Page 14 of Mountain Man's Naughty Elf
He shrugged. "I like to cook."
"There's a difference between cooking and having specialty cookie cutters," I pointed out, holding up a perfectly shaped reindeer.
"Previous owners," he said, though something in his eyes flickered away when he said it.
I decided not to push. "Well, their loss is our gain. Hope you don't mind me raiding your pantry. After today's close call, I needed to do something with my hands."
"Better than pacing." He moved into the kitchen and peered at the cooling rack. "What kind?"
"Gingerbread. It felt right." I tilted my face toward his, a mischievous idea forming. "Want to try one? Or do you 'not do' Christmas cookies too?"
He scowled. "I never said I don't eat holiday food."
"Just clarifying your yuletide boundaries." I selected a gingerbread man, decorated with little buttons made of white icing, and held it up. "Here. Quality control."
He hesitated, then took the cookie, examining it like it might be booby-trapped. After a moment, he took a bite.
I watched his reaction, waiting. The recipe was my grandmother's—extra ginger, a hint of black pepper for warmth, and molasses for depth.
His eyes widened slightly as he chewed.
"Good?" I asked innocently.
He nodded once, then devoured the rest in two bites.
"Awful, I know. Totally tasteless, not worth eating another—" I broke off, laughing, as he reached for a second cookie. "I knew it! Your Grinchy act doesn't extend to baked goods."
"This proves nothing," he grumbled, though his mouth quirked at the corner—that almost-smile I'd come to recognize as Pax's version of amusement.
The lights flickered, once, twice, then stabilized. We both glanced up.
"Storm's getting worse," he said, crossing to the window. The snow whipped sideways in the beam of the exterior light, coming down so heavily that the forest beyond was just a dim shadow. "Power might go soon."
As if on cue, the lights flickered again, longer this time, before steadying.
"What happens if we lose power?" I asked, the realization hitting me of how isolated we were in this remote cabin.
"Generator should kick in for essentials. Heat, some lights. If that fails, we've got the fireplace." He turned back to me. "I've got supplies. We'll be fine."
"Ever the Boy Scout."
"Marine," he corrected automatically, and I couldn't help but grin at having baited him so easily.
"Of course. Marines are much tougher, I'm sure." I returned to forming my cookie dough into festive shapes. "So what does a tough Marine drink when stranded in a blizzard with an elf on the run?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because," I said, sliding the cookie sheet into the oven, "I found something interesting while searching for vanilla." I reached up to the cabinet above the fridge and pulled out abottle of amber liquid. "Gingerbread schnapps. Also suspiciously Christmassy for a holiday-hater."
Pax actually looked embarrassed. "It was a gift."
"From...?"
"My brother."
"The journalist? Rudy?" I examined the bottle. "Well, it seems like the perfect night to break it in. Arctic squall outside, fire inside, life-threatening situations successfully navigated..."
The lights flickered again, longer this time, before finally dying completely.
