Stuck On You (A Christmas Novella)

  STUCK ON YOU

  By Rhonda Gibson

  Copyright 2008

  By Rhonda Gibson

  All Rights Reserved

  Dedication:

  This book is dedicated to Stacy Baron. I love you, Sis.

  RHONDA GIBSON resides in New Mexico with her husband. She writes inspirational romance because she is eager to share her love of the Lord. Besides writing, her interests are reading, beading and card making. Rhonda loves hearing from her readers.

  Feel free to write her at P.O. Box 835, Kirtland, NM or email her at rhondagibson65@hotmail.com Visit Rhonda’s web site at www.RhondaGibson.net

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  OTHER BOOKS BY RHONDA GIBSON

  Chapter 1

  What do you see in these things?”

  Sheila’s gaze moved to the Christmas ornament her sister Samantha held up. A little brown mouse held a sprig of mistletoe over its head; its lips were puckered up and its eyes tightly closed. She loved that piece. “What’s not to like?” she countered. She bent back down and carefully unwrapped another Woodland ornament.

  “It’s a rodent, Sheila!”

  The wrapping paper revealed a little brown bunny pulling a winter sled and two cute baby skunks under a blanket. “No, it’s a cute Foster’s Woodland creature; it’s a collectible.”

  “Just because the signature on the bottom says ‘Foster’s Woodland Collectibles’ does not make it cute.”

  Samantha placed the ornament on a low-hanging tree branch with two fingers as if it carried some kind of disease.

  “No, cute is in the eye of the beholder, and I say they are cute.”

  Samantha’s laughter tinkled throughout the room. She flipped her blond hair over a slender shoulder, winked, and then teased, “Is that why you still don’t have a boyfriend? No one’s cute enough?”

  Sheila took the ribbing in stride. She stuck out her tongue at her baby sister. “For your information, I haven’t found a man who’s nearly as sweet as these little critters.” She hung the rabbit and baby skunks on the tree.

  From the corner of her eye, Sheila watched her older sister, Sarah, waddle into the room. Sarah and her husband, Dave, were expecting their second child in two months.

  “Well, maybe if you got your nose out of a book for a little while, you’d find a husband,” Sarah snipped.

  With her hands on her hips, Samantha confronted Sarah.

  “We were only joking. No need to get ugly.”

  “Who’s getting ugly? I’m just thinking Sheila deserves to be as happy as you and I are.” She patted her well-rounded stomach and smiled.

  It was the same every year. Sheila shook her head. Samantha in her playful way would tease about the lack of a husband in her life, and then their sister Sarah would take it to a more serious level. She sighed. “Books are how I make a living, Sarah.”

  “I know, but do you have to become a recluse to be a writer?” Sarah lowered her body into a chair, all the while protecting her stomach with her right hand.

  Unlike Samantha, Sarah had a bob-style haircut and dark brown hair. At the moment, with her rounded tummy, she reminded Sheila of the purple character from that movie where the boy ends up with the chocolate factory.

  “Did the doctor say if the baby was going to arrive before Christmas?” Sheila hoped the change of subject would take her sister’s mind off their current discussion.

  Sarah sighed. “No, he insisted this baby is going to arrive around New Year’s.”

  “I’m sorry, sis.” Samantha knelt beside Sarah’s chair and placed her hand on her sister’s bulging belly.

  A twinkle entered Sarah’s eye. “I bet I’ll have this baby before Sheila can find a date for the family Christmas Eve party.” She winked at their youngest sister.

  Samantha groaned.

  Sheila answered in a dismissive voice. “You know I don’t play those kinds of games.” She set the box of ornaments to the side and stood. “How about a cup of hot chocolate, a nice fat sugar cookie, and a change of subject?”

  A couple of hours later, Sheila returned to the living room to finish decorating her Christmas tree. With both her sisters on their way home to their own homes, she could enjoy her collection and dream of the many stories they conjured up in her mind. Sheila’s creativity seemed to explode with ideas when she unwrapped the ornaments she loved.

