Chapter One #2
I ran through the village, painfully aware of how ridiculous I must look—an elf in stockinged feet, clutching her boots, jingling like a one-woman Christmas band, being pursued by the town mayor.
Thankfully, the crowd was thick enough that I could weave through it more easily than Nolan, who had to maintain some semblance of mayoral dignity.
"Excuse me! Coming through! Elf emergency!" I called, dodging a group of tourists. "Just my luck, caught in a battle over giftwrap with the mayor," I muttered to myself.
I spotted Martha by the hot chocolate stand and changed direction, but before I could reach her, I saw two of Nolan's "security team" (really just his gym buddies who enjoyed throwing their weight around) heading her way.
If they reached her first, they'd spin some story about me stealing something, and I'd never get to show her the files.
I needed time. And distance.
Decision made, I veered toward the staff parking lot, hopping awkwardly as I shoved my feet back into my curly-toed boots. My little Honda was dusted with fresh snow—the forecasted storm was moving in faster than expected, thick flakes already falling steadily.
I fumbled with my keys, looking back to see if Nolan had followed. No sign of him, but I wasn't taking chances. I jumped into my car and started the engine, cranking the heat as I peeled out of the parking lot.
Only when I was on the main road did I allow myself a moment to breathe.
The USB drive was still secure in my hat, but now what?
I couldn't go home—that would be the first place Nolan would look.
I needed somewhere to lay low until I could figure out how to expose him without getting bulldozed by his political machine.
I pulled over and grabbed my phone to call Martha, but the signal showed only one bar. The storm was interfering with reception. As I stared at the screen, trying to decide what to do, the weather alert I'd been dreading flashed across my display:
WINTER STORM WARNING: BLIZZARD CONDITIONS. TRAVEL NOT ADVISED.
Perfect. Just perfect. This was a tree-mendous disaster.
I looked up to see the snow falling heavier by the minute, already accumulating on my windshield despite the wipers working overtime. I needed to find shelter, and fast.
The only option was to head toward the mountain cabins. Maybe I could hole up at one of the vacation rentals until the storm passed. I put the car in gear and carefully pulled back onto the road, my tires struggling to find traction.
I'd gone less than a mile when it happened.
A gust of wind rocked my little car, and as I turned a corner, the rear wheels lost their grip completely.
I spun once, twice, the world around me whirling like someone had stuck me inside a snow globe and given it a violent shake.
Then came the sickening crunch as my car slid off the road and into a snowbank.
The airbag didn't deploy, thankfully, but my engine died instantly. I tried to restart it—nothing. Just the clicking sound of a car that had given up the ghost.
"Oh, sugar plum fairy," I muttered, banging my head lightly against the steering wheel. This was snow joke. I was in serious trouble.
I tried my phone again. No signal at all now.
I was stranded in a blizzard, wearing an elf costume, with stolen evidence against the mayor tucked in my pointy hat, and no way to call for help. This was definitely not how I'd planned to spend my evening.
The temperature was dropping rapidly, and my thin holiday getup offered little protection. I had no choice—I needed to find shelter on foot.
I rummaged in my glove compartment and pulled out the emergency supplies I kept there: a small flashlight, some granola bars, and a compact emergency blanket.
I wrapped the metallic blanket around my shoulders like a bizarre cape, grabbed my purse, and took a deep breath before opening the car door.
The wind nearly ripped it from my hands. Snow immediately pelted my face as I stepped out, my ridiculous curly-toed boots sinking ankle-deep into the winter onslaught. I knew there were cabins somewhere nearby—I just had to find one.
I moved forward, each step a battle against the elements, the bells on my elf attire mocking me with their cheerful sound.
The air was more precipitation than oxygen, white flakes swirling so thickly that the world beyond my outstretched arm might as well have been another dimension.
The flashlight helped only marginally, its beam swallowed by the swirling white.
"Left Santa’s Toyland and landed in Narnia," I grumbled, hugging the emergency blanket tighter around me.
I don't know how long I walked. Long enough that I couldn't feel my toes anymore, and the coiled tips of my boots had transformed into absurd snow-covered tentacles, making each step feel like I was dragging tiny abominable snowmen attached to my feet.
The wind howled around me, and more than once I thought I heard wolves.
Do they even have wolves in Colorado? My frozen brain couldn't remember.
Just when I was starting to consider the real possibility that I might actually freeze to death dressed as one of Santa's helpers, I saw it: the faint glow of lights through the trees.
"Oh thank God," I gasped, pushing forward with renewed energy.
As I got closer, I could make out a substantial log cabin nestled among the pines.
Smoke curled from the chimney, and warm light glowed from the windows.
It looked like the cover of a Christmas card—or the setting for a horror movie about stranded travelers.
At this point, I was willing to risk the horror movie.
I stumbled up the steps to the porch, my bells announcing my arrival like the world's most festive warning system. With numb fingers, I banged on the door, probably more frantically than was strictly necessary.
No response.
I knocked again, harder this time, adding a desperate, "Hello? Is anyone home? Stranded elf seeking shelter!"
I heard heavy footsteps inside, then the door swung open.
And there he was—the mountain man.
He filled the doorframe like a human blockade—at least a foot taller than me with shoulders that belonged on a mythological gatekeeper.
His dark beard couldn't hide the scar that sliced through his left eyebrow, and his blue eyes assessed me with the wariness of someone who'd seen too much of the world to be surprised by a half-frozen imp on his doorstep.
"What the hell?" His voice was deep and rough, as if he didn't use it often.
