Part 24 (1/2)
One.
”NO. NO, NO, NO...NOT THIS!” RACHEL STARED IN DISMAY at the small television set perched under the cupboard containing her willowware plates. ”Not this, on top of everything else...”
The weather report s.h.i.+fted from the weekend to the ten-day forecast, ignoring her pleas. They had eight guests planned to arrive for the Christmas holidays, but with the sudden s.h.i.+ft in the jet stream overnight, a huge blizzard was now headed directly their way, rather than bathing the states to the north. Without those eight guests, she and her fiance wouldn't be able to pay the mortgage at the end of the month, and the country inn that had been in Steven's family for four generations would fail. She stared at the longer forecast, noting with dismay that snow was predicted all the way up through Christmas Night.
The weatherman was cheerfully relating to his viewers that they were definitely going to have a ”white Christmas.” Rachel didn't find his prognostication the least bit cheering. She flinched when the phone rang, and s.h.i.+fted to pick up the receiver. Sure enough, it was Mrs. Terwilliger, calling to cancel her and her husband's arrival. Opening the day planner, Rachel scratched out the couple's names, feeling depression closing in around her.
Within five minutes, the phone rang again. Billy Platz was calling to let her know that he and his two brothers weren't going to make it; they were stuck at an airport farther north, snowed in and unlikely to go anywhere for a long while. Her hands shook a little as she marked out those names. Three names were left. Mary, Joseph, and Maggie Stoutson; Mary was old Bill Pargeter's granddaughter. Rachel didn't think Joseph would want to travel quite this far in the coming weather with a three-year-old. She flinched when the phone rang again, but it wasn't the Stoutsons, thankfully. Just her future mother-and father-in-law, calling to wish her and their son a quick Merry Christmas before boarding their s.h.i.+p for a holiday cruise in the Caribbean.
Rachel managed to get through the phone call without betraying her inner fears. As soon as she gave an upbeat farewell and hung up the phone, however, she shuddered with the weight of responsibility. It wasn't her fault that the old farmhouse had been partially damaged by a pa.s.sing tornado. Nor that the insurance company had tried to declare bankruptcy, leaving not only the Bethel Inn but many other homes and businesses in the lurch in the legal tangle that had caused. Nor was it their fault that the estimated costs had grown when the contractors discovered dry rot in some of the main support beams last autumn, requiring extensive repairs.
It was her and Steve's fault for deciding to take out a mortgage on the house, in order to finance those repairs, yes...but it wasn't her fault that Mr. Thomas Harrod was such a tight-fisted Scrooge when it came to making payments on time, to the last penny. The Inn was profitable; the old house had just run into a bad patch of luck. That was all. It was also more than enough to put the two of them teetering on the brink of ruin. Stress and worry had become a daily part of their lives, and Rachel just wished it would all go away.
The door to the mudroom opened. Her fiance stepped inside, balancing two pails of milk in his hands. Snow still dusted his light brown hair, though he had removed his boots and overcoat in the mudroom. Setting the covered pails on the counter, he started to grin at her. His smile faltered, seeing her expression. ”What's wrong?”
Rachel gestured at the day planner. ”Five guests canceled.”
Running his hand through his short, crisp locks, Steve winced at the chilly damp his fingers encountered. It was a reminder of the blizzard under way. ”Which ones?”
”The Terwilligers and the Platz brothers. I haven't heard from the Stoutsons yet, but it's probably only a matter of time.” She sighed and ran her hands over her own hair, dark brown and pulled into a single, sleek braid. ”This isn't good, Steve. This isn't good. We're not going to make the mortgage payment, are we?”
”I don't want to ask Mom and Dad for help, but if we can't-” he started to say. Rachel shook her head, cutting him off.
”They just called a few minutes ago. They've probably boarded their s.h.i.+p already. I'm sorry,” she added softly. ”We won't be able to reach them until they get back.”
He spun away from her, hands fisting on the edge of the counter. Frustration alternately boiled and froze in his veins. Steve hated this situation, but he didn't want to loose that anger in front of Rachel. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't his fault...well, maybe the mortgage they had cosigned, but considering how many years the Bethel family had partnered with the Harrod Bank, he heartily wished its current owner wasn't such a tightwad.
Rachel crossed to him, lifting her hands to his shoulders. They were knotted with tension. She did her best to ma.s.sage them, but he was almost a foot taller than her. ”Come on; let's get the rest of the milk in the house. And the eggs.”
