Stuck On You (A Christmas Novella) (8 page)

Chapter 10

Sheila reread what she’d just written.

Hannah could feel the fish’s disappointment in her and felt ashamed. She knew she should share with her sisters, especially since she couldn’t see the other two bows, but something inside her wouldn’t let her.

“If you do like the ladybug says and hide the bows, then who will enjoy them? And if you do as the fish suggests and share, then who will enjoy them?” a little dog with a gray beard asked. He swished his tail from side to side in the grass.

Hannah thought about what he said. “If I hide the bows, no one will enjoy them because no one will see them. But if I give them to my sisters, then everyone will see them.” She sighed. “And if I keep them and leave them on my paw, head, and back, then everyone will see them, too.”

She smiled at this new idea.

The dog nodded. “True, true. But won’t your sisters be sad because you didn’t let them have one to wear? And won’t your mother be sad because you didn’t obey her and share the way she wanted you to?”

It didn’t seem fair to Hannah. If she kept the bows, she would be happy, but her sisters would be sad. And if she gave them to her sisters, then they would be happy and she would be sad. “But I will be sad to give them away,” she answered, feeling sorry for herself.

“Yes, I’m sure the last time you shared with your sisters made you very sad, too, didn’t it?” The dog lay down beside her and rested his nose on his outstretched paws.

Hannah remembered sharing her Christmas pudding with her sisters. It hadn’t made her unhappy. She’d felt warm inside and cheerful. Her sisters had laughed and thanked her, and she’d felt good, not sad.

Just thinking about that happy time made Hannah want to share her bows. She could imagine her sisters’ smiling faces. She imagined them wearing the pretty bows on their spikes and running about showing their parents. Her mother would stand and tell her how proud she was of her for making the right decision.

Jesus would be happy with her, too.

Hannah stood. She touched the dog’s front paw.

“Thank you, Mr. Dog.”

She hurried home, ran through the earth door, and shouted for her sisters. “I’ve decided to share my bows with you!” Hannah called as she entered the den.

Honey and Harley ran to meet her at the doorway.

Their laughter filled the house.

“Children, come in here.” Mama called them back into the den.

They all hurried inside. Mama helped Hannah by removing the bows from her head and back. “This is a nice thing you are doing.” She hugged Hannah.

“I want the red one,” Honey said.

“May I have t
he blue one?” Harley twisted her little paws.

Hannah knelt down in front of her. “I’m sorry I was so mean earlier, Harley. You can have the blue or the yellow one.”

Harley hugged her close. When she let her go, Mama held out the yellow and the blue one to her. Harley took the blue. “Thank you, Hannah.” She stuck the blue bow on her front paw and looked down at it with awe.

Hannah watched her sister’s dance around the room.

They each wore a bow on their paws. Inside she felt warm and happy.

Just as she knew she would.

Sheila smiled as she wrote the words
“The End.”

The story was finished and would be about the size of a Golden Book once the illustrator added the pictures. She knew editing would have to be done, but at least she had the story down. Setting it to the side, she stretched.

The story was good enough to show Morgan. “Maybe I’ll make Mr. Dog a Great Dane. Do you think Morgan will like that, Chrissy?”

She glanced at the clock. The cat purred contentedly. “Good. I have time for an hour nap before I have to meet him.” Sheila rubbed Chrissy’s back and grinned.

The doorbell rang. “Just when I thought I could rest,” she muttered to Chrissy. The cat yawned and looked up at her through slit eyes.

Sheila moved the cat to the floor then walked down the hall. Just as she reached the door, the bell sounded again. “I’m coming.”

“Could you come a little faster, sis? It’s cold out here,” Samantha’s voice called from the other side of the door.

She opened the door, and her sister stumbled inside.

“I don’t feel so good,” Samantha announced as she rushed past her and into the bathroom down the hall.

The sound of sickness came up the hall. Sheila hurried to her bedroom and grabbed a spare pillow and blanket. She made

a quick bed for Samantha on the couch then returned to her bedroom for a fresh pair of pajamas. Sheila knocked on the bathroom door.

 A white-faced Samantha answered the door. “Here—put these on. You’ll feel a little better in comfy clothes.”

A few minutes later, Samantha returned to the living room clad in flannel pj’s and with a freshly washed face. “I’m sorry. Josh went out of town with work, and I didn’t want to stay home alone.”

“You know you are welcome here anytime.” Sheila tucked the blanket around Samantha. “How long have you been sick?”

“It started this morning. I just feel sick to my stomach. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me.” She sank further under the covers.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Not right now.” Samantha’s voice was muffled. “Thanks.”

Sheila watched as Chrissy curled up at the foot of the couch. She rubbed the cat’s ears and then headed to the kitchen.

“Well, maybe a cup of tea would soothe my tummy,” Samantha called.

Sheila pulled a box of saltines from the shelf and set the teakettle on. “It will be ready in a jiffy.” She looked at the clock on the microwave. In a half hour, she’d be meeting Morgan.

Morgan sat at Carly’s Cookie Jar nursing a cup of coffee and munching on a chocolate chip cookie shaped like a Santa Claus head. Sheila was ten minutes late. It wasn’t like her, and he was starting to get worried.

His heart did a flip-flop as she bustled into the room.

She maneuvered around the tables and chairs. “Sorry I’m late. My sister showed up on my doorstep a little while ago and is very sick.”

He stood. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do?”

“No, I just need to get back home. I hate leaving her like that.” Sheila adjusted the shoulder strap on her purse. “I brought the manuscript for you to look over. It’s still a little rough, but I think the story is complete. I just need to make sure the grammar and punctuation are correct.” She handed it to him. “I’m really sorry I have to go now. Let me know what you think about the story.”

