LITMIR.BIZ

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Box that was her childhood. It was easier to keep it locked away and focus on the here and now. The present was all anyone had control over anyway.

      She flopped back on the bed and sighed. She hadn’t been lonely, as such. And she wasn’t bitter, just guarded. Careful. She didn’t share secrets or confidences. She wasn’t even close to her sisters anymore. She and Grace always argued and it wasn’t much wonder that Faith had chosen a calmer path than trying to run interference between them.

      It had been lonely, she supposed. At times.

      Right now she had to even things out with Blake in order to make the best of the next several days—especially as she had no place to go.

      Problem was there had been a moment today when he’d looked in her eyes and she’d had the most irrational impulse to tell him everything.

      She’d have to watch that.

      She put her phone on to charge and decided to wander downstairs. She could always check the pictures from today and see if any were salvageable. And she really needed to talk to Blake about more practical matters—like what sorts of shots he wanted for his promo materials and how they were going to make that happen. She needed to think of this as a job. It would make the time go faster—and easier.

      She’d booted up her laptop and inserted her memory card when she heard the back door open and close, followed by a heavy stomping of boots.

      Blake came in, his cheeks ruddy from the cold, his eyes glowing even brighter than before. His hair was disheveled from wearing the heavy hat, giving him a boyish, roguish appearance. If it weren’t for the jagged gash on the side of his face he’d be gorgeous, she realized. The men she knew paid stylists a fortune to achieve that tumbled, rugged look, and spent hours at the gym to gain a physique that Blake had mastered from simple physical labor on the ranch.

      She’d been staring at him far too long. She dropped her gaze back to the computer screen and used the mouse to bring up the day’s photos. “You look cold,” she remarked blandly.

      “The temperature’s dropped. Animals are in for the night, though. Snug as a bug.”

      “That’s good,” she said, skimming the photos. A few weren’t half bad, she realized, though her instincts had been correct—the lighting wasn’t right. She might be able to play around with them, but none stood out as anything special or noteworthy.

      “Anna’s gone?” he asked, rubbing his hands together and going to the sink. He ran water and washed his hands, reaching for a towel hanging on the inside of a cupboard door.

      “I think I heard her leave just before it started getting dark. When I came downstairs I checked, and there’s what looks to be a lasagna in the oven for dinner.”

      “Gosh, that sounds good.” He hung the towel back up. “I’ll throw together a salad and some garlic bread to go with it.”

      “You’re quite the cook.”

      “Lots of guys cook, you know.”

      She did know, but she had a hard time picturing Blake in the kitchen. He was so...large and manly. She smiled to herself. Maybe she’d been working in fashion too long. “So why keep a housekeeper if you’re so capable?”

      He lifted a shoulder. “Anna needs the work. I know how to run a washing machine and the vacuum and kitchen appliances. But it’s nice sometimes, especially after a long day, to not have to worry about it. I cook for myself on the weekends. I make a French toast to die for.”

      She imagined Blake pushing a vacuum over the living room rug, pictured his long fingers wrapped around a spatula, flipping eggy bread. She found the image strangely attractive.

      “What’s so funny?” he asked.

      She looked up and grinned. “I was just picturing you in an apron.”

      Something odd and strangely exciting seemed to curl through her stomach as she looked up at him. He was so reserved. Not just reserved...guarded. He’d mentioned an accident today but stopped short of giving any real insight. She found herself growing more and more curious about him.

      “Blake, about this afternoon...”

      At her serious tone he put a loaf of French bread down on the countertop beside her. The breakfast nook and stools were a great place for her to work but she suddenly felt like he was very close and her pulse quickened in response.

      “What about it?”

      “I think I owe you an apology. Some of your questions made me uncomfortable and I think I came across as rude.”

      He studied her carefully until she wondered if she was starting to blush beneath the scrutiny. There was something simmering between them, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but it felt suspiciously like he could read her mind. She wasn’t sure she liked someone poking around in her thoughts.

      “No hotel rooms available, eh?”

      Heat flashed to her cheeks. She was definitely blushing now. He’d seen clear through her apology, hadn’t he? She was totally busted. A bit irritated, too, though—because her remorse was genuine.

      “Even if there were,” she said quietly, “I was snippy with you and you didn’t deserve it.”

      “Why were you?”

      “You always ask the hard questions, don’t you?” She put down the cover of her laptop and looked up at him.

      “Not hard. Just real.”

      “From where I’m sitting they’re the same thing.”

      His gaze softened. “I’m used to challenging people, I guess. Pushing to break through what’s holding them back.”

      “I’m not here to be fixed or rehabilitated,” she reminded him firmly. He’d been rather cryptic himself, out on the ridge. But she wouldn’t bring that up right now. She was trying to smooth things over, not begin another argument. “I just keep to myself, you know? When I said today that your scar reminded me of someone, you asked if it hurt. It does.”

      “Who was he?”

      She paused, surprised that he’d assumed it was a man she was speaking of—though she supposed she shouldn’t be. She was thirty years old. Blake probably assumed she’d had relationships before. And she had, though never anything serious.

      “Not a he. A she. My best friend. Her name was Julie.”

      She took a breath, surprised that she’d actually come right out and said it. She never talked about Julie. Her throat tightened but she forced the heavy feeling away, shutting it out.

      She swallowed away the pain and forced herself to continue. “We shared everything. Work, interests, TV shows...an apartment.”

      “What happened?”

      “There was a fire at a nightclub.” Hope’s throat felt like it was going to close over, and she fought to swallow, to keep going without thinking about it all too much. She could say it, offer a basic explanation so they could move on, right? “She was burned very badly. It was the worst thing ever to see her like that. First with all the bandages and then, briefly, without.”

      “What happened to her?”

      Hope blinked, but her eyes were stone-dry. “She died. It was too much for her body to take and she went into organ failure.”

      She didn’t have to say more for them both to understand how it had been a long and painful illness.

      “I’m sorry.”

      She felt grief hover around the edges and began to panic. She had to change the focus. Put it somewhere else. She looked up and saw Blake’s scar before her eyes. Painful truth slammed into her heart. “I saw you yesterday...” She heard her voice shake and tried to steady it. “I saw you and it was like seeing her...”

      She

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