Thankfully, he had a wad of napkins he kept in case of an emergency. He mopped up the coffee before it dripped on the mail, and dropped the soggy napkins in the now-empty cup.
“This day just keeps getting better and better,” Drew groused as he turned down a residential street and parked.
About eighty percent of his route was walking. His routine was to drive to a neighborhood, park, and carry the mail, then move on to the next area and repeat the process. The third house he walked up to, he heard an all-too familiar noise on the other side of the door’s mail slot where he needed to deliver the mail.
The residents of the home got a new cat about three weeks ago and the feline’s favorite thing in the world was to stick his paws out the mail slot and bat at the mail. A few times, he’d clawed Drew. He didn’t take it personally, aware the cat thought it was a game, but today he was not in the mood for Whiskers’ antics.
“I’m shoving the mail in, Whiskers. Watch out,” Drew said, sliding a magazine under the slot with one hand and shoving a handful of Christmas cards inside with the other. He almost pulled off the delivery, but Whiskers began shredding the magazine in his efforts to reach Drew.
With a wiggle and push, he got the magazine inside, but Whiskers caught a claw in the index finger of Drew’s glove. A mighty battle ensued as the cat tried to drag Drew inside the house via the tiny mail slot. Whiskers growled and screeched while digging his claws into Drew’s hand.
“Whiskers! Knock it off!” Drew bellowed, stirring up half the dogs in the neighborhood. Their yips and barks echoed loudly in the still morning air.
With a rough jerk, he pulled his hand free of the mail slot in spite of Whiskers’ attempts to return a mutilated stump in its place.
“Stupid cat,” Drew muttered as drops of blood seeped through his glove and left a crimson trail in the snow. Back in his LLV, he unearthed a first aid kit and removed his glove. Deep scratches covered the backs of his fingers and one nasty gouge ran across his palm, but at least the cat hadn’t bitten him. Drew scrubbed his hand with an alcohol swab, put a bandage over the cut on his palm, and pulled on his now-tattered glove.
An hour later, his rig got stuck after the snow plow drove around it and encased him in a bank of snow. It took him fifteen minutes to dig it out, putting him even further behind on his deliveries.
For the most part, Drew was patient and easy going. Generally, it took a lot to ruffle his feathers or rile his temper.
However, today he wanted to toss the remainder of the mail in the air, yell at the top of his lungs, and drive high into the mountains where no one could find him. Maybe, just maybe, he’d come back once the snow melted.
Maybe.
Instead of putting his plan for escape into action, he drove to the next neighborhood and parked in a spot where the snow plow had already passed through.
He had a large box for Mrs. Harris, so he carried it up her walk and made a note to find someone to shovel it. The snow was really starting to pile up and soon it would be too deep for the little old lady to get through. On the rickety step, Drew slid and had to work to keep his footing. At that point, one of the staples shifted and poked him right in the hindquarters. He twisted slightly to relive the pressure then knocked on the door.
“Mrs. Harris!” Drew called, knowing the old gal was hard of hearing. “It’s Drew. I’ve got your mail!”
Finally, he heard her footsteps approaching the door. It creaked open and she smiled up at him as she pushed against the sagging screen door. “Drew. How are you today?”
“Fine, Mrs. Harris. How are you?” he asked, mustering what he hoped she’d take as a smile as he handed her the mail and set the box inside the door on the floor.
“I’m very well. In fact, I was just making pralines. Do you like pie, Drew?”
Drew loved pie, most any kind of pie. After missing breakfast and being cheated out of his coffee, a piece of pie sounded like a slice of heaven. “I love pie, Mrs. Harris.”
“Stay right there,” she said, giggling.
Drew hated to waste any time while he waited for her, but he didn’t want to miss out on a piece of pie. The treats Mrs. Harris shared were usually good. She soon returned and handed him a slice of pie on a paper towel. No fork, no paper plate, just pie oozing juice onto a paper towel.
The pie didn’t look like any he’d ever eaten. It certainly didn’t smell like anything he’d choose to eat. He could see something that looked like raisins mixed with what might have been apple chunks, but the pie smelled like the oil someone might have cleaned out of a fast-food fryer.
