Home for the Holidays (7 page)

“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 receptionist 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 host
ess 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 withdrew 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.