Trading Christmas

by Debbie Macomber

  “Not go to the party?” Joe repeated. “But I thought you’d arranged your flight schedule just so you could.”

  “I did, but that was before.” Cait stubbornly squared her shoulders and elevated her chin just enough to convince Joe she meant business. He might be able to bully her into going shopping with him for a Christmas tree, but this was entirely different. “She’ll be there,” Cait added as an explanation.

  “She?” Joe repeated slowly, burying his hands in his suit pockets. He was exceptionally handsome in his dark blue suit and no doubt knew it. He was as comfortable in tailored slacks as he was in dirty jeans.

  A lock of thick hair slanted across his forehead; Cait managed—it was an effort—to resist brushing it back. An effort not because it disrupted his polished appearance, but because she had the strangest desire to run her fingers through his hair. Why she’d think such a thing now was beyond her. She’d long since stopped trying to figure out her feelings for Joe. He was a friend and a confidant even if, at odd moments, he behaved like a lunatic. Just remembering some of the comments he’d made to embarrass her brought color to her cheeks.

  “I’d imagine you’d want to meet her,” Joe challenged. “That way you can size her up.”

  “I don’t even want to know what she looks like,” Cait countered sharply. She didn’t need to. Cait already knew everything she cared to about Paul’s hot date. “She’s beautiful.”

  “So are you.”

  Cait gave a short, derisive laugh. She wasn’t discounting her own homespun appeal. She was reasonably attractive, and never more so than this evening. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she was pleased to see how nice her hair looked, with the froth of curls circling her head. But she wasn’t going to kid herself, either. Her allure wasn’t extraordinary by any stretch of the imagination. Her eyes were a warm shade of brown, though, and her nose was kind of cute. Perky, Lindy had once called it. But none of that mattered. Measuring herself against Paul’s sure-to-be-gorgeous, nameless date was like comparing bulky sweat socks with a silk stocking. She’d already spent hours picturing her as a classic beauty…tall…sophisticated.

  “I’ve never taken you for a coward,” Joe said in a flat tone as he headed toward the door.

  Apparently he wasn’t even going to argue with her. Cait almost wished he would, just so she could show him how strong her will was. Nothing he could say or do would convince her to attend this party. Besides, her feet hurt. She was wearing new heels and hadn’t broken them in yet, and if she did go, she’d be limping for days afterward.

  “I’m not a coward,” she told him, schooling her face to remain as emotionless as possible. “All I’m doing is exercising a little common sense. Why depress myself over the holidays? This is the last time I’ll see Paul before Christmas. I leave for Minnesota in the morning.”

  “Yes, I know.” Joe frowned as he said it, hesitating before he opened her door. “You’re sure about this?”

  “Positive.” She was mildly surprised Joe wasn’t making more of a fuss. From past experience, she’d expected a full-scale verbal battle.

  “The choice is yours of course,” he granted, shrugging. “But if it was me, I know I’d spend the whole evening regretting it.” He studied her when he’d finished, then gave her a smile Cait could only describe as crafty.

  She groaned inwardly. If there was one thing that drove her crazy about Joe it was the way he made the most outrageous statements. Then every once in a while he’d say something so wise it caused her to doubt her own conclusions and beliefs. This was one of those times. He was right: if she didn’t go to Paul’s, she’d regret it. Since she was leaving for Minnesota the following day, she wouldn’t be able to ask anyone about the party, either.

  “Are you coming or not?” he demanded.

  Grumbling under her breath, Cait let him help her on with her coat. “I’m coming, but I don’t like it. Not one darn bit.”

  “You’re going to do just fine.”

  “They probably said that to Joan of Arc, too.”

  Cait clutched the punch glass in both hands, as though terrified someone might try to take it back. Standing next to the fireplace, with its garlanded mantel and cheerful blaze, she hadn’t moved since they’d arrived a half hour earlier. “Is she here yet?” she whispered to Lindy when her friend walked past carrying a tray of canapés.

  “Who?”

