All I Want for Christmas is Pooch

By ID Johnson

Nothing can bring two people together like an adorable little pooch!
Brady Rogers took the job as the new city planner for Holiday Hills expecting a town rich with Christmas spirit. What he finds is anything but. Due to budget cuts, many of the Christmas activities have been cancelled. When a cute little dog steals his scarf, he's led to a couple of people who want to help Holiday Hills regain the towns reputation for being the place to celebrate. Could it be that little dog has also led him to love?
Noelle Snow loves her job running the animal shelter, but she needs more money to keep the no-kill shelter afloat. When she meets Brady, thanks to a sweet pup named Pooch, she might just be able to save the shelter, help the town find their Christmas spirit, and fall in love.
But when the town's mayor has different ideas about how the budget should be spent, Brady and Noelle's plans might just fall apart and tear a riff between them. 
Will Pooch be enough to bring them back together?
From the author of Melody's Christmas, Christmas Cocoa, and Christmas Memory comes another sweet, small town romance just in time for Christmas!

• Language: English
• Publisher: ID Johnson
• Release date: Mar 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9791220271141

ID Johnson

ID Johnson wears many hats: mother, wife, editor, tutu maker, and writer, to name a few. Some of her favorite people are the two little girls who often implore that she "watch me!" in the middle of forming finely crafted sentences, that guy who dozes off well before she closes her laptop, and those furry critters at the foot of the bed at night. If she could do anything in the world, she would live in Cinderella's castle and write love stories all day while sipping Dr. Pepper and eating calorie-less Hershey's kisses. For now, she'll stick to her Dallas-area home and spending her days with the characters she's grown to love. After 16 years in education, Johnson has embarked on a new career, one as a full-time writer. This will allow her to write at least one book per month, which means many of your favorite character will have new tales to tell in the upcoming months. Look for two spin-off series of The Clandestine Saga, one staring Cassidy Findley and another involving backstories for your favorite characters. Johnson will also produce several new historical romance novels and a new sweet contemporary Christian romance series as well.

Book preview

Johnson

Chapter 1

The small tuft of black and white fur disappeared behind the leg of an unexpected passerby, only a hint of his red scarf appearing for a moment as the dog dodged behind a lamp post, disappearing entirely for a few seconds before reappearing further down the crowded sidewalk. Brady Rogers wound his way through people leisurely walking from one shop to the next, making the most of the mild, early December day when the temperature was in the high forties, instead of the low thirties, or colder, which it usually was in Connecticut this time of year.

Hey! Stop! Brady shouted again, accidentally clipping the jacket of a dad walking alongside his wife and kids as he hurried after the little dog. Pardon me, he said, glad he hadn’t knocked the man off balance. So far, there hadn’t been any head on collisions or casualties, but as the crowd thickened, and the dog got further away, Brady feared he might take out one of the older townsfolk or run over a child.

He didn’t slow, though, just continued to weave his way through the shoppers, hoping the dog would head toward the less congested park down the block and across the street. Or, the animal could simply drop the scarf he’d plucked from around Brady’s neck as he studied the dilapidated parking lot he was charged with evaluation for revamping. That would make all of this much easier.

Brady left the sidewalk for a moment, leaping across a rare, empty parking slot near the quaint shops that lined either side of the thoroughfare before returning to the walkway, keeping an eye on the dog, which was almost a full block ahead of him now. Not only did he want his scarf back, he was afraid for the dog’s safety as well. There were cars using the road, and even though none of them were going more than five or ten miles per hour because of all of the people, the dog was small enough that a driver might not see the obstruction until it was too late.

Come on! Brady muttered under his breath. Just drop it. Initially, when the dog had taken off, and only a few people had been around in the less busy stretch of sidewalk nearer the parking lot, he had shouted at the critter to release the scarf, but then, as they reached the more congested area, people began to look at him as if he’d lost his mind, so he’d done his best to keep his mouth closed, only occasionally muttering to himself, wishing the dog would just cooperate.

For a moment, it seemed perhaps it would as it darted across the street, dragging his scarf through whatever was on the road, headed for the park. Brady glanced each way and then took off behind the animal, glad there was no snow on the ground at the moment as that would’ve made the stolen item even more of a muddy mess.

Once his feet hit the grass of the park, he took a moment to look around. The dog had paused, too, looking back at him, its wide eyes beckoning him to come on. It all seemed so strange. Why had the dog snatched that particular garment when nearly everyone was wearing a scarf? Why did it insist on keeping it tucked neatly between its sharp little teeth while it ran, and why was it looking at him now, making sure he hadn’t given up his pursuit?

Brady sucked in air, thankful he hadn’t stopped his daily five mile jog even though his life had gotten hectic with his recent move from Milwaukee to Holiday Hills, and then started out again.

The dog managed a yip without dropping the scarf and took off once more, running toward the area of the park where children were swinging and going down slides, bundled in their coats, hats, and a rainbow of scarves that hadn’t been stolen. Benches beneath trees were dotted with older people, reading the newspaper or a book, sipping warm drinks from paper cups. Brady prayed one of them would notice the pup and slow it down, maybe hoping for a quick pat on the head. Kids liked dogs, didn’t they? He thought so. The family he was currently staying with, his college roommate Rob and his wife Kyla didn’t have any kids yet, but their neighbor had two kids, and those children were constantly petting Rob’s massive border collie, Rufus, every chance they got.

