Chapter 3 Tannon
Tannon
The storm warnings have been getting worse all day. I check the weather radar on my tablet, watching the massive system bearing down on us from the northwest. Red and orange bands that mean business.
"How bad?" Jake asks, looking over my shoulder.
"Bad enough." I point to the storm's path. "Two feet of snow overnight, winds hitting seventy kilometers per hour."
"Christmas Eve blizzard. That's gonna make for some stories."
"It's gonna strand everyone here." I grab my radio. "Boone to base, copy?"
"Base here, go ahead," Helen crackles back.
"Storm's moving faster than predicted. We need lockdown protocols now. No one leaves after six PM."
"Copy. How are supplies?"
I run through my mental checklist. "Generator fuel good for three days minimum. Food adequate. Backup heating tested. We're set."
"What about the Christmas Eve party?"
I pause, thinking about two disappointed kids and a woman who's been fighting impossible odds all day to make Christmas happen.
"We'll make it work. Main lodge has backup power."
After signing off, Jake raises an eyebrow. "Since when do you give a damn about Christmas parties?"
"Guest safety."
"Uh-huh. This sudden interest wouldn't have anything to do with a certain pretty nanny, would it?"
I give him the look that usually ends conversations, but Jake's immune after three years of friendship.
"Just doing my job," I mutter.
"Your job doesn't usually involve volunteering to be Santa."
He's got me there. I can't explain agreeing to wear that ridiculous suit without admitting that something about Dove Williams makes me want to be the kind of man who fixes things for her.
"I didn’t volunteer. And besides, kids deserve a good Christmas."
"What about their nanny?"
My radio crackles before I can answer. "Tannon, we've got a situation with the Ashford family. Can you come to the main lodge?" Ray, one of our season staff, asks.
"What kind of situation?"
"Just come see."
Jake and I head toward the lodge, passing guests who seem excited about being snowed in for Christmas. Inside, I spot the problem immediately. A man and woman in expensive coats stand near reception, both on phones, talking loudly about market volatility and conference calls.
The Ashfords. Has to be.
"The Ashfords need internet," Ray explains quietly. He shakes his head, his elf hat jingling. "Parents showed up twenty minutes ago. The reunion wasn't exactly heartwarming."
"Where are Dove and the kids?"
"Back at their suite. Kids ran to hug their parents, got maybe two seconds of attention before the business calls started. The nanny looked ready to commit murder."
I watch the couple, still deep in separate phone conversations, and something cold brews in my gut. Somewhere upstairs, Dove is probably trying to explain to two kids why their parents care more about stock prices than bedtime stories.
Mrs. Ashford ends her call and approaches Ray, her expression all business. Early forties, polished to perfection, radiating the kind of entitlement that comes with never hearing the word "no."
"I need to confirm reliable internet and cell service," she says to Ray, not acknowledging Jake or me. "My husband and I have critical calls tonight."
"Yes, ma'am, but the storm may cause interruptions—"
"Interruptions?" Her eyebrows draw together.
"The storm's severe. We're recommending all guests remain on property until it passes."
"Unacceptable. We have a flight tomorrow morning."
I step forward. "Ma'am, the airport will be closed. Nothing's flying until this passes."
She looks at me like I'm something she scraped off her shoe. "And you are?"
"Tannon McKenzie, maintenance supervisor. I monitor all weather systems for the lodge."
"Well, Mr. McKenzie, some people have commitments that can't be rescheduled for weather."
Her dismissive tone makes my jaw clench. "Weather doesn't care about your commitments. Roads are already impassable."
Mr. Ashford joins us, silver-haired and confident. "What's the problem?"
"This man says we can't leave tomorrow."
He looks at me with the same dismissive expression. "Surely that's an overstatement. We have an important meeting in Denver."
"Nature doesn't reschedule." I pull out my tablet, show them the radar. "Two feet of snow, sixty-mile-per-hour winds. You're not going anywhere."
"We'll rent a helicopter if necessary," Mrs. Ashford snaps.
"No helicopter's flying in this."
Both stare at the screen like they're waiting for the storm to change its mind.
"How long?" Mr. Ashford asks.
"Could be three days."
Mrs. Ashford looks apoplectic. "Three days? The Tokyo deal!"
"Will have to wait," her husband interrupts. "We'll work remotely."
They exchange a look of pure frustration, and I realize with disgust that neither has mentioned their children once.
"What about Mia and Bentley?" I ask.
Both look at me blankly.
"Your children."
"They have Dove," Mrs. Ashford says dismissively. "That's what we pay her for." She dismisses the thought of her own children as if they were just another service to be managed.
They walk away without another word, already back on their devices. I watch them claim chairs near the fireplace, completely absorbed in their separate worlds.
"Jesus," Jake mutters. "Those poor kids."
I think about Dove somewhere upstairs, probably trying to explain to two disappointed children why their parents care more about business calls than Christmas hugs.
The storm's getting worse, wind rattling the lodge windows. By tomorrow, we'll all be snowed in together. One big dysfunctional family waiting for the weather to clear.
I just hope those kids can find some Christmas magic despite having parents who wouldn't notice a miracle if it knocked them off their bar stools.