“That’s unfair—” he started, but Hope held up a hand.
“You fix people. That’s what you do. You need to be needed. You see someone hurt and you make them better. You find someone troubled and you give them the answers—the kids that come here and even Anna.”
“Anna?”
“She needed money and you gave her a job. She told me things about herself—about how she lost her husband when she was so young and brought up John on her own. And Blake swooped in to the rescue, right?”
“When did helping people become a flaw?” he defended.
“Why do you suppose you try to fix everyone? Does it have anything to do with not being able to save your brother?”
He couldn’t have looked more shocked if she’d slapped him and she instantly felt sorry for the words. Losing his brother had been devastating; she knew that.
She sighed. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
“No, you’re right. I couldn’t save Brad. But I can help others rather than letting the accident and my loss cripple me.”
She understood the implication, even agreed with it. In his grief he’d found a way to reach out. She’d found a way to withdraw and protect herself.
She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Oh, Blake. What happens when I’m all fixed? Will you be done with me then? Or what happens when you figure out that you can’t fix me? Do you give up and walk away?”
“It wouldn’t be like that.”
But he couldn’t know that, and they both knew it.
“Why haven’t you ever married, Blake? It’s clear you’d make a great father, so what’s holding you back?”
He looked nonplussed, sitting back against the seat of the sleigh and staring at her with wide eyes. “What do you mean? I suppose I haven’t found the right person.”
“And will you ever? Face it, Blake. You’re married to the program and those kids are your children. You get to fix them and send them on their way. Yes, you get close to them—but not too close, right? Because then you don’t have to be afraid of losing them the way you lost your brother.”
He looked so shocked she knew she’d gotten it right. She lowered her voice. “You made them your family so you don’t have to take a risk on your own, didn’t you? So how can you ask me to take a risk on you if you’re not capable of doing the same?”
“Hope...” he said hoarsely. But that was all.
He had no rebutting argument. Hope felt relieved that the truth was out, but horrible that she hadn’t been kinder with it. Blake deserved better.
If they’d been back at the house she would have made her apologies and left it at that. She would have walked away before they could hurt each other further. But where could she go here? She was stuck in his sleigh in the middle of nowhere. What would she do? Walk home? In the dark?
She pulled away and stared stubbornly at her boots. “I think we should go back now.”
“So you can run away again?”
“Maybe I’m running to something this time.”
He sighed and studied his hands. “I’m not saying you’re wrong,” he admitted. “Hope, despite everything we’ve said to each other, everything that’s happened, you must know I care about you.”
He looked up and met her gaze, so earnest and artless her heart turned over a little bit.
“I know you’re hurting. Tonight when I looked at you I could tell that you wanted to belong so very badly. You do, Hope. More than you know. You do belong.”
They’d argued and struck nerves and he still managed to see past it. The truth was he could never know how badly she wanted to stay. To see where things might go between them. And perhaps if she didn’t live half a world away she would try it.
But her job was there—a good job—and it would be foolish to throw her career away for a maybe. Her mother chased those sorts of rainbows. Hope didn’t. She knew how awful the thud could be at the end. She wasn’t sure she could bounce back one more time.
“I can’t,” she said, her voice raw. “I’m sorry, Blake.”
He looked at her for one long moment before picking up the reins and giving the team a slap. The sleigh lurched forward and Hope hugged her arms around herself. The wind picked up and the cold seeped through her coat and mittens.
It seemed to take forever to get back to the house. Blake halted the horses and Hope jumped out, grabbing the basket and taking it with her.
“I’ve got to look after the team,” Blake said.
“Good night,” she answered. “Thank you for the ride.”
It was paltry and it rang a little false. The first part had been magical and then it had all fallen apart.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he replied, and with a hup he had the sleigh moving again toward the barn.
Morning. As Hope turned toward the house she felt the first cold tear slip down her cheek. On one hand her leaving seemed too soon, but on the other she wanted it over with. Maybe then she could stop hurting. Because what Blake didn’t understand was how badly she’d wanted to say yes. How much she’d wanted to be able to trust blindly and take a leap.
She was falling in love with him—perhaps had been from the start. And he’d offered her no guarantees because there were none.
She wouldn’t have believed him even if he had, because deep down they both knew guarantees didn’t exist.
BLAKE made sure the chores were done and he was inside by midmorning. Hope was planning on leaving by eleven, and already a light snow was falling. The roads probably weren’t going to be bad, but there was no guarantee of that.
Guarantee. There was that word again. She was expecting the impossible. He’d stopped believing in absolutes when Brad had died in that crash. He’d offered her more time—their time together had been too short; he was just now starting to really understand what he felt for her. It didn’t really have anything to do 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