The little dog disappeared behind the trunk of a large oak tree, and for a moment, Brady thought it had just vanished into thin air. Expecting the animal to reappear on the other side of the tree, he kept his eyes trained on the path he assumed it would take but saw nothing. Even when he reached the tree and passed it, he didn’t see the dog.

Not until he heard a voice say, Well, look at you! Aren’t you just darling!

His eyes followed the sound of a middle-aged woman’s chirp as she continued to dote on what he quickly saw was the little thief. She was sitting with her back to him on one of the benches, a cup in one hand, her other hand stroking the fur of the little tramp.

Quickly, Brady trotted over, a stitch in his side, despite his frequent exercise routine. Thank goodness, he murmured as he noted the scarf was no longer trapped in the dog’s teeth. It was lying next to him on the bench. Even from a few feet away, Brady could see it was soiled with mud, perhaps some oil from the road, but it wasn’t torn. That was something.

Oh, is this your dog? The woman slipped her hand beneath the red collar around the dog’s neck, and for the first time Brady noticed the collar was the exact same shade as the scarf it had stolen.

No, no it’s not, Brady said, thankful she had her hand around the collar so the dog couldn’t dart away again. Reaching down, he picked up the scarf off of the bench. But this is mine.

The woman, who appeared to be in her fifties or perhaps early sixties, with curly blonde hair with streaks of white and a sweet smile, looked disappointed. That’s too bad. Who do you belong to, little fella? she asked, tugging on the collar as she checked to see if there was an address or phone number on the tag.

The dog sat still, not pulling or trying to get away. For the first time, Brady gave the dog a good look. He was small, no more than fifteen pounds, mostly white with some black tufts of fur. Shaggy, and muddy around the paws, he looked as if he had been on the streets for a little while, but not forever. He wasn’t skinny or matted. Perhaps he had just gotten away from his owner.

Oh, dear, the woman said. No address or phone number. Just his name--Pooch. Even his rabies tag is so rubbed off. I can’t make out the name of the vet, just that he’s up to date on his shots. That’s a good thing. At least your scarf doesn’t have to worry about contracting rabies. She laughed then, a cheerful rumble, her red lips parting to reveal teeth so straight and perfect, he thought they might be dentures. Or veneers. She was dressed so nicely, he imagined she must be someone important in this little town, though he hadn’t lived there long enough to meet many people.

That is too bad, Brady said, thinking someone had to be missing this little fur ball. Is there some place we can take him? A shelter or something?

We? she said. Oh, not me, dear. I have to get to the salon. It’s my weekly appointment, and I never miss. She scooped the fur ball into her arms. The little dog’s head turned, his wide, dark eyes focused on Brady’s face. You can take him to the shelter. It’s a no kill, so we don’t have to worry about that. A little cutie like this will be snatched up as soon as he’s off his fourteen day release.

Me? Take the dog? To the shelter? Brady had next to no experience with dogs. He hadn’t even known whether it was a boy or a girl until this woman had declared it was a boy, and he’d just assumed she was right. The dog was thrust in his direction, and he found himself taking him—Pooch--even though it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.

Yes, sure. Are you busy? Do you have an appointment, Mr.…? She stopped, waiting for him to say his name. She didn’t sound rude, just as if she thought her schedule a bit more important than his, perhaps.

Brady, he stammered. Brady Rogers. She nodded, her smile reappearing. No, I don’t have an appointment. He did have things to do, like study that parking lot, just one of his assignments as the new city manager. The mayor had given him a long list on Friday when he’d left his office, and though he knew Mr. Jenkins didn’t necessarily expect him to work on weekends, Brady had been in a hurry to get started. This was his first city manager job, after many years of serving on the planning committee for a neighborhood in Milwaukee, and he didn’t want to mess it up. If things went well in this small town, he might find himself back in a bigger city, making huge decisions that would help bring revenue back to urban areas, in just a few years. That is, if Holiday Hills didn’t start to grow on him….

Good, Brady, she said, patting Pooch on the head. The dog didn’t even squirm in his arms, only panted a little, his head twisting from Brady’s face to the woman’s and then back again. The shelter is on Duncan Avenue, at the west end. You can’t miss it. Ask for Noelle, and tell her that Doris sent you.

Doris? he repeated.

Yes. Doris Snow. Pleased to meet you. She didn’t offer her hand, only patted the shoulder of his black coat. Then, Doris returned her attention to Pooch, patting his head. You’re a sweet boy, yes you are! she doted. Pooch barked, a high pitched, almost yap that grated slightly on Brady’s ears, or maybe it was the fact that he disagreed with her assessment that had him irritated. See you later, Brady Rogers. She gave him another friendly smile and then headed in the opposite direction of where Brady had left his truck, toward another stretch of shops and stores. In the distance, Brady saw a sign that read, Hair Port, and imagined that was the salon Doris was expected at.

