An Enchanted Season Part 27

"Now, wait a minute," a familiar, accented voice stated from the doorway. They both turned and blinked at Bella, who was holding a lit votive candle in a blue gla.s.s holder. "Do you mean to tell me, young man, that you work on car engines all the time, as you told us earlier this afternoon, and you don't have any spare parts in your truck?"

"If I did have any, and if they were the right type, you forget my truck is all th' way out there, on the far side of the road, lyin' in a ditch, lady," Dave reminded her pointedly.

"Well, then, what is the problem? We know it takes two and a half lengths of rope to get from the porch to the bed of your truck, and we have a flashlight to see our way there. Put on your snow boots, gentlemen!" Bella ordered them. "If there is a packet of spark plugs that will work in that truck, now is the time to go find them. Not five hours from now, when we are freezing in our beds. If you want the comfort of a warm home, you must exert yourselves to attain it-he who cuts his own wood is twice warmed, and all of that. Come along!"

Dave shot Steve a sardonic look. "Ever get the feeling she was a drill instructor in a former life?"

"I heard that!"

AT LEAST THE SNOW HADN'T PILED ANY DEEPER THAN THE bottoms of the ground-floor windows, though the wind still swirled it around like it was a full-blown blizzard. No one could tell if it actually was snowing from the clouds somewhere overhead, or if it was all ground drift. It also took a lot longer to get from the front porch to the truck and back, but at least breaking a trail through such deep drifts meant they had an easier time finding their way back. The sight of the mound that was Joey's truck greeted them first, lit by the plying of two flashlights through the night. Once past the view-blocking mound, they could see the glow of candlelight in the front window, and the figures of Rachel and the others waiting to open the door for them.

Dave was still muttering to himself as he started stripping off his down jacket inside the foyer, letting Steve hang it on the coat rack by the front door. "I don't believe it...I just don't believe it..."

"Don't believe what?" Joey asked his friend, watching the other two removing their gear as well.

"We got there, I climbed down inside, and I immediately found a pack of four spark plugs that can fit the generator, a ten-dollar bill, a rolled-up pair of sweat socks, that old road map I've been looking for, and a weenie whistle," he told his redheaded friend, wrinkling his nose. "A weenie whistle? You know, one of them hotdog-shaped plastic things?" From the blank look on Joey and Pete's faces, reflected in the light of the votives they were holding, they didn't know what he was talking about. "Ah...never mind. The point is, we got what we need."

"What's wrong with finding a weenie whistle?" Bella asked him, her accent m.u.f.fled by the way she had bent over to tug off her snow boots.

"I have never in my life owned a weenie whistle, that's what!" Dave retorted. "I tell you, there's somethin' weird goin' on."

"What's weird about finding what you need when you need it?" Mike asked, his dark skin blending him into the doorway of the front parlor.

"Yeah," Ca.s.sie agreed, her blond curls very visible next to his shoulder as she leaned past her friend. "'Tis the season for miracles, and all that!"

"Well, maybe it dropped outta someone's pocket when they were ridin' with you," Pete offered. "Dad found a one-dollar coin from Canada in his car about three years after he bought it from his cousin, who had gone up North a couple years before that."

Grunting, unable to deny the logic of that possibility, Dave followed Steve back to the lean-to and the waiting generator. Both men groaned, then grumbled, realizing they had to shrug back into their jackets, given the breath-frosting chill in the mudroom; the lean-to was achingly cold in comparison, making their coats a necessity even for such a short task. Once the plugs were installed and the cover resecured, it was simply a matter of pushing a few b.u.t.tons, pulling on the lever, and starting up the generator. Pleased with their efforts, the two males slapped hands in a high five, shed their things in the mudroom, and returned to the front room, where the others had gathered.

"Just to let you know," Rachel was cautioning the others, "we cannot run a lot of electricity off that generator, and it only has so much fuel, anyway. It's only good for a few lights at a time, for the heater out in the barn, and for the furnace and hot water tanks. And when it's milking time, the dairy gets priority on the electricity, so there'll be a ban on using it from five to six in the morning, and from three to four in the afternoon. So if you leave a room, turn off the lights behind you if you're the last one out of there...and enjoy a nice long snuggle under the covers in the mornings."

"Reading by candlelight can be cozy," Ca.s.sie offered, cheerful as ever. She had brought out her tangle of bright orange yarn again, and was busy crocheting away on something smallish. "And Mike's little box game is fun, and doesn't require a lot of bright light. We can keep doing some of that to conserve power in the afternoons."

