Stuck On You (A Christmas Novella) (3 page)

She grabbed the card and stood.

As she started to walk away, he said, “Who knows? Maybe

I’ll try my hand at writing if you decide not to do them.”

“Can you believe the gall of that man?” Sheila fumed into her cell phone.

“Calm down, Sheila. I’ll come over. We’ll watch a movie, eat a little popcorn, and drink hot chocolate. Then when you’re all settled, we can discuss your Foster problem. Deal?” Samantha asked.

Sheila pulled into her driveway. “Sure. Come on over.”

“I’ll be there in a jiffy.” Samantha hung up.

Sheila gathered her purse and headed inside. Going through the door off the garage, she entered her cozy kitchen. She fought the growing anger as she put water into the teakettle and set it on the stove to heat. Then she took a deep breath and bowed her head to pray.

Peace poured over her as she talked to the Lord. She admitted her love for the writing project she’d set her heart on and then told Him how frustrated she’d become over Morgan Foster’s demands. By the time she said, “Amen,” Sheila felt better.

Samantha arrived a few minutes later. Sheila offered her popcorn and hot cocoa.

“So what are you going to do?” Samantha asked, licking the salt off her fingers from the buttery treat.

Sheila leaned her hip against the counter and sipped at her hot chocolate. “Well, since he is discontinuing the ornaments, I think I’ll go to the mall in the morning and buy all the ones

I don’t have.”

“I meant about the books.”

Sheila pushed away from the counter and sat down at the table. “I’m not sure. I want to do this project but hate the idea of every word being scrutinized.”

Samantha studied her sister for several moments. “What about his wanting a byline? Are you going to allow that?” She munched on her bowl of popcorn.

“I’m still not too pleased with it, but Morgan is right. They were his characters first so that won’t be a big deal.” She picked up the movie Samantha had brought over. A chick flick. A big black dog sat between the couple on the cover.

Samantha grinned over her hot-chocolate mug. “I Googled your Mr. Foster before I came over.”

Sheila inwardly groaned. “And?”

“He’s easy on the eyes. I really don’t understand why you’d protest spending time with him.” Samantha stood, took the movie, and headed for the living room.

Well, Samantha did have the part about his being handsome right. Sheila called to her sister as she gathered up cookies and popcorn and put them on a platter. “Don’t even think about it, sis. I’m not interested in Morgan that way. I like him for his collectibles.”

A laugh sounded from the other room. “Yeah, and that’s why you call him Morgan and not Mr. Foster.”

Morgan sighed as he turned off the news and headed for his workshop. He’d had a restless night. His thoughts had returned over and over again to Sheila Fisher. Maybe he’d pushed too hard. Sheila hadn’t liked any of his suggestions of working together on her book idea. Why had he offered them anyway? Sure, she was cute and creative, but that didn’t mean he should get involved with her romantically. Right?

Walking down the hall to his office, Morgan shook his head. He determined to put Sheila out of his thoughts and get to work on his latest project. As he walked past his desk, he picked up his sketch pad and pencil. The idea he’d been working on the night before was taking shape. Morgan sank into his favorite chair and began working on a little turtle that stood on the edge of a pond. He fashioned its legs so they appeared bowlegged. Next he placed a small snail on the turtle’s back.

For the next hour, he worked. Finally he held up the drawing and admired the completed work. The turtle stood on the edge of the pond with one foot in the water, a small snail rested on its back, and a tiny ladybug perched on the shell of the snail.

Each character wore a smile and a determined look on its face.

A smile touched his lips as he wrote in big letters above the drawing, “Need a Lift?”

The smile faded as thoughts of Sheila haunted him once more. Had he dashed her dreams by asking her to include him in the process of creating the book? If he were honest with himself, he’d admit he hadn’t asked at all. As a matter of fact, he’d come close to threatening her. Well, maybe not her personally, but by telling her he’d think about writing the stories himself, he’d threatened her.

Morgan stood and stretched. What had he been thinking?

