A Home for Christmas

by Deborah Grace Staley

  “Good, because I have something I want to give you.”

  “Don't you want to know what I wished?”

  “If you tell me, it won't come true.”

  Smiling, she said, “I thought you said you weren't superstitious.”

  He shrugged. “Why jinx it?” He reached down into the container he'd brought in earlier, retrieved a long thin box tied with a pretty red bow, and held it out to her.

  “What's this?”

  “Open it and see.”

  She untied the bow and lifted the top. Peeling back tissue, she found the dress she'd tried on at Heart's Desire. She glanced up at him, surprised.

  “There's a dance Saturday night. I'd be honored if you'd go with me.”

  She lifted the dress out of the box, held it against her, and spun in a circle. “I'd love to. Thank you.” She leaned across the box to give him a kiss, but stopped short when she saw it wasn't empty. “There's more?”

  He looked, too. “There is?”

  She pulled out a matching satin teddy with satin garters and silk stockings. His eyes widened, then his gaze heated. He turned away and set the box aside, but not before she saw his face redden.

  “Oh, um, Candi got all that together for me. You hungry?”

  Swinging the skimpy teddy back and forth on her index finger, she teased, “Not embarrassed are you?”

  “Nope. Just tryin' to focus on something other than you wearin' that.” He pointed at the lingerie in question.

  “Such a gentleman.”

  He took a step forward, clasped the back of her neck, but didn't kiss her though he clearly wanted to. Instead, he seemed to struggle for control. “I'm hangin' on by a ragged thread, darlin'.”

  “Why?” she breathed.

  “Because I'm trying to be a gentleman and at least feed you . . . first.” Turning away, he dove back into the box and produced a small, insulated container. “So, you hungry or not?”

  “Sure.” After that exchange, the last thing on her mind was food, but she'd humor him. For now.

  She put the dress and sexy undergarments back into the dress box while Blake spread a checked tablecloth on the floor. Next, he set out two plates, two wineglasses, and silverware with napkins.

  “A picnic?”

  “Yeah. Sorry we couldn't have it outside. Next spring, I'll take you down to Fort Loudoun and we'll have a proper picnic by the lake. But for now, this will have to do.”

  She didn't bother reminding him she wouldn't be here next spring because, in this moment, she wasn't too sure she wouldn't be.

  He opened the container, and the smell of a savory chicken casserole filled the air. Next, he unwrapped a bottle of white wine and worked on removing the cork. She sat next to him on the floor and said, “Has anyone ever told you that you're amazing?”

  He winked. “As long as you think so, that's enough for me.” He poured the wine and lifted his glass. “Merry Christmas, Janice Thornton. May this be the best one yet.”

  Who needed luck or wishes or angels? She had everything she'd ever wanted right here, right now, right in front of her. “For you, too, Blake,” she said softly as she touched her glass to his.

  “With you here, it's a sure thing.”

  He always said exactly what her heart wanted to hear. She sipped her wine while Blake spooned casserole onto a plate and handed it to her. “What's that smile about?”

  “Just wondering what will happen if Uncle Charles comes home and finds us picnicking in my bedroom.”

  He dropped the spoon in the container. “Aw, man. Maybe we should move this downstairs.”

  He started to stand, but she delayed him by laying hand on his arm. “Why? Were you planning to compromise me?”

  He wiggled his eyebrows. “Is that an invitation?”

  She took another sip of wine. “I don't know.” She glanced over at her bed with its frilly eyelet lace comforter and his black hat lying in the middle of it. “It's a twin.” She let her gaze slowly travel from his head to his boots. “Pretty narrow for a man . . . your size.”

  He took her wine and set it aside. “You're playin' with fire, lady.”

  She trailed a lazy finger from his collar to his stomach. “I'll take my chances.” She couldn't get the image of them standing in his kitchen in each other's arms . . . his shirt unbuttoned, out of her mind. He had a great chest sprinkled with dark hair that angled down a hard, flat, muscular stomach to a line before disappearing into his waistband . . . She'd like to get another look.

  He cupped her elbow. “Where's your uncle?”

