"It's a nice turnaround from him and his friends coming here to bully us earlier," Rachel sighed. "And it takes one of our worries off the mind. Depending on whether or not the credit companies can give us a fast turnaround on processing Joey's card before noon, we should have enough in the bank for the automatic withdrawal of the mortgage. If not..."

"If not, then there's nothing we can do about it. Except pray for a miracle that Mr. Harrod gets that stick unwedged from his b.u.t.t," Steve muttered.

Rachel shoved at him lightly for the vulgarity, and he kissed her on the lips to soothe her protest. It had been a while since they had last kissed in bed. Stress had taken its toll on their urge for intimacy, submerging their desires under the weight of their worries. With some of that weight lifted, and with memories stirred of how they had first gotten together, Steve felt his body quickening with a half-forgotten thrill of desire. So what started out as a simple, loving kiss grew a bit warmer.

His hand slid from her shoulder to her breast. Rachel sucked in a startled breath, pulling her head back. He hadn't touched her like that in a few weeks, and truth be told, she hadn't been in the mood for it herself. Until now, that was. Brown eyes stared at hazel for a long heartbeat, then they both squirmed under the covering quilts, Steve removing his pajamas, Rachel her long-sleeved nightgown.

Shoving the garments under their pillows so they could be found again, Rachel squeaked when Steve pounced on her, his hands just a little too chilly for comfort. He tickled her ribs, making her giggle, then m.u.f.fled the noise with his lips, recapturing their kiss. She returned the favor, brushing her fingertips over the hairs dusting his chest. He retaliated by cupping her breast.

The soft, moaning sigh that escaped Rachel's lungs made Steve remember that sound, back when they had first been intimate. It reminded him how much she had enjoyed the way he had stroked and savored her curves. The last time they had made love, he had only played with them a little, wanting to move on to the rest of her body. Only he hadn't really moved on to the rest of it. Not her legs, not her arms...

I've been neglecting her, he thought, pulling back from their kiss. She gave him a puzzled look, so he gave her a rea.s.suring smile in return. I should not neglect the woman I love.

Catching her hand, he brought it to his mouth, nipping gently at her skin. From the flush of her cheeks, she still enjoyed having her fingers nibbled and licked. That made him dredge through the rest of his memory, recalling every little caress she had ever enjoyed at his hand. The suckling of his lips at the soft inner bend of her elbow. The lapping of his tongue over the tender flesh of her wrist. The worshipful caress that palmed the outer curve of her breast.

Rachel moaned again, enjoying his touch. She couldn't remember the last time he had pampered her like this. As he worked his way down her torso, teasing around her nipples rather than going straight to their crinkled tips, she knew she would reward him once he was done with her. It would be rude to interrupt him before he was done, after all.

When he kissed her belly, she giggled. It was too ticklish a sensation not to react-mainly because he lapped like a kitten around the rim of her navel. But rather than continuing on to her core, he squirmed into a lump under the covers that had enough room to nibble on the soft skin of her thighs. Aroused more than she could remember, Rachel moaned softly with each breath. With their room on the ground floor, she didn't fear the softer sounds of lovemaking. Only if he provoked her into a loud cry would she worry, though they had invested some of their renovations in filling the s.p.a.ces between the walls with plenty of insulation.

Oh! Oh...there... Her breath groaned out of her when she felt his tongue tickling the edges of her folds. Hands curling into the feather-stuffed pillows, Rachel twisted, arching her hips up and splaying her knees out. There, there, there...ohhh, yes, this man deserves a big reward for thi-wait, he's stopping.

Disoriented by the sudden cessation of pleasure, she lifted her head, feeling him squirming an arm up the length of her body-and not to grope her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He batted instead at the edge of the covers, lifting them up. A moment later, Rachel heard a deep inhalation. She giggled, divining his problem.

"Can't breathe down there, my love?" she asked her lover, amused.

"No, I can't," came his half-m.u.f.fled reply. "A little help with the air, please?"

"And let myself freeze from the cold draft?" she joked, shifting the bedding so that it formed what she hoped was an adequate tunnel.

"I'll make sure you're kept nice and warm," Steve murmured, returning to his task. A moment later, he paused in his savoring to add, "Mm, tasty."

That made her laugh. It was what he'd first said about her recipe for cider, and for the first meal she had made for him...and the first time they had made love. No, she didn't mind the cold, after all; not when he resumed flicking his tongue between her nether lips, sending a flush of pleasure out across her body.

He knew her very well. In fact, Steve could usually make her climax within minutes once he began tasting her down there. This time, he took his time, using his knowledge to tease, not just to please. A flick here, a suckle there, a bit of lapping, a swirling lick. Gentle stroking from his fingers, counterpoint to the nibbling of his lips. One of those fingers slipped inside, carefully twisted around, and pressed upward in a fluttering movement. Stars exploded silently behind her eyes, making her cry out.

