Run Cold (Limited Edition)

32: slow beat

Marc made me change out of my shirt to take a look at the injury hidden by my sleeve. He gave me one of the t-shirts they sold to guests, and the two of us decided it was probably for the best that I keep my arm dry for another day or two before exposing it to much water. He helped me wrap my forearm then protect the stitches I'd earned on my head and the fresh ones on my palm. 

"You will need shots," he said.

"Had a few already, and one more in my bag I need to take tomorrow," I said. "Emma's daughter-in-law is a vet. She does a lot of work with people, too."

Marc insisted I rinse off the majority of the grim, had me hop into a shower down the hall. He'd have someone get a bath going so I could feel human again. After surrendering my jeans and tee to Hanna who'd informed me in a tiny voice that mama would get me new clothes while she was in town, I showered off the day. Once I was damp and wrapped in a fluffy white robe, Marc walked me to the cellar door access in the kitchen and told me there was still another half cord of wood to stack.

"We have an insert back home," I said. "How long's it take for wood to be usable, anyway?"

"What was cut today will need to season. It will keep us warm on winter nights a few years from now."

"Yes it will," Kettil agreed. His father, standing at the kitchen sink, a pitcher of water in his hand, leaned against the granite countertop. What had started as a nice conversation about seasoning turned into an abbreviated goodbye as Marc dragged his father outside.

The Engen's private bath outshone their trophies. Knowing that, I still wrenched open the cellar door expecting a tin tub and a pile of shovels, not a painted white staircase opening into a hall lined with fresh linen and oils.

According to Marc, his mother had grown up poor and worked as an au pair for a wealthy family in Oslo. It had been a dream of hers to have a bath like what she'd seen when she was younger. There were showers upstairs, the usual guest, staff, and master suites for a home and working ranch, but the one she shared with Kettil hadn't been big enough to achieve her vision. The extensive chamber in the finished basement had been a recent anniversary present.

There were three doors. The first led to a sauna, the second a game room and bar. Through the last one I went. The main baths were beautiful; a distant shower set back against warm, polished tile and stonework. It was more spa than bathroom: a wide vanity with double sinks, a comfortable chair in one corner, a flat bench for sitting, even a rustic chandelier. Someone, I had my suspicions concerning who, had dimmed the overhead lights in favor of a dozen lit candles near the tub.

What a tub it was! Carved from petrified wood and placed beside a crackling fire. Vapors of peach steam caressed rose petals on a gently rippled surface. "A girl wouldn't come for the mattress, but she sure could stay for this," I murmured, untying the robe and dipping a finger in. Within seconds the robe was on the floor between the tub and the fire, bubbles tickled my chin, and the hurt melted away in the swirled, sweet wet fragrance.

"Berserkergang—"

I raised my head and exposed my neck to lukewarm air. Embers glowed pale orange beneath a charred log.

"I do not understand how someone that small fends off a polar bear," Kettil said. "She is a cub herself."

"I see the cute but she is needy. Why would you want to set Marc or Eirik up with that?" That mellow, disinterested voice had to have been Nils.

"She is only needing to be nursed back to health."

Reposed in fragrant dreams, the idea floated through my mind that they were speaking English because I was meant to listen.