  “Paul’s woman friend,” Cait said pointedly. Both Joe and Lindy were beginning to exasperate her. “I’ve been standing here for the past thirty minutes hoping to catch a glimpse of her.”

  Lindy looked away. “I…I don’t know if she’s here or not.”

  “Stay with me, for heaven’s sake,” Cait requested, feeling shaky inside and out. Joe had deserted her almost as soon as they got there. Oh, he’d stuck around long enough to bring her a cup of punch, but then he’d drifted away, leaving Cait to deal with the situation on her own. This was the very man who’d insisted she attend this Christmas party, claiming he’d be right by her side the entire evening in case she needed him.

  “I’m helping Paul with the hors d’oeuvres,” Lindy explained, “otherwise I’d be happy to stay and chat.”

  “See if you can find Joe for me, would you?” She’d do it herself, but her feet were killing her.

  “Sure.”

  Once Lindy was gone, Cait scanned the crowded living room. Many of the guests were business associates and clients Paul had worked with over the years. Naturally everyone from the office was there, as well.

  “You wanted to see me?” Joe asked, reaching her side.

  “Thank you very much,” she muttered, doing her best to sound sarcastic and keep a smile on her face at the same time.

  “You’re welcome.” He leaned one elbow on the fireplace mantel and grinned at her boyishly. “Might I ask what you’re thanking me for?”

  “Don’t play games with me, Joe. Not now, please.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, drawing his attention to her shoes.

  “Your feet hurt?” he asked, frowning.

  “Walking across hot coals would be less painful than these stupid high heels.”

  “Then why did you wear them?”

  “Because they go with the dress. Listen, would you mind very much if we got off the subject of my shoes and discussed the matter at hand?”

  “Which is?”

  Joe was being as obtuse as Lindy had been. She assumed he was doing it deliberately, just to get a rise out of her. Well, it was working.

  “Did you see her?” she asked with exaggerated patience.

  “Not yet,” he whispered back as though they were exchanging top-secret information. “She doesn’t seem to have arrived.”

  “Have you talked to Paul?”

  “No. Have you?”

  “Not really.” Paul had greeted them at the door, but other than that, Cait hadn’t had a chance to do anything but watch him mingle with his guests. The day at the office hadn’t been any help, either. Paul had breezed in and out without giving Cait more than a friendly wave. Since they hadn’t exchanged a single word, it was impossible for her to determine how his date had gone.

  It must have been a busy day for Lindy, as well, because Cait hadn’t had a chance to talk to her, either. They’d met on their way out the door late that afternoon and Lindy had hurried past, saying she’d see Cait at Paul’s party.

  “I think I’ll go help Lindy with the hors d’oeuvres,” Cait said now. “Do you want me to get you anything?”

  “Nothing, thanks.” He was grinning as he strolled away, leaving Cait to wonder what he found so amusing.

  Cait limped into the kitchen, leaving the polished wooden door swinging in her wake. She stopped abruptly when she encountered Paul and Lindy in the middle of a heated discussion.

  “Oh, sorry,” Cait apologized automatically.

  Paul’s gaze darted to Cait’s. “No problem,” he said quickly. “I was just leaving.” He stalked past her, shoving th
e door open with the palm of his hand. Once again the door swung back and forth.

  “What was that all about?” Cait wanted to know.

  Lindy continued transferring the small cheese-dotted crackers from the cookie sheet onto the serving platter. “Nothing.”

  “It sounded as if you and Paul were arguing.”

  Lindy straightened and bit her lip. She avoided looking at Cait, concentrating on her task as if it was of vital importance to properly arrange the crackers on the plate.

  “You were arguing, weren’t you?” Cait pressed.

  “Yes.”

  As far as she knew, Lindy and Paul had always gotten along. The fact that they were at odds surprised her. “About what?”

  “I—I gave Paul my two-week notice this afternoon.”

  Cait was so shocked, she pulled out a kitchen chair and sank down on it. “You did what?” Removing her high heels, she massaged her pinched toes.

  “You heard me.”

