by Leger, Lori
Red rubbed his chin. “I guess it depends on who your friends are. I’ve owned businesses in and around the Lafayette area for fifteen years and I’ve made a couple of enemies. As a matter of fact, I think one of them called me just a minute before you did. I’m still trying to figure that one out.”
“What kind of enemies?” Drake asked, sounding understandably concerned.
“I had one guy in particular who tried to hold back my liquor license unless he got a significant kickback. It seems dishonesty is a lucrative business here in Louisiana.”
“Though lacking in exclusivity. We also get our fair share in the great state of Texas, unfortunately.”
“When I get shoved, I normally shove back.”
“As you should.”
“I think so, too, Mr. LeBlanc, but by all means, ask around. You’ll find my friends are top shelf.”
“That’s good to know.”
“Is this interrogation over now, counselor?”
Drake chuckled. “She told you I was a lawyer?”
Red hesitated. “She told me your parents paid to send you to Harvard. I only assumed you passed the bar.”
There was an uncomfortable silence on the other end of the phone. Finally Drake spoke in a tight voice. “I didn’t want to go to Harvard. I wanted to be with Tiff, but she talked me into going. Our parent’s treatment of her is deplorable.”
“It turned out she didn’t need anything from them. The only thing she wants, they can’t seem to give her—and that’s love. I guess that’s why she called you. She said you were close once.”
“We are close. We just don’t get to see each other enough.”
“You should make time for family, in my opinion.”
“You sound like a family man, McAllister. Ever been married?” Drake asked, sounding more protective than curious.
“No, I’ve never been interested, before now. I come from a large family and we’re all very close. So, how about you? Are you married?”
“Hell, no! The women I tote around aren’t the marrying kind. I’m a hopeless bachelor.”
“Yeah, well, all that can change in a heartbeat. Take it from me.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you. Tell Tiff I’ll be here for the rest of the night—I’ll be waiting for her call.”
“I’ll do that.”
Drake ended the call and stared at his cell, hoping Red McAllister proved to be as decent a guy as his gut told him he was. He contemplated less than a minute before calling his commissioned private investigator. “Sorry for the wake-up call, buddy,” he said, after Dan answered in a sleepy voice. He gave him the information he’d gleaned from the conversation with Red.
“When do you need the scoop on this guy?”
“As soon as possible,” Drake said, knowing full well he paid Dan enough to expect immediate results.
“I’ll get right on it. Happy Thanksgiving, Boss.”
Drake hesitated, taken back by the comment. “You too, Dan,” he said before disconnecting and consulting his calendar. He sat back, shaking his head. Damned if he hadn’t missed Thanksgiving. With no family around, or anyone close, for that matter, he’d worked in his downtown Houston apartment all day long. He’d gone out once to grab some Chinese takeout from the place around the corner. He thought it had been quiet, even for a Thursday night.
How pathetic is that?
Red had just removed the reheated leftovers from the oven when he heard the door of the guest room open. “Hey, Doc, I didn’t know if you had a preference for white or dark meat so I heated up some of both for you.” He set her plate on the counter beside the platter of food.
“Your brother called, and he wants you to call him back at that number. He said he’ll be there all night,” He turned toward her. “And he’ll be waiting—for—your—call …” His voice faltered. “What did you do to your hair?”
Tiffany’s chin lifted. “This is my hair. Tanner liked it straight.”
“You’re kidding.” Her tight mouth and slow shake of her head said she wasn’t. Unable to resist, he reached out to touch the silky tendrils with one hand, watching in awe as they looped and twisted, curling around his fingers. Fighting the nearly irresistible urge to burrow his fingers in the glorious mass, he shook his head. “How the hell could he not like it like this?”
“I have brown hair.”
Distracted by the sight before him, her comment barely registered. “What did you say?”
“My natural hair color is brown, and as soon as I can get to that, I will. I’m tired of seeing a stranger in the mirror.”
Red nodded, as full understanding dawned on him. Tanner. What a prick.
“I’d guess you are,” he whispered, unable to tear his gaze from her. A low rumbling from her stomach finally did the trick.
He turned away as she laughed nervously, pressing her hand to her stomach. Red filled a plate with her favorites and placed it on the island. “What do you want to drink?”
She climbed onto the barstool and grinned. “I’ll have another beer. I’m celebrating.”
He pushed the phone to her. “Before you celebrate too much, call your brother. He sounded concerned.”
“Thanks,” she said, hitting the redial button.
Red could tell from the smile on her face the instant her brother answered the phone.
“Hey, little brother.”
They are close. He left the room so she could talk in private.
Drake settled down for the long overdue heart to heart between siblings. “Hey, Sis. Word is you’re having a rough night.”
“Yep, Mother’s not pleased, of course.”
“You called her?” Her snort brought a smile to his face.
“Surely you know me better than that. She called me after ‘Poor Tanner’s’ anguished phone call about our broken engagement.”
“Collins always was a pussy.” He smiled at her outburst of laughter.
“Mother wants me to take him back because he’s such a good catch. Oh, she also wants me to quit my job.”
