“Yep. It's not really decorated yet. I was hoping you could tell me how it looked when your grandparents lived here. I'd like for it to be the way you remember it.”
“You would?” she said around the lump in her throat.
“Oh, yeah. I want the renovations to be historically accurate.”
“I only visited there a few times. Besides, I don't think my grandparents were the original owners. I'm sure they made changes over the years.”
“Still, you know more than I do, and I'd like to hear what you remember about it.”
“I don't know what to say.” The thought of his returning the house to the way she remembered it did funny things to her heart. God, she hated feeling this vulnerable.
“No need to say anything, except what time I should pick you up.”
She closed her eyes. Twenty-four hours in Angel Ridge sounded like heaven compared to the week she'd had. She cleared her throat. “I'll drive myself. I insist,” she said firmly. And if she spent the night, she'd stay with her uncle.
He hesitated, but at last said, “All right. I'll see you Friday about six, then?”
“Yes. Should I dress casually for dinner?”
“Of course. We do everything casual 'round here.”
Janice smiled. The word “casual” implied a relaxed atmosphere. She couldn't imagine being anything but tied in knots around the very attractive, sexy man asking her to dinner.
“Casual it is. Why don't you give me your number, Blake?”
“Not planning to cancel on me are you?”
“I never know when there might be an emergency.”
He gave her the number, then said, “I'll just hold a good thought that all your patients stay healthy until you arrive here safe and sound.”
The way he said it made her feel like she was going home after a long day at work. The hole in her heart that had always wanted a real home and family to call her own gaped open. An intense longing rocked her to the core. She shouldn't go. She should run from anything or anyone that could so easily dredge up these old feelings. Including her uncle's tempting offer to settle in Angel Ridge permanently.
It was so much easier to see things as they were while she was safe in her world, but one step inside the city limits of Angel Ridge and her safe world had tilted crazily. At the moment, her desire to see her grandparents' house was stronger than her desire for self-preservation . . . this time.
“I'll see you Friday,” she said, then hung up.
“Well, all I have to say is she must be special for you to go to all this trouble.”
“That'd be a switch if that was all you had to say.” Blake glanced over his shoulder at his baby sister while he swished tomatoes in a colander under the tap. “What color is your hair this week? What's left of it, that is.”
“It's Spiced Tea. And the shorter length makes it sassy. Thanks for noticing,” Dixie said. “So, come on. Out with it. There's a price for my homemade pasta.”
“What's that?”
She leaned back against the counter near the sink and crossed her arms. “Information. Who is she?”
He shrugged. “Just someone I met.”
“Not someone from around here. It would have been all over town by now if you'd invited someone from Angel Ridge over to your house for a romantic dinner.”
“Who said anything about romantic? It's no big deal. She's just comin' to see the house, and I figured she might be hungry.”
Dixie slapped him on the arm.
“Ow,” Blake complained as he transferred the tomatoes to towels on the island.
“Do I look like I just rode into town? Look at this place. It is spot—less,” she emphasized the last syllable in a typically Texan way. Their formative years spent in Austin still showed in her accent despite the fact that she'd lived in Tennessee for nearly twenty years. “That's saying a lot since you've been bustin' out plaster since you moved in. Add to that candles, flowers, you're cooking. Need I say more?”
“All right.” Blake surrendered. He knew she'd just wear him down anyway. “I met her last weekend. Her grandparents used to live here.”
“The Prescotts, right?”
“Yeah,” he said as he began crushing tomatoes for the sauce in a big stainless steel bowl.
She brushed him out of the way and took over with the tomatoes. “I saw a nice lookin' blonde down at Doc Prescott's last Saturday. Is she a doctor?”
He wiped his hands on a towel. “Do you have ESP?”
“Nope. Just observant. When I said, Afternoon, Doc, they both answered.”
“It amazes me that you observe anything as fast as you move. You never slow down.”
“I slow down for the important stuff.”
Blake's sister was known for bringing the party with her, but she had suddenly become quite somber. He knew why. “How's Susan?”
“Not good.”
The words were flat. Spoken with little emotion. Dixie's best friend had found out several months back she had stage-four breast cancer. They'd gone to school together. Susan'd been around the house so much when they were growing up, Blake had always seen her as a second sister. “Are the treatments helping?”
His sister worked the tomatoes more vigorously as she spoke. “Doc Prescott said they wouldn't cure her, but might give her a few more months. So, she refused them. Said she didn't want to spend what time she had left sick as a dog from chemo. She'd rather have quality time with her children.”
“I didn't know. The Mayor must be takin' it hard.”
“Oh, you know him. Stiff upper lip and all.” She transferred the tomatoes to a large pot and began adding spices. “It's the kids I'm worried about. Sammy's so young, and Abby's just in denial.”
“Patrick will see them through,” Blake said. He wanted to pull his headstrong baby sister into his arms and comfort her, but he knew she wouldn't welcome it. Talk about stiff upper lip.
Dixie wiped her hands on a towel then swiped the container of pasta from the counter and placed it in the refrigerator, slamming the door shut. “That man doesn't know the first thing about parenting.”
“He's their father. He has to have some paternal instincts.”