  “But why? Good grief, Lindy, you never said a word to anyone. Not even me. The least you could’ve done was talk to me about it first.” No wonder Paul was angry. If Lindy left, it would mean bringing in someone new when the office was already short-staffed. With Cait and a number of other people away for the holidays, the place would be a madhouse.

  “Did you receive an offer you couldn’t refuse?” Cait hadn’t had any idea her friend was unhappy at Webster, Rodale and Missen. Still, that didn’t shock her nearly as much as Lindy’s remaining tight-lipped about it all.

  “It wasn’t exactly an offer—but it was something like that,” Lindy replied vaguely. She set aside the cookie sheet, smiled at Cait and then carried the platter into the living room.

  For the past couple of weeks Cait had noticed that something was troubling her friend. It hadn’t been anything she could readily name. Just that Lindy hadn’t been her usual high-spirited self. Cait had meant to ask her about it, but she’d been so busy herself, so involved with her own problems, that she’d never brought it up.

  She was still sitting there rubbing her feet when Joe sauntered into the kitchen, nibbling on a cheese cracker. “I thought I’d find you in here.” He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down.

  “Has she arrived yet?”

  “Apparently so.”

  Cait dropped her foot and frantically worked the shoe back and forth until she’d managed to squeeze her toes inside. Then she forced her other foot into its shoe. “Well, for heaven’s sake, why didn’t you say something sooner?” she chastised. She stood up, ran her hands down the satin skirt and drew a shaky breath. “How do I look?”

  “Like your feet hurt.”

  She sent him a scalding frown. “Thank you very much,” she said sarcastically for the second time in under ten minutes. Hobbling to the door, she opened it a crack and peeked out, hoping to catch sight of the mystery woman. From what she could see, there weren’t any new arrivals.

  “What does she look like?” Cait demanded and whirled around to discover Joe standing directly behind her. She nearly collided with him and gave a small cry of surprise. Joe caught her by the shoulders to keep her from stumbling. Eager to question him about Paul’s date, she didn’t take the time to analyze why her heartrate soared when his hands made contact with her bare skin.

  “What does she look like?” Cait asked again.

  “I don’t know,” Joe returned flippantly.

  “What do you mean you don’t know? You just said she’d arrived.”

  “Unfortunately she doesn’t have a tattoo across her forehead announcing that she’s the woman Paul’s dating.”

  “Then how do you know she’s here?” If Joe was playing games with her, she’d make damn sure he’d regret it. Her love for Paul was no joking matter.

  “It’s more a feeling I have.”

  “You had me stuff my feet back into these shoes for a stupid feeling?” It was all she could do not to slap him silly. “You are no friend of mine, Joseph Rockwell. No friend whatsoever.” Having said that, she limped back into the living room.

  Obviously unscathed by her remark, Joe wandered out of the kitchen behind her. He walked over to the tray of canapés and helped himself to three or four while Cait did her best to ignore him.

  Since the punch bowl was close by, she poured herself a second glass. The taste was sweet and cold, but Cait noticed that she felt a bit light-headed afterward. Potent drinks didn’t sit well on an empty stomach, so she scooped up a handful of mixed nuts.

  “I remember a time when you used to line up all the Spanish peanuts and eat those first,” Joe said from behind her. “Then it was the hazelnuts, followed by the—”

  “Almonds.” Leave it to him to bring up her foolish past. “I haven’t done that since I was—”

  “Twenty,” he guessed.

  “Twenty-five,” she corrected.

  Joe laughed, and despite her aching feet and the certainty that she should never have come to this party, Cait laughed, too.

  Refilling her punch glass, she downed it all in a single drink. Once more, it tasted cool and refreshing.

  “Cait,” Joe warned, “how much punch have you had?”

  “Not enough.” She filled the crystal cup a third time—or was it the fourth?—squared her shoulders and gulped it down. When she’d finished, she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and smiled bravely.

  “Are you purposely trying to get drunk?” he demanded.

  “No.” She reached for another handful of nuts. “All I’m looking for is a little courage.”

  “Courage?”