He made his way to the kitchen. Maybe another hot cup of coffee would make him feel better. Then again, maybe not. Morgan poured the hot beverage into his favorite mug. The need to talk to Sheila bubbled within him. Since that wasn’t possible, he went to the Lord in prayer.

“Lord, why is this woman affecting me so?” he prayed out loud. “You know a number of women have come across my path through the years, and I didn’t give them a second thought. Now this one comes along, and she’s in my thoughts constantly. After what I said to her yesterday, she probably hates my guts.” He sighed and went for his running shoes. Maybe a brisk run in the falling snow would make him feel better.

A half hour later as he rounded the corner to reach his house, Morgan puffed out white clouds of air. The cold felt invigorating on his flesh. At least that’s what he kept telling himself. His feet were freezing, his nose running, and still

Sheila Fisher continued to come forward in his mind. He liked the way her nose turned up on the end and her eyes sparkled. But he hated the last look she’d thrown over her shoulder at him. It had been a mixture of anger and disappointment.

Climbing the stairs to his back door zapped what remained of his energy. He dug in his pants pocket for the key. A whine drew his attention, and he turned toward the sound. A large basket rested on his porch, with a dark brown blanket tucked inside.

Then he saw something wiggling underneath the blanket.

Morgan looked around his neighborhood; not a person or thing moved. Snow continued to fall softly to the ground.

The whine from the basket turned into a full-blown howl.

He whipped his head back around in time to see a big, sleek head pop out from under the covers. The color took him by surprise. It was silvery blue. Morgan smiled. The most soulful eyes he’d ever seen stared back at him.

“Now how did you get on my porch?” he asked, looking over his shoulder again. The sound of the basket tipping over and spilling the puppy out onto the cold concrete porch pulled his attention back.

The pup looked as surprised as Morgan felt. It wasn’t what he considered a normal-size puppy. Large feet, long spindly looking legs, and a massive head told him this puppy was going to grow into a big dog.

Morgan knelt and offered his hand for the pup to smell. It came forward and licked his gloved fingers. “Come on. Let’s get inside so I can decide what to do with you.” He moved to the basket and scooped it up. The puppy followed him as he opened the door and went inside.

He pulled off his running shoes and set them beside the door. Morgan moved through the washroom and into the kitchen. The sound of the puppy’s nails hitting the floor alerted him to the fact that it had followed. He set the basket on the table and dug around inside.

Not seeing anything, Morgan pulled the blanket out and shook it. A white envelope fluttered to the floor. The puppy was on it in a second. He—or she—took off running and sliding, trying to toss the envelope into the air, but it fell flat.

Morgan scooped up the envelope and was rewarded with the puppy jumping on his legs. “Down,” he ordered in a firm voice.

The puppy sat on his stocking feet.

“So now you’re a foot warmer?” Morgan asked, pulling a Christmas card from the soggy envelope.

In answer the dog lay down on his feet.

A Christmas tree with gifts under it adorned the front of the card. Morgan opened it and read aloud. May the season of giving continue throughout the year. Merry Christmas. I hope you enjoy Noel. She will make a perfect companion. Love, A fan.

At the mention of her name, Noel sat up and whined.

“So your name is Noel. That’s very pretty, and it also indicates you’re a girl.” Morgan bent down and rubbed her ears. He couldn’t decide what breed of dog Noel was. She looked to be part Labrador, Great Dane, or Saint Bernard—or maybe a mixture of all three. Since he’d never owned a dog before and usually thought of them as big dogs or little dogs, this one could be any breed.

He wondered which of his “fans” had given him the animal. What was he going to do with such a big dog? Morgan stood, put the blanket back inside the basket, then pulled Noel’s basket from the table.

He carried it into the laundry room and set it down beside the washer. Noel followed. “Well, for now you’re staying in here.”

Noel clumsily climbed into it and looked up at him with questioning eyes. She tilted her head from side to side.

“Good girl.” Morgan shut the door and headed to his bedroom. If he was going to keep the puppy, he’d have to make another trip to the mall for doggy supplies.

