LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      HOPE tried to stay out of Blake’s way the next day. She sorted some laundry and wrapped her presents, and waited until she saw him walking across the yard to the barn before heading for the kitchen to scrounge some breakfast.

      She put her bowl and coffee mug in the dishwasher before booting up her laptop. Today she was going to go through the pictures she had and make a short list, then start editing. Blake needed a good dozen images to use in his brochure and on his website.

      She frowned as she moved two unusable pictures of Cate into her discard folder. Blake had more than one PR problem. Hope could give him the best photos in the world, but his current website design wasn’t doing him any favors. She wondered what his plans were. He could do with a redesign. Something that captured the feel of the place and the program rather than a standard template straight from a hosting package. She knew of several people who had the know-how to set it up, and then it would merely be a matter of updating; something Hope, even with her basic skills, could show him.

      Except she wasn’t going to be here, was she? And she’d guess that Blake would find it hard to take money from his budget to hire a web designer. Which left him with his basic site.

      It was past noon when Hope lifted her head and rubbed her eyes. She gazed absently out the living room window and saw Blake walking back and forth with a gigantic snow scoop. Curious, she went to the window. She could see now. He was clearing a large patch of ice. With the snow removed Hope could see that the rink was bordered by planks, forming a perimeter. He put the scoop aside and brushed off two huge logs beside the rink. Seats? She smiled to herself. Benches?

      His hat was pulled low over his head, his breath making frosty clouds in the air as he picked up shovel and scoop together and headed back to the barn. She swallowed. She couldn’t deny—at least to herself—that she found his strength and physicality incredibly attractive. She’d never considered herself a fan of the big, rugged outdoorsy type, but Blake’s roughness was what made him different, made him stand out. Paired with what she knew now was a gentle heart... Well, it made a devastating combination.

      She managed to keep a grip on her hormones when he came in for lunch. Anna had fixed her a sandwich. She ate sitting at her laptop and then went to change her laundry over to the dryer while Blake ate his standing at the counter.

      “Sorry to rush,” he said between mouthfuls. “The guys will be here anytime.”

      “The guys?”

      “Weekly game. We usually have it on a Sunday, but now that high school’s out for the holidays we planned it today. Anna’s son, John, comes over and captains the other team, and a bunch of local teenagers keep us on our toes. You can come and watch if you want.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Be a puck bunny.”

      He seemed to be oblivious to everything that had happened before. The long looks, the dim lights, the way they’d kissed next to the Christmas tree. It was like nothing had ever happened between them, and on one hand she was relieved and on the other annoyed. The least he could do was show a bit of the awkwardness that she was feeling when they were in the same room together. But there was nothing. He was completely at ease.

      She blinked and stared at her monitor without really seeing. Maybe she was the one making too big a deal out of everything. Maybe she was the only one who stared at the ceiling at night, unable to go to sleep, knowing he was just down the hall. She’d asked him what he wanted from her and he’d said nothing. Maybe he was right and she was making a mountain out of a molehill.

      She ignored the puck bunny reference deliberately. “I really should keep working. I only have a few more days to get this sorted for you.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. Part of his figure was obscured by the frame of her reading glasses.

      He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

      He went out the door minutes later and Hope let out a breath. Shortly after she heard the low drone of a snowmobile go past the house, and then a few trucks pulled into the yard. Her concentration shot, she watched curiously as nets were set up at either end of the rink and a line of boys—men, rather, looking at their size—sat on the logs, lacing up skates and putting on helmets.

      One by one they stepped onto the ice, sticks riding close to the surface. A puck appeared and there was some passing back and forth, and shooting at the empty nets. Two players shuffled onto the ice in full goalie gear—pads, mask, glove and blocker. They smacked their sticks on the ice in a testosterone-fueled show of hubris as they began making practice saves.

      And then the disorganized scrimmaging became a game.

      It was easy to tell Blake from the others. He stood a good three inches taller than anyone else on the ice, and he moved the puck with a grace and finesse that the other players lacked. For the first few minutes he didn’t get a chance at the net: a pass was intercepted, and a poke check turned over the puck. But then she saw it...the opening. And Blake did, too. With fast feet he zoomed up the ice, let the puck sit on his stick, before flicking his wrist and sending it flying—straight over the glove of the goalie and into the mesh at the back of the net.

      Hope let out the breath she’d been holding and laughed. She hadn’t watched hockey in years, but spending time in Massachusetts meant that she’d watched her share of Bruins games. She knew enough about the sport to appreciate the players below.

      A few congratulatory slaps from his teammates and they were off again. Hope looked over at her computer and then at her camera, sitting in its bag at the end of the table. She couldn’t resist.

      Within five minutes she’d dressed in heavy coat, hat and boots and made her way toward the ice, camera dangling around her neck. She waded through the snow to the edge of the fence—Blake wouldn’t see her here unless he was looking, but she had a clear view and could zoom in to capture everything she needed.

      She took pictures for over an hour. Pictures of the men swooping and swirling on the ice. Pictures of sticks raised in victory after a goal. Of Blake, his long legs extended as he raced for the puck, his arms lifted as he released the puck, and—the best one of all—Blake laughing. His eyes sparkled blue fire and his mouth was open as he laughed, his cheeks ruddy with color beneath the black helmet.

      She could hear the glorious sound of it across the snowy field and it warmed her from the inside out. She found herself smiling in response. Blake’s laugh made her happy, she realized. And she also realized that while she’d shed tears this past week she’d also laughed more, smiled more—more than she had in a really long time.

      She felt alive here.

      And she was going to miss it when she left.

      That was the biggest surprise of all. Never in her life had she lived in a place this isolated. She couldn’t even see another house from here. It was a long drive just to the nearest convenience store, and almost an hour to the closest city when she was used to everything

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