Maggie Shayne - An Enchanted Season

“Joey, stop!” Steve ordered. As the redhead glanced back at him, he explained, “The snow’s driving too hard; you get more than twenty yards from this house, you’ll never find it again. You know what an Iowan blizzard can do.”

“We can’t leave them out there!” Joey protested. “Look, I know we came out here to give you trouble, but freezin’ ain’t the way to go.”

“I’ve got some bundles of rope in the mudroom. I brought them in from the barn when I brought in the last of the milk this morning. If we tie them to one of the posts on the porch and keep a hold of the other end, we won’t get lost,” Steve said. “They probably misjudged the turn out of the driveway, and hit one of the ditches.”

“I told you they were six feet deep,” Mike whispered to Bella.

She rolled her eyes and waited for their host to come back. He had three bundles of ropes in his hands. Grabbing one of them, she met his startled gaze. “What? It snows like this all the time where I come from. I’m used to maneuvering in the snow.”

“I couldn’t ask a lady to go out in weather like this,” Steve protested, glancing at his fiancée.

“Who said I was a lady? Look, we may need a crowbar as well, depending on how banged up they are. I have one in my car, which is on our way. If that is the case, you’ll need someone to hold the rope to make sure it doesn’t get blown away while the two of you gentlemen pry open the doors,” she instructed Steve and Joey, giving them equal time under the weight of her dark brown gaze. “And if both boys are injured, each of you can carry a man, and I can reel in the rope and keep track of the four of you, to make sure no one gets lost.”

“You’d better give in, Mr. Bethel,” Mike advised wryly. “There was never a more stubborn or opinionated being in all of creation, once Bella makes up her mind to help someone.” He flashed the dark-clad woman a white-toothed grin. “At least she uses her powers for good.”

Cassie laughed at his quip, and Bella smirked. No one else chuckled. Considering her offer carefully, Steve finally handed the second bundle of rope to Joey. “Fine. You reasoning is sound. But you follow orders. I don’t know where you’re from, but I doubt you’ve seen a snowstorm like the ones we get around here. There’s a porch on the second floor, at the back of the house. There have been times when my family has had to clear that of two feet of snow.”

“Mr. Bethel, it can drop an average of half a meter overnight where I come from. And the landscape is a lot more mountainous than this.”

“Where’s that?” Joey muttered, eyeing her all-black outfit warily. “Transylvania?”

“Yes, actually.” She parted her lips, licking her teeth, as if her canines were about to grow a lot longer and pointier than their normal appearance would seem.

“Oh, be nice!” Cassie chided, flipping her hand at her companion. As the three rescuers headed out the front door, the pink-clad woman turned to Rachel, patting her hand. “Don’t you worry, Mrs. Bethel. Bella will make sure they all get back here nice and safely.”

“I’m not Mrs. Bethel yet,” Rachel found herself compelled to admit. “I’m going to be, soon.”

“A nice, big wedding?” Mike asked her, distracting their hostess from the danger of the storm. “With a huge feast and lots of relatives?”

“Actually…a small, quiet civil ceremony, New Year’s Day,” Rachel found herself confessing as Cassie drew her into the sitting room next to the front hall. “Just his parents and mine as witnesses. We originally thought of having a big wedding, but had to scale back when the Inn was damaged last summer. Repairs are more important than parties, after all.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” Cassie commiserated. “Mind you, the Buddhist way is about as simple as a civil ceremony can get, but most cultures like to indulge in lavish displays of hospitality and festivity. And as prominent business owners, it would also be a good way to spread awareness of just how fine your inn is, if you were to host a reception here.”

She gestured at the warm oak wainscoting and pale, calico-sprigged walls lining the front parlor, with darker versions of calico-covered furniture amply cushioned for comfort. Efforts had been made to festoon the room with red and gold ribbons, artificial greenery, and a Christmas tree in the bay window off to one side. Even the Franklin stove boasted a set of sleigh bells, wrapped around the stovepipe on a metal chain that would tolerate the heat of a fire better than the velvet ribbon supporting the ones hung from the front door.

“Yes, it’s very warm and inviting,” Mike agreed, taking one of the stuffed armchairs while Cassie sank onto the sofa with their hostess. “Are all of the furnishings new?”

“This side of the house was badly hit in a tornado last summer,” Rachel found herself explaining. “We took out a mortgage on the Inn to make the necessary repairs, since the insurance company tried to go bankrupt, and all the funds are still tied up in litigation. The house is on the Historic Registry waiting list, so we did our best to have the structure repaired very close to what it originally was, in case it does make it onto the list of important buildings for this region. But our guests prefer more comfortably padded furniture.”

“Fascinating. Has it always been an inn?” the dark-skinned gentleman inquired.

“From within the first eight years of its construction,” Rachel agreed, glad she had asked Steve about the Inn’s history. “It was a part of the railroad expansion. There used to be a set of tracks that ran near the property line, and the owners realized that if they invested in lumber and some bed frames, they could house first the workers, then the people who traveled through here. They made sure to bill it as a family establishment, a place for the husbands to bring their wives and children, as opposed to the bachelor quarters offered in town—no single men allowed. When the railroad was built, and the main depot installed at the edge of town, they had a buggy specifically built to escort the women travelers out to the Bethel Inn so that they could sleep in chaperoned safety.”

A beeping noise cut off any further explanation. Mike gave her a sheepish look as he extracted an electronic day planner from his pocket. “Please forgive me. It is time for my devotions.”

“Oh. Are you a minister, then?” Rachel asked him, curious.

“No, just a faithful Muslim—you aren’t going to be serving a lot of pork, are you?” he asked with a wry smile. “I realize that Iowa is pork central, of course, but while I’m not absolutely strict in my diet when I’m traveling, I do try to avoid alcohol and pork.”

“Ah. Well, if you’re snowed in with the rest of us through Christmas, I had planned to carry on the tradition of the famous Bethel Inn ham…but I suppose I could roast a chicken as well.”

“That would be very kind of you,” Cassie replied, smiling. “I know Bella would be grateful, too.”

“Is she also a Muslim?” Rachel inquired politely.

“No, she’s a Reform Jew,” Mike corrected.

Blinking, Rachel looked between him and Cassie, who was finally unbuttoning her fluffy-edged pink coat. “A Buddhist, a Muslim, and a Reform Jew, traveling together?…Listen to me,” she scoffed in the next moment, smiling ruefully. “I made that sound like the opening to a bad joke, or something. Next thing you know, you’ll be walking into a bar!”

Cassie and Mike both laughed at that. Ruefully, Mike shook his head in the next moment. “As much as I’d like to continue to chat, I really do need to attend to my midmorning devotions. If I give you my debit card, could you show me to a room, and perhaps process it while I pray?”