Northern Lights

but since I'd have to say no, that's a waste of a wish. But I'd like to come back."
    "You can't come back tonight. This storm hits and you make it out here—which you wouldn't—you'd be stuck. Could be days. That wouldn't suit me."
    "If it's going to be that bad, come back into town with me."
    "No. That really wouldn't suit me." Relaxed again, she walked her fingers up his chest, along his jawline and into his hair. "I'm fine here. Plenty of supplies, plenty of wood, my dogs. I like a good storm, the solitariness of it."
    "And when it clears?"
    She moved her shoulder, then rolled away. Rising, she walked naked to the closet, the firelight playing over her white skin and that flashy spread of red wings, before she pulled out a thick flannel robe. "Maybe you'll give me a call, and if I'm around, you could bring me out a pizza."
    She pulled on the robe, smiled as she belted it. "I'll give you a really good tip."

 
     
     
    SEVEN
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    THE FIRST FLAKES FELL as he drove back to town. Fat and soft, they didn't look particularly threatening. In fact, he found them picturesque. They reminded him of the snows of his childhood, the ones that fell during the night and kept falling in the morning, so when you looked out your bedroom window, excitement sizzled in your blood.
    No school!
    It made him smile to think of it, to remember the days when snow was a thrill instead of a burden or a hazard. Maybe it would pay him to bring some of that childhood awe back inside himself.
    To look around, see those oceans and rivers of white and consider the possibilities. He was learning to snowshoe, so maybe he'd learn to ski. Cross-country skiing might be interesting. Besides, he'd lost too much weight over the last few months. That sort of exercise, added to the regular meals that were always being put in front of him, would help build him back up again.
    Maybe he'd buy one of those Ski-doo things and race around in the snow for the hell of it. Have some fun, for Christ's sake. And he'd see some of the countryside from something other than a car.
    He paused to watch a small herd of deer wind their way through the trees to his left. Their coats were shaggy and dark against snow that came to their knees. If deer had knees.
    It was a whole new world for the city boy, he decided, whose rural adventures until now had consisted of a couple of summer camping trips to western Maryland.
    He parked in front of the station, remembered to plug his engine block heater into the outlet, then watched Otto and Pete string a knotted rope line along the sidewalk about waist high. Pulling his thick gloves back on, he walked over to join them.
    "What's going on here?"
    "Rope guide," Otto said, and wound it around a lamppost.
    "For?"
    "Man can lose himself a foot out the door in a whiteout."
    "Doesn't look that bad." Nate glanced out at the street and missed the look Otto and Pete exchanged. "How much are they calling for?"
    "Could get four feet."
    Nate turned back sharply. "You're shitting me."
    "Wind's coming with, so drifts could be two, three times that." There was obvious pleasure in Otto's tone as he worked the rope. "This ain't Lower 48 snow."
    He thought of Baltimore, and how six inches of the white stuff could slow the city to a crawl. "I want these parked vehicles off the street and the snow removal equipment checked."
    "People mostly leave their cars where they sit," Pete told him. "Dig them out after."
    Nate considered following the when-in-Rome theory, then shook his head. They were paying him to establish order, so by God, he'd establish some order.
    "Get them off the street. Anything still parked on this route in an hour gets towed. Alaska or Lower 48, it's still four feet of snow on the street. Until we're clear, we're on call twenty-four/seven. None of us leave the station without a two-way. What's the policy on out-of-towners?"
    Otto scratched his chin. "Isn't any."
    "We'll have Peach go down the list, contact all of them. We make arrangements for shelter for anyone who wants to come in."
    This time, he caught the exchanged glance. Peter smiled gently. "Nobody's going to."
    "Maybe not, but they'll have a choice." He thought of Meg, six miles out and essentially cut off. She wouldn't budge, that much he already knew of her. "How much of this rope do we have?"
    "Plenty. People generally string their own guides."
    "We'll make sure of it." He went inside to put Peach to work.
    It took him an hour to organize procedure,