  “He went to the diner just before you picked me up.”

  He checked his watch. “The diner probably closed fifteen minutes ago.”

  She pressed her lips to the hollow just behind his ear and eased her hand under his sweater. “Maybe he'll stop by Miss Estelee's before he comes home.”

  He sank his fingers into her hair and tipped his head to the side, giving her better access. “Mmm . . . if there's a God in heaven . . . ”

  “Janice, dear, I brought you some pie from the—diner. Ferguson.”

  “Or not,” Blake mumbled as he leaned back, effectively breaking contact with her lips and hands. He glanced over his shoulder at her uncle and said, “Doc.”

  “What have we here?” he asked somewhat cautiously.

  “Blake took me to the tall pines to get a tree. Isn't it lovely?”

  “Oh, well, yes. Quite.”

  “And he packed us a picnic dinner. Wasn't that thoughtful, Uncle?”

  Her uncle cleared his throat. “It was indeed.” He still stood in the open doorway, so she said, “Come in and join us. Would you like a glass of wine?”

  “Oh, no. Thank you. I'll just leave the pie and, um, if you're all right, I'll just retire to my study. Just downstairs, below your room.” He pinned Blake with a look, driving his point home.

  She stood and took the pie from him, kissing his cheek. “Thank you, Uncle. We'll be down in a bit.”

  “Of course. Ferguson.”

  “Doc.”

  After he'd turned and left, she rejoined Blake on the blanket. He sat there in a casually sexy pose, one leg outstretched, one leg bent with his arm draped over it while he leaned his weight on the other.

  “Well, after last night, I'd call that progress,” she said, sitting next to him, her legs tucked beneath her.

  Blake pushed his hair back off his forehead. “I suppose.”

  “What's wrong?”

  He smoothed a hand down her hair and said, “Nothing.”

  “That look on your face isn't saying nothing.”

  “I'm just being selfish.”

  “Tell me,” she encouraged.

  He took her hand and brought it to his lips. The slow slide of his mouth across her knuckles nearly short-circuited her brain. “I'd give anything for a few hours of your undivided attention. Without interruptions.”

  “That's not likely to ever happen.”

  “Not while you're living with your uncle, anyway.”

  “I can always get called in on a case, as well.”

  “I know, but at least we could finish what we started before you left, and your uncle wouldn't walk in while I'm,” he leaned close and whispered, “making love to you.”

  She felt his breath on her lips, soft and warm, but he didn't touch her. She moistened them with the tip of her tongue.

  “Please. I'm dying a short death here.” His voice was a hoarse whisper.

  “Kiss me,” she invited.

  “Your uncle—”

  “Is downstairs in his study.” Touching her nose to his, she angled her head in anticipation.

  “And at any moment, he could run up here to check on us.”

  She tested the texture of the dark stubble on his cheek with hers. “He wouldn't.”

  Blake held her at arm's length. “Baby, he's got my number and I'm not takin' any chances. He expects me to behave like a gentleman and you can be certain he'll make sure that I do in his own h
ome.”

  She picked up her wineglass and took a long drink. The pale liquid burned her throat. Of course, he was right.

  “I'm sorry,” she said, and then she ruined the apology by laughing. .

  “What's so funny?”

  “You're being a gentleman, and I'm . . . ”

  “What?”

  “Disappointed.”

  Standing, he pulled her up in front of him. “Don't be. I'm nothing if not resourceful. I'll find a way.”

  “Promise?”

  His kiss was long, hard and hungry. “Promise. Now walk me down to my buggy. I need the cold air to cool me down.”

  For the remainder of the week, Blake did his best to make good on his promise to prove his love for her and find time alone for them. He told her many times that he loved her, and not just with words, but in his actions. After slow, sweet kisses. After hot, hungry kisses that made her feel like her insides were melting.

  When at last he had her undivided attention, without interruptions, he told her he loved her as they snuggled under a blanket together on her grandmother's wicker porch swing with a million stars winking against a velvet expanse of sky. And again in front of the fireplace in his parlor, with the only light coming from the fire and the tall tree standing in the bay window and the Christmas lights hung outside.

