Stuck On You (A Christmas Novella) (2 page)

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.

“Mr. Foster!” The call came from the teenager at the register.

Morgan took Sheila’s elbow and propelled her toward the door.

“I think she wants your attention,” Sheila said as she looked over her shoulder.

He sighed. “I know.”

The girl maneuvered around several displays. “Thank you for coming. Everyone seemed to have a good time. Do you think you’ll be coming back soon?” she asked breathlessly.

“I’m not sure. Please have your manager call if she wants me to.”

She looked from Sheila to him. Her eyes narrowed as she focused on his hand on Sheila’s elbow, and she answered, “Sure.”

Morgan hurried them out the door. When he was sure they were safely away from the store, he slowed down. “I was thinking we’d get something at the Golden Corral. They serve a wonderful steak and are right across the street from the mall.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Half an hour later, they sat waiting for their order to arrive. Sheila knew it was time to tell Mr. Foster what she wanted to do with his Woodland collectibles. She just couldn’t figure out how to begin. She was thankful he broke the silence.

“So you’re an author?”

“Yes. I write Christian children’s stories.” She took a sip from her water glass.

He leaned forward and gave her his full attention. “And you want to use my characters to write new stories?”

She stared into his intense blue eyes. “Your characters? My father started giving me Woodland characters back when I was twenty.” She paused and studied his handsome face. Not a wrinkle marred his smooth skin. “I thought you’d be older.”

“I’m thirty. You know that’s twice today I’ve told beautiful ladies my age.” A momentary look of shock crossed his face.

Sheila felt the heat of embarrassment fill her cheeks.

Morgan reached across the table and took her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Sometimes my mouth speaks before my brain thinks. I truly am sorry.”

She pulled her hand away and tried to pretend his words hadn’t affected her. “I know what you mean. It’s one of the disadvantages of working alone.”

A smile touched his lips. “I’ve never thought of it that way, but I guess you’re right. Let’s start over.”

She nodded, grateful that moment had passed.

“You’re asking permission to use my characters in your books. Is that right?”

“Yes. My editor requires I receive a written agreement from you since you hold the copyright on your collectibles.”

He nodded. “Okay, but answer me this: Why do you want to use the Woodland collectible line?”

A smile broke across her face. “That’s an easy one. Your ornaments stir up the creative juices in me, and my mind races with each one’s story. Just this morning, I hung up the squirrel that was decorating a small Christmas tree.” She paused and tried to remember the name of that piece, but it failed to come to mind. “I can’t remember the name of it, but I could envision what his house must look like. A toasty fire and hot mug of chocolate were waiting for him inside beside his favorite chair. I could see other Woodland animals coming and singing around the tree and snow softly falling about them.” She stopped talking. Her mind had entered an imaginary world, and for a few moments, Sheila had forgotten she was sitting at dinner with a handsome man.

He grinned across at her as the waiter placed a hot plate of food in front of him. “Please go on and tell me more,” Morgan prompted after the waiter left the table.

“Well, each story will be based on a Bible story or something from the Bible that parents would want their kids to learn, such as not to lie, steal, talk back to your parents—that kind of thing.” Sheila watched him lean forward with both hands face up on the table.

“Sounds good.” He wiggled his fingers.

Sheila wasn’t quite sure what he wanted her to do or say. She simply stared at him.

“Take my hands,” he offered after several seconds.

“Why?”

Again his warm laughter washed over her. “In my family, we hold hands when we say grace.”

“Oh.” Sheila did as he asked. While he blessed their meal, she thought of all the ways he’d made her feel out of sorts. He’d called her beautiful, listened to her ramblings as if they really interested him, and now was holding her hands. Most men found her mousy looking; their eyes glazed over when she started talking about her books or ideas for books, and none of them had ever offered to pray over their food.

“Amen.”

Sheila raised her head.

“Are you sure a salad is all you want?” he asked, cutting into a thick steak.

“After Thanksgiving. . .yes.” She dipped her fork into the ranch salad dressing she’d requested on the side.

“Are you only going to focus on my characters? Or will you be creating other characters to go with mine?” Morgan asked.

Sheila finished chewing and swallowed. “I hope to add a few characters of my own. Each ornament whispers its own story; I’m going to tell that story. It may take just the one character or several. I’m not sure yet. Why? Will that be a problem?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Chapter 3

Morgan watched her closely. He liked the way her eyes danced as she thought about her stories. Her face cloned that of a youthful teenager filled with joy. Her excitement matched his when she created her stories. He’d never met a woman like her and didn’t like the idea of her walking out of his life once he signed over the copyright to her.

“What kind of problems do you see?” she asked.

He pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair. “The idea of someone else creating characters like mine doesn’t set well with me.”

“What?” Disbelief filled her voice. “Anyone can create characters like yours.”

“Really? I thought you’d already talked to your editor about this. If so, will he or she allow you to write characters that so closely resemble mine? Without my permission?” He crossed his arms and set his jaw in a stubborn line. For all appearances, he knew he resembled a stubborn man. His mother had told him so, many times after he’d given her this stance.

Sheila pushed back her salad. She stood slowly to her feet.

“Well, then, Mr. Foster, I would say this business dinner is over.” She picked up her purse and turned to leave.

“If you say so, but I had hoped we could discuss it further.” Morgan watched her turn slowly to face him.

“What is there to discuss? I will have to create other characters to go into the stories. Without your permission, that can’t happen.” She straightened her spine and crossed her arms.

He took a sip from his iced tea. Over the rim of his glass, he watched her fidget. The desire to write her stories battled with her desire to leave the restaurant. “True. Maybe we can work something out that will satisfy both of us.” Morgan motioned for her to return to her seat. Other diners stared in their direction as she sat down.

Sheila hugged her purse. “What do you have in mind?”

Morgan studied the hard set of her lips. She didn’t like this one bit, and unshed tears filled her eyes. He hadn’t realized how much she’d set her heart on doing this series of books.

“Well, for starters I want to be included in the writing.”

“How so?”

“I expect to meet once a week to go over your new characters and what you’ve written.”

“What!”

Once more the other diners turned their attention to them. Color flooded her cheeks, and she ducked her head in embarrassment.

He ignored her outburst. “And I want a byline.”

Sheila leaned across the table. “But you aren’t writing the book. I am.” Indignation dripped from her voice.

Morgan dug in his wallet and pulled out a business card.

“Without my characters, you have no book. Here.” He passed the card across the table to her. “Take this and think about what I’ve offered. If I don’t hear from you in a couple of days, I’ll take that as a no to my suggestion.”