Page 105 of Romance and Peppermint Lattes
Joe hesitated. “You want me to carry you?” He sounded as though it was a task of Herculean proportions.
“I can’t walk.” She’d taken the shoes off, and it would take God’s own army to get them back on. She couldn’t very well traipse outside in her stocking feet.
“If I carry you, we’d better find another way out of the house.”
“All right.” She agreed just to prove what an amicable person she actually was. When she was a child, she’d been a pest, but she wasn’t anymore and she wanted to be sure Joe understood that.
Grasping Cait’s hand, he led her into the kitchen.
“Don’t you think we should make our farewells?” she asked. It seemed the polite thing to do.
“No,” he answered sharply. “With the mood you’re in you’re likely to throw yourself into Paul’s arms and demand that he make mad passionate love to you right then and there.”
Cait’s face went fire-engine red. “That’s ridiculous.”
Joe mumbled something she couldn’t hear while he lifted her hand and slipped one arm, then the other, into the satin-lined sleeves of her full-length coat.
When he’d finished, Cait climbed on top of the kitchen chair, stretching out her arms to him. Joe stared at her as though she’d suddenly turned into a werewolf.
“What are you doing now?” he asked in an exasperated voice.
“You’re going to carry me, aren’t you?”
“I was considering it.”
“I want a piggyback ride. You gave Betsy McDonald a piggyback ride once and not me.”
“Cait,” Joe groaned. He jerked his fingers through his hair, and offered her his hand, wanting her to climb down from the chair. “Get down before you fall. Good Lord, I swear you’d try the patience of a saint.”
“I want you to carry me piggyback,” she insisted. “Oh, please, Joe. My toes hurt so bad.”
Once again her hero grumbled under his breath. She couldn’t make out everything he said, but what she did hear was enough to curl her hair. With obvious reluctance, he walked to the chair, and giving a sigh of pure bliss, Cait wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged his lean hips with her legs. She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed again.
Still grumbling, Joe moved toward the back door.
Just then the kitchen door opened and Paul and Lindy walked in. Lindy gasped. Paul just stared.
“It’s all right,” Cait was quick to assure them. “Really it is. I was waiting under the mistletoe and you—”
“She downed four glasses of punch nonstop,” Joe inserted before Cait could admit she’d been waiting there for Paul.
“Do you need any help?” Paul asked.
“None, thanks,” Joe returned. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
“But...” Lindy looked concerned.
“She ain’t heavy,” Joe teased. “She’s my wife.”
***
The phone rang, waking Cait from a sound sleep. Her head began throbbing in time to the painful noise and she groped for the telephone receiver.
“Hello,” she barked, instantly regretting that she’d spoken loudly.
“How are you feeling?” Joe asked.
“About like you’d expect,” she whispered, keeping her eyes closed and gently massaging one temple. It felt as though tiny men with hammers had taken up residence in her head and were pounding away, hoping to attract her attention.