  She'd never felt so close to anyone. So loved. She trusted Blake completely and was even starting to believe that this time it would be different for her. She felt confident that he wasn't just going through the motions, and that he had meant it when he'd vowed he would be there for her no matter what.

  With these new feelings of security, she'd come close to telling him she loved him, too. But when she tried, the words just wouldn't come. Tonight, she wouldn't let anything stand in her way. She'd share everything in her heart with him. It was time. Past time.

  Tonight he would take her to the Snow Ball, but not if she didn't quit daydreaming. She had to get dressed. She'd been out with her uncle all day doing rounds of the “house to house” variety. Visiting with the patients beyond the examinations had chewed up a huge chunk of time.

  When they'd finally headed home, they'd met a herd of cattle blocking the road. Apparently, the fencing holding them in their pasture had been cut. By the time their owner had gotten them out of the road and they'd arrived back at her uncle's . . . .

  She checked her watch. She had just under an hour to shower, change, do make-up and hair—

  She jogged into the bathroom, throwing clothing in all directions as she went. After breaking the record for the quickest shower in history, she threw on a terry robe without drying.

  Meow.

  Janice nearly tripped over the kitten as she rushed into her bedroom. “Girl? How do you keep getting in here?”

  Meow.

  Janice scooped her up into her hand. “I don't have time to pet you now. Here. Lie on the bed. I'll take you downstairs for some milk after I'm dressed.”

  She was toweling her hair dry when she heard a knock at her bedroom door. “Yes?”

  “It's me, honey,” her uncle said. “May I come in?”

  “Sure.” She threw the towel aside and began combing her hair.

  Her uncle entered the room, smartly dressed in a charcoal suit, a neatly starched white shirt and red bowtie. Janice swiveled to face him.

  “Uncle Charles, you look so handsome.”

  “Thank you, dear. I just wanted to let you know I'm leaving to pick up my date.”

  “Miss Estelee?”

  “Yes. She's prepared a meal for us. Would you like me to come back by afterward to take you to the ball?”

  Janice smiled and straightened his bowtie. “Thank you, but no. Blake is picking me up.”

  “You're going with Ferguson?”

  “Yes.” Her uncle's lips were set in a hard line. She wondered where that was coming from. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. No. I suppose I'm just being old-fashioned. I know that I agreed to your seeing Ferguson, and you have been spending quite a bit of time together. But, well . . . call me selfish.” He patted her cheek. “I missed you all those nights you were gone this week. We lost so much time over the years.”

  Tears misted her eyes and clogged her throat. Her uncle hurriedly took her hand.

  “Oh, there, there.” He rubbed a hand in a circular motion on her back. “I didn't mean to distress you.”

  Janice sniffed. He handed her his handkerchief and she took it.

  “What's upsetting you so, my dear?”

  The fact of the matter was that no one had ever shown any concern over whom she dated. But she said, “I'm sorry. I'm not usually so emotional.”

  “Well, now.” He cleared his throat. Taking the handkerchief from her hands, he dabbed her moist cheeks like he would a child. Another new experience for her. She'd always dried her own tears.

  She sniffed. “Thank you . . . for caring about me.”

  “I'm going to care about you until I draw my last breath. That's a promise, Janice Annette Thornton. A promise I intend to keep. And if you'll allow me the privilege, I'll be a very active participant in your life.”

  She sniffed again. “I'd like that very much.”

  “Excellent.”

  His smile lit his face and eyes, and the hug they shared filled Janice's heart to overflowing with love for him. When he loosened his hold, he tapped her cheek with his index finger. “You've made an old man very happy.”

  “You make me happy, too, Uncle. More than you could know, but you'd better get going. You shouldn't keep Miss Estelee waiting.”

  He pulled his pocket watch from his vest. “Oh, my. Yes indeed. I should be on my way.” He strode to the door, but turned back to her before he left. “You're sure you wouldn't like for me to stay until Ferguson arrives? I could call Estelee and explain.”

