She had to face the fact that marriage would never happen if she continued to love a man who didn’t return her feelings. She gave a low groan, then noticed that Lindy was gazing at her in concern.
“Let’s order something,” Lindy said quickly, reaching for the menu tucked behind the napkin holder. “I’m starved.”
“I was thinking I’d skip lunch today,” Cait mumbled. She sipped her lukewarm tea and frowned. “Joe will be taking me out to dinner soon. And frankly, I don’t have much of an appetite.”
“This is all my fault, isn’t it?” Lindy asked, looking guilty.
“Of course not. I’m just being practical.” If Cait was anything, it was practical—except about Paul. “Go ahead and order.”
“You’re sure you don’t mind?”
Cait gestured nonchalantly. “Heavens, no.”
“If you’re sure, then I’ll have the turkey on whole wheat,” Lindy said after a moment. “You know how much I like turkey, though you’d think I’d have gotten enough over Thanksgiving.”
“I’ll just have a refill on my tea,” Cait said.
“You’re still flying to Minnesota for the holidays, aren’t you?” Lindy asked, fidgeting with the menu.
“Mmm-hmm.” Cait had purchased her ticket several months earlier. Martin and his family lived near Minneapolis. When their father had died several years earlier, Cait’s mother moved to Minnesota, settling down in a new subdivision not far from Martin, his wife and their four children. Cait tried to visit at least once a year. However, she’d been there in August, stopping off on her way home from a business trip. Usually she made a point of visiting her brother and his family over the Christmas holidays. It was generally a slow week on the stock market, anyway. And if she was going to travel halfway across the country, she wanted to make it worth her while.
“When will you be leaving?” Lindy asked, although Cait was sure she’d already told her friend more than once.
“The twenty-third.” For the past few years, Cait had used one week of her vacation at Christmas time, usually starting the weekend before.
But this year Paul was having a Christmas party and Cait didn’t want to miss that, so she’d booked her flight closer to the holiday.
The waitress came to take Lindy’s order and replenish the hot water for Cait’s tea. The instant she moved away from their booth, Lindy launched into a lengthy tirade about how she hated Christmas shopping and how busy the malls were this time of year. Cait stared at her, bewildered. It wasn’t like her friend to chat nonstop.
“Lindy,” she interrupted, “is something wrong?”
“Wrong? What could possibly be wrong?”
“I don’t know. You haven’t stopped talking for the last ten minutes.”
“I haven’t?” There was an abrupt, uncomfortable silence.
Cait decided it was her turn to say something. “I think I’ll wear my red velvet dress,” she mused.
“To dinner with Joe?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “To Paul’s Christmas party.”
Lindy sighed. “But what are you wearing tonight?”
The question took Cait by surprise. She didn’t consider this dinner with Joe a real date. He just wanted to talk over old times, which was fine with Cait as long as he behaved himself. Suddenly she frowned, then closed her eyes. “Martin’s a Methodist minister,” she said softly.
“Yes, I know,” Lindy reminded her. “I’ve known that since I first met you, which was what? Three years ago now.”
“Four last month.”
“So what does Martin’s occupation have to do with anything?” Lindy asked.
“Joe Rockwell can’t find out,” Cait whispered.
“I didn’t plan on telling him,” Lindy whispered back.
“I’ve got to make up some other occupation like…”
“Counselor,” Lindy suggested. “I’m curious, though. Why can’t you tell Joe about Martin?”
“Think about it!”
“I am thinking. I really doubt Joe would care one way or the other.”
“He might try to make something of it. You don’t know Joe like I do. He’d razz me about it all evening, claiming the marriage was valid. You know, because Martin really is a minister, and since Martin performed the ceremony, we must really be married—that kind of nonsense.”
“I didn’t think about that.”
But then, Lindy didn’t seem to be thinking much about anything lately. It was as if she was walking around in a perpetual daydream. Cait couldn’t remember Lindy’s ever being so scatterbrained. If she didn’t know better, she’d guess there was a man involved.
