Trading Christmas - Debbie Macomber [87]
“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,