Page 8 of Her Christmas Lumberjack

The wind outside is howling so loudly that she has to raise her voice to say the last three words, and I turn to look at the window, watching as thick flurries of snow billow through the air.

“I don’t like the sound of that storm,” I mutter more to myself than Aurora, standing up from my chair. She watches me as I head past her and open the front door a crack, the wind slapping my face through the tiny gap. The world around my cabin is nothing but a white blur. I can barely make out Aurora’s carin the swirling snow, and the trees surrounding us are nothing more than shadows.

“I don’t think you’re going anywhere just yet,” I call over my shoulder.

Aurora joins me at the door, her face falling as she peers outside. “Oh, crap.” The icy cold bites at our faces, and I start to close the door when Aurora’s hand shoots out, keeping it open. “Wait. Look!”

I follow her gaze, staring into the blizzard. For a moment, I can’t figure out what she’s talking about. Then, a small dark shape emerges from behind her car, sniffing around the ground. It’s the stray dog from the farm. His black and white coat is wet, and he’s shivering in the snow, his whines barely audible over the wind.

I open the door wider and let out a loud whistle. The dog’s head whips to look at me. He takes a few steps forward, still wary.

“Do you have anything he can eat?” Aurora asks.

I nod. “There’s some leftover roast chicken in the fridge. I’ll get it.”

“No, it’s okay, I can go. You keep trying to call him.”

Aurora disappears into the kitchen while I whistle once more, crouching down to the dog’s level. He’s still edging closer, walking hesitantly.

“Come on, boy,” I call, my voice vanishing into the wind. I don’t dare go out and get him—he’ll bolt for sure. Instead, I whistle again. He’s only about ten feet away, but he freezes when Aurora appears in the doorway again, the movement making him jumpy. She sets the plate of chicken down, along with a bowl of water.

“We should stay back,” I say. “He might not eat if we’re standing here.”

Moving farther into the living room, we wait with our backs to the fireplace, watching the open doorway.

“Do you think he’ll come?” Aurora asks, her voice catching. “He could die out there.”

“Don’t worry.” Instinctively, I rest a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “He’s a fighter. I’ve seen him around the farm a few times.”

The dog doesn’t keep us waiting long. Less than a minute passes before he pokes his head inside the cabin, sniffing curiously. Once he reaches the chicken, he gobbles it all and laps up the water. Aurora and I stay quiet, neither of us daring to move in case he turns tail and darts out of the front door.

Once the dog is fed and watered, he moves deeper into the cabin, sniffing the furniture, his eyes darting toward us now and then. When he disappears into the kitchen, I quietly cross the room and close the front door, shutting out the violent wind. The floor is wet with melting snow, and the fire is dying down, so I crouch down and stoke it until it’s roaring once more.

“Nolan,” Aurora whispers. “Look.”

I turn. The dog is sniffing at her legs, his shaggy head lifting to her hand. Gently, she strokes his head. “Good boy. Oh, you poor thing, you’re so wet and cold.”

The dog seems to remember human touch. He nuzzles his head against Aurora’s hand, following her as she draws him closer to the fire.

“We need to warm you up,” she says, biting her lip with worry. She looks so fucking adorable that my mind goes blank for a second.

“I’ll, uh…I’ll grab a towel,” I say.

The dog lets me dry him, and Aurora brushes his fur, untangling the matted parts. He eats a little more chicken and finally curls up on the rug by the fire, his eyes flickering open now and again to look at us. I sit on the couch and Aurora joinsme, her thigh brushing against mine. It’s a feathery light touch, but enough to make me want to pull her closer.

“He’s an adorable dog,” she says sadly. “I wonder how he ended up all alone.”

“When the storm ends, I’ll take him to the vet. See if he has a chip.”

Aurora nods. “We should give him a name in the meantime so we don’t have to call him ‘the dog’.”

“Sure. Any ideas?”

Her brow furrows, deep in thought, and I watch her in my peripheral vision. This girl might be a mystery to me, but she’s sweet as hell. There’s so much tenderness in her expression when she looks at the dog, and it’s making my heart melt in my chest.

“How about Rudolph?” she says eventually. “Tis the season and all that.”

“Rudolph it is.”

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