“Give it a try,” she said, anxiously watching his face with eager anticipation, her hands clasped beneath her chin. “It’s mincemeat. The recipe is from my great-grandmother.”
Drew would rather die than hurt her feelings, so he took a bite and managed to swallow it rather than spit it out and gag, which was his first, second, and continuing inclination.
“Wow, that’s really different,” he said, pretending to take another bite while folding the napkin over the most disgusting filling disguised by pastry crust he’d ever encountered. He wondered if Mrs. Harris really meant the pie was made by her great-grandmother and had been sitting around gathering mold and fungus for the last hundred years. “What’s in it?”
“Oh, that’s top secret, Drew, but I can tell you there’s dried fruit and beef suet, and spices. Isn’t it something!” Mrs. Harris gushed, giddy about the disgusting, horrid mess she’d taken the liberty of calling a pie. It was circumstances such as this that caused Drew to have trust issues.
“It certainly is. Thank you so much for sharing it with me.” Drew smiled at her and made his way down her steps. “I’ll munch on it while I finish my route this morning.”
“Bye, Drew. Stay warm out there.”
“I’ll try, ma’am. Thanks again.”
With nowhere to dispose of the pie where Mrs. Harris wouldn’t see, Drew carried it in his hand as he walked over to Mr. Davis’ house. The old man had been oddly quiet the last few days. He usually made an appearance when Drew left his mail. His absence and silence made him wonder if Mr. Davis was sick or up to something.
Since Mr. Davis had been keeping Mrs. Harris company, though, it had severely cut back on the old man’s need to pump him for details about his neighbor. Drew was musing over the budding romance of the two as he opened the mailbox and set Mr. Davis’ mail inside.
Distracted by the nasty pie in his hand, a staple poking his nether-regions, and his curiosity about Mr. Davis’ whereabouts, he failed to notice anything amiss. A strange, guttural noise drew his gaze upward to where a lion stood less than a foot away from him.
Drew yelled at the same instant he shoved the oozing, wretched pie at the ravenous beast. He scrambled back a few paces, reaching for his phone to call the sheriff, when the sound of laughter pulled his attention to the porch of the house in front of him.
Mr. Davis stood there, laughing so hard he was in danger of injuring himself. The old coot clung to a porch post as he cackled and wheezed.
“That was the funniest thing I ever did see!”
Drew glowered at him then stared at the lion, realizing the animal was actually Mr. Davis’ mastiff with a ruff of fur around his neck to make him look like the king of the beasts. The dog always made a weird sound in his throat, not quite a growl or bark, if he was out when Drew delivered the mail. He and Dagwood got along just fine, but the prank made Drew consider refusing delivery of mail to the old man. It would serve Mr. Davis right if he had to get a box at the post office to receive his mail.
The dog had swallowed the pie in one bite when Drew tossed it at him. However, Dagwood appeared to dislike it as much as Drew since he kept hacking and sticking out his tongue, as though he needed to rid himself of the taste.
“I know how you feel, Dagwood,” Drew said, rubbing the dog on his massive head. He admired the furry ruff the dog wore, one that really did make him look like a lion, before he marched up the sid
ewalk. “You are this close to getting yourself taken off the home delivery list, Mr. Davis.” Drew held out his thumb and index finger, pinching them together.
“Well, shoot, Drew!” Mr. Davis wiped the tears of amusement from his wrinkled cheeks and made a half-hearted attempt to curtail his laughter. “Don’t deprive an old man of a few moments of fun. The look on your face… it might just be worth having to get a box at the post office.”
“You took ten years off my life and…” Drew started to tell Mr. Davis Dagwood ate his pie, but he decided it best not to mention that particular detail. With his luck, the old codger would scoot next door and bring back the whole pie for him. “And I really don’t have any to spare.”
“Sure you do, son. The way you jumped back… why, it was…” Mr. Davis broke into another round of hysterical cackles. “I had Vernetta make that ruff for me. It’s a dandy, ain’t it!”
