A Home for Christmas Read online

  “Still works like a new one,” Blake said. “And it fits. They don't make ranges this wide anymore.” He pulled a stool from the island. “Make yourself comfortable.” Taking her hand, he made sure she was settled comfortably before turning his attention to the pots on the stove.

  “So, I heard Doc Prescott is your uncle.” Steam rose in the air as he lifted the lid on the pot containing the pasta.

  Word traveled fast. “Yes.”

  “I didn't know he had any family left. Guess I should have made the connection after I met you.”

  “I hate to admit it, but I didn't remember having an uncle.”

  Blake glanced over his shoulder and frowned. “Hmm . . . Dixie said . . . ”

  He turned a knob and picked up a wooden spoon. She propped her chin in her hand. “What did she say?”

  “Oh, just that he had mentioned you over the years.”

  “I met him a couple of times when I visited my grandparents. Beyond that, I corresponded with my grandparents. They shared the letters with him.”

  As he stirred the sauce, she thought how strange he looked holding a wooden spoon, standing at a stove. He just didn't seem the domestic type. He had the rough, rugged look of the dark and dangerous bad boy. She couldn't tear her gaze away from him.

  “That's odd. Looks like he would have written you himself.”

  She shrugged. “That's my family. Odd.”

  Blake chuckled and shook his head. “Dixie would say, you can pick your friends, you can pick your nose, you can pick your friend's nose, but you can't pick your family.”

  She burst out laughing. “Your sister must be something.”

  “She is. We just haven't figured out what yet.”

  Blake set the long wooden spoon he'd been using aside and carried the pasta to the deep, white porcelain sink. Janice looked around the old, familiar kitchen again. When her gaze stopped at the back door, she asked, “Is there still a sun porch out there?”

  “Yes, ma'am, complete with your grandmother's wicker porch swing.”

  She gasped. “Really?”

  “Yeah. We can wrap up in a blanket and sit in it later, if you want.”

  Wrapped up in a blanket with Blake on a crisp winter night in a porch swing . . . if that wasn't a recipe for trouble, she didn't know what was.

  He moved around the kitchen naturally, as if he spent a lot of time here. “Do you enjoy cooking?” she asked, ignoring his invitation to seduction on the sun porch.

  “Yes, although my sister would argue my skill. I'm not as good as her, but I do all right. I guess it's a good thing, too. I'd starve if I didn't. Don't know if you noticed on your way in, but the nearest fast food restaurant is about fifty miles down the road, and my sister usually closes her diner down after the dinner crowd clears out. That way she can do the next day's baking.” He lifted a bottle and asked, “Wine?”

  “Please.”

  “It's red. Hope that's okay.”

  “Perfect.”

  While he poured, she said, “That's one of the things I like about Angel Ridge. It seems to have missed development entirely.”

  Blake raised his glass. “Here's to keeping it that way.”

  He turned to pour the pasta into a colander. “How was your week?”

  The scene was entirely too domestic for Janice's comfort. “Busy. Yours?”

  “Actually, I took the week off and worked around here. So, I've enjoyed myself.”

  Janice couldn't remember the last time she'd taken a week off. What would she do for two weeks in Angel Ridge? And with whom would she do it? It was one of the things that bothered her about taking over her uncle's practice. The pace would be decidedly slower, leaving her more time for . . . what? Blake?

  He turned and leaned against the island near where she sat, capturing her full attention. He had the most arresting blue eyes. That lock of dark hair fell across his forehead. Her fingers itched to brush it back into place.

  “So, what'd you think of my brother?”

  Janice frowned. Where had that come from? “Your brother?”

  “Yeah. Remember? He came by last Saturday while you were here.”

  “He seemed nice, I guess.” She supposed some women might consider him good looking, but he was nothing compared to Blake.

  A huge, cheesy grin split Blake's face.

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing. So, what are your plans for Christmas?” he asked.

  Janice set her glass down in front of her and twirled the stem. This was certainly an odd conversation. “Well, my partners are insisting that I take a few weeks off. In fact, they suggested just today that I take off sometime next week and not come back until the New Year.”

  “Sounds great. Do you normally work at Christmas?”

  “Yes.”

  “For the same reason you worked Thanksgiving?”

  Janice shrugged. “I don't mind.”

  Blake just shook his head. “Will you be spending time with your folks?”

  “Mother is taking a three week Mediterranean cruise. Of course, she invited me along, but being in a warm climate at Christmas doesn't appeal to me.” And three weeks confined with her mother on a cruise ship didn't warrant consideration.

  “So, what are you going to do?” he repeated.

  “I've been thinking about going skiing, but I haven't made any definite plans.” She didn't want to tell him she was giving serious consideration to spending her time off just a couple of blocks away. If she had any sense, she'd talk herself out of it. No need to mention it to Blake until she'd made a firm decision anyway.

  He straightened away from the bar and went to stir the sauce. “You should come here,” he said without looking back at her.

  “Here?” she squeaked, then cleared her throat.

