LITMIR.BIZ

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remove Queenie’s tack while Cate, using her crutches, followed him like a faithful pup, keeping a safe distance as instructed, chattering the entire time. Hero-worship indeed. What was amazing was that Blake didn’t seem the least bit fizzed by her incessant talk. He looked like he enjoyed it.

      At the end he grabbed an apple, took out a jackknife and cut it into quarters, and then knelt beside Cate on the concrete floor. “You want to give Queenie a treat now?”

      Cate let go of one of her crutches and balanced on the other, then held out the apple on the palm of her hand. Queenie lapped it up and crunched lazily while Cate laughed.

      Robbi sighed. “Every time I see them together I wonder why that man isn’t married with a bunch of his own kids.”

      Something seemed to expand in Hope’s chest. She’d never even thought to ask if Blake had a girlfriend or if he was interested in anyone. Did Robbi have designs on him? She wondered how many of the moms talked about Blake like he was the next best thing to sliced bread. The idea made her feel unusually plain and un-special—especially as she was already aware that she stood a whole head taller than this very attractive mom.

      Robbi laughed. “If I weren’t already happily married...”

      Well. That answered that question. Robbi looked at Shirley.

      “You coming to the sleigh ride?”

      Shirley shook her head. “Afraid not. We’re heading to Cranbrook for Christmas the day before.”

      “Have a good holiday, then.” Robbi called to her daughter, “Are you ready, honey?”

      “Awwww,” Cate complained, “do we have to?”

      Robbi looked at Hope. “And this is why we love it here. School is a bit of a challenge this year, but when she’s here she seems so incredibly typical. Does that make sense?”

      Hope smiled. “It does. Thanks for your permission.”

      “You bet. See you at the sleigh ride?”

      Hope had been thinking she would give it a miss, but now she was curious. And she was thinking. She didn’t normally do candid shots, but what if she did some at the party? If none of them turned out well, she wouldn’t have to use them. But there’d never be a better chance to get a variety of clients all together. Staging shots was difficult, but one group shot might be doable. If nothing else she could give it to Blake as a present. She got the feeling he’d like something like that.

      “Yes, I’ll be there,” she replied.

      “Be where?” Blake’s voice said behind her shoulder.

      She turned and pinned on a bright smile. “At the sleigh ride, of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”

      His eyebrow was raised. She suspected it was half in surprise and half unspoken challenge. “You’re sure? It’s going to be hectic.”

      It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. “You’re forgetting I deal with temperamental models all day. If I can handle the divas, I think I can handle this.”

      He grinned. “Suit yourself. And in that case...”

      “What?”

      “Oh, nothing. Yet. I’m still working on some ideas.”

      He moved off to say goodbye to the group.

      What ideas? And why did she have a very bad feeling they were going to involve something she didn’t want to do?

      * * *

      For the rest of the week Hope and Blake managed to form a truce. Quite often Anna ran interference between them in the house during the day, contributing to the status quo, and Hope spent a lot of time in and around the barn taking pictures.

      As she watched during Saturday’s session it continually amazed her how hands-on Blake was with the kids, and how he genuinely enjoyed working with them—even when things didn’t go particularly well. She’d started thinking along the same lines as Cate’s mom—why on earth hadn’t he married and started his own family? Clearly he liked kids. He was stable, secure...and despite the scar on his face not bad to look at either. For the right woman he’d be quite the catch—so what was the holdup?

      Of course she wasn’t that woman. Marriage, kids, the whole settling down thing? The very idea scared her to death. She’d already attempted to raise one family and hadn’t done such a great job of it. It wasn’t something she wanted to screw up twice.

      She focused on the job. Soon she’d really have to sit down and start organizing the photos—picking and choosing the best ones and doing some editing. But for now, in the evenings, she found herself more often than not alone in the house while Blake spent his time in the barn. He was painting the sleigh and getting things ready for the party, he explained. There was always a glint in his eye when he mentioned it, and she was afraid to ask what had put it there. Truth be told, she was enjoying her evenings of solitude. A cup of tea and a book or a DVD while curled up next to a blazing fire was not a bad way to spend an evening. Whenever she felt like she was being indulgent she thought of Gram. Gram would be happy to know she was taking some downtime, if that was her worry.

      Sometimes, before she went to bed, Blake would come and sit for an hour and watch a program with her. During those times they’d let the television do the talking. It was amazing to Hope how they were both comfortable to do so.

      * * *

      Anna had taken the day off to finish up her Christmas shopping.

      Hope wandered downstairs at half-past nine, dressed in pyjama pants and a sweatshirt. The sun was bright and the light through the windows was diamond-sharp as it glinted off the snow. She squinted her way to the coffeepot, and was pouring her first fragrant cup when Blake came through from the laundry room.

      “Hey, sleepyhead,” he said, reaching for a mug.

      “You’re too cheerful for this early in the morning,” she remarked, affecting a scowl.

      He chuckled. “Chores done, and I threw a load of laundry in.”

      “Disgusting,” she commented, but his good mood was contagious. She took a sip of coffee and closed her eyes. The man did know how to brew a decent cup of joe.

      “I haven’t eaten yet, and my morning appointment has cancelled today. Doctor’s appointment. You hungry?”

      “I guess.”

      “Great.” He reached beneath the cupboard and plunked an appliance on the countertop.

      “What on earth is that?”

      “A griddle. I’m making French toast. I told you it’s my specialty.”

      Her mouth began to water. “Real French toast? Like dipped in egg batter and drowned in maple syrup?”

      “Of course. And bacon to go with it.”

      Sweet mother—bacon, too? She’d be as big as a house after ten days of eating this way—first Anna’s fine cooking and now Blake’s. “I love bacon.”

      “Then you’re in charge of that.” He grabbed a pound from the fridge and got her a frying pan. “Cook it all. I’ll use what’s left for BLTs later.”

      They worked around the kitchen easily, Hope turning the bacon and putting the crisp pieces to drain on paper towel while Blake mixed up milk and eggs. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him add vanilla and cinnamon. The first slice of French bread soon sizzled on the griddle, and as it cooked Blake got real maple syrup out of the fridge, along with butter and orange juice. When the slices were done he put them in the oven to stay warm and repeated the process.

      When all the bread was gone and the bacon was cooked, they sat down at the kitchen table to eat. The earth was frozen and white outside the windows, but inside Hope was warm and relaxed. There really was something about this place. The dominance of natural wood in the design and the rustic decor was growing on her,

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