by Nalini Singh
Bella’s voice broke the quiet following the footsteps of his cautious exit. “Well. At least we finished our supper first. And with the snow halfway up the house, it should help to insulate us against some of the cold outside.”
“Coconut halves, huh?” Dave’s voice asked archly. Something whapped a moment later, making him yelp. “You tossed a bun at me!”
“You’re still in your seat, and I have a very long memory,” Cassie quipped back. She giggled after a moment. “This is turning out to be a very special holiday, that’s for sure!”
Steve came back with the glowing beam of a flashlight in one hand, a pair of candelabras in the other, and a plastic sack swinging from his arm. “Well, I suppose candlelit meals could be considered ‘ambience.’ We’ll have you lit in a jiffy so you don’t bump around; then I’ll get the generator going. Rachel, if you can get the votive holders off the sideboard there, in case they need to get to the bathroom before the lights are back on; I’ve got the candles for ’em here.”
It didn’t take long to set up the candles in their holders, nor to light them. Steve waited long enough for Rachel to get started on illuminating the room, then took himself and a jacket upstairs. The exhaust chimney for the generator was hooked up to a long, tall stovepipe with a sharp, conical peak for a roof. It was designed to take several feet of snow on the lean-to roof and still be able to vent, but with the snow still coming down, Steve didn’t quite trust it to remain clear.
Grabbing a broom from the upstairs closet, he made his way to the covered balcony, which overlooked the mudroom and lean-to below. Snow had stacked up at a fairly steep angle to the balcony railing. More snow fell, glittering as it swirled into the glow of the flashlight he set on the wrought-iron chair in the corner, pointing it out into the snow. As beautiful as the flakes were to watch, they were interfering with his employment; he had guests to keep warm.
Balancing carefully, he climbed high enough to check the snow on the lower roof. It was within a foot or two of the top of the pipe. Poking at the snow with his broom, Steve tried to dislodge it. For a moment, nothing moved, then a good chunk of it broke off and slithered down the sloped surface, taking more and more snow with it. It splattered somewhere below, falling from most of the roof in a rough wedge shape, warning him that he would probably have to shovel the chunks out of the trench to the barn, but it did clear the lean-to roof nicely around the exhaust pipe.
The last thing they needed was to asphyxiate on diesel fumes, after all. Sweeping the snow from his feet, he picked up the flashlight again, returned inside, hung the broom in the closet again, and headed back downstairs, dusting the snow from his short locks. Inside the dining room, he could hear the others playing some sort of game, and paused to check on them. Mike was explaining that the book-sized box in his hands, wrapped in something white printed with golden bells and ribbons on its paper, was a Guessing Box game; they could shake the box, tilt it, turn it, even weigh it, and each person would write down on a piece of paper what they thought was inside the box. Whoever guessed right would win a bar of Swiss chocolate.
It was the perfect dinner game to play in the dim glow of candlelight. Wishing he could join them, since he knew Rachel loved Swiss chocolate, Steve continued on to the mudroom. It was chilly enough, so he kept on the jacket…because if the mudroom was chilly, the lean-to was positively freezing. Crossing to the generator, he played the flashlight over it, checked the gas gauge, and followed the instructions to start it.
Nothing happened.
Frowning, Steve tried again. Nothing happened. He unscrewed the tank cover, checked to make sure it had diesel inside, closed the cap tightly, pressed all the right buttons, pulled on the lever, and…Nothing happened.
Frustrated, he turned away before he could smack the machine. A house full of paying guests, and he couldn’t get the generator to work. This was not good. One problem at a time, one solution at a time, he reminded himself. Of course, the problem is I don’t know much about fixing engines. Milking machines, yes. Generator machines—wait…
Walking back into the house, he poked his head into the dining room. Everyone was still eating and playing the game; the box was now in Joey’s hands, and he was making a show of carefully tipping it just so, to see at what angle the object inside would either roll or slide.
“Dave? You work on engines, right?”
“Yeah,” Dave admitted, lowering his cup of cider. “What’s up?”
“I, ah, can’t get the generator to start,” Steve forced himself to admit. “Maybe, if you took a look at it…”
Shrugging, the youth abandoned the dining table. Borrowing a jacket in the mudroom, he followed Steve into the lean-to. He, too, tried the buttons and the lever, checked the tank, tapped the gauge, then checked over the cables. Digging around on the tool bench in one corner, he came back with a screwdriver and removed the engine cover, checking it over. It didn’t take long for him to figure out the problem.
“Here it is. It’s the spark plugs. They’re all corroded,” the dark-haired youth stated, removing each one for a closer inspection.
“Ah. Well, can they be cleaned up?” Steve asked him. “With some soda pop or something?”
Dave examined each plug, then shook his head. “I doubt it. When was the last time you had this thing serviced?”
“Um…” Steve hated to say, “Never,” but the younger man got the message.
“We’re screwed,” he stated bluntly, handing Steve the ruined plug.
“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 glass 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 th
ings?” 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 muffled 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,” Cassie 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 buttons, 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,” Cassie 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. Cassie 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 basement. 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 casserole pan with the apple crumble, nor to set it on the woodstove to heat. Heading down into the basement, 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 basement.
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 space 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. Space 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 fiancée, 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 basement. 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 basement 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.