I tried to speak, but my teeth chattered violently between words. "I—Car. Accident. Stranded."
He stared at me for one long moment, then looked past me at the worsening storm, then back at me with an expression of profound annoyance.
The man's scowl deepened, but he stepped back from the door. "Get inside before you freeze to death and I have to deal with the paperwork."
I didn't need to be told twice. I stumbled into the warmth of his cabin, my numb legs barely supporting me. My frozen skin burned as the cabin's warmth hit it, like I'd jumped from an ice bath straight into a sauna.
"You're dripping all over my floor," he observed flatly.
And indeed I was. Melting snow pooled around my boots, streaming from my clothes and hair. My bells jingled weakly as I shivered.
"S-sorry," I stammered. "I didn't exactly p-plan to go hiking in a b-blizzard today."
He looked me up and down, taking in the full ridiculousness of my appearance. "What are you supposed to be?"
"An elf." I gestured weakly at my outfit. "Head elf, actually. North Pole Village. I'm the events manager."
His eyebrows knitted together as if my explanation had only deepened his confusion.
"It's the Christmas attraction in town," I added. "With Santa and the reindeer and—"
"I know what it is," he cut me off, voice sharp as icicles. "I avoid it specifically."
"Right. Not a Christmas person. I'm getting that vibe."
The man sighed heavily, like I was the most inconvenient thing that had ever happened to him. "Stay there," he ordered, and disappeared down a hallway.
As he disappeared, I took stock of my situation.
Stranded with a stranger who clearly wanted nothing to do with me or the holiday I professionally embodied.
Hunted by my corrupt ex who had both political power and muscle on his side.
And all the evidence standing between children and a gift-less Christmas was tucked in my ridiculous hat.
This was turning out to be the least wonderful time of the year.
I stood awkwardly in the entryway, trying not to create an even bigger puddle, and took in my surroundings.
The cabin was surprisingly spacious and modern inside, with an open floor plan featuring a stone fireplace, comfortable-looking furniture, and a sleek kitchen.
My eyes drifted upward to an open loft bedroom that overlooked the living area—a design choice that suddenly struck me as potentially awkward for two strangers stuck together in a storm.
What the cabin did not have was a single Christmas decoration.
Not even a sad little dollar store candy cane. The horror.
He returned with a towel, which he thrust at me unceremoniously. "Dry off. Then explain why you're on my mountain."
I took the towel gratefully and began blotting my dripping hair.
"I didn't exactly choose your mountain specifically.
My car slid off the road about..." I racked my brain trying to guess how far I'd trudged through the drifts.
"I have no idea how far back. The winter tempest hit, and I needed shelter. "
"You couldn't call someone?" His dark eyes flickered briefly to the bells on my costume.
"No signal." I pulled out my phone to demonstrate the sad "No Service" message. "And my car died."
He looked skeptical, but the howling wind outside lent credibility to my story.
"Look," I said, my voice softening, "I just need a place to wait out the storm. Once it passes, I'll be out of your hair. I promise not to bring Christmas cheer into your clearly cheer-free zone."
"Why would you be running around in this weather in the first place?" He nodded at my festive uniform. "Not to mention in your...full regalia. North Pole Village closed an hour ago."
Ah. Now came the tricky part. How exactly do I explain that I'm on the run from my embezzling ex-fiancé who happens to be the town mayor?
"It's... complicated." I twisted the towel in my hands. "Let's just say I made an unexpected exit. It involves local politics, charity funds, and an ex with questionable ethics."
He raised an eyebrow, waiting for more.
I sighed. "I discovered the mayor—my ex-fiancé—diverting money from the children's toy drive. I copied the evidence, he caught me, and now I'm on the run with the proof." I tapped my pointy hat. "It's been a busy evening."
For a long moment, he just stared at me. Then, to my surprise, the corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but something.
"You're hiding from the mayor of Evergreen Falls? Nolan Wickett?" There was a note of recognition in his voice.
"You know him?"
"Not personally. Know of him." His expression darkened. "Don't trust politicians."
That made two of us. "Well, right now he's probably looking for me and the USB drive, so..."
The mountain man considered me for a moment longer, then walked to the window. He pushed aside the curtain to reveal a wall of swirling white. "Conditions are getting worse. Roads will be impassable by now."
My heart sank. "So I'm stuck here?"
"We both are." He didn't sound thrilled about this development.
"I'm Pepper, by the way. Pepper Prescott." I offered a smile that he didn't return.
"Pax," he said simply. "Pax Forrester."
"Nice to meet you, Pax. Sorry about the circumstances."
He grunted in response, then gestured to my still-soaking wet costume. "You need dry clothes."
I looked down at myself. The green and red outfit was plastered to my skin, and I was still shivering despite the cabin's warmth. "That would be amazing, if you have something I could borrow."
Pax disappeared again, returning with a stack of clothing. "Bathroom's down the hall, first door on the left. These will be too big."
"Too big is better than soaking wet." I accepted the clothes gratefully. "Thank you."
As I turned to go change, he added, "Weather report says the storm will last at least through tomorrow."
I stopped in my tracks. "Tomorrow? But I need to—"
"Not happening." His tone left no room for argument. "No one's going anywhere in this."
I looked out at the blizzard, then back at my reluctant host. Stuck for at least a day with the grumpiest, most Christmas-averse mountain man in Colorado, while wearing his clothes, hiding from my corrupt ex, with evidence stuffed in my elf hat.
Merry Christmas to me.