Trading Christmas (20 page)

“Oh, no, now is perfect. I didn't realize you had my home number…but obviously you do. After all, we've been working together for nearly a year now.” Eleven months and four days, not that she was counting or anything. “Naturally my number would be in the Human Resources file.”

He hesitated and Cait bent over to rub her shin where it had collided with the dishwasher door. She was sure to have an ugly bruise, but a bruised leg was a small price to pay. Paul had phoned her!

“The reason I'm calling…”

“Yes, Paul,” she prompted when he didn't immediately continue.

The silence lengthened before he blurted out, “I just wanted to thank you for passing on that article on the tax advantages of limited partnerships. It was thoughtful of you and I appreciate it.”

“I've read quite a lot in that area, you know. There are several recent articles on the same subject. If you'd like, I could bring them in next week.”

“Sure. That would be fine. Thanks again, Cait. Goodbye.”

The line was disconnected before Cait could say anything else and she was left holding the receiver. A smile came, slow and confident, and with a small cry of triumph, she tossed the telephone receiver into the air, caught it behind her back and replaced it with a flourish.

 

Cait was dressed and waiting for Joe early the next morning. “Joe,” she cried, throwing open her apartment door, “I could just kiss you.”

He was dressed in faded jeans and a hip-length bronze-colored leather jacket. “Hey, I'm not stopping you,” he said, opening his arms.

Cait ignored the invitation. “Paul phoned me last night.” She didn't even try to contain her excitement; she felt like leaping and skipping and singing out loud.

“Paul did?” Joe sounded surprised.

“Yes. It was shortly after you left. He thanked me for giving him an interesting article I found in one of the business journals and—this is the good part—he asked if I was alone…as if it really mattered to him.”

“If you were alone?” Joe repeated, and frowned. “What's that got to do with anything?”

“Don't you understand?” For all his intelligence Joe could be pretty obtuse sometimes. “He wanted to know if
you
were here with me. It makes sense, doesn't it? Paul's jealous, only
he doesn't realize it yet. Oh, Joe, I can't remember ever being this happy. Not in years and years and years.”

“Because Paul Jamison phoned?”

“Don't sound so skeptical. It's exactly the break I've been waiting for all these months. Paul's finally noticed me, and it's thanks to you.”

“At least you're willing to give credit where credit is due.” But he still didn't seem particularly thrilled.

“It's just so incredible,” she continued. “I don't think I slept a wink last night. There was something in his voice that I've never heard before. Something…deep and personal. I don't know how to explain it. For the first time in a whole year, Paul knows I'm alive!”

“Are we going Christmas shopping or not?” Joe demanded brusquely. “Damn it all, Cait, I never expected you to go soft over a stupid phone call.”

“But this wasn't just any call,” she reminded him. She reached for her purse and her coat in one sweeping motion. “It was was from
Paul.
”

“You sound like a silly schoolgirl.” Joe frowned, but Cait wasn't about to let his short temper destroy her mood. Paul had phoned her at home and she was sure that this was the beginning of a
real
relationship. Next he'd ask her out for lunch, and then…

They left her apartment and walked down the hall, Cait grinning all the way. Standing just outside the front doors was a huge truck with gigantic wheels. Just the type of vehicle she'd expected him to drive the night he'd taken her to Henry's.

“This is your truck?” she asked when they were outside. She couldn't keep the laughter out of her voice.

“Something wrong with it?”

“Not a single thing, but Joe, honestly, you are so predictable.”

“That's not what you said yesterday.”

She grinned again as he opened the truck door, set down a stool for her and helped her climb into the cab. The seat was cluttered, but so wide she was able to shove everything to one side. When she'd made room for herself, she fastened the seat belt, snapping it jauntily in place. She was so happy, the whole world seemed delightful this morning.

“Will you quit smiling before someone suggests you've been overdosing on vitamins?” Joe grumbled.

“My, aren't we testy this morning.”

“Where to?” he asked, starting the engine.

“Any of the big malls will do. You decide. Do you have your list all made out?”

Joe patted his heart. “It's in my shirt pocket.”

“Good.”

“Have you decided what you're going to buy for whom?”

His smile was slightly off-kilter. “Not exactly. I thought I'd follow you around and buy whatever you did. Do you know what you're getting your mother? Mine's damn difficult to buy for. Last year I ended up getting her a dozen bags of cat food. She's got five cats of her own and God only knows how many strays she's feeding.”

