Trading Christmas - Debbie Macomber [77]
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 had pink stripes. 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, then tossed 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’t be 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