"Is she always this cheerful?" Pete asked Bella.

"Yes. You get used to it after a while."

"A long while," Mike added dryly. Ca.s.sie only laughed and continued playing with her yarn.

"Well," Rachel stated. "Now that everyone is back, and we have a bit of power for lights, I'm going to bring out the apple crumble I baked earlier. And some of our famous Bethel Inn cheese from the curing cupboards down in the bas.e.m.e.nt. We can heat the crumble on the woodstove here and serve it piping hot, if you're willing to wait a few minutes. Does that sound good?"

"That, and some of that magnificent spiced cider of yours sounds delicious," Mike praised, voicing the enthusiasm of the others, who were all nodding.

"Then I'll be right back."

It didn't take long for Rachel to bring out the ca.s.serole pan with the apple crumble, nor to set it on the woodstove to heat. Heading down into the bas.e.m.e.nt, she entered the room where the cheese was made and turned to the curing cupboards. The sweetness of the apple crumble would be best offset with a sharp flavor, so she turned toward the cupboards holding the rounds that had aged the longest.

It was very chilly down there, colder than expected. So cold that her breath frosted almost as badly as if she had stepped outside. That meant when Rachel heard a ting-ting followed by a crack and a pshhhhhhh off in the distance, she guessed instantly what had happened. Dismayed, she abandoned the cheese room, hurrying through the other rooms comprising the bas.e.m.e.nt.

The busted pipe was in the laundry room, of course. It sprayed water down from one of the pipes crossing the ceiling. There was a drain pipe in the tiled floor, but with the ground ice-cold under all that snow, it would soon freeze and clog up. Biting back a curse, Rachel hurried for the stairs.

She couldn't shut off the water, since if it stopped flowing, it would freeze that much faster elsewhere in the house. Once Joey was ready to work, then it could be shut off. She couldn't even put a s.p.a.ce heater into the room to keep the other pipes in there from freezing until the water was cleared up, and not just because of the electricity hazard. s.p.a.ce heaters drained a sizable chunk of the generator's power; it would be better to just let the furnace do its work.

"Joey? Joey!" She found him headed her way in the front hall, trailed by the others. "You brought your work truck, right?"

"Yeah, I did," he agreed, jerking his thumb at the front door behind him. "It's not ten feet from th' porch, buried under all that snow."

"Well, unbury it as fast as you can and get your toolbox," Rachel ordered him tightly. "The blizzard just busted a pipe in the laundry room, and since you're here, I need you to fix it."

"You know, who's gonna pay for all these things we're supplyin'?" Dave asked her and Steve as Joey stood up. "Help in the barn, shovelin' all that snow, those spark plugs, and now a busted pipe?"

"We haven't charged you for your extra meals yet," Steve pointed out. "Why don't we call it services in trade?"

"You gotta admit, the food is worth it, Dave," Joey allowed, hurrying to get into his winter clothes. Bella, ever willing to go out into the snow, was already pulling on hers.

"I'll get the snow shovels," Steve sighed.

Rachel caught his hands as he started for the mudroom. Tug-ging him close, she kissed him on the lips, then leaned back with a smile. "One problem at a time."

"Yeah, but it's one problem after another," Steve muttered back, feeling the tension from earlier in the week returning to his shoulders. He hadn't realized just how much he had relaxed in the last twenty-four hours, thanks to a nearly full inn. Having all these new troubles piling on top of him threatened to grind him right back down again.

"So think of our blessings. The power would have gone out, regardless...and we'd be without a functional generator, and the pipe would have frozen and busted anyway. But we've got a full enough house to pay the mortgage, a mechanic who had the spark plugs necessary, a plumber who can fix our pipes...and plenty of heating oil in the furnace, so long as we have the power to run it," she reminded him. "And plenty of wood for the woodstoves here and in the kitchen, just in case."

Bella poked her head into the front room. "Are you getting the snow shovels or not?"

Sighing, Steve nodded. He did spare a moment for another quick kiss with his fiancee, then followed their dark-haired guest back to the mudroom. Rachel watched him go, thinking of all the exercise he'd been doing. Deciding he needed rewarding, she started planning what could be done, once the latest problem was fixed.

Four.

