski jacket. He wore heavy pants, too, and she gathered that whatever he was going to do it was going to be out in the bitter December weather. He’d be cold when he got back in. Maybe she’d make some cocoa to warm him up.
She shivered and turned back to her photos. Scratch the cocoa. After this morning she’d realized she was spending far too much time concerned about Blake’s welfare. She could still feel the gentle touch of his hand along the side of her face. Aw, hell. She was starting to care for him more than she was comfortable with. When he’d talked about his brother her heart had cracked just a bit, and she’d had the crazy urge to take him in her arms and comfort him.
Which made her just about as starstruck as the moms who gazed at him like he was perfection in a