Morgan gathered his coat and bags then walked with her out to the parking lot. He slid the manuscript into one of the bags. As they turned to part ways, he said, “I’ll read it this afternoon and let you know what I think.”

“Thanks. As soon as Samantha is feeling better, I’ll call you.

Maybe we could have dinner and a movie at my house?”

“Sounds like fun.” She smiled.

“Good. Talk to you later.” And with that, Sheila got into her car and pulled out of the parking lot. He smiled as she looked back at him in her rearview mirror and waved. Did she miss him as much as he did her when they were apart?

Morgan drove home, glancing at the shopping bags on the seat beside him. Two of Sheila’s books rested in one of those bags. Noel met him at the door. She’d been to one obedience class and proved she was the smartest one there, at least in Morgan’s eyes. “Hey, girl, it’s cold out there.” He laid his bags on the couch and gathered Noel’s leash from the hook beside the door. “Are you sure you want to go for a quick walk?”

She answered by sitting down on his feet.

Morgan laughed. “Okay.” He hooked the leash through the ring on her collar. “Come on then.” He zipped his coat and opened the door. It didn’t take them long to get back inside. Noel wasn’t a dog who liked the cold. She came in and burrowed under her favorite blanket.

Morgan made a hot cup of coffee and sat back in his favorite chair in front of the fireplace to read Sheila’s manuscript. While the fire crackled, he read. A smile touched his lips. The story was both cute and taught a lesson. He liked it. His mind worked, and he thought of illustrations that he could put on each page. But he couldn’t allow himself to keep his original agreement with Sheila.

“You want to go back on our agreement?” Sheila felt tears stinging her eyes as she grasped the phone receiver in her hand. “But—”

Morgan interrupted her. “Look—maybe I shouldn’t have done this on the phone. Would it be okay if I come over there?”

“No. My sister is still here, and she’s still sick.” The last thing she wanted Samantha to see was Morgan rejecting her story. She dropped into her office chair. A tear spilled down her cheek.

“How about tomorrow at Carly’s in the mall?”

What choice did she have? She could refuse. If he wasn’t going to allow her to use the Woodland characters, then why should she meet him again? Other than the fact that you love him?

“Please, Sheila, I really want to talk to you about this, and it’s not coming out right over the phone.” Desperation filled his voice.

“Okay. I’ll be there. What time?” She knew her voice sounded as frosty as the windowpanes looked, but she didn’t care.

“Is nine in the morning too early?”

“That will be fine.” More tears trailed down her cheek.

Sheila made her way through the semi-quiet mall. Since it was just opening, a lot of people weren’t present. All the night before, she’d cried and tossed and turned, and now she felt like a rag doll with no energy.

It wasn’t that she had just lost a story, but Sheila also felt as if she’d lost Morgan. She thought he’d fallen in love with her, just as she had with him. He’d never said so with words; but the look in his eyes, the way he touched her as much as possible when they were together, and the fact that he’d seemed generally interested in every aspect of her life, including the book he’d rejected the night before, led her to believe he cared for her.

Had she wanted him to return her love so badly that she’d fabricated his emotions and actions to meet her purposes, much as she did the characters in her books?

Chapter 11

Morgan walked into Carly’s feeling unsure. For the first time in his life, he worried things wouldn’t go the way he’d planned. What if he’d misread Sheila? So much depended on how this meeting went. Not just businesswise but personally, as well. His gaze found hers across the room. Her eyes appeared puffy, and the sparkle no longer filled them. Morgan felt like a heel. Why hadn’t he just asked her to meet him here yesterday instead of calling her first?

In his excitement of illustrating the book, he’d blurted out that he wasn’t going to honor their original agreement. Now he had to patch things up. He ordered a strong cup of coffee before moving to the table where she sat. Would she agree to his new proposition? Morgan patted the manuscript. He prayed silently, asking the Lord to give him the right words. When he arrived at her table, he noticed she hadn’t ordered anything. “Can I get you a drink or a cookie?”

“No, thank you.” Her voice sounded hoarse.

Morgan pulled out a chair and sat down across from her. He looked about the empty cookie shop. He was thankful that if she declined his offer, there would be no witnesses. “How is your sister feeling today?”

“Much better, thank you.”

He held out her manuscript and waited for her to take it from his hand. “I’m sorry I upset you over the phone. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that.”

“I don’t understand why you don’t want to continue with our arrangement.” Her eyes pleaded with him to explain.

“Well, I have a better offer.” When she continued to stare at him, this time he saw a spark in her eyes. But it wasn’t joy; it was anger. Her jaw set.

Morgan pressed on. “I really like your story and don’t feel it’s fair of me to ask you for a byline since I didn’t write a word of it.”

“So you’ve decided to write your own stories.” Bitterness laced each word.

He shook his head. “No. I want to illustrate yours.” Morgan watched another emotion cross her face, this one confusion. “I don’t understand.”

Morgan reached across the table and took her ice-cold hands in his. “I want to illustrate your books—if your editor will allow it, that is.”

A smile brightened her face. “So you aren’t going to stop me from writing the books?”

He shook his head no.

“And we will continue meeting and going over the stories?”

Morgan watched the light return to her eyes. “Well, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

“Oh?”

He’d practiced this moment in his mind a hundred times, but now that it came time, Morgan felt clumsy. “I need you to look at the last page of your manuscript.”

Sheila heard the uneasiness in his voice. For a moment, she’d been thrilled. She’d thought he did care and wanted to keep working with her on their book projects. Now she worried he hadn’t liked the story after all. Her fingers twitched on the pages as if they, too, feared what might be coming.