JOEY NOT ONLY HAD THE TOOLS AND THE PIPING TO MAKE the necessary repairs, he also had a roll of insulation, white on one side, shiny on the other, and fibrous in the middle. Steve and Rachel had pooled their resources for the renovations, even to the point of draining the money originally set aside for a wedding, but they hadn't been able to insulate all the pipes in the bas.e.m.e.nt. With the power lines buried underground, the electricity rarely went out in the winter; in fact, it was far more common for the Inn and its neighbors in that corner of the county to lose power in the summer from various repairs and construction projects.

The chance of a storm knocking out the electricity had been weighted against the presence of the generator and the fact that the bas.e.m.e.nt rarely got cold enough to freeze. It was a gamble they had lost this time around. But with the pipe repaired and the now-functional generator helping the furnace to blow heat into the rooms once more, it was thankfully not as bad as it could have been. The furnace burned oil, yes, but it operated electronically, an irony not lost on anyone thanks to the storm.

Aware of how much these sort of repairs would cost normally in labor as well as materials, Rachel and Steve conferred quietly, then asked the young man what he would want in additional trade for the work and materials. He thought for a moment, then shrugged and said, "A wheel of your cheese. Mom and Gran are always going on about it, and I think it'd make a nice Christmas present for 'em."

Considering the youth had managed to make his insulation roll stretch to cover three rooms of piping so far, Steve didn't think that was adequate. "Two wheels of cheese."

Joey grinned at the offer, pulling more binding tape from the roll in his hands while Dave held the insulation in place. "Well, now...if that's the price you're offerin', I should have a look at all th' washers and drainpipes in this place, make sure the seals are good and the U-bends are unclogged."

"I won't object to that," Steve laughed, reaching out to shake the younger man's hand as soon as he was done taping the latest section of insulation.

"I wouldn't object to some of that hot apple crumble we were promised, neither," Dave stated, climbing down the other half of the two-sided ladder.

"As soon as we've run out of insulation," Joey promised his friend. "I'll make a plumber's apprentice out of you in the meantime, if you don't watch out!"

"And I'll make a grease monkey outta you," Dave quipped back, helping him shift the ladder. He waited for Joey to measure off a manageable length of the insulation, cutting it into strips that would just fit around the pipes with a little bit of overlap. "Aren't you done with that thing yet?"

"I'm still cuttin' it out," Joey retorted, working the shears through the material.

"No, I mean, haven't you run out of it?"

Steve frowned in thought. Dave was right; the roll shouldn't have been that bountiful, even with the journeyman plumber cutting it as economically as possible. It looked almost as thick as it had when he first started. Then again, the stuff was thin, especially when compressed into a tightly rolled cylinder like that. Shaking his head, he left the two to their work in the bas.e.m.e.nt. Maybe it is the season for miracles...

He met a puzzled-looking Rachel in the hallway. She saw him closing the door to the bas.e.m.e.nt and smiled, then frowned softly again, beckoning him into the kitchen. It was dark, with only the light from the hall to illuminate them; with the generator rumbling out in the lean-to, they had a measure of privacy. The dinner dishes had been washed by hand while he, Dave, and Bella had gone out to the truck. Rachel moved automatically to the drying rack to check if they were ready to be put back, and Steve followed her.

Sliding his hands up her arms, he kneaded the muscles to either side of her nape. "Is something bothering you?"

"Yeah...It's the stove in the parlor. Every time I've gone in there to check on it since last night, it's been burning merrily away, not needing any tending whatsoever. The one in here does, which I started when the three of you went back out to Dave's car," Rachel admitted, turning her head to look at the old-fashioned, cast-iron cookstove Steve's great-grandmother had cooked upon when the Inn had first opened. She had started it to keep the house warm while they looked for spark plugs outside, and had put a quartet of water-filled milk pails on the stovetop to slowly heat. "Every time I ask the others, either they don't know when it was last stoked, or they say they saw one of the others feeding it earlier. It's nice to know they're keeping it going for me, but..."

"But what?" Steve asked his love. "There's something nagging at you about it. What is it?"

"There's always this one log in there, whenever I go to check. It could be a series of them, since we did cut up the limbs of that old alder that came down in the tornado and put them in the woodpile, but...there's always this one round log just burning away every time I go to look. Sometimes it's to the front, sometimes it's to the back, or sometimes it's crosswise. But it's always in there among the others."

He laughed softly, half in amus.e.m.e.nt and half in wonder. "And here I was, just thinking as I came up the stairs that it's a miracle Joey has so much of that insulation stuff he's been putting on the pipes downstairs. By rights, he should be almost done with the roll, except it looks like he's only used a quarter of it. Which makes me want to believe in miracles again. And..."