Chapter Three
At ten to six, Cait was blow-drying her hair in a haphazard fashion, regretting that she’d ever had it cut. She was looking forward to this dinner date about as much as a trip to the dentist. All she wanted was to get it over with, come home and bury her head under a pillow while she sorted out how she was going to get Paul to notice her.
Restyling her hair hadn’t done the trick. Putting in extra hours at the office hadn’t impressed him, either. Cait was beginning to think she could stand on top of his desk naked and not attract his attention.
She walked into her compact living room and smoothed the bulky-knit sweater over her slim hips. She hadn’t dressed for the occasion, although the sweater was new and expensive. Gray wool slacks and a powder-blue turtleneck with a silver heart-shaped necklace dangling from her neck were about as dressy as she cared to get with someone like Joe. He’d probably be wearing cowboy boots and jeans, if not his hard hat and tool pouch.
Oh, yes, Cait had recognized his type when she’d first seen him. Joe Rockwell was a man’s man. He walked and talked macho. No doubt he drove a truck with tires so high off the ground she’d need a stepladder to climb inside. He was tough and gruff and liked his women meek and submissive. In that case, of course, she had nothing to worry about; he’d lose interest immediately.
He arrived right on time, which surprised Cait. Being prompt didn’t fit the image she had of Joe Rockwell, redneck contractor. She sighed and painted on a smile, then walked slowly to the door.
The smile faded. Joe stood before her, tall and debonair, dressed in a dark gray pin-striped suit. His gray silk tie had pink stripes. He was the picture of smooth sophistication. She knew that Joe was the same man she’d seen earlier in dusty work clothes—yet he was different. He was nothing like Paul, of course. But Joseph Rockwell was a devastatingly handsome man. With a devastating charm. Rarely had she seen a man smile the way he did. His eyes twinkled with warmth and life and mischief. It wasn’t difficult to imagine Joe with a little boy whose eyes mirrored his. Cait didn’t know where that thought came from, but she pushed it aside before it could linger and take root.
“Hello,” he said, flashing her that smile.
“Hi.” She couldn’t stop looking at him.
“May I come in?”
“Oh…of course. I’m sorry,” she faltered, stumbling in her haste to step aside. He’d caught her completely off guard. “I was about to change clothes,” she said quickly.
“You look fine.”
“These old things?” She feigned a laugh. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll only be a minute.” She poured him a cup of coffee, then dashed into her bedroom, ripping the sweater over her head and closing the door with one foot. Her shoes went flying as she ran to her closet. Jerking aside the orderly row of business jackets and skirts, she pulled clothes off their hangers, considered them, then tossed them on the bed. Nearly everything she owned was more suitable for the office than a dinner date.
The only really special dress she owned was the red velvet one she’d purchased for Paul’s Christmas party. The temptation to slip into that was strong but she resisted, wanting to save it for her boss, though heaven knew he probably wouldn’t notice.
Deciding on a skirt and blazer, she hopped frantically around her bedroom as she pulled on her panty hose. Next she threw on a ros
e-colored silk blouse and managed to button it while stepping into her skirt. She tucked the blouse into the waistband and her feet into a pair of medium-heeled pumps. Finally, her velvet blazer and she was ready. Taking a deep breath, she returned to the living room in three minutes flat.
“That was fast,” Joe commented, standing by the fireplace, hands clasped behind his back. He was examining a framed photograph that sat on the mantel. “Is this Martin’s family?”
“Martin…why, yes, that’s Martin, his wife and their children.” She hoped he didn’t detect the breathless catch in her voice.
“Four children.”
“Yes, he and Rebecca wanted a large family.” Her heartbeat was slowly returning to normal though Cait still felt light-headed. She had a sneaking suspicion that she was suffering from the effects of unleashed male charm.
She realized with surprise that Joe hadn’t said or done anything to embarrass or fluster her. She’d expected him to arrive with a whole series of remarks designed to disconcert her.