”Oh, that's what I meant to tell you,” Steve said, turning around and slipping his arms under hers. He cradled her against him, taking comfort in the feel of her soft curves against his harder muscles, in the trust of her cheek resting on his chest. The hug wasn't as satisfying as it could have been, given how both of them were still stiff with tension. ”I had to hang a rope from here to the barn, the snow's threatening to fall that thickly, but I've already got all the eggs gathered. The chickens were cooperating today, not being nearly as nasty as usual. But the really good news is that I managed to draw off some colostrum from Ellen. If her first-milk is finally showing up, that means she's getting ready to drop!”
Rachel winced at that, pulling back. ”That's not good news. We're going to be snowed in, Steve, straight through Christmas! What if she has another breech birth, like the last time?”
”We'll handle it, somehow,” Steve rea.s.sured her, cupping her shoulders in his palms. He looked down into her brown eyes and managed a smile. ”One task at a time. No courting trouble, when we're supposed to be courting each other, got it?”
She managed a smile of her own. Neither of them had been in the mood for ”courting” since that tornado had struck last summer. Not for more than halfhearted attempts. ”Alright, no courting trouble.” She found enough energy to smile and attempt to flirt with her love. ”You're certainly cuter.”
”Than what, a breech-birthed calf?” he joked.
She chuckled and mock-swiped at him. ”Go on, get out there and get the rest of the milk. I'll follow as soon as I can pull on my boots. And don't break any of those eggs. If we don't have any guests, we can at least have a nice quiche for supper.”
THE SLEIGH BELLS ON THE FRONT DOOR, HUNG IN HONOR OF the impending holidays, jangled loudly. Rachel, joyful that the Stoutsons had made it safely through the storm, quickly wiped off her hands on her ap.r.o.n, hurrying out of the kitchen and around the bulk of the front stairs. She drifted to a stop, her smile faltering and fading in dismay. The three snow-dusted figures who had walked into her fiance's home in a swirl of cold air weren't Mr., Mrs., and little Miss Stoutson.
They were Pete, Dave, and Joey. College-aged boys, but none of them college-educated. Their families were close friends of the Harrods, the family that owned the town bank, and with it, the mortgage on the Bethel Inn. Heart pounding in her chest, she dredged something resembling a smile back onto her lips. ”h.e.l.lo, boys. What brings you all the way out here, with a storm on the way?”
Pete-never Petey, that was his dad-closed half the distance between them with an ambling walk that spoke of time spent in a saddle. His father raised pigs, of course, but she had heard he'd spent his summers between school years on his uncle's cattle ranch, farther south. He flashed her a grin. ”Now, Miz Rutherford, you ain't that much older'n us. You ain't, what, twenty-five?”
”Twenty-six.” a.s.serting her age allowed her to a.s.sert her authority. She spoke the words crisply, too, without any of the local drawl. ”And I do not recall inviting you over for a visit.”
”Ooh, college-educated,” Dave teased; his hair was dark brown, his face less lean and saturnine. He made a pretense of rubbing his jaw, using fingers perpetually stained with the grease from the engines he liked working on in his cousin's garage in town. ”Seems a shame ol' Steve had to go all the way to Des Moines to find himself a pretty thing for a future wife. You know what they say: Big city wimmin get ideas that are too big for their little-bitty brains.”
”At least I have a brain that I can use,” Rachel retorted. She did her best to keep her smile as Dave stiffened. ”But in the spirit of Christmas, I'll be generous, and believe that you have one, too. Now, what are you boys doing in my house? Somehow, I don't think it's to rent any of our rooms.”
Joey, the redhead of the trio, finished unb.u.t.toning the puffy front of his blue, down-stuffed parka and hooked his thumbs into his work belt. Of the three of them, he was the most polite and reasonably respectable; he was a journeyman plumber, having apprenticed with his aunt's husband for the last two years. ”Now, Miz Rutherford, you know why we're here. You got until the twenty-fourth of each month to come up with the mortgage money. Mr. Thomas wanted us to remind you that, come snow or sleet, hail or dark of night, that money's gotta be delivered this next Monday, or he'll foreclose on this place. You don't wanna be tossed out into the snow on Christmas Day, now do you?”
”We are not going to be tossed out,” Steve a.s.serted from the top of the stairs. He thumped his way down the stairs, glowering at the trio. ”And I thought I told the three of you to stay off my property!”
”Ain't gonna be your property much longer, Stevie,” Dave drawled, hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans. He rocked on his heels, coolly ignoring the glare the older man aimed at him. ”Pretty soon, you won't have a place to lay your head at night...and that pretty girl there is gonna come lookin' for a real bed to lay in-something satisfying.”
