Page 13 of The Santa of the Mountain

“I-I-I,” she chatters before I cut her off.

“No need to speak. Let me get you warmed up.”

Frozen snow sluices off her clothes as I carry her to the fire, grabbing a chair from the kitchen on my way. Its wooden legsscrape against the ground as I set it down and then my girl shortly after.

I kneel, pulling off her hood and hat. Jesus, she’s gorgeous. Her red hair, damp and matted clings to her skin.

“I-Is th-this real?”

She’s delirious. Frozen. She needs to see a doctor but there’s no chance of that in this weather. I’ll toss her in a sled and drag her to Griff in the morning if she’s not better. I pull off her soaked gloves, take her hands in mine, and blow.

“This is real,” I rasp. “Do you feel this?”

I keep blowing, holding her icicle fingers in my palms as I try to bring them back to life.

“A little.”

Her voice is so brittle. So soft and fragile. And I’m doing my best to keep my cool. Not even the most seasoned mountain man would face a storm like this.

I inspect her hands in the light. No frostbite. I cover them again and keep blowing until I feel warmth returning to them.

“Better?”

I glance up and my heart skips a dozen beats. Her eyes are gorgeous. Green and glittering as life finally returns to them. It feels like she’s staring into my soul, piercing my being. I’ve never felt anything like it, and all I want is more.

“Yes. I can feel them again.”

“And your teeth aren’t chattering.”

She smiles and then works her lips and cheeks. “I can feel my face.”

“Progress.”

But there’s still more to go. There’s… a muffled sound. Music? I hadn’t noticed it until now.

“What’s that noise?” I ask as I begin to unlace her boots. The snow that had been caked on them is no longer frozen butthe laces are. They’re a bit difficult to manage but after a few seconds, I’m able to unknot one of them.

“My sweater,” she says.

I glance up at her. At her lips as she chews the bottom briefly. What I wouldn’t give to take it into my mouth. Taste her. Warm her the old—shit.

My girl was a few minutes away from becoming a popsicle, and all I’m thinking about is devouring her—stripping her bare and having her for dessert. I need to calm down and take care of her needs. I slide her boot off her foot. Thankfully, it’s dry.

“Your sweater?”

I watch as she reaches for her zipper but after a few moments, she stops.

“I can’t do it.” She shakes her head. “My fingers don’t want to work.”

I envelop her hand with mine. “I’ve got a few I can spare you,” I rasp, blowing warm air against her fingers, my eyes never leaving hers. I swear I see a smile. A flicker of something in her eyes.

I let her hand go and pull the zipper down as the music gets louder.

“I can’t seem to turn it off,” she says as I stare at the spectacle in front of me.

Who needs lamps, overhead lighting, or the fire behind me when this sweater has more lights than stars in the night sky? Add it to the list of objects that can be seen with the naked eye from space.

“Have you tried burying it in the snow?”

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