“So you can be just like her? Pop out a namesake or two, let a nanny raise them, and live out your days playing bridge and sleeping with the tennis pro and anything else that moves?”
“Can you imagine me living that kind of life, Drake?”
“Hell no, and you shouldn’t have to. I never could understand the way they treated you.”
“They treated both of us badly.”
Drake rubbed a hand over his eyes. “You worse, Tiff, at least they paid for my education. I’ll always feel guilty as hell about that.”
“It doesn’t matter. I got the education and the career I wanted. There’s not a damn thing they can do to take that away from me. I spend my days helping people.”
Drake opened his mouth to reply, but couldn’t find the words.
“Are you still there?”
Drake gave the back of his neck a one handed massage. “I’m here, but I’ve been thinking lately that I don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Help people. I practice corporate law, and I don’t help anybody but big business.” He flipped a silver swivel photo frame, sending it spinning on its stand. It stopped, the shiny side reflecting his haggard face back at him. “Most of the time I’m helping to take over some company which results in putting hundreds of people out of work. I haven’t been sleeping well lately. Maybe I’m developing a conscience.”
“You’ve always had a conscience, Drake. You just wouldn’t listen to it. Open your private practice. Do what you want to do.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. “I think it’s too late for me. I’m probably already permanently corrupted.”
“If that were true, you’d be able to sleep at night. You do have the right to walk away, you know, despite what they tell you.”
He nodded, surprised by his sister’s sudden change. He had to wonder if McAllister had something to do with it. “They did a number on us
, didn’t they?”
“I’d begun to wonder if I’d ever be able to feel again, but I know damn well I can’t live the way they do. Not after seeing what I saw yesterday.”
“What’s that?” He was curious to know what finally brought her to her senses about Tanner.
“A real family. It seems not everyone was raised in a household like ours.”
“Whose family?”
“Red McAllister’s, the friend I’m staying with tonight. He had a big dinner here. His entire family came—his parents, six of his brothers and sisters, their spouses, and children. Plus other friends of ours were here. His parents have been married almost fifty years and they’re still so much in love with each other. I’ve never seen anything like it. They all sing or play instruments. Our own parents don’t even know that you and I can sing, Drake. Who do we even get that from? How is it that we don’t know things like about our own parents?”
“Beats me,” he admitted. “So, Red told me a little of what happened tonight. He rescued the damsel in distress. Okay, so what’s in it for him? Should I be concerned?”
“No, he’s a good friend.”
Who happens to be in love with you. “Where’d you meet him?”
“I performed surgery on a friend of his back in August and he was at the hospital. We—uh—actually we got off on the wrong foot, but we eventually straightened it out.”
“What do you mean, the wrong foot?”
“He assumed I was a nurse.”
“And you jumped on him for being a sexist chauvinist, of course.”
“Of course I did, but he claimed I looked too young to be a doctor. How can a girl feel bad about that?”
Her laughter sparked a feeling of pride for his sister.
“I had a good Thanksgiving, Drake. I wish you could have been here. His parents are wonderful, especially his mom. You know, it’s sad, but I spoke more to her yesterday than I have to our mother in my entire life.”
Extremely sad but not one bit of a shock. “And I bet she didn’t mention once how your selfish act would ruin her reputation, did she?”
“Has someone been running around with the wrong type of woman again, little brother?”
Drake’s living room filled with his own raucous laughter. “Always, Sis. You know that.” They both quieted suddenly.
“I wish you could meet Red’s family. If you ever do, I’m warning you now, it’ll change you. You’ll know you can’t go back to living the way you were.”
“Maybe one day I will,” he murmured.
“Maybe I can get us invitations for Christmas. I’m eating Thanksgiving leftovers right now—turkey, cornbread dressing, and some kind of yummy veggie casserole his mom made.”
Drake groaned. “Rub my face in it, why don’t you?”
“She also makes pecan pralines, fudge, and divinity just like Melinda used to make us, remember?”
“Man, I’d kill for some of Melin’s pralines. And those tart or pie things with the strawberry preserves. Man those things were good.”
“How’d you spend Thanksgiving?”
“I had work to do. It was just me and my Chinese takeout.” He waited, through Tiffany’s prolonged silence.
She finally spoke. “Promise me something, Drake.”
“What, Sis?”
“Promise me you’ll be here with me for Christmas. I won’t be making any Christmas party in Houston this year.”
“Where will you be?”
“I have no idea. It doesn’t matter where I’ll be. I just want to make sure you’ll be with me. Please, Drake, we’re all we’ve got.”
“I’ll plan for it, if it means that much to you.”
“It does,” she said.
He heard her try to stifle a yawn. “Are you tired?”
“Yeah, it’s been a long day, and I’m beat.”
“Go get some rest. I promise I’ll be there for Christmas. I love you, Tiff.”
“I love you too, Drake. Thanks.”
Tiffany ended the call and got up to put her empty plate in the dishwasher. She heard Red’s bedroom door open and looked up. He walked into the kitchen wearing soft faded jeans and a clean, white T-shirt, his hair still damp from the shower.