  Sheila turned on the music and hummed along with

  “Away in a Manger” as she pulled a tiny squirrel decorating a Christmas tree from the brown wrapping paper. She smiled at the delightful sight within her hand. In her mind’s eye, she could see the squirrel’s little home. It stood behind the small Christmas tree he worked to decorate. Colorful Christmas lights decorated the tiny window in the bark of the tall oak tree.

  The sound track changed, and soft, whimsical music filled her ears as her mind continued to picture the scene. Tiny rabbits, mice, badgers, raccoons, and other forest animals joined the little squirrel, and they held hands and swayed to the tune of “Silent Night.” The star on the top of the little tree shone brightly.

  She shook her head to clear it of the joyful scene. “It’s time to write the stories I have placed in your heart.”

  Every year the same thought entered her mind. This year she sat down and looked up at the tree. All kinds of Woodland animals filled the branches. Over the years, she had thought up many stories for each ornament.

  “I really should write stories about you guys.” She spoke aloud to the tree and the many ornaments that covered it.

  Sheila picked up the phone and dialed her editor, Erin Walters, in New York. When her editor picked up, she said. “Hi, Erin. I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.” Sheila’s gaze moved to the clock.

  In New York, it was 4:00 p.m.

  “No, I have a few minutes. What can I do for you, Sheila?”

  “Well, normally I’d put this in writing, but I wanted to run it by you first.” Sheila and Erin had become good friends over the past five years. She was thankful she could call her on a moment’s whim and discuss book ideas. Most editors were too busy for such phone calls.

  “I’m all ears.”

  “I’d like to do a set of Christmas stories based on Foster’s Woodland Collectibles ornaments. You know the ornaments I collect?” She held her breath and waited.

  “Sure, I bought you one last year. Tell me about your ideas.”

  Sheila was breathless when she hung up the phone. While talking to her editor, she’d gotten excited about the stories and what messages of faith she could impart in them. Her excitement had spilled over into the phone line.

  Erin told her she’d love to publish such stories, but Sheila had to get permission from the creator of the ornament collection and a synopsis with multiple stories sketched out to take to the pub board next week.

  She looked about her living room. The newly decorated

  Christmas tree with its warm lights and friendly forest creatures gave the room a homey feeling. Her gaze moved to the fireplace where she’d hung stockings for her sisters and herself. It, too added warmth to her cozy home.

  As she made her way to the kitchen, she thought about her life. Being the middle child in a three-girl family often had its drawbacks. Like today when Sarah demanded she find a husband by New Year’s. Why couldn’t her sisters understand that God hadn’t blessed her with just the right man?

  The smell o
f freshly baked sugar cookies greeted her as she entered her kitchen. A smile crossed her face at the many gingerbread men that decorated the room. They danced on the curtains, offered goodies from the canisters, and graced the faces of several plates that adorned one wall.

  Gingerbread men and women cookie figurines sat on the counters and ledges. The set of salt and pepper shakers on her stove even resembled the fanciful men. Gingerbread-men plates were placed about the room holding sugar cookies that were decorated like Christmas trees, Santa’s, flowers, presents, and angels. Even a few gingerbread men filled the plates.

  “What man would put up with my weird collections?” Sheila asked as she came into the room.

  A large tabby cat answered as she meowed and stretched in one of the chairs. She extended her claws and made paw prints on her plush pillow.

  “That’s what I think, too, Chrissie. Most men are too serious for my taste. They don’t like cartoons, chocolate, sugar cookies, or fat cats.” Sheila filled her teakettle with water and placed it on the back burner of the stove.

  Chrissie sniffed and raised her tail up into the air. Her nose went up, as well, and she stalked out of the room.

  “I wasn’t calling you a fat cat,” Sheila called after her. “And some men like cats, some like cookies, and some even enjoy cartoons, but I’ve yet to find one who likes everything I do.”

