A Home for Christmas (25 page)

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.

“What is it, Mr. Ferguson?”

He paced the width of the foyer.

“I'm sorry. Would you like to sit?”

He stopped moving and stood before her. “No. It's Bebe. I'm worried about her.”

“Has she experienced a complication from the D&C?”

“No. It's not that. She's won't leave her room. She's not eating. She doesn't sleep. Won't talk to me.”

“It isn't unusual for women to go through a grieving period after losing a child, Mr. Ferguson.”

“This isn't normal grieving. She's not coming out of it at all. I'm—I'm afraid for her.”

“Did her doctor prescribe any medication?”

“Yes, an antidepressant. But Bebe refuses to take it. I tried to get her to see someone. A counselor. She refused that as well. I even had the pastor come by. She wouldn't talk to him either. I'm at my wits end, Janice. I hate to ask, especially since you have plans, but could you come and speak with her? Mom said she felt comfortable with you. You're a woman and a doctor.” He ran a hand through his hair again. “I don't know if she would, but I'd like you to try, if you're willing.”

Janice glanced at the clock. Blake was nearly an hour and a half late. He hadn't called. He wasn't coming.

So she turned to the only thing that had given her comfort in all the years of being alone. Her work.

She picked up her wrap and her purse and said, “Let's go.”

Blake had just parallel
parked at the curb across the street from Doc Prescott's, killed the engine, and shut off the headlights. He couldn't believe his eyes. His brother's Mercedes was parked in the drive. When he looked up at the porch, he saw him coming down the steps with Janice. Before he could react through the shock, Cory had settled Janice into his car, backed out of the drive, and was heading down the road in the direction of his house.

Blake fired the engine, wrenched the wheel hard to make a
U-
turn, and followed. He was an hour and a half late. His truck had broken down in the middle of nowhere. To complicate matters, his cell battery had died. With no way to call for help, no one for miles, all he could do was try and fix the car himself. It had taken forever, but he'd finally rigged the carburetor back together with not much more than a prayer. He hadn't even taken time to shower and change. Hell, he still had grease on his hands.

He'd come straight to Janice to explain, and what did he find for his trouble? His brother ushering the woman Blake loved into his car. Good Lord! How did his brother do it? Did he walk outside, smell trouble in the air, and move in for the kill? Blake had lost every girl he'd ever really cared about to his brother. He'd be damned if he'd allow it to happen with Janice.

He pulled up in front of Cory's house just as they were going inside. Blake didn't take time to think about what he would do or say. He stormed up the sidewalk and into the house.

“What the hell's going on here?”

“Blake!” Janice said, a surprised look on her face.

God, she looked incredible standing there in front of him. Like a model out of a fashion magazine in the dress he'd bought her. The material hugged her curves like a lover's caress. He felt rage wash over him in a white-hot tide because she was standing there with his brother's hand on her arm instead of his.

He advanced on them.

Cory held up a hand to warn him off, as if he could. “It's not what you think, Blake.”

He didn't even feel his fist smashing into Cory's face. Blood squirted from his nose, but Blake wasn't satisfied. Before his brother hit the floor, Blake pulled him up and hit him again.

“Blake! Stop!” Janice tugged at his arm.

“Stay out of this,” he bit out as he pounded at his brother's head and stomach.

“Oh, my God!” Bebe said from the top of the stairs.

“Blake, stop this now!”

He pulled back his arm to deliver another blow and found himself face to face with Janice. Her wide frightened eyes telegraphed a message to his brain to stop. Cory backed up until he found the wall and slumped to the floor. Blake looked down at his fist. His knuckles were cracked and bleeding, but he felt numb.

Janice backed away from him, disbelief and shock etching her features. She went to Cory. “I'm so sorry.”

She began examining his brother as she had Blake that day he'd fallen from the ladder. The memory made him see red in light of the way she was touching him everywhere.

Cory moaned.

“Get up. Come on, I thought you were more man than me,” Blake growled.

She turned to him, anger and hurt burning in her eyes. “You've done quite enough. What is wrong with you? Can't you see he's injured? He has a broken nose and broken ribs. His jaw may also be dislocated.”

Bebe came to her husband's side, a towel and basin of water in her hands. “Oh, Cory.”

He touched his wife's face, tried to speak, but passed out.

Janice checked the pulse at his wrist, then leaned her head close to his face. “His breathing is labored. Bebe, bring me your phone. I need to call my uncle.”

Blake watched the scene unfold like a player in a
B
movie; still he couldn't stop himself. He wanted to inflict more of the pain he was feeling. If he couldn't do it with his hands, he'd use words. “Well, well. Isn't this cozy. The wife and the lover both distraught over their man.”

“What?” Bebe breathed. She looked from Cory to Janice.

Janice swung her gaze back to him, hurt filling her expressive eyes.

She was a great actress. She transferred that look to Bebe. “Don't listen to him, Bebe. He doesn't know what he's saying. I came here to—”

The words broke off when Bebe stood, backed away, then rushed upstairs.

“Bebe!” Janice called after her. “How could you, Blake?”

Her voice even broke on the words. Nice touch.

“What's going on here, folks?”

Grady Wallace stepped into the foyer and took in the situation with a sweeping glance. He was wearing his dress uniform. He must have come straight over from the Snow Ball. Word traveled fast.

