Bah, Humbug! (A Romantic Comedy Christmas Novella)

by Heather Horrocks

  Steven grinned and followed his sister into the house.

  The cold was bitter today and Lexi was anxious to get inside her house with woman’s best friend--chocolate. Hot chocolate, to be exact. But she didn’t want that food going to waste. She supposed she could freeze it, but it would never be the same.

  Lexi glanced at her watch. It was three-thirty now. She’d invite people for the time planned for the original party, six o’clock. She smiled. She was going to have a party, after all. She’d get to know her new neighbors, at least some of them.

  And tonight, after everyone had gone back home, she’d give the hospital a call and see when they anticipated the birth. Carolyn did everything dramatically. Lexi wouldn’t be surprised if she’d be in labor for a day or so, just to out-do everyone else.

  Chapter Three

  When the doorbell rang, Kyle groaned.

  He was never going to finish this book. Let whoever it was stand there; he didn’t have to answer. Maybe he’d have a switch installed that would stop the doorbell from sounding when he didn’t want to be disturbed.

  He changed to a scene at the end of the book and worked on it for thirty minutes or so, long after the doorbell quieted and the would-be interruption gave up on him, but didn’t get much done in that scene, either. With a sigh, he saved the file.

  He hadn’t been this frustrated in a long time. Maybe what he needed was a short break. Yes, that’s what he’d do. He’d go for a walk around the block. He’d leave Jared still searching--forever searching--and forget all about the book for a few minutes. If that was possible.

  Kyle turned to the window. It was snowing outside. It was indeed beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Unfortunately. And what was that outside? A newly made snowman at the edge of his yard, close to the elf and pine tree. Oh, please. How archaic. And how lovely that his neighbors had built it smack dab on his property line.

  He supposed he ought to feel happy to have a snowman on his yard that he hadn’t had to build--except that he wasn’t in a snowman type of mood. He wasn’t ready for Christmas, Frosty or otherwise. Christmas just brought back painful memories.

  He was ready for a walk. He needed to stretch and breathe some fresh air.

  Stepping onto his porch, Kyle inhaled deeply. The cold air stung his lungs. He pulled his muffler up around his nose, and sloshed down the steps in his snow boots.

  He was glad he’d stepped away from the computer. He needed some relaxation, something to take his mind off the story that wasn’t working. Perhaps his subconscious could unravel the plot kinks for him. His conscious mind certainly was having no luck.

  Reaching the sidewalk, he turned right. And stopped as an idea began to form in his mind.

  The snowman. That was the answer.

  Why hadn’t he thought of it before? The villain could hide his weapon in a snowman. Perfect. The cops would never think to look inside a snowman, and it wouldn’t melt for weeks. But Jared could uncover the truth. It wouldn’t be enough to solve the case and end the book, but it would be a great twist.

  He was really going to have to thank his neighbors this time. Who would have thought they’d help him by Christmasing his yard?

  And what a nice job they’d done on the snowman, too. It was a shame to mess it up, but he needed to see if his villain’s evil plan would work.

  His mind racing now, he reached into his coat pocket and grabbed a small flashlight. He’d use that in place of the villain’s weapon.

  Clomping through the calf-deep snow, Kyle stopped right in front of the snowman. Was that red licorice? He loved red licorice. He popped it off and into his mouth.

  Now, for the flashlight. He dug out a hole in the front of the protruding belly. He could stick the flashlight in, but it was obvious that the snow had been disturbed.

  Okay, that wouldn’t work. What next?

  He pulled off one of the twig arms and tried to cram the flashlight in the hole, but he soon saw that wouldn’t work, either. Even if he could push the flashlight into the tiny hole, he’d never be able to push the twig back in to hide it.

  The head. He lifted it off and sat it next to the body. Digging busily, he scooped out a hole in the top of the body and laid the flashlight in.

  Perfect. Now he’d just put the head back on. Reaching down, he was startled by a woman’s angry yell.

  “Hey. What in the heck are you doing to my snowman?”

  Looking up, he watched a woman fly up the sidewalk toward him.

