Page 27 of The Grumpiest Elf

His lips press together again, but he jerks his chin. “We should.”

That’s less reassuring than I was hoping for, but it seems to be the best I’m going to get right now.

My grip on the handle tightens, more from anxiety than from the need for stability, but having something to hold onto makes me feel better.

Until Dylan slows—not that we were going fast before—and we come to a stop. I’m about to ask what’s going on, when I realize the snow in front of us has a big strip of brown in it. Squinting, I try to make out what I’m seeing through the fast falling snow. “What is that? Is that …”

“A tree,” Dylan answers, voice grim. “Maybe—hopefully—a large branch. Stay here.”

He parks and hops out before I can say anything, striding through knee deep snow. He walks back and forth in front of the headlights before pausing to pull on a pair of gloves. Brushing snow off the tree or branch or whatever it is, he bends to examine it, and I bite my lip, hoping he’ll just drag the thing out of the way and we can move on.

But when I see him give it an experimental push, it doesn’t look like it’s budging. Straightening, he stands for a moment staring down at the obstacle, then he looks back at me in the truck, though I doubt he can see me with the headlights shining at him.

Lowering my window, I lean out into the strangely hushed, snow filled forest. The snow immediately catches in my hair and eyelashes, and I blink it away. “Can I help?”

I hear him let out a sigh, then he shakes his head. “No.”

Well then.

When he turns and makes his way back to the truck, I close the window again, waiting for him to get back in. After opening the door, he brushes himself off as best he can before climbing in again. “We need a chainsaw. It’s too big and too embedded in the snow to move without cutting it up. I’ll call Dad and see what we can do.”

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

Dylan

I domy best to ignore the pale, pinched look on Lydia’s face as I pull my phone out of my pocket.

Dad answers on the first ring. “Dylan? What’s wrong?”

“Downed tree.”

He curses, which is unusual for Dad, and does nothing to reassure me. When I saw how hard it was snowing, I was worried we’d find someone else stuck on the side of the road. My biggest concern was Kim, Lydia’s mom, since she was the last one to leave before us. But when Lydia said she drives a Jeep, I’d relaxed a bit. The snow’s deep and the roads suck, but with four-wheel drive and high clearance, she should be fine. We should’ve been fine too, but … tree.

“Anyone else stuck?” Dad asks when his stream of invective trails off.

I swallow. “No. Just Lydia and me. At least not this side of the tree. We were the last ones to leave. Her mom gave us the keys to lock up since we had to finish taking down the set and load up still, and she’d been there all day.”

“How much gas do you have? Do you have the emergency blankets in the truck still? Is Lydia dressed?”

I have to stifle a snort at his last question. I know what he means, but his phrasing is funny. “Over half a tank, yes on the emergency blankets, and we have boots, coats, hats, and gloves, but no other snow gear.”

Dad grunts, thinking. “Let me make a couple of calls. I’ll see what I can do. Meanwhile, stay dry and warm as best you can.”

Since my legs are already soaked, I can’t reassure him I’ll stay dry, but I just say, “Okay,” and hang up.

Lydia looks at me, eyebrows raised. “Now what?”

Sighing, I look at my phone. “Now we wait.”

We don’t have to wait long, even though it feels like a small eternity where I turn on the windshield wipers every so often so the snow doesn’t bury us completely.

Dad calls back less than ten minutes later. “All the emergency crews are out right now. I don’t know when they’ll be able to get to you. You should probably turn off the car, get out the blankets, and huddle up together to stay warm. You can turn it on to warm up every so often, but you don’t want to run out of gas before someone can come. And it might be longer than just waiting for someone with a truck and a chainsaw, since we don’t know how long that’ll take. By the time they get there, it might be too deep for even a truck.”

“Shit.” Normally that’d earn me a mild scolding to watch my language, but given the situation, Dad doesn’t say anything.

I look over at Lydia, who’s watching me with wide eyes, her lips pressed in a tight line, the corners of her mouth pulling down. Even if she can’t hear what Dad’s saying, my response gives away that he doesn’t have good news.

The snow’s getting deeper, but it’s not impassable yet. “We have the keys to Hudgins House. I think we can turn around and make it back. We’ll hole up there for the night. Tell them to call me when the road’s clear.”

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