“None that I've noticed. Susie handles the kids so he can tend to his job. It's like that's the most important thing in the world to him.”
That statement gave him a moment's pause. Public officials pretty much lived their jobs, a lot like doctors. Their families were the ones that suffered.
He grasped Dixie's arm as she tried to blow by him and gently squeezed it. “They've got you.”
“Got that right,” she said, her back stiffening with resolve. “So, about this woman—”
Blake took a step back. “No more questions,” he said firmly.
“All right.” She held up her hands. “If you're gonna be that way, I'm not gonna tell you what I know.”
Dixie picked up her purse and headed for the door at a pace that had Blake dodging around the island and running to catch up. He stopped her just as she reached for the Victorian doorknob. “What do you know?”
She crossed her arms and peered at him through squinted eyes. “Now why should I tell you anything?”
He gave her what he hoped was a winning smile. “Because I'm your favorite brother.”
“I don't play favorites.”
“Not even with your older brother?”
She propped a hand on her hip. “You're all older.”
“Yeah, but you and me, we're connected at the mind.” He tapped his temple. “We have a bond.”
“Bond, schmond.” She looked away. The look of disinterest on her face clearly there to make it seem like she'd lost interest in the conversation.
With a gentle finger at her chin, he brought her face around until she was looking at him again. “Come on, Sis,” he cajoled.
“Oh, all right. You know I can't resist when you go all charming.”
Blake smiled and crossed his arms, waiting. “Word is that she's Doc Pre
scott's long, lost grandniece. Apparently, her mother grew up in Angel Ridge . . . a real beauty who had ambitions too big for this little backwoods town. So, she left and never looked back. Supposedly married some hotshot financial guru who was richer than Midas.” She waved her hand in the air. “But I digress.”
She hitched her purse up on her shoulder and finished with, “Word is that Doc's ready to retire, and he's wantin' your date, or whatever you're callin' her, to take over his practice.”
That got his attention. “Really . . . ” Janice in Angel Ridge permanently. That added a new dimension to things.
“Well, you know, it's diner gossip, but it's usually pretty reliable.”
“Who'd you hear it from?”
“Miss Estelee.”
Blake raised an eyebrow. “Doc Prescott tells her just about everything.”
Dixie shrugged. “Well, it's been real, but I gotta run.” She brushed Blake out of the way, opened the front door, and sprinted down the steps. “You'd better put that sauce on if you want it edible, and don't overcook my pasta.”
She was already down the street and around the corner before Blake could form a reply. So, Janice might be moving to Angel Ridge. Did that really change anything? Sure, she'd be closer, but as the town's only doctor, how much time would she have for a relationship?
Then he remembered the way he'd felt when she'd touched him. He wasn't inexperienced by any means. Still, he'd never had such an intense reaction to a woman so quickly. And what a woman. He let his mind wander back as the shadows lengthened across his front lawn . . . .
Something like that was at least worth exploring, wasn't it?
He rubbed his chin, then turned and made his way back to the kitchen. He had a feeling things were about to get interesting.
Chapter 4
When Janice parked in front of the house at 211 Ridge Road, she killed the engine and just sat there, staring. It looked like a Victorian Christmas card complete with smoke curling up from the chimney.
There were tiny white lights everywhere, hung in every eave, and looped around every window. The colorful ones she'd placed on the railing of the wrap-around porch and in the bushes added to the effect, and she was pleased that she'd had something to do with the spectacular display. The only thing missing was snow.
The front door opened. Blake stood there for a moment silhouetted by the light spilling from the interior. The thousands of exterior lights enabled her to see that he wore casual boots, crisply ironed, close fitting dark jeans and a heavy white cotton shirt with pearl buttons that twinkled when he moved down the steps to the sidewalk.
Janice eased out of the car. She wanted to believe the rush she felt was because of the house that held so many warm memories for her, but she knew the nostalgic feelings were intensified because of the man who met her at the end of the sidewalk.
“Hi.”
A lazy smile that was pure sensuality lifted the corner of his mouth. Janice bit her lower lip. She desperately needed to pull on the reins of her control before her emotions ran away with her. “Hi.”
He cupped her elbow in his hand and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “It's good to see you,” he whispered near her ear.
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. His cologne conjured images of long, languid nights sitting in front of a fireplace wrapped in his arms . . . making love . . . She sighed. The man had entirely too much sex appeal. She blamed the rest on the town and the house.
When he had straightened, his gaze swept her body, missing nothing. She felt her skin flush with awareness as if he'd swept his hands down her body. “The house is beautiful,” she managed, her voice hoarse with reaction to him.
Blake turned and took in his home with pride. “I'm sure your mother would declare it gaudy.”
Janice smiled. He was right. “What does she know?”
He swung that sense-charging smile back to her. “That's what I like to hear.”
They stood silently for a few more minutes, just gazing at the house. A navy sky dotted with countless stars provided the perfect backdrop for it.
“It's pretty chilly out here,” Blake said. “Would you like to come in?”
Janice nodded. Blake took her hand and laced his fingers with hers. It seemed the most natural thing in the world, strolling with him up the sidewalk and into the house. As they passed through the oversized, open front door and into the foyer, Janice smelled something wonderful cooking.
