“My goodness, I'm like a hog at a trough!”

“What are you wearing?" "Coveralls. Shit-kickers. Long, latex gloves." He blinked. "can't wait to see you take them off.”

“Once in rur-al Flathead coun-tyStood a cru-wel Christmas sceneDumped for slaugh-ter were the rein-deerWhen an elf did intervene.”

“I'm resourceful," she called after him.Resourceful, he thought, rinsing his hands with the ladle she'd left in the bucket. "A euphemism commonly used by successful criminals," he called out to her."If I were so successful," she called back, "I wouldn't be talking to you.”

“It's nothing fancy, I opened a jar of sauce and cooked the linguine. But there's fresh Parmesan and I even found a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.""You found wine." Earlier he'd been thinking about microwaved Who Hash, solitude and if he was very lucky, beer.But a hot, fresh-cooked meal? Candles? Wine? And a chatty yoga-elf chef? With a body like a Las Vegas showgirl?”

“Great. He had a ranch with no power, a burgeoning blizzard, animals depending on him and now, a frightened, felonious elf to look after.”

“My goodness, I'm like a hog at a trough!”

“Bending the law is different from breaking, my lovely, strategically-challenged Francesca.”

“Life's too short to say no when love shows up at your door.”

“Thank you," she said. "For making me have dinner with you."He laughed. "Next time maybe I'll really torture you and take you to a movie."Next time.”

“She pulled her arm free from his grasp and stood back, her arms crossed. "So, what then? You're holding me hostage? Are you even really a sheriff?""I am," he said, highly amused at her attempt at bravado. "You wanna see my badge?”