An Enchanted Season

by Nalini Singh

  “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 basement. Maybe it is the season for miracles…

  He met a puzzled-looking Rachel in the hallway. She saw him closing the door to the basement 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 amusement 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. God 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 fiancée, Steve let go with a sigh. “I’ll call the boys up from the basement.”

  “I’ll bring the plates,” Rachel agreed, and smiled as Mike offered his assistance.

  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 fiancé 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 massaged 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 unbutton 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, amusement 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 association 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, reasserting 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 fiancé 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 breasts. “I like certain parts of you best when they’re cold. It’s so much more fun that way.”

  Considering how her areolas had puckered, she couldn’t blame him. Chuckling, she finished removing her undergarments and stepped carefully into the tub with him. The heat from the water was heavenly. Kneeling carefully, she scrubbed his abdomen with the sponge, then sat back and worked on his legs, taking her time to refamiliarize herself with every inch of his skin she could reach.

  Her fiancé had a decent body; working in the dairy had kept him reasonably fit, and there was just enough hair on his chest and legs to say he was a man, but not enough to suggest he was a beast. Some women liked their men to be downright furry; Rachel just wanted a little bit of curl on her man’s chest, and not much elsewhere. The texture of Steve’s sparsely dusted skin was just the way she liked a man to feel: warm and silky in some spots, warm and crinkly coarse in others. Perfect.

  Leaning forward, she made him sit up, then wrapped her arms around him, kissing him somewhat awkwardly while she scrubbed at his back. Getting him to stand, she scrubbed the parts the water had covered, then urged him back down again, rinsing and using the sponge to trickle water over his body. Midway through her task, he stole the brown sponge from her.

  Against her protests, he lathered it up again and scrubbed her in turn from neck to toes, shushing her mouth with kisses. Catching on to his silencing scheme, Rachel mumbled a few more protests, making him kiss her again. The water had turned too murky to rinse with, but she had anticipated that. Standing, Rachel urged Steve to his feet, and with his help, lifted the final milk bucket over both their heads. It was still full of hot, clean water. Steve helped her pour it over both of them for a rinse while the tub drained at their feet.

  Steve laughed when the last of the water was done dripping out of the can. “We still have soap on our bodies. I think we’ll need to risk a brief shower.”

  Rachel nodded. It was now late; if any of the other guests had taken a shower, there might not be much hot water left, but it also shouldn’t be a strain on the generator to siphon some from the tanks. Letting him pull the curtain into place, she turned and worked with the faucet, waiting until warm water spilled forth. The position left her bent over at the waist. She didn’t know why she was surprised when he grasped her hips, but she was. Pleasantly, at least.

  The sight of her stooped over like that excited him. Being bathed had been more sensuous, like a backrub, but this was just too sexy to resist. Swaying closer, Steve teased her flesh with his own. He didn’t have a condom handy, so he wasn’t going to penetrate her…mostly wasn’t going to penetrate her…she pushed back, slotting him into position, then into place with a soft, feminine groan. A spasm of lust twitched through his entire body. Gritting his teeth, he held back, held himself still within her.

  “Rachel…I’m not wearing a condom,” Steve managed to warn her.

  “We’re getting married in less than ten days,” she reminded him, grinning over her shoulder. “I won’t tell if you won’t!”

  “Well, since not even the worst blizzard in the history of the whole Midwest would stop me from marrying you,” he conceded, pulling out almost all the way before pushing back in again, nice and slowly, “I think we can keep our mouths shut.”

  She
turned off the tub faucet again to conserve the hot water; they could always rinse off after making love, but not if they ran out first. From the slow pace he was setting, she figured they’d definitely run out of hot water if she left the taps open. Not that slow was a bad thing…but it was getting cold in the bathroom without the shower running. Changing her mind, Rachel stood up, letting him slip free. Turning, she silenced his wordless protest with a kiss, looping her arms around his shoulders. “Let’s finish rinsing off, then get dirty in bed, under the nice, warm covers.”

  As much as he wanted to just take her, Steve conceded not only the increasing chill in the air, but also the slipperiness of their location. Kinky was only okay if it didn’t lead to a broken neck, in his book. “Alright. Rachel…I’ve been thinking,” Steve added as she turned on the taps and lifted the lever for the shower head. “I kind of miss the way we used to, you know, court each other. Not that I’m aiming to be spoiled or anything, but I liked you pampering me just now, and I liked doing it to you last night.”

  Turning to face him, Rachel let the hot water rinse any lingering soap from her back. “I liked it, too. I missed doing things like that.”

  He nodded. “That’s what made me think. What if we set aside one weekend each month, or a weeknight, whatever works with the rest of our schedule…and just make sure to pamper each other on that day?”

  Considering the idea, Rachel finished washing off the soap, then shifted out of his way so he could rinse himself, too. “It’s not a bad idea at all. But I’d rather spend one day on one of us, and the other day on the other person—the one being lavished with love can reciprocate if they want on their day, but it’s their day.”

  “‘Lavished with love,’” Steve repeated over his shoulder, twisting under the spray. “I like the sound of that. And a day apiece, that’s good. Nothing too extravagant—we live in Iowa, so no buying either of us a yacht,” he teased, making her laugh. “But little things, we can do that. Things we can do around the needs of the Inn. And we could even space it out every few weeks between the two of us. Say, you get the first and I get the sixteenth of each month?”