“Are we having dinner here?” She hadn't prepared for that. Dinner with a man like Blake in a crowded restaurant was one thing, but a private dinner in his home—this home—would be another thing entirely.
Blake helped her out of her coat and draped it over a peg on the hall tree. “That's world famous Blake Ferguson spaghetti sauce you smell cooking. You'll find none finer in any restaurant,” he boasted.
“Smells delicious,” she admitted.
“You look beautiful.”
“Thanks.” The simple compliment, sincerely spoken, made her glad she'd taken extra time with her appearance. Janice smoothed her hands over black jeans. She'd picked a soft red sweater because it put her in the Christmas spirit. After the week she'd had, she needed all the help she could get.
She looked around the familiar home, remembering the love she'd felt here. A poignant sense of longing pierced her. Maybe this was a mistake. More than a week had passed. In that time, she hadn't been able to put Blake or her uncle's invitation out of her mind, despite her best effort to do so.
“We have time for a tour,” Blake offered.
He seemed to know the right thing to say to draw her back in. “I'd like that,” she admitted. In fact, she'd like nothing better than to become reacquainted with the place. She'd come this far; she wouldn't walk away now. Not yet, anyway.
They turned left out of the foyer and passed through a wide doorway into the parlor. A huge Christmas tree that nearly touched the high ceiling stood in the bay window, filling the room with its fresh pine scent. Covered in lights with homemade and antique ornaments, it reminded Janice of the tree her grandparents had placed there.
Blake leaned over her shoulder from behind and said, “I thought we could add a popcorn garland later.”
Janice eased her hands into her back pockets, considering. Spending time with Blake here wouldn't be so difficult, as long as he kept things light and she didn't let her emotions get away from her. A voice inside her head mocked, Right. You're way past that, sister.
Ignoring it, she said, “Sounds good.”
He showed her around the ground floor. Blake had made the identical room across from the parlor, which had originally been the music room, into a comfortable office and den. It had a large old desk and dark leather furniture arranged around the fireplace. Other rooms downstairs included a formal dining room, a washroom, and his bedroom. The room that her grandparents had shared took on a whole new dimension knowing that this was now Blake's room.
A king-size cherry sleigh bed dominated the latter, making it difficult to ignore. More antiques, a romantic fireplace, and an adjacent bathroom with a claw foot tub big enough for two made the room comfortable and inviting, but the images filling her head every time her eyes strayed to the bed marked it off limits.
They took the back stairs from the kitchen up to the room she remembered using when she'd stayed here. It contained only a white iron bed and a small white French provincial dresser. Blake remained in the doorway while she walked in and let her mind wander back in time. The memories were so bittersweet.
“Tell me what it was like,” he said.
Janice ran her hand down a freshly painted strip of wood framing the old leaded glass panes of the window. “Billowing lace curtains that stirred in the breeze. There was a padded bench here, in front of the window, so you could sit, look outside, and daydream . . . ” She walked over to the bed.” A white lacy bedspread with lots of colorful pillows. The walls had old floral wallpaper with a pale pink background. And there was a bookcase over
there filled with all the books a child would love to curl up with. It was any young girl's dream of a room.”
He walked over to where she stood. “I kept a swatch of the wallpaper before we tore the old plaster walls down and hung the sheetrock. I'm having it reproduced.”
She glanced up at him. “Can you do that?”
“Sure.”
She turned her focus back to the white walls. “I can't imagine what it would look like new.”
“You'll just have to come back after I get it up and see for yourself.”
She chewed on her lower lip. She should run in the opposite direction as fast as she could. But when she opened her mouth, the word “Okay,” came out as if of its own accord.
“I would show you around the rest of the upstairs, but I've just started working on the walls in the other rooms, and it's a real mess.” He swept another of those bone-melting looks down her body. “All that dust wouldn't be a good thing with those black jeans.”
She gave into temptation and swept his body with a look of her own, pausing at his dark pants. “You have the same problem.”
“So I do,” he said in deep, hushed tones that sent liquid heat racing through her veins.
Janice turned back to the window and cleared her throat. “I'm glad that you're restoring the house. It makes me happy, knowing that someone who really loves the place is living here. Caring for it the way my grandparents did.”
“I do love it. It's such a great house.”
She trailed her fingertips down the window frame. There'd been a crack in it that Blake must have repaired. “You do excellent work.”
“Thanks.” He jerked a thumb toward the door. “You know, I'd better check on the pasta. My sister warned me about overcooking it.”
As they retraced their steps down the back stairs, Janice said, “I think I sort of met your sister the other day. Dixie, right?”
“Yeah.”
“She breezed by my uncle's as I was leaving last Friday.”
“That's Dixie. Always in a hurry.”
They entered the big airy kitchen at the back of the house. The scarred Formica countertops she remembered had been replaced with white and black granite. The faded linoleum with refinished hardwoods that must have been underneath, but everything else was still the same, right down to the big old stove her grandmother used to cook on. “Man, I can't imagine how old that thing is.” Janice said aloud.
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