  Guilt grabbed him. He hadn’t really done anything wrong. After all, the snowman was on his property. Still, she seemed very upset. “Is this your snowman? Why did you build it here?”

  She dashed up to the snowman and stared at it, disbelief and horror apparent on her face. She pointed to the empty house beside his. Too late, he noticed the unlit Christmas icicle lights dangling across the front.

  “I just bought this property.” She turned on him with fury in her eyes. “What kind of a person tears apart snowmen?”

  She reached for the head.

  Feeling really stupid, Kyle said, “Here, let me--“

  Leaving the head where it lay, she snapped her hands onto her hips. “You have done quite enough already. Please leave. And please do not tell me you live anywhere around here.”

  He supposed she meant to look intimidating, but he was struck by her appearance. Why did she look so familiar? He’d swear he’d seen her before, somewhere. Her long red hair flared out from under a purple snow cap. He wondered if her incredibly dark green eyes would lighten when she wasn’t so angry.

  And because she was so enraged, he certainly wasn’t about to admit he lived next door. Instead, he said, “I’d like to help you fix the snowman.”

  She crossed her arms and drew herself up to her full height, which must have been five foot five, tops. “No. Please go ruin someone else’s decorations. And take your flashlight with you.”

  He stepped back and caught the tossed flashlight. Fine. He’d offered to help and he’d tried to apologize. If she didn’t want to accept either, there wasn’t much he could do about it.

  He stepped onto the sidewalk. He wasn’t about to go home now. He’d continue on his walk, and hope she was inside when he came back around the block. Three houses farther down, he looked back to see the woman lift the snowman’s head and drop it into place. She looked up and caught him watching her.

  She turned her back on him.

  He turned and continued his walk. If she was still outside when he came back around, he’d have to sneak in the back door.

  It was unfortunate he’d gotten off to such a poor start with his new neighbor. Especially one as attractive as this one could be--at least he assumed she could be, when she wasn’t angry and scowling.

  * * *

  She could still feel that man’s gaze on her back. Darn him anyway. Who did he think he was, destroying other people’s snowmen? She hadn’t seen him when she knocked on neighbors’ doors, and hoped he didn’t live nearby. It would be a shame to ruin a nice street like this with an attitude like his. That guy had better beware if she caught him on her property again.

  She set the snowman’s head on top and moved it around until it settled into place.

  She tipped her head in disgust. It would take forever to fix this. She lifted the twig and stuck it back in place.

  With a huge sigh, she began packing snow onto the hole in the belly. Her anger kept her going. Even an hour later, when she’d repaired the snowman to her satisfaction and trudged up to her house to find a FedEx package waiting for her, leaning against the brick on her porch.

  Wondering who’d already sent her a gift in her new house, she lifted the package. But it wasn’t addressed to her. It was addressed to Kyle Miller.

  Kyle Miller. As in the author?

  She checked the address. 501 Sycamore. Her house was 503. They lived right next door to the Kyle Miller? To the Jared Strong guy? Wait until she told the kids.
>
  But maybe she’d better wait until she made sure this Kyle Miller was actually the author. The name could be a coincidence. Miller was a common enough name. So was Kyle.

  She knew the author lived somewhere in the general area. But she’d better not jump to conclusions.

  Maybe the package was from a publishing house. She checked it. It was from “Keefe and Alyssa,” whoever they were.

  She carried the package inside, set it on the end table, and shrugged out of her parka.

  Just in case she really was going to meet the Kyle Miller, she was going to brush her hair, freshen her makeup, and wear her nice coat.

  The day was looking up.

  * * *

  Clutching the FedEx package in her gloved hands, Lexi pulled her good coat closer around her as she waited for Kyle Miller to answer his doorbell.

  She knew someone was home. She had seen someone through the windows a few moments ago. Come on, it’s freezing out here. She’d come to this house earlier, but no one had answered. But she really wanted to meet Kyle Miller and invite him to the party--whether he was the author or not.