“At least your idea was practical.”

“Well, there's that, and the fact that by the time I started my Christmas shopping the only store open was a supermarket.”

Cait laughed. “Honestly, Joe!”

“Hey, I was desperate and before you get all righteous on me, Mom thought the cat food and the two rib roasts were great gifts.”

“I'm sure she did,” Cait returned, grinning. She found
herself doing a lot of that when she was with Joe. Imagine buying his mother rib roasts for Christmas!

“Give me some ideas, would you? Mom's a hard case.”

“To be honest, I'm not all that imaginative myself. I buy my mother the same thing every year.”

“What is it?”

“Long-distance phone cards. That way she can phone her sister in Dubuque and her high-school friend in Kansas. Of course she calls me every now and then, too.”

“Okay, that takes care of Mom. What about Martin? What are you buying him?”

“A bronze eagle.” She'd decided on that gift last summer when she'd attended Sunday services at Martin's church. In the opening part of his sermon, Martin had used eagles to illustrate a point of faith.

“An eagle,” Joe repeated. “Any special reason?”

“Y-yes,” she said, not wanting to explain. “It's a long story, but I happen to be partial to eagles myself.”

“Any other hints you'd care to pass on?”

“Buy wrapping paper in the after-Christmas sales. It's about half the price and it stores easily under the bed.”

“Great idea. I'll have to remember that for next year.”

Joe chose Northgate, the shopping mall closest to Cait's apartment. The parking lot was already beginning to fill up and it was only a few minutes after eight.

Joe managed to park fairly close to the entrance and came around to help Cait out of the truck. This time he didn't bother with the step stool, but clasped her around the waist to lift her down. “What did you mean when you said I was so predictable?” he asked, giving her a reproachful look.

With her hands resting on his shoulders and her feet dangling in midair, she felt vulnerable and small. “Nothing. It
was just that I assumed you drove one of these Sherman-tank trucks, and I was right. I just hadn't seen it before.”

“The kind of truck I drive bothers you?” His brow furrowed in a scowl.

“Not at all. What's the matter with you today, Joe? You're so touchy.”

“I am not touchy,” he snapped.

“Fine. Would you mind putting me down then?” His large hands were squeezing her waist almost painfully, though she doubted he was aware of it. She couldn't imagine what had angered him. Unless it was the fact that Paul had called her—which didn't make sense. Maybe, like most men, he just hated shopping.

He lowered her slowly to the asphalt and released her with seeming reluctance. “I need a coffee break,” he announced grimly.

“But we just arrived.”

Joe forcefully expelled his breath. “It doesn't matter. I need something to calm my nerves.”

If he needed a caffeine fix so early in the day, Cait wondered how he'd manage during the next few hours. The stores quickly became crowded this time of year, especially on a Saturday. By ten it would be nearly impossible to get from one aisle to the next.

By twelve, she knew: Joe disliked Christmas shopping every bit as much as she'd expected.

“I've had it,” Joe complained after making three separate trips back to the truck to deposit their spoils.

“Me, too,” Cait agreed laughingly. “This place is turning into a madhouse.”

“How about some lunch?” Joe suggested. “Someplace faraway from here. Like Tibet.”

Cait laughed again and tucked her arm in his. “That sounds like a great idea.”

Outside, they noticed several cars circling the lot looking for a parking space and three of them rushed to fill the one Joe vacated. Two cars nearly collided in their eagerness. One man leapt out of his and shook an angry fist at the other driver.

“So much for peace and goodwill,” Joe commented. “I swear Christmas brings out the worst in everyone.”

“And the best,” Cait reminded him.

“To be honest, I don't know what crammed shopping malls and fighting the crowds and all this commercialism have to do with Christmas in the first place,” he grumbled. A car cut in front of him, and Joe blared his horn.

“Quite a lot when you think about it,” Cait said softly. “Imagine the streets of Bethlehem, the crowds and the noise…” The Christmas before, fresh from a shopping expedition, Cait had asked herself the same question. Christmas seemed so commercial. The crowds had been unbearable. First at Northgate, where she did most of her shopping and then at the airport. Sea-Tac had been filled with activity and noise, everyone in a hurry to get someplace else. There seemed to be little peace or good cheer and a whole lot of selfish concern and rudeness. Then, in the tranquility of church on Christmas Eve, everything had come into perspective for Cait. There had been crowds and rudeness that first Christmas, too, she reasoned. Yet in the midst of that confusion had come joy and peace and love. For most people, it was still the same. Christmas gifts and decorations and dinners were, after all, expressions of the love you felt for your family and friends. And if the preparations sometimes got a bit chaotic, well, that no longer bothered Cait.