  “To Angel Ridge. It's a great place to relax. Unwind. You could even spend Christmas Day with me. I usually rattle around here alone on Christmas. It'd be nice having someone else around who does the day solo like me.”

  “You?” Janice said incredulously. “Didn't you say you have brothers, a sister, and parents nearby?”

  “They spend Christmas day at home with their spouses and kids. Well, except for Dixie. She's still single, too. But she hangs out with her friend, Susan, and her family.”

  “So, you don't see each other on Christmas?” Janice asked.

  “We get together on Christmas Eve at my parents', go to midnight church service, then part ways.”

  A pregnant silence filled the kitchen. Janice knew he was waiting for a response to his invitation.

  “Have you lived in Angel Ridge all your life?” She took a sip of her wine.

  Blake gave her what could only be described as “a look.” He walked to the refrigerator and removed a bowl of salad. “I'm noticing a pattern with you.” He set the bowl on the island.

  She was noticing some things as well, like how nicely he filled out those skin-tight jeans. But she lifted her eyebrows, questioning.

  “You're good at changing the subject when you don't want to answer a question.”

  “Fair is fair. You've asked me all kinds of personal questions, but I haven't gotten to ask many of my own.”

  Blake set a plate in front of her and served salad. “Ask away, but the invitation stands.”

  He dished up salad. Janice ignored the invitation. Again. She decided to see if she could throw him off-balance. “Have you ever been married?”

  “No.”

  “Really?” She had expected him to say he was divorced. He was an intelligent, charming, sinfully sexy man. She imagined he didn't lack in dating opportunities.

  “Really.”

  He turned the burner under the sauce off and put the lid on the pot. When he joined her at the bar, he said, “No and nothing are the answers to your next two questions.”

  Janice stopped eating, her fork halfway to her mouth. “What questions would that be?”

  “Are you gay? And what's wrong with you?”

  J
anice laughed into her napkin.

  “Come on. I know you were thinking it. I've heard it often enough. A guy who's forty and never been married must either be gay or have something wrong with him.” He leaned down and whispered in a conspiratorial manner. “I have a sister. She tells me these things.”

  “I see. Well, since you're not gay and there's nothing wrong with you, that leaves only one other explanation.”

  “I can't wait to hear this.” He sat and poured a generous portion of creamy ranch dressing onto his salad. His thigh brushed hers and she nearly lost the thread of the conversation.

  Ignoring the fat content he was about to ingest, she focused on her own salad before saying, “You must have impossible standards no woman can meet.”

  “What's wrong with having standards? Don't you have them?”

  “I thought I was asking the questions.”

  “Right. Fire away.”

  While he chewed, she considered what she would say. “So, you admit that you have standards.”

  “Absolutely.” He wiped his mouth. “I think that if more people had standards and waited until they found the person compatible with those standards, there would be fewer broken homes.” He forked up more salad.

  Skeptical, Janice crossed her arms on the island and said, “Tell me.”

  When he'd swallowed, he said, “First, she has to be someone admirable. Someone people look up to.”

  “A spotless reputation,” Janice supplied.

  He shook his head. “No one is perfect.”

  “I'm glad you acknowledge that.”

  “Ready for the pasta?”

  She looked at his clean plate and nodded, ignoring her own half eaten salad. “What else?”

  Blake took their salad plates and busied himself filling two large bowls with pasta then smothered it with aromatic sauce. “Someone who appreciates quality rather than quantity.”

  “As it pertains to what?”

  “Lots of things.” He set her food in front of her and took his place on the stool beside hers. “Take this house, for instance. I could easily build a new home in one of the affluent subdivisions I've developed, use the best materials, fill it with top of the line everything, but the fact is, today's materials and building standards can't begin to replicate the work and craftsmanship put into building this place. The history and character of this house can't be reproduced. That comes with time, patience, and caring for something.”

  Janice twirled noodles around her fork, staring at him, but not eating. “So you're talking about material things. Quality as opposed to quantity.”

  “That principle applies to many things.”

  “What else?”

  “Kissing.”

  Janice lost her grip on her fork. It clattered nosily against her dish. “Sorry,” she mumbled, then picked up her napkin and pressed it against her mouth.

  “Although quantity is somewhat important there,” he continued, ignoring her unease, “taking the time to do it right, to let the act express what you feel inside for the person, is the most important thing. Wouldn't you agree?”

  So much for throwing him off-balance. “Yes. Absolutely. This pasta is really good.”

  “You haven't eaten anything yet.”

  Add observant to his list of attributes.

  “I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I?”

  “No. I asked a question, you gave me an honest answer. I must admit I find this fascinating. So, are there any other standards?” Janice took a bite, hoping his next answer would not have anything to do with sex. She was having enough trouble trying not to focus on what it would be like to be kissed qualitatively by Blake Ferguson.

  “We'd have to want each other beyond reason . . . without reservation.”

  His voice had lowered, softened. Janice looked up, and when her eyes found his, she trembled at the intensity and depth of emotion she felt in the words. She wondered . . . .

  “Have you ever wanted anyone that way?”

  “Yes.”