Drew shook his head. “It’s bad enough with all the trouble you stir up with your pranks, but now you’re dragging sweet Mrs. Harris into the fray? Shame on you, Mr. Davis.”
“Oh, calm down, Drew. Give yourself a minute or two and you’ll see the humor in it.”
“I highly doubt that, sir.” Drew turned and stomped back down the walk. He gave Dagwood another sympathetic look and pat on the head, then turned back to glare at Mr. Davis. “Stay out of trouble, at least for the rest of the day.”
His only response was another wheeze-riddled laugh from the old man.
Drew’s hands were shaking from residual nerves and the latest unexpected turn in his day as he walked to the next house on his route. He had frozen blood on one glove and the nastiest pie juice he’d ever smelled smeared all over the other one along with the gnarly taste of mincemeat filling his mouth and lodged in this throat.
At that point in the day, if a bolt of lightning shot out of the sky and struck him, it wouldn’t have surprised him in the least.
Before he took the mail from his bag to leave at the next house, he stopped long enough to wipe both gloves off with snow, leaving a discolored mess in his wake.
No more cats attacked through their mail slots or pets dressed up like wild beasts jumped out at him as he finished that street and moved on to the next one.
A dog sat in the window of the first house on the street, giving him the stink eye as he left mail in the box. In all his years of carrying mail, that bad-mannered pooch was the only one he’d ever had to spray with a deterrent. The dog had snuck up on him from around the yard’s hedges and sank its teeth into his forearm before he knew what had happened. Once he sprayed it and it ran off yipping into the backyard, he had to go to the clinic and get twelve stitches. From then on, the owner made sure the dog was either locked in the backyard or in the house when it was time for the mail to arrive.
Considering the fact Drew loved animals and got along with just about all of them, he’d arrived at the realization the dog was just mean and bad-mannered.
Drew scowled at the dog then made his way to the next house. He’d almost reached Joy’s front gate, when he slipped on another patch of ice. By the time he caught his balance, a whole row of staples prodded his backside like needles poking into a pincushion. He twisted and turned, then shook his leg, in an attempt to adjust the staples without actually reaching back to pull on his pants since he had his hands full of mail.
Just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, he tripped on the bottom step of the porch and sprawled forward, sending mail flying while the unmistakable sound of fabric ripping reached his ears.
With a beleaguered sigh he looked up to find Joy trying to hide her giggles while she stood in her open front door. As always, she looked gorgeous with her black hair framing her face, molasses-colored eyes glowing with warmth and humor, and that megawatt smile shining at him.
Perfect. Just perfect for her to witness him bite it on her front steps.
Bacon yipped in excitement and jumped on Drew’s shoulder, licking his ear with a wet, slobbery tongue. As though he’d suddenly found a new chew toy, Bacon latched on to Drew’s earlobe with his teeth and pulled.
Drew picked up the pup then got to his knees, unable to stifle a painful groan.
“Hey,” he said, feeling heat sear his neck and face with embarrassment.
Yep, the day was definitely in an uncontrollable, miserable freefall.
Chapter Nine
Joy sat at her desk with her leg propped on a stool, completing the last of the transcription work she’d have until next Monday. Since she finished it early in the week, she’d have plenty of time to test and review the seven new products that recently arrived. She couldn’t wait to dive into a box of goodies from a company that made aromatic sticks to hang on artificial trees so they smelled real. Even if she didn’t have much up in the way of decorations, her house could at least smell like Christmas.
Bacon began barking at the front door as she hit send on an email to the clinic with her final transcriptions. She leaned over in the chair and watched Drew as he stood on her sidewalk, shaking one leg and squirming in a move that looked like a maneuver a contortionist might use to slither out of a straight jacket. Either that, or he had a serious case of ants in his pants. Since it was barely twenty degrees outside, she knew that couldn’t be the reason for his odd behavior.
She rose and grabbed her crutches, making her way to the door. Quietly, she opened it as Drew gave his leg another shake before he made his way toward the house. With no apparent reason for the cause, he tripped and sprawled across the porch steps while mail fluttered everywhere like oversized chunks of confetti.