“Where should we go to eat?” Joe asked, breaking into her thoughts. They were barely moving, stuck in heavy traffic.

She looked over at him and smiled serenely. “Any place will do. There're several excellent restaurants close by. You choose, only let it be my treat this time.”

“We'll talk about who pays later. Right now, I'm more concerned with getting out of this traffic sometime within my life span.”

Still smiling, Cait said, “I don't think it'll take much longer.”

He returned her smile. “I don't, either.” His eyes held hers for what seemed an eternity—until someone behind them honked irritably. Joe glanced up and saw that traffic ahead of them had started to move. He immediately stepped on the gas.

Cait didn't know what Joe had found so fascinating about her unless it was her unruly hair. She hadn't combed it since leaving the house; it was probably a mass of tight, disorderly curls. She'd been so concerned with finding the right gift for her nephews and niece that she hadn't given it a thought.

“What's wrong?” she asked, feeling self-conscious.

“What makes you think anything's wrong?”

“The way you were looking at me a few minutes ago.”

“Oh, that,” he said, easing into a restaurant parking lot. “I don't think I've ever fully appreciated how lovely you are,” he answered in a calm, matter-of-fact voice.

Cait blushed and glanced away. “I'm sure you're mistaken. I'm really not all that pretty. I sometimes wondered if Paul would have noticed me sooner if I was a little more attractive.”

“Trust me, Bright Eyes,” he said, turning off the engine. “You're pretty enough.”

“For what?”

“For this.” And he leaned across the seat and captured her mouth with his.

“I
…wish you hadn't done that,” Cait whispered, slowly opening her eyes in an effort to pull herself back to reality.

As far as kisses went, Joe's were good. Very good. He kissed better than just about anyone she'd ever kissed before—but that didn't alter the fact that she was in love with Paul.

“You're right,” he muttered, opening the door and climbing out of the cab. “I shouldn't have done that.” He walked around to her side and yanked the door open with more force than necessary.

Cait frowned, wondering at his strange mood. One minute he was holding her in his arms, kissing her tenderly; the next he was short-tempered and irritable.

“I'm hungry,” he barked, lifting her abruptly down to the pavement. “I sometimes do irrational things when I haven't eaten.”

“I see.” The next time she went anywhere with Joseph Rockwell, she'd have to make sure he ate a good meal first.

The restaurant was crowded and Joe gave the hostess their
names to add to the growing waiting list. Sitting on the last empty chair in the foyer, Cait set her large black leather purse on her lap and started rooting through it.

“What are you searching for? Uranium?” Joe teased, watching her.

“Crackers,” she answered, shifting the bulky bag and handing him several items to hold while she continued digging.

“You're searching for crackers? Whatever for?”

She glanced up long enough to give him a look that questioned his intelligence. “For obvious reasons. If you're irrational when you're hungry, you might do something stupid while we're here. Frankly, I don't want you to embarrass me.” She returned to the task with renewed vigor. “I can just see you standing on top of the table dancing.”

“That's one way to get the waiter's attention. Thanks for suggesting it.”

“Aha!” Triumphantly Cait pulled two miniature bread sticks wrapped in cellophane from the bottom of her purse. “Eat,” she instructed. “Before you're overcome by some other craziness.”

“You mean before I kiss you again,” he said in a low voice, bending his head toward hers.

She leaned back quickly, not giving him any chance of following through on that. “Exactly. Or waltz with the waitress or any of the other loony things you do.”

“You have to admit I've been good all morning.”

“With one minor slip,” she reminded him, pressing the bread sticks into his hand. “Now eat.”

Before Joe had a chance to open the package, the hostess approached them with two menus tucked under her arm. “Mr. and Mrs. Rockwell. Your table is ready.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Rockwell,” Cait muttered under her breath, glaring at Joe. She should've known she couldn't trust him.

“Excuse me,” Cait said, standing abruptly and raising her index finger. “His name is Rockwell, mine is Marshall,” she explained patiently. She was not about to let Joe continue his silly games. “We're just friends here for lunch.” Her narrowed eyes caught Joe's, which looked as innocent as freshly fallen snow. He shrugged as though to say any misunderstanding hadn't been
his
fault.

“I see,” the hostess replied. “I'm sorry for the confusion.”