  “Yes,” she said with a sigh. “The way I figure it…” She paused, smiling giddily, then whirled around in a full circle. “There is some mistletoe here, isn’t there?”

  “I think so,” Joe said, frowning. “What makes you ask?”

  “I’m going to kiss Paul,” she said proudly. “All I have to do is wait until he walks past. Then I’ll grab him by the hand, wish him a merry Christmas and give him a kiss he won’t soon forget.” If the fantasy fulfilled itself, Paul would immediately realize he’d met the woman of his dreams, and propose marriage on the spot….

  “What is kissing Paul supposed to prove?”

  She returned to reality. “Well, this is where you come in. I want you to look around and watch the faces of the other women. If one of them shows signs of jealousy, then we’ll know who it is.”

  “I’m not sure this plan of yours is going to work.”

  “It’s better than trusting those feelings of yours,” she countered.

  She saw the mistletoe hanging from the archway between the formal dining room and the living room. Slouched against the wall, hands tucked behind her back, Cait waited patiently for Paul to stroll past.

  Ten minutes passed or maybe it was fifteen—Cait couldn’t tell. Yawning, she covered her mouth. “I think we should leave,” Joe suggested as he casually walked by. “You’re ready to fall asleep on your feet.”

  “I haven’t kissed Paul yet,” she reminded him.

  “He seems to be involved in a lengthy discussion. This could take a while.”

  “I’m in no hurry.” Her throat felt unusually dry. She would have preferred something nonalcoholic, but the only drink nearby was the punch.

  “Cait,” Joe warned when he saw her helping herself to yet another glass.

  “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”

  “So did the captain of the Titanic.”

  “Don’t get cute with me, Joseph Rockwell. I’m in no mood to deal with someone amusing.” Finding herself hilariously funny, she smothered a round of giggles.

  “Oh, no,” Joe groaned. “I was afraid of this.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “You’re drunk!”

  She gave him a sour look. “That’s ridiculous. All I had is four little, bitty glasses of punch.” To prove she knew exactly what she was doing, she held up three fingers, recognized her mistake and promptly corrected herself. At least sh
e tried to do it promptly, but figuring out how many fingers equaled four seemed to take an inordinate amount of time. She finally held up two from each hand.

  Expelling her breath, she leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. That was her second mistake. The world took a sharp and unexpected nosedive. Snapping open her eyes, Cait looked to Joe as the anchor that would keep her afloat. He must have read the panic in her expression because he moved toward her and slowly shook his head.

  “That does it, Ms. Singapore Sling. I’m getting you out of here.”

  “But I haven’t been under the mistletoe yet.”

  “If you want anyone to kiss you, it’ll be me.”

  The offer sounded tempting, but it was her stubborn boss Cait wanted to kiss, not Joe. “I’d rather dance with you.”

  “Unfortunately there isn’t any music at the moment.”

  “You need music to dance?” It sounded like the saddest thing she’d ever heard, and her bottom lip began to tremble at the tragedy of it all. “Oh, dear, Joe,” she whispered, clasping both hands to the sides of her head. “I think you might be right. The punch seems to be affecting me….”

  “It’s that bad, is it?”

  “Uh, yes… The whole room’s just started to pitch and heave. We’re not having an earthquake, are we?”

  “No.” His hand was on her forearm, guiding her toward the front door.

  “Wait,” she said dramatically, raising her index finger. “I have a coat.”

  “I know. Stay here and I’ll get it for you.” He seemed worried about leaving her. Cait smiled at him, trying to reassure him she’d be perfectly fine, but she seemed unable to keep her balance. He urged her against the wall, stepped back a couple of paces as though he expected her to slip sideways, then hurriedly located her coat.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked when he returned.

  “What makes you think anything’s wrong?”

  “Other than the fact that you’re crying?”

  “My feet hurt.”

  Joe rolled his eyes. “Why did you wear those stupid shoes in the first place?”

  “I already told you,” she whimpered. “Don’t be mad at me.” She held out her arms to him, needing his comfort. “Would you carry me to the car?”