“Timmy’s ten, Kurt’s eight, Jenny’s six and Clay’s four.” She introduced the freckle-faced youngsters, pointing each one out.
“They’re handsome children.”
“They are, aren’t they?”
Cait experienced a twinge of pride. The main reason she went to Minneapolis every year was Martin’s children. They adored her and she was crazy about them. Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without Jenny and Clay snuggling on her lap while their father read the Nativity story. Christmas was singing carols in front of a crackling wood fire, accompanied by Martin’s guitar. It meant stringing popcorn and cranberries for the seven-foot-tall tree that always adorned the living room. It was having the children take turns scraping fudge from the sides of the copper kettle, and supervising the decorating of sugar cookies with all four crowded around the kitchen table. Caitlin Marshall might be a dedicated stockbroker with an impressive clientele, but when it came to Martin’s children, she was Auntie Cait.
“It’s difficult to think of Martin with kids,” Joe said, carefully placing the family photo back on the mantel.
“He met Rebecca his first year of college and the rest, as they say, is history.”
“What about you?” Joe asked, turning unexpectedly to face her.
“What about me?”
“Why haven’t you married?”
“Uh…” Cait wasn’t sure how to answer him. She had a glib reply she usually gave when anyone asked, but somehow she knew Joe wouldn’t accept that. “I…I’ve never really fallen in love.”
“What about Paul?”
“Until Paul,” she corrected, stunned that she’d forgotten the strong feelings she held for her employer. She’d been so concerned with being honest that she’d overlooked the obvious. “I am deeply in love with Paul,” she said defiantly, wanting there to be no misunderstanding.
“There’s no need to convince me, Caitlin.”
“I’m not trying to convince you of anything. I’ve been in love with Paul for nearly a year. Once he realizes he loves me, too, we’ll be married.”
Joe’s mouth slanted in a wry line and he seemed about to argue with her. Cait waylaid any attempt by glancing pointedly at her watch. “Shouldn’t we be leaving?”
After a long moment, Joe said, “Yes, I suppose we should,” in a mild, neutral voice.
Cait went to the hall closet for her coat, aware with every step she took that Joe was watching her. She turned back to smile at him, but somehow the smile didn’t materialize. His blue eyes met hers, and she found his look disturbing—caressing, somehow, and intimate.
Joe helped her on with her coat and led her to the parking lot, where he’d left his car. Another surprise awaited her. It wasn’t a four-wheel-drive truck, but a late sixties black convertible in mint condition.
The restaurant was one of the most respected in Seattle, with a noted chef and a reputation for excellent seafood. Cait chose grilled salmon and Joe ordered Cajun shrimp.
“Do you remember the time Martin and I decided to open our own business?” Joe asked, as they sipped a predinner glass of wine.
Cait did indeed recall that summer. “You might have been a bit more ingenious. A lemonade stand wasn’t the world’s most creative enterprise.”
“Perhaps not, but we were doing a brisk business until an annoying eight-year-old girl ruined everything.”
Cait wasn’t about to let that comment pass. “You were using moldy lemons and covering the taste with too much sugar. Besides, it’s unhealthy to share paper cups.”
Joe chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “I should’ve known then that you were nothing but trouble.”
“It seems to me the whole mess was your own fault. You boys wouldn’t listen to me. I had to do something before someone got sick on those lemons.”
“Carrying a picket sign that read ‘Talk to me before you buy this lemonade’ was a bit drastic even for you, don’t you think?”
“If anything, it brought you more business,” Cait said dryly, recalling how her plan had backfired. “All the boys in the neighborhood wanted to see what contaminated lemonade tasted like.”
“You were a damn nuisance, Cait. Own up to it.” He smiled and Cait sincerely doubted that any woman could argue with him when he smiled full-force.
“I most certainly was not! If anything you two were—”
“Disgusting, I believe, was your favorite word for Martin and me.”
