Fortunately the storm had stopped completely, and he was able to open the cabin door with no more interruption than a small gust of cold air swirling into the room and disturbing the dwindling fire. Though the urge to hurry was upon him, Nick walked carefully, crunching through the odd snow that was a slippery mix of powder and hail, and smelled oddly of ozone. What he didn’t need for Christmas was another soaking or a broken hip. The dome light turned on as he opened the passenger door and climbed in, leaving the door ajar. He hadn’t looked too closely at the Christmas-in-a-basket he’d won at the mall, just stuffed it away with the other packages. He had hoped that maybe some Christmas stockings had been included— after all, what kind of Christmas was it without stockings? But there didn’t seem to be any. No wrapping paper, either. Well, he’d just have to use his own socks. They were rather dull, being made of sensible gray and black wool, but he could take some tinsel off the basket and tie the sock tops shut.