Chapter 4

Sheila juggled the packages she’d picked up at the mall. She’d stepped out of Deck the Hall, laden with more bags than she’d expected. Her credit card bill was going to be big, but she couldn’t pass up the ornaments. Still, her mind was soaring with story ideas for her new purchases.

“Did you buy out the store?”

Sheila froze. She knew that voice. She raised her head and looked into the face of Morgan Foster. “It looks like it, doesn’t it?”

“Sure does. Can I help you with some of those bags?” He reached out and took several without waiting for her agreement.

Sheila wanted to protest but felt grateful for the decrease in weight. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I’m on my way to find a hot cup of coffee. Care to join me?” Morgan took a couple of more bags from her grasp.

“I’m not much of a coffee drinker, but I do need to talk to you for a few minutes. So, sure, did you have a particular shop in mind where you can get your coffee?”

Morgan began walking. “Not really. What is your drink of choice? Hot cider? Eggnog?”

Sheila smiled. “None of the above. I’m a dark-chocolate drinker.”

“With marshmallows?” He spun on his heel and started walking back toward Deck the Hall.

She laughed, wondering where he was headed. “Is there any other way to drink cocoa?”

“Sure there is. My sister drinks hers with a peppermint stick poking out of whipped cream. She insists this technique makes the drink perfect.” Morgan stopped in front of Carly’s Cookie Jar. “How about here? I think they serve both chocolate and coffee.”

“Perfect. I’ve been in here several times. They have the cutest gingerbread-men cookies.”

He tilted his head to the side and studied her. “And this is important because—?”

She liked the way his eyebrow quirked up as he waited for her answer. “Because my kitchen is done in gingerbread men.

Sometimes I buy cookies here to put on plates in my kitchen. I have a niece who loves them.”

“So gingerbread men are something else you collect?” He proceeded into the store.

“Sort of. I like gingerbread men, and my family started adding pieces every year to go in my kitchen. So I have a collection, but I don’t actively go out and look for pieces to add to it. My family does that for me.” Sheila felt as if she were rambling. She decided to focus on her surroundings, even though she’d been in the store numerous times.

Carly’s Cookie Jar wasn’t very big, but it had a large glass display case full of cookies. Several tables and chairs served the customers, and in one corner were two smaller tables and chairs for children to sit on while decorating their own cookies. A sign with the words Kids’ Corner distinguished that section as a child-friendly environment.

She noticed the shop was ready for Christmas. Lighted garlands, a small tree on the end of the counter where purchases were rung up, and a collection of Christmas cookie jars decorated the shelves around the shop. Sheila knew the tagless jars belonged to the owner’s mother and weren’t for sale. The store was called Carly’s Cookie Jar, but and cookies, coffee, and hot chocolate were sold here.

“What can I get for you?” the young woman at the register asked.

Morgan motioned for Sheila to order first.

Sheila smiled. “I’d like a large hot chocolate and a sugar cookie.”

“Make that four sugar cookies and a cup of coffee, too,” Morgan added from beside her. He shifted all the bags to one hand and pulled a wallet from his pocket with his free hand as their order was being rung up.

Sheila wasn’t sure she wanted him paying for her morning treat. “You don’t have to buy mine,” she protested, reaching into her purse for her ever-elusive wallet.

“Oh, but I do. If you hadn’t ordered a sugar cookie, I would have forgotten to order mine. So you see, I owe you a strong, hot mug and a delicate morsel to repay you for such kindness.”

She found herself laughing once more. Morgan sounded like a knight of old. If he had used the words “my lady,” Sheila felt sure she would have curtsied with the words “thank you, my lord” upon her lips. Instead she offered a simple, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He handed her the bag of cookies and resituated the packages he’d been carrying. “I’ll be right back for the drinks,” Morgan told the girl at the counter.

She smiled sweetly at him. “Okay, they’ll be here waiting for you.” Sheila led him to a table off to the side, placing them between the entryway and the children’s center. “Is this okay?”