A Home for Christmas (7 page)

“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.”

“That's all right. What do you need?”

“It's Eve Carlisle. She's taken a downward turn. I don't think she'll make it through the night. Thought you'd want to know.”

“I'm nearly two hours away. Can I make it?”

“It's hard to say. She's been asking for you. I think if I tell her you're coming, she might hang on.”

“Thanks for calling, Mark. I'll be there as soon as possible.”

“Drive carefully.”

Janice hung the phone up and turned to Blake.

“Emergency?”

“In a way.” She didn't miss the look of annoyance that passed across his face. She was used to that. She'd dated several men, one in particular, who'd expected her to put him first. When they saw that wouldn't be possible, they dropped her. Another reason to take a step back. She had to admit, if only to herself, she was kind of glad to have an out. Things were getting entirely too intense, too quickly, between her and Blake.

“I have a patient who's been ill for some time. My colleague doesn't think she'll make it through the night. She's elderly and doesn't have anyone. I've treated her for so long, she sort of sees me as part of her family. I should be there. I'm sorry to cut our evening short,” she said, and in a way, she was.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and pinned her with a steady look she couldn't read. “Don't worry about it. Can I drive you?”

“Oh, there's no need. I have my car. Besides, I could be at the hospital all night.”

He frowned. “Call me old-fashioned, but I don't like the idea of you driving alone all the way back to the city this late.”

His tone was a bit too stern, and it rankled her. “I'll be fine,” she insisted.

He shrugged. “Can I give you some food to take with you? You didn't finish your pasta.”

“I should just go ahead and leave.”

He nodded. “I'll walk you to the door.”

They slowly made their way down the long central hallway to the front of the house. She couldn't help dwelling on how the mood had shifted since she'd gotten that page. She also couldn't resist stopping at the doorway to the parlor for one last look at the tree. “We didn't get to make the popcorn garland.”

“Duty calls.”

He helped her into her coat. When she turned to say goodbye, the intensity she saw burning in his eyes was unnerving. She thought he might kiss her, but instead, he opened the door.

“I hope your patient . . . I hope everything goes okay. At the hospital,” he added.

“Right. Thanks.”

She walked out to her car, but stole one more look at the house before she got in. Despite her head's best remonstrations and the conflicting emotions swirling inside, seeing it and Blake silhouetted on the other side of the door filled her heart with a sweet, tender longing. A longing for home. A longing for Blake.

Blake closed the door behind Janice and slammed his fist into the wall. The new sheetrock gave, leaving a large hole. He looked at his hand then and noticed it was bleeding. He flexed his fingers. He hadn't even felt pain.

He pressed his injured hand against the palm of his opposite hand. Pacing the hallway, he used the self-talk and breathing techniques he'd learned years ago. Breathe in. Breathe out. She was a doctor. She had a patient dying. Sure, her partner could handle it, but the patient was special and had asked for her specifically. Of course she would want to be there for the woman.

He was just being selfish. He raked a hand through his hair and continued to pace. Breathe in. Breathe out. She was an independent woman. She'd be fine driving alone at night all the way back to Knoxville.

He had no reason to be upset. He hardly knew her. They'd seen each other twice now. Shared a mind-boggling attraction, but that was all it was. Clearly they were wrong for each other. They wanted different things. No harm. No foul. They should both just get on with their lives and forget they ever met.

And that got him to the source of his irrational anger. He didn't want to forget Janice. He put his back to the wall and slid to the floor. Sinking his head in his hands, he wondered how he'd gotten in so deep.

Better yet, what was he going to do about it?

When Janice arrived at
the hospital, she went directly to the nurse's station. No one was behind the desk, so she found Eve Carlisle's chart and reviewed it. Her partner had ordered only pain medication to keep her comfortable.

Janice walked the short distance to Mrs. Carlisle's room. No family waited sadly outside in the hallway or crowded inside around the bed to say their final goodbyes. No minister stood by the bedside to comfort or pray. All machines and IV's had been removed. The frail old lady seemed dwarfed by the bed. Her snowy white hair blended with the pillowcase.

She checked the pulse at her patient's wrist. Thready and irregular. Respirations, infrequent and labored. Eve's eyes fluttered open and a smile played at her bluing lips.

“Dr. Thornton. Is that you?” Her voice came out in a raspy whisper.

“I'm here, Mrs. Carlisle. How are you doing? Are you in any pain?”

“No. No.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“Please sit.” She patted the bed. “Stay with me.”

Janice sat on the side of the bed. How she hated this aspect of her job. The dying woman lifted her hand, and Janice took it. The bones stood out prominently, the skin stretched paper-thin.

“It won't be long now.”

“No,” Janice confirmed. “Is there anyone I can call, Mrs. Carlisle?”

“No. No one. I gave the nice nurse the name of a funeral home. They know what to do. The nursing home can do what they wish with the few things I left behind.”

Janice nodded. Tears stung her eyes. No one should have to die this way. Completely alone with only her doctor to comfort her.

Eve patted her hand. “Now don't be sad. I'm an old lady. It's my time. I'm ready to go.”

Janice swallowed hard and tried to smile.

“I have something for you.” Eve pointed toward the nightstand.

A large wooden box sat next to it. Janice pulled the old trunk over to the bed. Eve gazed at it lovingly.

“My father made it for me. It's a hope chest.”