  She knocked on the door again. Hard. Her breath hung frozen in the air, and she wrapped her muffler around her mouth. At least her lips warmed a little. It had started snowing again, and flakes melted on her forehead and ears.

  Finally, when she could barely feel her cold fingers any more, the door creaked open, and a man poked his head out. “What on earth are you doing out there in this snowstorm?”

  It was the jerk who’d knocked over her snowman! Oh, great. The Kyle Miller she lived next to was a jerk. She prayed now that he was not the author, because the disillusionment would be a great blow to her children.

  He must not have recognized her yet, because of the muffler. She decided to go with it for now. “I’m doing just what it looks like. I’m freezing my fanny off.”

  “Oh, right. Come on in.” He motioned inside.

  Still carrying his package, she stepped into the foyer.

  Warmth. Blessed, delightful warmth.

  No Christmas tree, though, or any decorations. Surely he wasn’t married, or his wife would have taken care of it. Of course he wasn’t married, she smacked herself mentally. Who’d want him?

  The man closed the door behind her and she wondered if she should be worried, though her anger still burned hotly enough over her vandalized snowman that she felt she could hold her own.

  “Here’s an umbrella you can use to get back home.” He brightened as if he’d just realized something. “You are the very first person I’ve talked with since Keefe’s call. Tell me, do you know who I am?”

  “Sure.” She glanced at the package as if to check the name. “You’re Mr. Miller.”

  “Kyle Miller. Surely you’ve heard the name.” He sounded disappointed. “I’ve been on the best-seller list.”

  She paused and tried to paste a blank expression on her face--not that he could see it--as her heart sank. He was the author. Well, if it meant something to him to have her recognize his name, she was glad to pretend she hadn’t. “No. Can’t say I have. I’m just here to--“

  He interrupted. “Do you read?”

  “Oh, yeah. All the time. Voraciously. I finished Dick and Jane just last night. Fascinating story. Listen--“

  He interrupted again. “I’m serious. Don’t you read?”

  “I was being serious, too. In a flippant sort of way. Of course I read books. I just have never heard of you.” She shrugged casually. “Sorry.”

  “Oh, that’s okay.” He seemed to really notice her for the first time, and his eyes ran up and down her coat and stopped on her muffler. “Isn’t that hot?”

  How hot you know not, Mr. Kyle Miller! “The FedEx man delivered this package to my house. Except it was supposed to come to yours.”

  Choosing this moment to reveal herself, she pulled the muffler down and said, “Why on earth would you tear apart someone’s snowman?”

  * * *

  The woman’s voice was as cold as the storm outside and Kyle cringed at the sound of it. This gorgeous woman was the same one who’d refused to let him apologize earlier. Boy, he had really blown it. “It wasn’t what it appeared. I was trying to put the head back on.”

  “After you beheaded it.”

  “Well, yes, but only because I was looking for a place for the weapon.”

  “Of course you were.” She frowned. “And I’m Santa’s head elf.”

  “You don’t believe me.” Not that he could say he blamed her. Guilt flooded him as he remembered yanking off the head in his eagerness to try out his villain’s plan.

  “No.”

  “Well, I can go show you. The villain--well, I don’t want to reveal too much, but--“

  She touched his arm and the warmth that tingled up his arm surprised him. “Listen, Mr. Miller, let’s just say I’m not stupid. I do read, and I can tell the difference between fixing a snowman and destroying a snowman. I’m really sorry we’re gotten off to such a bad start as neighbors, but I don’t really see that it’s my fault.” She stepped back. “Merry Christmas, anyway.”

  She wrapped the muffler around her face, and then stopped and unwound it again. “Actually, I think I have heard of you. I did read one of your little mysteries. I didn’t enjoy it very much, though. Far too predictable.”

  Chapter Four

  FIVE DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS

  “Where are they?” Lexi checked the front window again. “This is my first show here and the camera crew is twenty minutes late. I don’t need this today.”

  Trista stopped her and took her hands. “Now, Mom, when I get this freaked out, you sit me down and tell me I need to chill out.”

  “I don’t need to chill out. I need my camera crew here.”

