Christmas Unplugged by Joy Nash
Matt handed Casey the flashlight and started collecting
the bags, slinging the duffle over his shoulder and
hefting the suitcases. Christ. The bigger pink one must be
filled with bricks. He didn't have to ask which sister it
belonged to.
"Your sister planning to stay the month?"
"Emma likes to be prepared," Casey answered, reaching
into the trunk for one last bag.
"Might as well leave that one," he told her.
She glanced up at him. "What?"
"That's a computer, right?"
"Yes."
"Then why bring it in? You won't be able to use it."
She straightened, setting one hand on the open trunk
door and trying to grip both her bag and his flashlight in
the other. The beam bounced wildly.
"You mean because this God-forsaken crack in the
Earth's crust is in a satellite blind spot? I already know
that. My GPS lost its signal even before we started down
the mountain. So I'm guessing there'll be no Internet,
either. But that's okay. I can work without it."
He snorted. "Can you work without electricity?"
She froze in the act of slamming the trunk. Her eyes
jerked to his, and even in the darkness, he could tell
they were appalled.
"Without electricity? You can't be serious."
"Perfectly serious, honey. Dutch Lodge is off the grid."
Her head swiveled toward the house. "But...there are
lights--"
"Gas light," he said. "And oil lamps. Don't tell me you
didn't notice? It's usually the first thing that guests
comment on."
"No." Her voice was barely more than a whisper. "I
didn't notice. But...what about TV? Hot water?" She sucked
in a breath. "Heat?"
"Sorry, no TV. But there's plenty of hot water,
courtesy of a mountain spring Uncle Fred piped in years
ago. A large propane tank out back takes care of the
gaslights and water heaters. And there's a fireplace or
wood burning stove in every room. Don't worry, you'll get
your hot baths, and you won't freeze."
"But--no electricity? How can anyone live without
electricity?"
He laughed. "It's not so bad. I grew up here, you know,
and managed to survive."
"But...but..."
The sounds of her sputtering shock made him wish for a
stronger flashlight. "Didn't you know about the
electricity? It's all in the brochure your sister was
waving arou--" He cut off, and laughed outright.
"What's so funny?" she demanded.
"You didn't read that brochure, did you? And your
sister didn't tell you."
Casey slammed the trunk. The crash echoed off the sides
of the gorge like a gunshot.
"No," she ground out between clenched teeth. "She did
not. But she is certainly going to answer for it now."
Still clutching her laptop case, she flung herself in
the direction of the house, her footsteps hard and fast.
Well, as hard and fast as footsteps could get in six
inches of new snow.
"You know," he said, juggling the baggage as he fell
into step beside her. "Most guests at Dutch Lodge consider
the lack of electricity a good thing. In fact, it's the
reason most people come here. To get away from
civilization."
"Yes, well, I like civilization just fine. I don't want
to get away from it. No electricity," she added under her
breath. "This is insane. That brat is going to die.
Painfully."
That repressed violent streak again, Matt thought,
impressed.
"She's just lucky I've got some battery life. If I make
it to tomorrow morning, I might let her live."
"Why?" Matt asked. "What happens tomorrow morning?"
She spun toward him, stumbling, then catching her
balance. The flashlight beam glanced off the white
ground. "What happens in the morning is that we're
leaving. Whether Emma wants to or not."
Matt couldn't suppress a bark of laughter. "Leaving?
Sorry to disappoint, but I really doubt that's gonna
happen."
"Oh, it's going to happen, all right. The instant the
sun comes up, I'm outta here."
The wind chose just that moment to kick up a wintery
blast. "I'm curious," Matt shouted over the rising
wind. "Did you happen to check the local weather report
before driving into the gorge?"
They'd reached the house. Casey stomped up the three
steps to the porch before turning to glare down at
him. "No."
He smiled.
Trepidation crept into her voice. "Why do you ask?"
"Because I was listening to the update on the shortwave
just before you got here. This storm's turning nasty, and
it's going to last all night. They're predicting two feet."
"Two feet?" Her mouth fell open. "Of snow?"
"Well, not of rose petals," he assured her. "So I'm
pretty sure no one's going anywhere tomorrow. Least of all
you."