is nice,” Hope said, climbing off the snowmobile and peeling the helmet off her head. Her hair was matted down beneath a thin toque and she pulled the hat straight. Pieces of blond hair stuck out like straw around her ears.
“Nice?” he repeated, somehow deflated by her bland reaction to the spectacular panorama before them. He breathed deeply, watched as his breath formed a frosty cloud that disappeared. “It’s kind of a miracle, don’t you think? That places like this exist?”
“I suppose,” she answered, taking a few steps through the snow toward him. “It certainly is a big view.”
He turned his head to study her. “The best adjectives you can come up with are ‘nice’ and ‘big’?”
She smiled then. “So my attempts to downplay it are a major fail?” She shrugged, then took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay, you win. I admit it. It’s stunning up here.”
“That’s better.” He nodded and went to the biggest rock, used his arm to dust the snow off its surface. “Care to sit, Your Highness?”
He offered her his hand but she ignored his gesture, climbed up nimbly and perched on the rock, drawing up her knees and looking out over the landscape. “What is this place, anyway?”
“The outer edge of the ranch property. We used to own more, but I sold a chunk of it off years ago.”
“Why?”
He was a little startled at her question, especially as she’d shown very little interest in the ranch side of things since her arrival. “I didn’t need as much grazing land once I sold off the cattle. I just needed enough for the horses and feed.”
“You had cattle?”
“My family did, yes.”
“Why did you sell them off?” She was quiet for a moment but he knew she wanted to ask something more. Finally she looked over at him. “Was the ranch in trouble?”
He shook his head. “No. But when my dad decided to go into early retirement after a heart attack scare the ranch was left in my hands. It was up to me to make the decisions. This is what I chose.” He shrugged. “The therapy part and the funding I receive covers the operational expenses. The horses I board give me something to live on.”
And it hadn’t been easy either. Despite being in charge, he had wanted his parents’ support. His father had thought he was crazy when he’d broached the idea of selling off the majority of the ranch to fund a rehabilitation program. Once the assets of land and cattle were gone they were gone for good. But when he’d explained about how difficult it had been, growing up with not only the scarring but the lingering effects of the accident, about how he needed to do something worthwhile, they’d come around. Now his parents helped out during the spring and summer. In some ways this program was a living memorial to Brad.
“Where are your parents now?”
“Phoenix. They’re snowbirds. They have a condo down there and avoid the cold Canadian winters. They’ll be back for Christmas though, flying in Christmas Eve. Mom always says it doesn’t feel like Christmas without snow.”
Hope didn’t answer, and Blake studied her profile. She was tanned from living in Sydney, her blond hair streaked from the sun. She turned her head and looked at him and he realized the combination made her eyes stand out. Right now, in the cold crisp air, they were the precise color of a mountain bluebird.
“What about you? What are you doing for Christmas?”
She shrugged, but he thought he saw a shadow pass over the brightness of her eyes. “I’ll fly out of here to Boston, and then on to Beckett’s Run to spend the holidays with my grandmother. And I suppose any other members of my family who might show up.”
“You’re all spread out, then?”
She rubbed her hands together as if they were cold. “So what made you switch from cattle producer to equine therapy?”
She was changing the subject. Clearly her family was a sore spot with her. Was that the problem that her grandmother had mentioned? He reminded himself that it was none of his concern, but found he was curious anyway. Were they estranged?
But she’d turned the tables and asked a question and he knew she expected an answer. He pointed at his scar. “This.”
She looked away.
“I know it’s bad,” he said. “I see it every day.”
“It’s not that bad,” she said quietly, but she looped her arms around her knees, shutting him out. “I’ve seen worse.”
Those three words seemed to explain a lot and nothing all at once. “But it does make you uncomfortable?”
She looked at him. “I suppose that makes me a bad person?”
She was so defensive. He let out a breath. “Depends. Depends on why, right? Someone like you—you’re used to dealing with beautiful models all day long. You’re probably not used to—”
He broke off. He refused to refer to himself as ugly. He’d spent too long digging himself out of his hole of grief to allow negative thinking.
“Now who’s judging and making assumptions?”
It bugged him that she was right.
She looked him square in the face—not to the side, not over his shoulder—dead in his eyes.
“If it makes me uncomfortable it’s not for the reasons you think. I just... It just reminds me of someone, that’s all.”
“And remembering hurts?”
She looked back out over the fields, but he saw a muscle tick in her jaw. “Yeah. I guess it does. So I try not to. It’s easier that way.”
He could relate to that more than she’d ever know. Instead of answering he let the quiet of the winter day work its magic. He sat on the rock beside her—far enough away that they weren’t touching—and listened. To the wind shushing through the stand of spruce trees nearby. To the faint sound of the sparse flakes of snow touching the ground. No traffic. No nothing. Just space.
“How did it happen?” she finally asked.
He’d explained it many times, but each time his throat clogged up a little. The memory never dimmed. It was never less horrific, even after all this time.
“We were coming home from a hockey tournament in British Columbia. We had an accident.”
“You played hockey?”
He tried to smile. “Still do—a little pond hockey. You’ll see. Some of the neighborhood teenagers come over and have a go at it. I’ll have to clean the rink off tomorrow. It’s covered in snow now.”
“You’re a real kid person, aren’t you?”
“I suppose I am.” He aimed a level look at her. “Kids are great. Full of energy and curiousity.”
“Loud, destructive, unpredictable...”
She was smiling a little now. She looked awfully pretty when she smiled like that.
He cleared his throat, uncomfortable at her observation. He liked to keep his personal life personal. It was easier to talk about the ranch and his program than it was to talk about himself.
“Perhaps. But they’re also generally accepting.” At least the younger kids. Older ones could be cruel—his high school experience could attest to that—but the teens around here had known Blake long enough that his face was no big deal.
“The way most adults aren’t?” Her smile slipped. “I suppose it has something to do with loss of innocence. It makes us grown-ups a bit jaded after a while.”
Damn, but she had a knack of saying a lot without revealing much of anything. He kind of admired that. “I take it you’re not much of