  “Trust me. You need to chill out. Your makeup’s going to do weird things if you don’t stop frowning.”

  “My makeup?” Lexi asked, searching for the foyer mirror to check herself in.

  “Oh, my gosh, Mom, chill out.”

  The phone rang, and Steven grabbed it. “Hello...Yes...Yes.” He handed it to her. “It’s for you.”

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, Lexi.” Craig’s voice crackled over his cell phone.

  “Hi, Craig.” She tried to push her worry back and keep her voice level. “Now I know Carolyn had her baby yesterday so you’ll need another excuse today.”

  “We’ve had a flat tire, but we’ll be there soon.” He explained the details quickly and got off the line.

  After Lexi hung up, she moaned, “What else can go wrong?”

  Trista wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist. “Poor Mommy. Do you need a chocolate bar?”

  Caught off guard, Lexi laughed. Trista had a way of joking her out of her funks. She teased, “Chocolate? You think I need chocolate?”

  “Made you laugh. That means you owe me chocolate, too.”

  Steven yelled out from the family room, where he was playing some video game, “Get me some, too.”

  “No. Absolutely no chocolate.” Lexi worked hard to keep a straight face. “I need to stay slender for my television audience.”

  “Well, without a film crew you don’t have a television audience,” Trista reminded her gently, and patted the couch. “Sit down, Mom.”

  Lexi sank into the deep cushions with a sigh. “They’ll be here. Craig said it was just a flat tire. They’ll arrive any minute. My show will go on.”

  And, because Trista had succeeded in making her laugh, Lexi realized she had calmed. Things would work out--even if they were shooting two shows today to last through the holidays so they could all take the next week and a half off.

  “It’ll be okay, Mom,” her daughter reassured her.

  “You’ll do fine,” Steven said as he came through toward the kitchen for a snack.

  She laughed again. “You guys are the best family any woman could ever want.”

  * * *

  Kyle debat
ed on whether to answer the phone, even when he saw his editor’s name on the Caller ID. On the fourth ring, he grabbed it. “Hello, Ernest.”

  “Hi, Kyle. How’s it going?”

  “Oh, good, good. Great.”

  “Glad to hear it. Doing anything special for the holidays?”

  “Just getting the book done.”

  “Even better.”

  “You’re a slave-driver, Ernest.”

  “And you are a miracle writer. Listen, I’m calling to let you know that the production people just moved up your deadline by two weeks. I said it was okay, because you’re always way ahead of schedule, so I figured this wouldn’t bother you.”

  Kyle suppressed a groan. “Can they change it back?”

  Ernest laughed. “Like you actually need it. Come on. You’re the most reliable, punctual writer I’ve ever worked with.”

  Kyle couldn’t believe this. He could complain, but he was determined to meet all his deadlines. And he wasn’t about to admit to Ernest the trouble he was having. If he had to confess all two weeks early, so be it. “So the new deadline is the middle of January?”

  Kyle turned toward the window. Outside, a camera crew stood around the snowman he’d trashed yesterday. His neighbor was standing in front of the restored snowman, and the film crew was filming her. Must be some sort of special about their Christmas street.

  Ernest laughed. “Middle of January. You’re incredible. So it’s coming okay, then? It was all right for me to switch the deadline?”

  “Nearly done, Ernest. Just a little more tweaking,” he said with very little hope that he spoke the truth. “It’s almost there.”

  “Good to hear that,” Ernest said. “Oh, and the art department needs information to start working up the cover art. Got anything for me?”

  Kyle stared back out the window at the snowman. It was the best idea he’d had, so far. “Use a snowscape and a snowman.”

  “Sounds great. Talk with you next week. And have a merry Christmas.”

  As he hung up the phone, he knew he was going to have to figure out some way to break free of this writer’s block he was caught in. He’d just lost two weeks, which meant he was under more pressure than ever. And he now had to make the snowman work into his story.

  He sank back into his chair, looking at his calendar to see just how bad the situation was, and caught sight of the note reminding him of the book signing tomorrow afternoon.