As their gazes met, he stopped and shook his head. “I still can’t get over the difference your hair has made. How’d it go with Drake?”
She smiled brightly. “I made him promise to be with me for Christmas. I’m not going to Houston this year.”
“You know, after you left, my family decided they wanted to have Christmas here too, so if you and Drake want to join us, we’d love to have you.”
Tiffany grinned. “I’m accepting for the both of us. How much banana pudding should I bring?”
“At least double what you brought here today so I have leftovers. It’s a family rule: Whoever’s house gets used and abused gets to keep the leftovers.”
“That sounds fair.”
He nodded. “That’s why I volunteered my place again. I won’t have to cook for days. Did you get enough to eat?”
“Yes, and it was even better the second time around.” She patted her belly with one hand and covered a yawn with the other. “Excuse me. Two beers and a belly full of food, and I’m not very good company.”
“Why don’t you go on to bed, Doc? We can start moving your things first thing in the morning.”
“Are you sure it’s not too much of an inconvenience for you?”
He waved off her concerns. “It’s worth it to get you out of that place. Besides, I don’t sleep much.”
Tiffany sent him a sideways glance. “You too? I hardly ever sleep past four a.m., whether I have to go to work or not. It drives me crazy.”
“My magic number is 3:15. I can’t tell you how many times I open my eyes to see that time on my clock or my phone.”
“That’s crazy, right?” She covered another yawn with her hand. “I think I will go to bed.” She let Red walk her to her bedroom.
“That mattress is brand new. It’s got the memory foam pillow top like mine. You should be really comfortable.”
Tiffany turned at the door. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” She reached up to give him a hug. “Thanks for everything, Red.”
He hugged her back tightly. “Good night, Doc.”
She changed into flannel lounger pants and a T-shirt before crawling under the down comforter. She made sure her cell phone was silenced, thinking it seemed much later than 11:15—she supposed due to the drama-filled day. She stretched out on the luxuriously comfortable bed, and was asleep within minutes.
Tiffany blinked several times in the darkened room to get her bearings. She stretched out on the soft bed, trying to remember why she wasn’t in her own. It all came back to her in a rush of warm memories.
Red.
The digital clock flashed 4:02 AM in bright blue led lights. She groaned, frustrated that even here, in Red McAllister’s oh-so-damned-comfortable guest bed, she couldn’t get a full night’s sleep. She functioned well on five or six hours but couldn’t help but wonder how much better she’d feel with a full eight hours.
Tiffany washed her face and rinsed her mouth. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, taking the time to fluff her curls. Amazing how quickly the change made her feel a little more like her old self.
Regretting she hadn’t remembered to pack her latest medical journal, she slipped her robe over her lounger set. She stepped into her slippers, setting off in search of reading material. Tiffany tiptoed into the living room and picked up a Forbes magazine on an end table. She cringed at the articles in it, and put it back. As she walked over to the kitchen to get a drink of water, she noticed a glow of light shining out from under a door at the opposite end of the hallway.
Tiffany tiptoed over and stood listening to the soft strumming of a guitar. She gave the door a gentle push and peeked inside. Red sat in his office chair, jean clad legs propped on his desk and crossed at the ankles, his chest bared and brawny, as he strummed a
somewhat familiar melody. John Michael Montgomery’s Hold on to Me. She smiled, recognizing one of the songs they’d danced to at Jackson and Giselle’s wedding.
Tiffany shivered, remembering how good Red had looked in his classy black tux—how good it had felt to dance with him. She stared long and hard at his bare upper torso, thinking she liked the half-dressed version of him even better. Clearly, he’d retained all physical attributes since Vivienne had snapped those photos of him posing at his pool. She hadn’t seen anyone that buff since she and some co-workers saw the Chippendale dancers last year.
Tiffany watched his fingers skillfully manipulate the strings of the guitar, listening as long as she dared, before making her presence known to him. Reluctantly, she took a deep breath and spoke.
“Red?”
He jumped slightly before grinning up at her. “Well, hell, Doc. I thought for sure you’d sleep longer than this, considering the night you had.”
She lifted her hands, dropped them to her sides. “This is what I do.”
He chuckled. “Just look at us—Sleepless in Lake Coburn.”
“How long have you been up?” she asked.
Red propped his guitar against the desk and stood. “Since around three.”
She nodded. “I was looking for some reading material, but I don’t need it now. Is this what you do when you can’t sleep?” She nearly groaned in protest when he slipped on his T-shirt.
“Among other things.”
Tiffany leaned over his desk, picked up a tablet covered with lyrics in a masculine handwriting. “Are you writing a song?”
“I’ve been trying to write something for my mom and dad’s forty-sixth wedding anniversary next month. I’m no poet, or lyricist, that’s for damn sure. I’m better at the melody. Two weeks I’ve been working on this thing, and that’s as far as I’ve gotten.”
She read the words to herself. “This is pretty good. Who’s composing the music?”
“I’ve already got the tune down,” he said.
“Could I hear it, please?”
He nodded and began strumming a beautiful melody on his guitar then began to sing the words he’d written.