Bacon raced over to him and jumped on his shoulder, lapping at his ear, then biting it. To his credit, Drew merely picked up the puppy, got to his knees, and looked at her while embarrassment turned his neck and face bright red. “Hey.”
Joy had to glance away to keep from laughing at the sight he made. Before he had a chance to get up, she spied what appeared to be the Grinch’s face peeping out from a split in the back of his pants. She swallowed hard before responding. “Hey, you. What’s up?” A giggle burst out of her followed by another before she could reel them in.
Drew growled as he set Bacon on the porch and started gathering the mail. He must have felt a breeze on his backside, because he suddenly reached back, rolled his eyes and released a weary sigh.
“That’s it. I’m going to go home, crawl back in bed, and pretend this day never happened.”
Joy didn’t mean to, but she couldn’t stop laughing as he angrily collected mail from the porch steps, the bushes next to it, and snatched one envelope away from Bacon as the puppy tried to pack it inside the house.
“Have a good day, Joy.” Drew dropped her mail into the slot by the door and turned to leave.
Unable to chase after him, Joy swung around on her crutches and raised one, blocking his escape down the steps. “Drew, I’m sorry. It’s just…” She giggled again then forced herself to stop by biting the inside of her cheeks. “You’re always so in control and capable. To see you sprawled there with your Grinchy secrets spilling out…” She bit her lip but quickly sobered when he started to lift the crutch so he could leave.
She took a hopping step forward and placed her hand on his arm. “Please, Drew. I’m sorry. Come inside and I’ll fix your pants. Grandma’s sewing machine still works and I’m capable of doing that much.”
He looked at her a long moment with a full gamut of emotions flooding through his eyes before he nodded his head and stepped back so she could precede him inside. She glanced back to see Bacon bouncing around Drew, looking up at him like he’d found a long-lost friend.
In truth, Drew had been noticeably absent since Thanksgiving when he’d kissed her so thoroughly and completely that she’d felt off kilter for days afterward. Thoughts of the kisses they’d shared made her long for more, long for Drew’s affection and attention.
If she cared to admit it, just thinking about him sent her senses into a tailspin and left her reeling.
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Although he was obviously embarrassed and upset at the moment, the element of humor did a lot to diffuse the tension she was sure would have settled between them. The last thing she wanted was for anything to be awkward between her and Drew. Regardless of what happened in the future with them as a couple, she couldn’t bear the thought of losing his friendship. Drew was now a part of her world and she didn’t want that to change. Not unless he was ready to become a permanent, huge part of her life. If he was willing to take that step, she’d be ecstatic.
Joy gave herself a mental shake. She’d fantasized about Drew sweeping her into his incredibly brawny arms and asking her to marry him. But it was crazy. After all, she didn’t even know him a month ago.
Yet, she felt like a part of her soul had always known him and loved him. Today wasn’t the day to examine those feelings or let her dreams take wing. Not when Drew was obviously out of sorts and in need of a little help.
The thought of his Grinchy undies made her want to laugh again, so she pressed her fingers against her mouth and tried to think of anything else. Joy stood at the base of the steps leading upstairs and waited as Drew closed the front door and set his mailbag down.
“If you don’t mind giving me a ride upstairs, the sewing machine is up there. It’s in a sewing cabinet, so I can’t really move it.”
Drew glanced down at his hands with a disgusted look on his face. “I think I better wash up first. It really has been a day.”
Joy pointed down the hall. “Go ahead and clean up. You might as well eat lunch with me. By the time I fix your pants it will be close to noon anyway.”
Drew nodded and removed his coat then tugged at his soggy, tattered gloves. He started to shove them in a coat pocket, but Joy held out her hand. “Give those to me. I think we can at least dry them out before you head back to work.”
Reluctantly, Drew handed them over. An unfamiliar, rather unpleasant odor arose from one of them. “What is that smell?” Joy asked, wrinkling her nose.
Tidings of Joy Page 9