“And you did your level best to live up to it,” she said, struggling to hold back a smile. She reached for a breadstick and bit into it to disguise her amusement. She’d always enjoyed rankling Martin and Joe, though she’d never have admitted it, especially at the age of eight.
“Picketing our lemonade stand wasn’t the worst trick you ever pulled, either,” Joe said mischievously.
Cait had trouble swallowing. She should have been prepared for this. If he remembered her complaints about the lemonade stand, he was sure to remember what had happened once Betsy McDonald found out about the kissing incident.
“It wasn’t a trick,” Cait protested.
“But you told everyone at school that I’d kissed you—even though you’d promised not to.”
“Not exactly.” There was a small discrepancy that needed clarification. “If you think back you’ll remember you said I couldn’t tell anyone I’d been inside the fort. You didn’t say anything about the kiss.”
Joe frowned darkly as if attempting to jog his memory. “How can you remember details like that? All of this happened years ago.”
“I remember everything,” Cait said grandly—a gross exaggeration. She hadn’t recognized Joe, after all. But on this one point she was absolutely clear. “You and Martin were far more concerned that I not tell anyone about going inside the fort. You didn’t say a word about keeping the kiss a secret.”
“But did you have to tell Betsy McDonald? That girl had been making eyes at me for weeks. As soon as she learned I’d kissed you instead of her, she was furious.”
“Betsy was the most popular girl in school. I wanted her for my friend, so I told.”
“And sold me down the river.”
“Would an apology help?” Confident he was teasing her once again, Cait gave him her most charming smile.
“An apology just might do it.” Joe grinned back, a grin that brightened his eyes to a deeper, more tantalizing shade of blue. It was with some difficulty that Cait pulled her gaze away from his.
“If Betsy liked you,” she asked, smoothing the linen napkin across her lap, “then why didn’t you kiss her? She’d probably have let you. You wouldn’t have had to bribe her with your precious baseball cards, either.”
“You’re kidding. If I kissed Betsy McDonald I might as well have signed over my soul,” Joe said, continuing the joke.
“Even as mere children, men are afraid of commitment,” Cait said solemnly.
Joe ignored her remark.
“Your memory’s not as sharp as you think
,” Cait felt obliged to tell him, enjoying herself more than she’d thought possible.
Once again, Joe overlooked her comment. “I can remember Martin complaining about how you’d line up your dolls in a row and teach them school. Once you even got him to come in as a guest lecturer. Heaven knew what you had to do to get him to play professor to a bunch of dolls.”
“I found a pair of dirty jeans stuffed under the sofa with something dead in the pocket. Mom would have tanned his hide if she’d found them, so Martin owed me a favor. Then he got all bent out of shape when I collected it. He didn’t seem the least bit appreciative that I’d saved him.”
“Good old Martin,” Joe said, shaking his head. “I swear he was as big on ceremony as you were. Marrying us was a turning point in his life. From that point on, he started carting a Bible around with him the way some kids do a slingshot. Right in his hip pocket. If he wasn’t burying something, he was holding revival meetings. Remember how he got in a pack of trouble at school for writing ‘God loves you, ask Martin’ on the back wall of the school?”
“I remember.”
“I sort of figured he might become a missionary.”
“Martin?” She gave an abrupt laugh. “Never. He likes his conveniences. He doesn’t even go camping. Martin’s idea of roughing it is doing without valet service.”
She expected Joe to chuckle. He did smile at her attempted joke, but that was all. He seemed to be studying her the same way she’d been studying him.
“You surprise me,” Joe announced suddenly.
“I do? Am I a disappointment to you?”
“Not at all. I always thought you’d grow up and have a passel of children yourself. You used to haul those dolls of yours around with you everywhere. If Martin and I were too noisy, you’d shush us, saying the babies were asleep. If we wanted to play in the backyard, we couldn’t because you were having a tea party with your dolls. It was enough to drive a ten-year-old boy crazy. But if we ever dared complain, you’d look at us serenely and with the sweetest smile tell us we had to be patient because it was for the children.”
Home for the Holidays Page 4
