Page 77 of Romance and Peppermint Lattes
“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 reallyisa 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.
ChapterThree
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 theground 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 hadpinkstripes. 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, thentossed 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 rose-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’tbe 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.”