Once she was out of earshot, he turned his attention to the dog. All right then, Pooch, he said, looking the dog in the eyes. Who do you belong to?

The dog continued to pant, squirming slightly as he placed a paw on Brady’s coat, leaving a little mud.

Seriously? he said, shaking his head. Troublemaker.

A long, pink tongue darted out of Pooch’s mouth, catching him on the chin. Brady pulled away, but he couldn’t help but chuckle. That stuff might work with the ladies, but not with me, little man. I’m afraid I can’t keep you. Let’s go see if we can find Noelle.

Pooch whimpered, as if he didn’t like the idea of Brady taking him to the shelter, but even if he’d wanted to keep the dog--which he didn’t--he didn’t have a place of his own. And he didn’t know the first thing about how to take care of a dog, especially not one that clearly liked to run away from its owner. With another glance at Doris’s disappearing form, Brady increased his grip on the little Houdini and headed back toward his truck.

Chapter 2

The black lab bounced on the concrete floor in front of her, yanking playfully on the blue leash wrapped around Doug Gibson’s hand. The two children at his side did not look nearly as cheerful as the pup, tears in their eyes, as they stared at a spot near Noelle’s shoes. She didn’t blame them. She felt the same way on the inside, and this wasn’t even her dog.

Mr. Gibson, she said, attempting to keep her voice even, but anger was beginning to seep in. This is the fourth dog this year. She took a deep breath and placed her hands on her hips. Then, realizing that might look hostile, which is how she felt, but not how she wanted to appear, she folded them, then changed her mind again and dropped them to her sides--rigid.

I know that, Noelle, he said, shaking his head. But my wife keeps getting ‘em off of Craigslist, he said with a shrug. I keep telling her to stop, but she won’t listen to me. This one… he’s just too hyper.

Noelle’s eyes shifted back to the lab. He was about six months old, not even grown into his paws yet. The last dog had been a chihuahua, she thought. It had been, too yappy. Before that, there had been a Rottweiler mix that was, too large, and the dog before that, the first one this year, but not the first one this family had dropped off at the shelter, was a tiny terrier mix that had been, of course, too tiny.

The dog looked up at her, his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth in a half pant, half incessant need to lick something, anything. He was just a puppy. In a year or two, with proper training, Blacky would be a good family dog. Mr. Gibson… she continued, her attention shifting to the children, look at your kids.

He didn’t, only shrugged. They’re the ones who won’t take care of him.

But… if you get him some puppy training-- she began.

He cut her off. Where? We live in Clarkston, Noelle. We can’t be driving over here for training every week.

It wasn’t that far. Clearly, it wasn’t so far that he couldn’t make several trips a year to drop a dog off. Not that Holiday Hills even had a dog training program. He’d have to go to one of the bigger cities for something like that. Trying to convince him that it was worth the effort was a waste of her words. He had made his mind up, and Blacky was no longer welcome in the Gibson home.

Mr. Gibson offered her the leash, not for the first time. A volunteer, Maddy Brown, was standing next to her. She gestured for Maddy to take the leash. You do realize that the chances of a black dog making it out of this shelter are slim to none, right? she asked, her voice quiet for the children’s sake, but the anger building again.

Mr. Gibson shrugged. That’s why we brought him to a no kill shelter.

Granted, this is a better place to bring a pet than a shelter that would put him down, but what sort of life do you think he’ll have here? We have dozens of dogs, far too many to give them the attention they deserve, the attention a family could give them.

Again, Mr. Gibson was complacent. What do you want me to say? This fellow ate one too many slippers. See ya, Blacky. He turned to head for the door as his children, a little girl who was about nine and a son who had to be about five, began to cry.

Noelle sighed in disgust and turned her back to them, not able to watch those same children cry again. Her eyes fell on Blacky. He wasn’t bouncing now. His tale was between his legs as he suddenly began to realize what was happening. His family was leaving--and he wasn’t. A whimper escaped his lips, and his feet moved back and forth a few times. As the door opened, the chime dinging in dismissal, Blacky gave a few sharp barks.

Come on, buddy, Maddy said, stooping as she patted his side. Let’s go find a place for you.

Good luck, Noelle muttered. The kennels were filling up. This was supposed to be the time of year when people adopted dogs, but with the economic downturn of late, people weren’t doing that, and it had inspired more people to drop their dogs off, or just release them into the world and hope for the best for them. Aggravation set in again. She was going to have to figure something out because her kennels were nearly full, and she didn’t have many ways of moving the current residents out to make room for more.

The chime behind her had her spinning around again. She prayed it was a family there to adopt a pet, but when she saw a stranger holding a fluffy ball of black and white fur, she assumed the worst. Can I help you? she asked as another volunteer, the only other one working that Saturday afternoon, Clara Lincoln, came up to her elbow.

Noelle had a feeling she should just let Clara, an older woman with the patience of a saint, handle this one, but when the man spoke, he said, Hi, I was told to ask for Noelle.

That’s me, she said, trying not to notice the jade green eyes and the square jaw of the man before her. How can I help you? She folded her arms, not caring if she