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.