  “No. He should be here soon. You go on ahead. I'll see you at the ball.”

  “Yes, well . . . if you're certain.”

  Janice smiled. “Go.”

  He nodded and then was gone.

  Janice retreated to the bathroom to dry and curl her hair. Then she stepped out of the robe and drenched her body in the wonderful smelling lotion she'd bought from the Naughty Boutique at Heart's Desire. Candi had guaranteed the scent was designed to drive a man wild.

  Next, she stepped into the cinnamon-colored teddy that matched the dress Blake had given her earlier in the week. The same dress he'd seen her trying on the day they'd had that horrible argument. The teddy had a deep V that accommodated the low neckline of the dress. The satin felt totally decadent against her skin. Almost as decadent as the silk stockings that attached to its garters.

  After she'd secured a lacy gold choker with sparkling rhinestones and matching drop earrings, she looked at herself in the mirror. It was like another woman stared back her. A woman in curlers who only had—she glanced at the bedside clock—no time to finish getting ready!

  She pulled the hot rollers out of her hair and finger combed the long mass to give the style a sexy, tousled look. In the other room, she stripped the dress from its hanger and wrapped herself into it. Next, she stepped into the matching shoes. One more quick glance in the mirror to make sure everything was in place, then she grabbed the gold beaded clutch bag and rushed downstairs.

  Fifteen minutes passed. Janice strode to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine.

  Meow.

  The little gray kitten stared up at her with big eyes, complaining loudly that she'd been left up in the bedroom when she'd been promised milk. “Okay, okay.”

  Janice poured milk in a saucer and set it in the floor for the kitten.

  Meow . . .

  “Give me a break.”

  Janice grabbed the saucer, nuked it in the microwave, and then put it back in the floor. The kitten happily lapped it up.

  Janice carried her wine to the parlor and waited. She was halfway through the glass when the mantle clock chimed the half hour. This was very unlike B
lake. He was always so punctual.

  She picked up the phone and dialed his cell number. It went straight to his voice mail, and she hung up. Maybe he was still at home. She tried him there. Same as before. After four rings the answering machine picked up. Janice replaced the phone in its receiver. He must be on his way and had forgotten to turn on his cell. Or maybe he hadn't brought it along.

  The kitten curled up in a wing chair and fell asleep. The minutes ticked by. The clock chimed the top of the hour. The dance would be beginning now. Still no Blake. No call of explanation either.

  She began pacing back and forth on the Oriental rug. How could he do this to her? How could he stand her up after all they'd shared this week? Had he in the end lost patience and decided she wasn't worth the effort? Would he desert her like everyone else in her life had?

  Maybe it was her fault. She hadn't given him any assurances. Hadn't told him once she loved him after he'd voiced the sentiment to her. Hadn't further dealt with the issue of whether or not she would relocate.

  At the sound of a car outside, she set her wineglass aside and rushed to the front of the house. The sight of headlights in the drive lifted the heaviness in the region of her heart. She opened the door and hurried out onto the front porch to wait for him, unashamed of her relief that he'd finally arrived. She was certain he'd have an adequate explanation. She was just so glad—

  The man coming up the walk was not Blake. Cory Ferguson stepped onto the porch. Even in the weak porch light, she could see he looked horrible. His dark hair stood out in all directions as if he'd been raking his hands through it. His shirt was wrinkled and partially untucked. The slacks weren't any better.

  “Mr. Ferguson? Is something wrong?”

  “Yes. May I come in?”

  “Of course.” She held the door open for him, and he preceded her inside. When they both stood in the foyer, he turned and took in her dress. Janice felt self-conscious for the first time since putting it on. She'd hoped Blake would be the first to see her in it, and that he would be there as a shield against other men who might look at her and get . . . ideas. She remembered her first meeting with Cory and how he'd come on to her. It didn't give her a good feeling now.

  “I'm sorry, Janice. You must be going to the Snow Ball. I didn't think.” He shot his hand through his hair. “I haven't been able to think clearly for awhile, now.” He swung his troubled gaze back to her and said, “You look beautiful,” almost as an afterthought.