Debbie Macomber - Home for the Holidays - The Forgetful Bride / When Christmas Comes

“I’ll just have a refill on my tea,” Cait said.

“You’re still flying to Minnesota for the holidays, aren’t you?” Lindy asked, fidgeting with the menu.

“Mmm-hmm.” Cait had purchased her ticket several months earlier. Martin and his family lived near Minneapolis. When their father had died several years earlier, Cait’s mother moved to Minnesota, settling down in a new subdivision not far from Martin, his wife and their four children. Cait tried to visit at least once a year. However, she’d been there in August, stopping off on her way home from a business trip. Usually she made a point of visiting her brother and his family over the Christmas holidays. It was generally a slow week on the stock market, anyway. And if she was going to travel halfway across the country, she wanted to make it worth her while.

“When will you be leaving?” Lindy asked, although Cait was sure she’d already told her friend more than once.

“The twenty-third.” For the past few years, Cait had used one week of her vacation at Christmas time, usually starting the weekend before.

But this year Paul was having a Christmas party and Cait didn’t want to miss that, so she’d booked her flight closer to the holiday.

The waitress came to take Lindy’s order and replenish the hot water for Cait’s tea. The instant she moved away from their booth, Lindy launched into a lengthy tirade about how she hated Christmas shopping and how busy the malls were this time of year. Cait stared at her, bewildered. It wasn’t like her friend to chat nonstop.

“Lindy,” she interrupted, “is something wrong?”

“Wrong? What could possibly be wrong?”

“I don’t know. You haven’t stopped talking for the last ten minutes.”

“I haven’t?” There was an abrupt, uncomfortable silence.

Cait decided it was her turn to say something. “I think I’ll wear my red velvet dress,” she mused.

“To dinner with Joe?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “To Paul’s Christmas party.”

Lindy sighed. “But what are you wearing tonight?”

The question took Cait by surprise. She didn’t consider this dinner with Joe a real date. He just wanted to talk over old times, which was fine with Cait as long as he behaved himself. Suddenly she frowned, then closed her eyes. “Martin’s a Methodist minister,” she said softly.

“Yes, I know,” Lindy reminded her. “I’ve known that since I first met you, which was what? Three years ago now.”

“Four last month.”

“So what does Martin’s occupation have to do with anything?” Lindy asked.

“Joe Rockwell can’t find out,” Cait whispered.

“I didn’t plan on telling him,” Lindy whispered back.

“I’ve got to make up some other occupation like…”

“Counselor,” Lindy suggested. “I’m curious, though. Why can’t you tell Joe about Martin?”

“Think about it!”

“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 really is a 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.

A t 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 the ground 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 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.