“No problem.” Cait hadn't wanted to make a big issue of this, but on the other hand she didn't want Joe to think he was going to get away with it, either.

The woman led them to a linen-covered table in the middle of the room. Joe held out Cait's chair for her, then whispered something to the hostess who immediately cast Cait a sympathetic glance. Joe's own gaze rested momentarily on Cait before he pulled out his chair and sat across from her.

“All right, what did you say to her?” she hissed.

The menu seemed to command his complete interest for a couple of minutes. “What makes you think I said anything?”

“I heard you whispering and then she gave me this pathetic look like she wanted to hug me and tell me everything was going to be all right.”

“Then you know.”

“Joe, don't play games with me,” Cait warned.

“All right, if you must know, I explained that you'd suffered a head injury and developed amnesia.”

“Amnesia,” she repeated loudly enough to attract the attention of the diners at the next table. Gritting her teeth, Cait snatched up her menu, gripping it so tightly the edges curled. It didn't do any good to argue with Joe. The man was impossible. Every time she tried to reason with him, he did something to make her regret it.

“How else was I supposed to explain the fact that you'd forgotten our marriage?” he asked reasonably.

“I did not forget our marriage,” she informed him from between clenched teeth, reviewing the menu and quickly making her selection. “Good grief, it wasn't even legal.”

She realized that the waitress was standing by their table, pen and pad in hand. The woman's ready smile faded as she looked from Cait to Joe and back again. Her mouth tightened as if she suspected they really were involved in something illegal.

“Uh…” Cait hedged, feeling like even more of an idiot. The urge to explain was overwhelming, but every time she tried, she only made matters worse. “I'll have the club sandwich,” she said, glaring across the table at Joe.

“That sounds good. I'll have the same,” he said, closing his menu.

The woman scribbled down their order, then hurried away, pausing to glance over her shoulder as if she wanted to be able to identify them later in a police lineup.

“Now look what you've done,” Cait whispered heatedly once the waitress was far enough away from their table not to overhear.

“Me?”

Maybe she was being unreasonable, but Joe was the one who'd started this nonsense in the first place. No one could rattle her as effectively as Joe did. And worse, she let him.

This shopping trip was a good example, and so was the pizza that led up to it. No woman in her right mind should've allowed Joe into her apartment after what he'd said to her in front of Lindy. Not only had she invited him inside her home, she'd agreed to let him accompany her Christmas shopping. She ought to have her head examined!

“What's wrong?” Joe asked, tearing open the package of
bread sticks. Rather pointless in Cait's opinion, since their lunch would be served any minute.

“What's wrong?” she cried, dumbfounded that he had to ask. “You mean other than the hostess believing I've suffered a head injury and the waitress thinking we're drug dealers or something equally disgusting?”

“Here.” He handed her one of the miniature bread sticks. “Eat this and you'll feel better.”

Cait sincerely doubted that, but she took it, anyway, muttering under her breath.

“Relax,” he urged.

“Relax,” she mocked. “How can I possibly relax when you're doing and saying things I find excruciatingly embarrassing?”

“I'm sorry, Cait. Really, I am.” To his credit, he did look contrite. “But you're so easy to fluster and I can't seem to stop myself.”

Their sandwiches arrived, thick with slices of turkey, ham and a variety of cheeses. Cait was reluctant to admit how much better she felt after she'd eaten. Joe's spirits had apparently improved, as well.

“So,” he said, his hands resting on his stomach. “What do you have planned for the rest of the afternoon?”

Cait hadn't given it much thought. “I suppose I should wrap the gifts I bought this morning.” But that prospect didn't particularly excite her. Good grief, after the adventures she'd had with Joe, it wasn't any wonder.

“You mean you actually wrap gifts before Christmas Eve?” Joe asked. “Doesn't that take all the fun out of it? I mean, for me it's a game just to see if I can get the presents bought.”

She grinned, trying to imagine herself in such a disorganized race to the deadline. Definitely not her style.

“How about a movie?” he suggested out of the blue. “I have the feeling you don't get out enough.”

“A movie?” Cait ignored the comment about her social life, mainly because he was right. She rarely took the time to go to a show.

“We're both exhausted from fighting the crowds,” Joe added. “There's a six-cinema theater next to the restaurant. I'll even let you choose.”

“I suppose you'd object to a love story?”

“We can see one if you insist, only…”

“Only what?”