  His answer had been immediate. His gaze on her did not waiver.

  She leaned toward him, her body drawn to him as if of its own accord. “Did she feel the same way?”

  “I'm not sure.”

  Janice couldn't imagine any woman who hadn't been waiting her entire life for a man like Blake to want her beyond reason.

  “What happened?” She said quietly, her dinner forgotten. “Did she hurt you?”

  “Yes.”

  Janice lowered her gaze. This was the worst-case scenario. The other reason a man like Blake would have never married. A broken heart. And now, no woman could ever replace the one he once loved.

  She had to admit, if only to herself, that since meeting Blake, she'd held onto a fine, intangible thread—call it hope or curiosity—about something romantic developing between them. With that hope deflated, Janice felt a disappointment so acute that it pressed heavily on her heart.

  “I'm sorry,” she said at last.

  “Don't be. Christmas is a time of miracles. A time when hearts come home.”

  Janice frowned. The man was definitely giving mixed signals. Had she missed something here? Was he talking about lost loves or something else entirely? He was sitting there looking at her like he could devour her. Maybe she could force his hand . . . .

  Janice pushed her plate back. “You're hoping she'll come here for Christmas?”

  “I've asked her, but, for some reason, she won't give me an answer.”

  Janice let out her breath. He was referring to his earlier invitation. She looked away, still evading. “Maybe she's not interested.”

  Blake carefully placed his napkin next to his plate and stood. Janice looked up at him, surprised, when he took her hand and gently urged her off the stool.

  “There's one way to find out,” he murmured as he lowered his head to hers.

  Chapter 5

  Janice reeled with the implication of his words and the shock of his warm lips on hers. He'd been talking about her all along.

  Logical thought fled when Blake slid a hand down her spine and pressed her close as his lips slanted across hers. Janice sighed. He was so tall. At five foot nine, standing on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck made her feel almost petite. Blake deepened the kiss, swirling his tongue in and out of her mouth in a heady rhythm, inviting her to kiss him back. She surrendered completely, giving as well as taking, until she was beyond weak with wanting him.

  When his lips left hers, she slid her hands across his wide shoulders, rested her forehead against his chest, and closed her eyes. A kiss had never made her feel so much. Want so much.

  He enfolded her in his arms and held her, his lips pressed to her hair. His heart beat fast and furious beneath her palm.

  “I think she's interested,” he whispered near her ear, “but get the feeling she's still going to hold back. I wish I knew why.”

  Janice traced a pearl button on his shirt with the tip of her finger. Without lifting her head from his chest, she surprised herself by saying, “Have you ever wanted anything so much that it frightened you?”

  “Wanting someone beyond reason doesn't allow room for fear.”

  “There's always fear.”

  He placed a finger beneath her chin and tipped her face up until her gaze met his. “Not when the feelings are mutual . . . the desires the same.”

  Janice closed her eyes as he gently caressed her cheek. “We just met. We don't know each other.”

  “I know I haven't been able to get you off my mind since I found you parked outside my house last week.”

  She knew the feeling. Janice ran a hand down his muscular arm. It would be so simple to tilt her head and rest it against his impossibly wide shoulder, her face nestled against his warm neck. “But you don't know if I meet your standards.”

  He captured her hands and laced his fingers with hers but maintained contact with their bodies pressed together from her shoulders down, his feet on either side of hers, thigh to thigh. �
�I know what we just shared was a quality kiss. I know you enjoyed it as much as I did.”

  “You can't know if I'm an admirable person. You don't know me well enough.”

  He pressed their entwined hands to the small of her back and intensified the contact of their bodies. She arched her back. “Saving lives on a daily basis makes that one pretty much automatic.”

  “It doesn't happen everyday. There are some I can't save.”

  “But you keep trying. And there's the fact that you work holidays so that your married partners can be with their families. That's admirable. Of course, that would change if you had a family of your own.”

  She started to point out that she'd still have to take her turn, but he short-circuited her thoughts by brushing his lips against hers in a slow, seductive slide that fired her already revved up pulse.

  “Say you'll come for Christmas.”

  The tip of his tongue traced the seam of her mouth. She caught it between her teeth, then swirled her tongue around it. He moaned and buried a hand in her hair. She felt her barrette pop open, heard it bounce against the floor as her hair tumbled around her shoulders. She angled her fingers into the thick hair at his temples and he deepened the kiss, but the sound of Janice's beeper startled them apart.

  “I'm sorry.” She stepped out of the circle of his arms, shaken and more than a little weak. Pushing her hair back, she picked her purse up off the floor and retrieved her pager, then checked the number on the display. “May I use your phone?”

  He ran a thumb along his tempting lower lip. “It's by the refrigerator.”

  As Janice walked away from him, she tried to ignore the feeling of loss produced by just a few empty feet between them. What would walking away from him forever feel like? She shook the thought away, then punched in the familiar number to the doctor's lounge at the hospital and waited.

  “Holliday.”

  “Hi, Mark,” Janice said. “What's up?”

  “Sorry to bother you, Janice. I know you're off this weekend.”