"And?" Rachel prompted him, turning around in her beloved's arms.

"And it makes me remember how much I still love you, now that the burdens are being lifted from our shoulders," Steve whispered, looking down into Rachel's brown eyes. His smile faded, replaced by a sober look. "I forgot that, because of all our troubles. I didn't stop loving you, but I did forget to tell you how much I still love you. And how much I appreciate you being here, working so hard right beside me. If there's any miracles happening in this house, you are one of them. I don't know how else to tell it to you, to make you believe...except..."

Backing up from her, he lowered one knee to the linoleum-covered floor, holding her hands in his. His legs ached from all the work he'd done, climbing through all that snow and back, but that didn't matter. It was the look on her face, surprised yet tender, that provided all the cushion he needed.

"Rachel Rutherford, love of my life...will you still marry me?" Steve asked her. "For richer or poorer, for better or worse, in sickness and health...and in spite of tornado and blizzard?"

His wry question chased away her tears, though her smile was still tremulous. "Of course I will. G.o.d couldn't keep me from marrying you...and He wouldn't stop it, either." Freeing one hand, she ran her fingers through his crisp curls, loving their springy texture. "You're a good man, Steven Bethel. The only man for me. I'm sorry I forgot to show my own deep love and appreciation of you, too."

Kissing her other hand, Steve pushed back onto his feet. He groaned as he did so, his muscles sore, then smiled at her, pulling her into a hug that was a lot less tense than the one they had shared the previous day. "It's been a rough five months, hasn't it? But if we think about it, if we can survive all of this, then we can survive marriage together."

"Yes, we can," Rachel sighed, snuggling her cheek into his shoulder.

A voice cleared itself back at the doorway. Steve twisted the two of them a little, so they could both see who it was. Mike stood in the doorway, looking apologetic for interrupting their privacy, yet somehow pleased by the sight of them embracing tenderly. "Pardon the intrusion, but the apple crumble is bubbling, the cheese is melting, and I have only twenty minutes before giving my last devotions for the evening. My stomach politely reminds me that it is not necessary for me to fast before doing so at this time of the year."

His grin made the other two smile ruefully. Squeezing his fiancee, Steve let go with a sigh. "I'll call the boys up from the bas.e.m.e.nt."

"I'll bring the plates," Rachel agreed, and smiled as Mike offered his a.s.sistance.

WITH THE LAST OF THE DESSERT DISHES HAND-SCRUBBED- the dishwasher took up too much energy to run-and all of the dishes dried and stacked in the cupboards, with their guests retired for the night and nothing more needing to be done until morning, Rachel nudged her fiance toward the kitchen woodstove and the four milk pails set on its surface. "Grab a pot holder and help me carry these pails, will you?"

Quirking a brow, Steve did as she bid. "What are they for?"

"Well, I didn't want to run too much water from the tanks, what with the power coming from the generator for both the heating units, and the well pump. And I wasn't sure how many of our guests would want a hot shower before going to bed," Rachel explained, taking a couple of pads to lift the handles on two of the pails herself. "I turned the sink on a trickle while you were out, to try to keep the pipes from freezing-yes, I know that didn't quite work-but it had to be done, and since I lit a fire in the stove to heat the back end of the house, I thought, why put both of them to waste?

"I was going to just draw a regular bath, but it all came together nicely enough," she added, voice tight as she hauled the heavy pails across the hall, into their own ground-floor bedroom.

With the door shut and the heat out for a while, the room was chilly. She manipulated the lever-style handles for both bedroom and private bath, stopping only when she reached the old-fashioned, big, deep claw-footed tub, with its sloped back and refinished porcelain surface. It had been restored as an engagement gift from Steve's parents, since it was just big enough for the two of them to nestle in like spoons.

Rachel had blushed when that had been explained to her, but it had told her just how much his parents supported the thought of her as their daughter-in-law. Setting down her pails, she made sure the tub was stoppered, shook some sandalwood-scented bath salts into the tub, then lifted the first pail over the rim, pouring its steaming contents into the basin. If she hadn't grown used to hauling the heavy pails around in the last several months, helping Steve occasionally in the dairy, her task would have been that much harder.

"What, no bubble bath?" Steve quipped, copying her by pouring one of his own pails into the tub. The water was quite hot, though not scalding; it quickly perfumed the air with scented steam.

"Oh, it's not for me," Rachel demurred, smiling to herself. "It's for you."