“Only promise me you won't ever expect a man to say the kinds of things those guys on the screen do.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. Women hear actors say this incredible drivel and then they're disappointed when real men don't.”

“Real men like you, I suppose?”

“Right.” He looked smug, then suddenly he frowned. “Does Paul like romances?”

Cait had no idea, since she'd never gone on a date with Paul and the subject wasn't one they'd ever discussed at the office. I imagine he does,” she said, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. “He isn't the type of man to be intimidated by such things.”

Joe's deep blue eyes widened with surprise and a touch of respect. “Ouch. So Martin's little sister reveals her claws.”

“I don't have claws. I just happen to have strong opinions on certain subjects.” She reached for her purse while she was speaking and removed her wallet.

“What are you doing now?” Joe demanded.

“Paying for lunch.” She sorted through the bills and with drew a twenty. “It's my turn and I insist on paying…” She
hesitated when she saw Joe's deepening frown. “Or don't real men allow women friends to buy their lunch?”

“Sure, go ahead,” he returned flippantly.

It was all Cait could do to hide a smile. She guessed that her gesture in paying for their sandwiches would somehow be seen as compromising his male pride.

Apparently she was right. As they were walking toward the cashier, Joe stepped up his pace, grabbed the check from her hand and slapped some money on the counter. He glared at her as if he expected a drawn-out public argument. After the fuss they'd already caused in the restaurant, Cait was darned if she was going to let that happen.

“Joe,” she argued the minute they were out the door. “What was
that
all about?”

“Fine, you win. Tell me my views are outdated, but when a woman goes out with me, I pick up the tab, no matter how liberated she is.”

“But this isn't a real date. We're only friends, and even that's—”

“I don't give a damn. Consider it an apology for the embarrassment I caused you earlier.”

“Isn't that kind of sexist?”

“No! I just have certain…standards.”

“So I see.” His attitude shouldn't have come as any big surprise. Just as Cait had told him earlier, he was shockingly predictable.

Hand at her elbow, Joe led the way across the car-filled lot toward the sprawling theater complex. The movies were geared toward a wide audience. There was a Disney classic, along with a horror flick and a couple of adventure movies and last but not least, a well-publicized love story.

As they stood in line, Cait caught Joe's gaze lingering on
the poster for one of the adventure films—yet another story about a law-and-order cop with renegade ideas.

“I suppose you're more interested in seeing that than the romance.”

“I already promised you could choose the show, and I'm a man of my word. If, however, you were to pick another movie—” he buried his hands in his pockets as he grinned at her appealingly “—I wouldn't complain.”

“I'm willing to pick another movie, but on one condition.”

“Name it.” His eyes lit up.

“I pay.”

“Those claws of yours are out again.”

She raised her hands and flexed her fingers in a catlike motion. “It's your decision.”

“What about popcorn?”

“You can buy that if you insist.”

“All right,” he said, “you've got yourself a deal.”

When it was Cait's turn at the ticket window, she purchased two for the Disney classic.

“Disney?” Joe yelped, shocked when Cait handed him his ticket.

“It seemed like a good compromise,” she answered.

For a moment it looked as if he was going to argue with her, then a slow grin spread across his face. “Disney,” he said again. “You're right, it does sound like fun. Only I hope we're not the only people there over the age of ten.”

They sat toward the back of the theater, sharing a large bucket of buttered popcorn. The theater was crowded and several kids seemed to be taking turns running up and down the aisles. Joe needn't have worried; there were plenty of adults in attendance, but of course most of them were accompanying children.

The lights dimmed and Cait reached for a handful of popcorn, relaxing in her seat. “I love this movie.”

“How many times have you seen it?”

“Five or six. But it's been a few years.”

“Me, too.” Joe relaxed beside her, crossing his long legs and leaning back.

The credits started to roll, but the noise level hadn't decreased much. “Will the kids bother you?” Joe wanted to know.

“Heavens, no. I love kids.”

“You do?” The fact that he was so surprised seemed vaguely insulting and Cait frowned.

“We've already had this discussion,” she responded, licking the salt from her fingertips.

“We did? When?”

“The other day. You commented on how much I used to enjoy playing with my dolls and how you'd expected me to be married with a house full of children.” His words had troubled her then, because “a house full of children” was exactly what Cait would have liked, and she seemed a long way from realizing her dream.

“Ah, yes, I remember our conversation about that now.” He scooped up a large handful of popcorn. “You'd be a very good mother, you know.”