  She shook a box of cat treats.

  The cat stuck her head back around the corner. Sheila poured a small pile of the treats into the cat’s bowl. “Come on. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you were a fat cat.” She stroked the felines back as Chrissie nibbled at her delicacies.

  “I should probably check online and see if I can find information on how to get in touch with Mr. Foster.” She stood and took a sugar cookie off one of the many plates that were sitting around. Sheila nibbled at the yellow frosting of a daisy shaped flower.

  The teakettle began to steam on the stove. She laid the cookie down on a small saucer, picked up her favorite Christmas mug, and added hot-chocolate mix to it. Then she added the water and stirred, all the while thinking about Morgan Foster.

  He was probably an old man with a beard and round belly.

  She imagined he had a love for nature and spent long hours in the woods. Sheila pictured him petting a deer and feeding it an apple.

  As the scent of hot cocoa filled her nose, Sheila laughed. He sounded a lot like Santa Claus. She dropped six mini marshmallows into the cup. After adding a couple of more cookies to the saucer, she picked up her large mug of hot chocolate and headed for her office.

  The room welcomed her like an old friend. The artificial fireplace warmed the room. She took a seat at the desk that faced a large, open window. The tree outside reminded her of the little squirrel. She rolled her mouse to make the computer screen come to life then typed in “Foster’s Woodland Collectibles.”

  Sheila knew stores carried the ornaments and figurines, but where did one look for the artist? Sheila put a plus symbol after Collectibles and added Artist. The screen flickered for several moments before pulling up several Web links.

  Up popped www.Fosterswoodlandcollectibles.com onto the screen. She clicked on the link and was pleasantly surprised to see a picture of a man with unruly brown hair and smiling blue eyes appear on the screen. “Probably his grandson,” she told a meowing Chrissie.

  As she read aloud, her eyes grew round. “The creator of Foster’s Woodland Collectibles lives in Snowbound Village, Connecticut.” She looked over at Chrissie and whispered, “Oh, he lives here in Snowbound and is going to be at the mall today!”

  Chapter 2

  Sheila rushed into the mall. Thanks to bad weather, she was running late. The sign at the entry of the mall announced Morgan Foster would be signing his ornaments and figurines from 4:00 to 6:00 p.m. According to her watch, it was five thirty now.

  She hurried through the crowds of shoppers. Sale signs stood in front of most stores; offers of half off the prices tempted her to stop as she moved toward the one store she really wanted to go to. If she could meet Mr. Foster and get his permission to use his ornaments, her trip out into the crowds of crazed shoppers would be successful.

  A teenage girl in a red pinafore and matching Santa hat greeted her as she entered the store Deck the Hall. “Merry Christmas, can I help you?” Her voice sounded bored, and her gaze searched out something toward the back of the store.

  Sheila took a deep breath. “I’m looking for Mr. Foster, the creator of Foster’s Woodland Collectibles.”

  That got her attention. A genuine smile touched the girl’s lips and eyes. “He’s dreamy, isn’t he?”

  Sheila didn’t know what to think of the girl’s whispered words. Either she stayed at home with her mom too much, or she was just out of the popular loop. She didn’t think teens today would use the word dreamy to describe a man.

  “I do enjoy his ornaments. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Sure. You and half of Snowbound came out just to see his collectibles.”

  Not liking the way the girl was looking her up and down, Sheila stood straighter and put a little authority into her voice. “Young lady, would you please direct me to where he is?” Was the girl a Morgan Foster stalker or what?

  “In the back corner.” She pointed toward the back of the store.

  Sheila passed a charming Victorian village, complete with festive carolers and tiny horse-drawn carriages. Then she walked by an array of cheerful Santa Clauses, Snow babies, Christmas trees, and other collectibles. All were ignored as she made her way to the Foster’s Woodland Collectibles display.