“I'm glad you're here, Sheriff,” Janice said. “I need your help. First, this man needs medical attention right away, and I have to get my uncle over here to assist in stabilizing him. Do you have a cell phone? Can you call him?”

“Sure.” He handed her the phone. “Why don't you make the call while I have a talk with Blake, here.”

He handed Janice the phone, and she made the call while she continued to monitor Cory closely. Grady turned and looked Blake up and down.

“What brings you by, Sheriff?” Blake asked.

The man rotated his hat in his hand as he spoke. “Well, now, funny you should ask. I got dragged away from the social event of the season
and
my date to come out here and investigate a crime. You see, Bebe Ferguson called dispatch. Said you was down here beatin' the hell outta your brother, and that if I didn't get here quick to break it up, you were gonna kill him. Guess somebody beat me to it—the breakin' it up part. From the look in your eyes, I'd say you'd a still been at it if they hadn't.”

He looked from Blake to Janice who was still tending to Cory, ignoring the exchange between him and Grady.

“I think you better come down to the station with me,” the sheriff was saying.

“That won't be necessary.”

“Well, I'll be the one who decides what's necessary, and I think you need to cool down. So, let's go.”

Grady gripped his arm. Blake shook him off, his eyes locked on Janice's back. He flexed his hands.

“We can do this the hard way, if you want, Ferguson.” He removed the cuffs from his belt. “Makes no difference to me.”

Janice's uncle chose that moment to join the circus. Mable trailed in after him.

“What in the world?” He went to Janice's side and looked Cory over. “Was he robbed? Did somebody break in here and do this?”

Janice looked up at her uncle, back to Blake, then at Cory again, but didn't speak.

“What's your assessment, Doctor?”

“Broken nose. Two, maybe three broken ribs. His jaw may be dislocated, and he has a possible punctured lung. He needs immediate transport to the hospital.”

Her uncle nodded. “Let's get Carl over here, then.” He took the cell phone from her hand and punched in the number. “How long's he been out?”

“About five minutes. I think he passed out from the pain.”

“Did you administer anything for that?”

“No. I don't have my bag.”

“Where's Bebe?”

“Upstairs. I need to go speak with her. Make sure she's okay.”

“She witnessed this?”

Janice nodded.

“That's the last thing she needed after what she's been through. Go then.”

Janice stood and walked up the stairs without so much as giving him a glance.

“Ferguson?”

Grady grasped Blake's arm again, shifting his attention from Janice and her uncle. “Yeah. All right. I'll go with you.”

He needed to get out of here. He didn't ever want to see his brother again.

Chapter 13

“What is the meaning of this, Blake Ferguson?”

Dixie walked into lock-up dressed out in her Snow Ball formal: a floor length red plaid skirt with a fuzzy green sweater and a choker with a poinsettia on it.

“You look great, Sis.” He squinted at her. Had she tipped the ends of her dark red hair—green?

“Flattery will get you nowhere, mister. I cannot believe I am standin' in lock-up havin' to bail my brother out of jail. Grady said he picked you up for assault at Cory's, and that Cory had to be taken to the hospital. I said he must have someone who looks like your twin, because my brothers would never beat each other into bloody pulps. Tell me Grady is yankin' my chain because he didn't want to show the town what an excellent dancer he is and ruin his tough cop image.”

Grady came in behind Dixie with the keys and unlocked Blake's cell. He stood and faced the sheriff.

“Blake, I'll have to bring you back down here and book you if your brother decides to press charges.”

Dixie's mouth gaped open. “I am dreamin'. This is all a bad dream.”

Blake watched as Grady reached down and squeezed his sister's hand. “I'm sorry about this, Dixie. I was really lookin' forward to tonight.”

“Wait a second,” Blake said. “Are you saying you took my sister to the dance?”

“Well, I wouldn't call it that since he got called away to deal with an emergency, that apparently was you, almost before it began.”

“Why didn't I know about this?”

“I don't need your permission—or anyone else's, for that matter—to go out on a date, Blake Ferguson. However, that didn't stop Grady from asking for permission from Daddy.” Dixie shook her head. “Now,” she looked up at Grady, “tell me why you had to haul him down here. I trust you to give me the straight of it.”

Blake really didn't want to rehash this.

“Bebe called dispatch and said Blake was at the house beatin' the—
um
—beatin' up Cory. Bebe sounded so scared, Clara called and asked me to handle it personally.”

Dixie swung her accusatory gaze to him. “Now why, pray tell, would you go over to Cory's and beat him to the point that he has to be taken to the hospital?”

“Do we have—”

Dixie held up a finger to delay his words as an electronic version of
Jingle Bells
echoed through the corridor. Dixie dug into her sequined Santa purse and pulled out her cell phone. “Hello? Oh, Mother. Hi.”

She pierced him with a lethal look. Blake moaned when he heard who was on the line. Her calm tone belied her anger.

“Yes, I heard. How is he?
Uh-huh
. . . oh, that's good. Yes, I'll take care of it.” She looked back at Blake. “He said what to Bebe?” She crossed her arms and turned away then, clearly furious. “If I see him before you do, I'll tell him. Right. Bye.”