"Me?" He stared at her as the last of the water dripped into the tub, hazel eyes wide and brows quirked, bemused.

"Yes, you," she confirmed with a feminine smile. "You've worked very hard today, and I'm very proud of you. So I'm going to bathe you. Pamper you, like you did me last night."

He smirked at that. "If I'm in the tub when you're trying that, you might drown."

She gave him a mock dirty look and took the pail from his hands, setting it back by the other empty canisters, out of her way. The fourth pail, she left full for rinse water later. "Strip, mister!"

"Your command is my wish," he said, still smirking. Pulling his sweater over his head, he sat on the edge of the tub to unlace his boots. Rachel dropped to her knees in front of him, batting his fingers away so that she could perform the task herself. It felt nice, being pampered. Even when she peeled down his socks and briefly ma.s.saged his feet, it felt good. She was even careful to lower his soles to the fuzzy green bath mat, rather than letting his feet touch the cold vinyl of the floor.

Smiling, he let her unb.u.t.ton his shirt cuffs, then work her way down his chest. Shifting back, she silently urged him to stand, then unfastened his jeans. He had to help her push down the denim, since they clung to his long johns underneath. While he pulled off the undershirt, she started to lower the silk-knit leggings.

That brought a certain part of his anatomy into view, reminding her of what she had done with him last night. Grinning, Rachel lifted his shaft, pressing a kiss to its tip. Steve groaned softly, stroking her dark brown hair with one hand. He stopped her after a few more moments, if reluctantly. "It may have warmed up in here, with all that water heating the place, but I'm going to freeze if I don't get into the bath. And if I freeze," he stated wryly, "I'll shrivel up and won't be of any use to you tonight."

"Well, we can't have that," Rachel agreed, amus.e.m.e.nt coloring her reply. "Into the bath with you. I need to shed a layer or two so I can bathe you without overheating or getting too wet."

"So long as you get nicely wet..."

She smiled as she pulled off her own sweater, watching him climb into the tub once her face was free. The water was hot enough to make him hiss through his teeth, but not so hot that he couldn't sink down into it with a groaning sigh. The bliss smoothing the furrows in his brow made her glad she had thought of doing this for him. Stripping to her undershirt and long johns, Rachel tossed their clothes in the hamper, took their boots back into the bedroom, rearranged the milk pails a little more out of the way, then found the sea sponge he had given her for her birthday two years ago. She hadn't used it in about seven months, which meant it was long overdue. That it was for him instead of her didn't matter; it was the ritual of the thing that made it special.

Steve knew she liked using it for special occasions, for when she wanted to feel extra-feminine and pampered. When he spotted it in her hands, he blushed a little. Not that he thought she was going to make him more feminine by using it, but because she was going to spoil him by a.s.sociation with her favorite bathing ritual. He watched her dip the sponge into the bathwater, then anoint it with some of her body wash, working the sponge into a lather.

When she picked up his near arm and began gently scrubbing his muscles, Steve let her manipulate him as she willed. The combination of slick suds and scratchy sponge relaxed and invigorated him. Coupled with the attention she was giving him, he felt a renewal of the love he knew she held for him. He had given her care and attention last night, rea.s.serting what had been suppressed by the troubles in their lives. Now she was giving it back to him.

"I don't know..." He trailed off, unsure if he should say it.

Rachel looked up from his shoulder and upper chest, working her way across to his other arm. "You don't know...what?"

"I don't know if you're just reviving my deep love for you, or making me fall in love with you all over again," he murmured diffidently, and watched her blush with pleasure. He smiled. "I think a little of both."

"Good. We've forgotten to do things like this," Rachel said, reaching across him to scrub at his other arm. Soap smeared across one breast from his closer arm, dampening and turning her undershirt translucent. "We were on a pattern spiraling down into dullness, weren't we? I mean...not that you're dull, but that we'd gone and forgotten how special we are together."

"I was thinking the exact same thing," Steve agreed, admiring the way the dampened silk permitted the darkness of her nipple to show. Tracing the little peak made her glance at him. "You'd better take that off before it gets too wet and soapy to wear, in case we can't do laundry for a few more days."

"But then I'll freeze," she pointed out. "You're the one in the water, not me."

"Then come in here, and straddle me," her fiance coaxed. "I'll keep most of you warm."

Stripping off her remaining clothes, Rachel found herself asking skeptically, "Most of me warm?"

He grinned, looking at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "I like certain parts of you best when they're cold. It's so much more fun that way."