  The girl wasn’t lying; women of all shapes, sizes, and ages filled the back of the store. Sheila heard his voice but couldn’t see him over the sea of heads that were all facing the same direction. She assumed Mr. Foster had given a talk about his art.

  “Do you have any questions?” his warm voice asked.

  Several hands shot up into the air.

  “Is it true you’ll no longer be making Christmas ornaments?”

  Sheila leaned forward for his answer. Surely he wouldn’t stop making the ornaments. They were her favorites! His figurines were nice, but they didn’t hold the spirit of Christmas in them as the ornaments did.

  “Yes, it’s true. With the new line of Christmas figurines coming out, I really need to focus on them.”

  Sheila listened in shock as the artist continued answering questions. She couldn’t believe there would be no more ornaments to collect. Her father had started her ornament collection the year before he died. She’d been collecting them for five years. How could she stop?

  “What made you decide to give up the ornaments?” A woman’s voice rose above the crowd.

  “I want Foster’s Woodland Collectibles to be the best they can, and I don’t feel I can continue to keep up the quality of both the figurines and the ornaments. People seem to enjoy the figurines best so I made the painful decision to let the ornaments go.”

  Her thoughts moved to the ornaments on her tree at home. She loved them all. The knowledge that there wouldn’t be any new ones saddened her. Sheila studied the cute Woodland figurines. She could write stories based on them, too.

  While Morgan Foster finished signing figurines and ornaments for the women, Sheila moved about the room, looking at the other Christmas collectibles and mourning the loss of the ornaments.

  Morgan questioned his sense of sanity as the women pressed upon him to sign the bottoms of their figurines. A few had ornaments, and he put his initials in the small spaces they pointed out to him. He was thankful a table stood between them. He’d sat through most of his talk, but now that all the ladies had left but one, he felt the need to stand and stretch.

  “I read somewhere that you’re single.” He looked to the little gray-haired woman who’d wiggled around the table and now stood at his elbow.

  A smile touched his lips as she handed him a figurine to sign. “I am. Are you looking for a date?”

  A
soft pink filled her powdered cheeks, and she giggled like a schoolgirl. Her hand came up over her mouth, and he barely caught the words. “Oh, not for me.” She lowered her hand. “My granddaughter is single though. What are you? Twenty-two? Twenty-three?”

  He signed his initials on the bottom of a little mouse’s foot before answering. “I’m thirty.”

  “That’s too bad. She’s only twenty. Thanks anyway, son.”

  She patted his hand and left.

  He sighed. Now if he could get past the teenager by the front door, he’d be home free. But he knew that wasn’t going to happen today. Normally the manager would walk him out, but she’d called in sick earlier and asked the teenager to take good care of him.

  Morgan picked up his briefcase and looked toward the exit.

  The teenager no longer stood by the door. He glanced about and found her at the register, helping the woman who’d asked about his marital status. A smile touched his lips, and he hurried toward the door.

  “Excuse me. Mr. Foster?”

  Dread filled him. He’d been so close to escaping the store. Morgan turned toward the soft-spoken voice. His gaze focused on her face. Hazel eyes beseeched him to stop. He did. “Yes.”

  The pretty woman extended her hand. “My name is Sheila Fisher. I’m a children’s author, and I was wondering if I could have a few moments of your time.” She brushed light brown bangs out of her eyes.

  He glanced over his shoulder. The teenager was still helping the older woman. Morgan focused his attention back on Sheila. “What can I do for you?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about turning Foster’s Woodland Collectibles into children’s stories.” Her words seemed to tumble over themselves as if she sensed he was in a hurry.

  It had been a long time since a woman had looked at him so full of hope. He enjoyed the way her eyes sparkled at him. His stomach growled loudly.

  She smiled and ducked her head.

  He laughed. “Okay, how about we go grab a bite to eat, and you can tell me what you have in mind?” He was surprised when she nodded.