He leered at Rachel as he said it. She gasped and stepped back, disgusted by the implication, while her fiance jumped down the last two steps, anger furrowing his brow.
”Get the h.e.l.l outta this house!”
”Why doncha try throwing me out?” Dave shot back. ”There's three of us, an' only one of you!”
The door banged open with a vigorous clas.h.i.+ng of the sleigh bells, startling everyone. They turned to look at the figure in the opening. The pink, fur-clad figure. At least, the coat was pink, and it had a thick span of high-quality, white faux-fur trim all around the hems, cuffs, and neckline. A fluffy faux-fur hat was perched on the woman's head, and a matching, fuzzy m.u.f.f dangled from a white cord around her neck. She flung up one hand as they gaped at her, beaming an angelic smile from her pink-painted lips. ”We have arrived! Oh, goodness, you wouldn't believe how thick the snow is falling out there!”
Her hand slashed down again in a limp-wristed dismissal, showing off her sparkly pink fingernails. Narrow pink heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she crossed from the entry rug to the hallway, brus.h.i.+ng between Joey and Pete. Both young men stared at her with wide eyes. She held out her hand to Steve, forcing him to uncurl the fists he had formed in order to shake it. Blue eyes pinned him in place as she did so, and an exotic scent filled his lungs. The combination was too friendly for the anger in his mind to be sustained. He found himself tentatively smiling as she introduced herself.
”You must be Mr. Bethel, owner of this fine establishment. Call me Ca.s.sie! We were looking at stopping in the town, but the snow was falling so heavily, it seemed we wouldn't make it-and then we saw your sign, like a miracle from the Buddha himself!” Releasing his fingers, she reached out and clasped Rachel's palm as well, beaming warmly at the two of them.
”'We'?” Dave managed to ask, not quite as stunned by her appearance as the other two. Until she turned around and smiled at him. He froze in place under the impact of that warm, cheery grin.
”Oh, yes, my traveling companions. Bella,” Ca.s.sie introduced, gesturing past the three youths, ”and Mike.”
They turned and saw a dark-eyed, dark-haired woman clad in a black wool coat with flared sleeves and an equally flared hemline that fell almost to her boots. A black fur hat was perched on her head and a m.u.f.f strung from her neck as well, faux-mink to the faux-fox her companion was wearing. Beside her, closing the front door, stood a dark-skinned gentleman in a marten-fur hat, matching faux-fur m.u.f.f, and a brown leather trench coat, which he was unb.u.t.toning now that the door was closed, preventing more of the heat in the house from escaping. Doing so revealed the fake sheepskin lining the calf-length jacket.
”h.e.l.lo,” Mike stated, reaching between Pete and Joey to shake Steve's hand. ”As she said, my name is Mike, and I'm just as grateful as she is that we have arrived in time. I do hope you have room for us. I would hate to toss anyone out into the blizzard that has formed outside.”
”Speaking of which,” the woman in black stated, her words accented with a hint of something exotic, maybe Eastern European, ”shouldn't you gentlemen go turn off your headlights? Since no one is going to be going anywhere in this weather, there's no point in you killing your batteries.”
Joey twisted to peer out the window next to the door and groaned. ”Aw, man! We haven't even been here five minutes, and it's already dumped two inches!”
”What?” Dave hurried to the window set to the left of the door. He squinted through the rectangular panes. The only reason why their trucks were still visible was thanks to the headlights s.h.i.+ning through the driving ma.s.s of snowflakes outside. ”G.o.ddammit!”
”Language, young man,” the woman named Bella snapped, her dark eyes gleaming with outrage. ”This is the holy season, and you will not take the Lord's name in vain!”
”I'd follow along with what she says,” Ca.s.sie interjected helpfully, touching Dave's shoulder. ”She has quite a temper when it comes to blasphemy.”
Dave whirled to tell her something, but her pink-nailed fingers b.u.mped into his cheek, knuckles gently caressing his skin.
”Just mind your manners, be on your best behavior, and enjoy the peace that can be found at this time of year,” the blond woman suggested, still smiling kindly.
The fight that had been forming drained out of him. There was no point in arguing; the snow was driving too hard and piling too deep to go anywhere safely. ”Fine. Then I guess we'll just have to stay here until it stops.”
Steve started to open his mouth and argue the point, but Rachel stepped forward, cutting him off. ”That'll be a hundred dollars a night, gentlemen. A hundred a night, apiece. Plus the cost of dinner and supper; breakfast does come with the cost of the bed, naturally.”