LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

turned back to his broth, now bubbling on the burner.

      “Can I help?”

      “You can set the table if you like,” he replied, focusing on running a whisk through the gravy, trying not to think about how soft and sweet her voice sounded. “Plates are to the far right of the sink. Glasses one door in.”

      As she busied herself setting the table, he whisked thickener into the boiling broth. “So, what are you editing, anyway?”

      “Just a shoot I did a week or so ago, for a fashion magazine. I’d rather wait to sleep tonight and try to reset my clock—know what I mean? Working keeps me alert.”

      “You brought work on your vacation?”

      She shrugged. “It’s hardly a vacation, is it? I’m here to take some pictures for you to use for promotion, right?”

      “And take some downtime. Mary said you needed it.”

      Hope’s hands paused on the knives and forks. “What exactly did my grandmother say anyway? That’s the second time you’ve mentioned that I ‘need’ to be here.”

      Satisfied with the gravy, he poured it into a glass measuring cup which doubled as a low-class gravy boat. Ah, so he’d struck a nerve, if the edge to her voice was anything to go by.

      “All she said was that a place like this could do you a world of good. She didn’t elaborate.”

      “‘A place like this’?” she repeated, her words slow and deliberate. “This is a rehabilitation ranch for children with injuries and disabilities, isn’t it?”

      “Yes, it is. And clearly you’re not a child. Nor do you have any disabilities that I can see.”

      He met her gaze then, and something sparked between them. She was about as close to flawless as any woman he’d ever seen. Without her hip-length coat now, and changed into casual jeans and a soft sweater, he could appreciate the long length of her legs and the perky tilt of her breasts beneath the emerald-green material. Her eyes looked the slightest bit tired, but her lips were the perfect balance between being full without being overly generous, and her eyes were the color of bluebells when they bloomed in the pasture in summer. Her silky hair framed a flawless face. Yep—she was beautiful, and his reaction was purely physical.

      But he wasn’t sure what could be responsible for the reciprocating spark on her end. He certainly wasn’t anything to look at. He’d accepted that long ago. In a way he considered his disfigurement part of his penance for being the one left behind after the accident.

      The marks were a part of who he was. Take it or leave it. All it took was a look in the mirror to remind him why the ranch and the program were so important. It was all because of Brad and a desperate need to have something good come of their family tragedy. And as Blake had been the one who’d made it out alive, the one who’d been left behind, it was up to him to make it happen.

      Her lips thinned as she straightened, her posture was flawless, too. Regal, even. He felt a flicker of admiration.

      “I think there’s some mistake,” she said, her voice clear. “I don’t know why on earth my grandmother would have said such a thing, but rest assured, Mr. Nelson. I am perfectly fine and I’m only here because I would walk over broken glass for her.”

      So he was Mr. Nelson again, and she had made it perfectly clear that she certainly wasn’t doing him any favors.

      “She sounded like she would do anything for you, too.”

      Blake chafed at her abrasive tone but kept his patience. Tired or not, Hope’s pronouncement sounded an awful lot like denial. And he’d put money on it having something to do with her extreme reaction to his face.

      “I’ll take pictures for you, as she promised on my behalf. But I’m hardly in need of any sort of rehab. In any way. As you can see, I’m perfectly fit.”

      Oh, she was fit, all right. The way he was noticing the soft curve of her waist and the swell of her breasts beneath the soft sweater was proof enough of that.

      “She didn’t say it was physical. She led me to believe that it was more...” He was used to talking about these things in a practical manner, so why was it suddenly so difficult with her? So trite and clichéd? “More emotional,” he finished. “A different kind of hurt.”

      Something flickered through her eyes. Fear, vulnerability, pain. Just as quickly it disappeared, but he’d seen it. Her grandmother was right, wasn’t she? Hope was doing a fair job of hiding it, but something was causing her pain.

      “She’s wrong. She hasn’t even seen me in over two years,” Hope replied coolly, folding her hands. “Sorry. Nothing to fix here.”

      He shrugged, knowing better than to push right now. “It’s okay. I’m just happy to have the pictures for our promo materials. And you never know. Sometimes a few days of R & R can do miraculous things. It doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that. I’m just a rancher, Hope. I don’t have any interest in prying into your personal life.”

      Indeed not. He’d been dreading her arrival for days. He might be good at his job but he was hopeless at playing host. Social situations were so not his thing, and as a rule he avoided them as much as possible.

      His words did nothing to ameliorate the situation. If anything they seemed to make it worse. She straightened her shoulders.

      “Since that’s the case, perhaps it would be best if tomorrow I find another place to stay nearby.”

      There was an imperious arrogance to her voice that grated on a particular nerve of Blake’s. There was being private, and then there was just being uppity, as his father would say. And Hope McKinnon was being uppity. He wondered what it was that put her on the defensive so completely. Clearly she wasn’t any happier about being here than he was.

      “Suit yourself,” he replied smoothly, refusing to take the bait. He had enough to worry about without babysitting a woman who didn’t want to be here. At this point as long as he got his pictures he was a happy boy.

      He took the platter to the table and put it down in the center. He was very good at being patient. Maybe he was annoyed, but she could issue all sorts of decrees and pronouncements and she wasn’t going to fizz him a bit. He’d had tons of practice at hiding his true feelings. Years of it.

      Besides, he had more important things to worry about. Like Christmas. And making sure the program kids had some extra good memories to carry them through the holidays. And a sleigh to paint. All of which would keep him out of her way.

      Hope sat down at the table and opened a paper napkin, spreading it over her lap like a visiting princess.

      As Blake grabbed the carving knife, he set his jaw.

      Nothing was going to get in his way. Especially her.

      * * *

      Hope stretched beneath the covers, luxuriating in the soft blankets. The light coming through the window was strange...dim, but somehow bright at the same time. She rubbed the grit from her eyes and checked her watch. Seven-thirty in the morning. She’d slept for ten hours. Considering the time difference, that was very close to a miracle. She had worked after dinner until she could barely keep her eyes open. That had been the plan. Work. Fall asleep. No time to think.

      No time to feel.

      She could be very productive this way.

      The floor was cold beneath her feet as she tiptoed to the window. Ah, the reason for the odd light was fresh snow. Mounds of it piled up around the barn and fenceposts. Great dollops of it balanced on the branches of the spruce trees in the yard. It looked like a winter fairyland and it kept falling—big, fluffy flakes of it. She felt as if she were looking out on an interactive Christmas card. The kind that landed in her in-box this time of year, with snowmen and Christmas trees to click on.

      For a moment it reminded her of home—of Gram’s

Скачать книгу