“That’s Leif. He works with Bjorn and Brann at Search and Rescue. And honestly, he’s quiet; seems studious. He’s good with the kids, though.” Poppy bursts out laughing at Leif trying not to fall over as several kids attack at once.
“I don’t know if ‘good with kids’ is something I’d say about him. But he’s caught my eye,” I admit, refusing to admit the giant flock of butterflies trying to take flight in my stomach. Poppy takes the ornament back as she waddles off to finish her duties.
By the time the gingerbread house competition awards have been given out, folks have exchanged white stockings in some sort of game I don’t understand, and the kids have played a game where they run in and out of the brewery shouting winter greetings before an orc can grab them, I’m tuckered out. Everyone, pregnant Poppy included, seems to be operating on a different plane of energy than me.
Catching her by the arm, I whisper, “I’m going to fall asleep standing up. Can I go nap in the truck?”
“Won’t you be cold?” Poppy asks, concern in her eyes. I shake my head no. I’m wearing a silver sweater dress and red thermal leggings, and my down winter coat is on the hook beside the door. “Okay, I won’t be too much longer. Things are winding down.” She gives me a peck on the cheek, and I grab my things and head outside.
The sting of the cold and the absence of sound are both welcome reliefs. I hadn’t realized how overstimulated I was. Marching through the fresh, crunchy snow, I find the oversized, dark pickup truck that Koru drives and climb into the backseat. There’s a lumpy canvas sack and a wool blanket. Perfect. I curl up on the seat, using the bag as my pillow, and cover myself with the blanket. I watch the snowflakes fall outside in a dreamy haze.
For celebrating the shortest day of the year, it’s been one heck of a day.
The rumbling of the engine wakes me briefly. Then the truck thumps hard, scaring me into an upright position. “Wha--?” is all I get out of my mouth when a big orc (of course), not Koru, spins around, sees me and yells in fright as if he’s seen a mouse. “Road!” is all I can say, pointing straight ahead.
The orc turns back, turning the steering wheel too hard, causing us to spin on the white road. Or, we would have spun, if there’d been room with all the snow. When the truck stops moving, we’re both panting. My head spins and aches as my heart pounds. Swallowing, I push down the panic I feel.
“Who are you?” I ask, still breathless. Then, before he can answer, “Take me back to the brewery. Now!” My intent was my own version of a growl, but it comes out high-pitched and squeaky.
He just shakes his big, square, fat green head at me. “Blizzard. Going home is the only choice.” With that, he grinds the gears and slowly starts to roll the truck forward.
Blizzard?
Oh. My eyes finally focus on the outside. That’s when I realize I hadn’t noticed the snow because there’s no definition outside. It’s pure grayish-white out.
And this orc is kidnapping me.
Chapter 3
Leif
All I wanted for the winter solstice was quiet. Snow. Hot cocoa. A fire in the fireplace.
What I got was the voluntold job of Santa and a pounding headache from all the chit-chat, laughter, and kid squeals from the party.
Now, as I crawl to a stop in front of my small home in the middle of the first blizzard of the season, I have an unwanted visitor. Sigh, just my luck. I didn’t bother to ask why the hell she was hiding in my truck. Because at the moment we almost went off the road, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was making it home safely.
My home is just outside of town. This has its pluses and minus. Fewer nosy neighbors and people. But also less likely to get the snowplow out here anytime soon. Which means, if this snow keeps up, my stowaway is going to be my guest for a couple of days.
Once I get the back door of the truck open, she hands me a blanket and a big bag. I take them and hold out a hand for her. “I’ve got it,” she says with a slight attitude. She ignores my handand hops down, only to sink to her hips in the snow. Alright then.
I wade through the snow to the front door. Thankfully, the porch overhang has kept the door mostly clear. I unlock the door, eager to get a fire started as it’s the only heat here. I drop her things by the sofa on my way to the hearth.
By the time I’ve got the fire going, I look around to find that she’s not here. The door is still open, letting in cold and snowflakes. You’d think she’d have the decency to shut the door. But then I see her, still struggling in the snow. One step, fall. Climb to standing. One more step, fall.
Oh.
When I get to her, I hold out my hand, and she takes it without making eye contact. She’s shivering. This will never do. I may not be social, but I’m not an ogre. I scoop her into my arms, ignoring her squeak of protest, and hustle us back inside. Her hair and eyelashes are covered with snowflakes. She looks like a snow princess. I do not tell her this.
I walk her straight to the fire and set her down in front of it, then unlace her boots.
“I’ll stay dressed,” she says through her teeth chattering.
“No. You need dry clothes.” I continue removing her outer layers.
“I don’t have extra clothes.” More shivering and chattering. I have failed. My entire life revolves around saving people; keeping people safe. This woman was in my care for one hour, and now she is on the verge of hypothermia. This will never do.
I huff in frustration. “One, you have a giant bag there,” I point without looking. “Two, I’ll give you clothes, but you can’t stay inthese wet ones.” If I had hackles, they’d be raised. She’s being nonsensical and stubborn.
