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."