When he added an equally rapid flicking of his tongue to the peak of flesh overlooking his finger, Rachel shattered deliciously, arching her neck and twisting her body, before relaxing gradually under the easing of his touch.

Steve couldn't breathe; her brief writhe had been just enough to collapse the tunnel of the bedcovers that had been providing him with fresh, cool air. Squirming carefully up the length of her body, he poked his head out with a gasp of relief, flushed from the heat the two of them had generated under the thickly layered quilts. He grinned as he gulped in the crisp, cool air. In fact, he was surprised he still fit in the bed, given the dreamy, dazed look on his fiancee's face.

What a way to make a man feel ten feet tall! d.a.m.n, I've missed totally scattering her wits like that. What a fool I was, letting the grind of daily life drive our love down into something ordinary...

Rachel came back to herself with a double blink, finally realizing her fiance was beaming at her like a lit-up Christmas tree. She thought briefly about twitting him for being so smug, but conceded that it was well-deserved smugness. That, and it was much easier to whisper a simple "Wow."

"Mm-hmm," Steve agreed smugly, cupping her damp mound under the layers of bedding. His groin twitched with desire, feeling how slick he had made her, but he told that part of himself to hush. Tonight was for his future wife to enjoy. If she wanted more, she'd let him know. If not, it was enough to have pleased her so thoroughly. She deserved being pleased.

Thankfully, his loins agreed with that decision; Rachel was worth far more to him than the proverbial quick roll in the hay.

His quietude puzzled Rachel. Arching a brow, she asked, "Is that it? No pouncing on me?"

The curve of his mouth deepened from a smirk to a leer. "If you want more of the same, I'd love to do it all over again."

Oh. She blinked at him, thought about him suckling her again, and of him not being that eager to release himself. Since she could feel his erection prodding her hip, she knew he was eager physically, but he hadn't even hinted at his own need. "Why? I mean, why pamper me, and not take any pleasure for yourself?"

"Who said I don't enjoy that?" Steve countered, propping his head up on his hand. The air was cold against his arm, but he was still a bit heated from being buried under the covers. "It pleases me a lot to pleasure you. Tonight is your night. Anything you want," he promised impulsively, almost rashly, "and if it's within my power, I'll give it to you."

And I thought he'd melted my body into warm goo with that mouth of his, she thought distractedly. Who knew he could melt my heart, too, after all these years together? Thoughts whirling, she settled on what she really wanted, and slid a hand onto his shoulder, pushing him over. "What I want, right now...is to please you as thoroughly as you have just pleased me. So kindly make an air tunnel for me."

Grinning at the ceiling, Steve complied, first making sure the quilts and sheet stayed high on his chest while she squirmed underneath, then rumpling them just so to ensure that she could breathe as she kissed her way down his chest. He didn't want his fiancee to suffocate, after all. Especially with her mouth full.

Three.

THE ALARM CLOCK RANG ALL TOO EARLY, AS IT USUALLY DID, but both Rachel and Steve woke with that wonderful, must-stretch-under-the-covers sensation of having had a truly good and relaxing night's sleep. Rachel winced as Steve turned on the lamp by the bed, smirked as he slapped off the alarm, and kissed him with closed lips when he leaned over her. Morning breath was always a worry, but a peck on the lips was a very nice way to start the morning in a good frame of mind.

Good enough that the chill in the air only made both of them gasp and hurry to dress for the morning's ch.o.r.es. Even with Pete out in the barn, ready to help shift the cows from their stalls to the attached dairy annex and give them their morning feed, it would still be a ch.o.r.e. Since he could still hear the wind whisking the snow around the house, Steve crossed to one of the heavily draped windows and peeked between the velveteen curtains. He frowned, trying to make sense of what he saw.

With his and Rachel's bedroom being on the ground floor, with the understanding that the "ground floor" technically started two feet above the actual level of the ground, it took him a few moments to process what he was looking at in the sliver of light that shone through the windowpanes: snow that had piled up to the bottom edge of the window.

Six feet of snow.

There had been about eight to ten inches of snow left over from previous storms, compacted by time, wind, and almost-thawing before freezing again. It usually didn't snow more than a few inches, half a foot at most per snowstorm, but it rarely thawed in Iowa long enough for all of the snow to melt away, just compact down. By the time spring rolled around, it would be a couple feet thick, but that was at the end of winter. This much snow in a single fall was almost surreal.

"Six feet..."

Rachel, tugging her head through the sweater she was pulling on over a long-sleeved knit shirt, padded over to join him. "What did you say?"

"Six feet!" He held the curtain back so that she could see for herself. It was somewhat dark outside, though still lit by a faint, almost sourceless, orange-peach glow that undoubtedly came from the lights over by the barn, and the streetlamp glow from the nearby town. "a.s.suming it hasn't drifted up on this side of things, that's six feet of snow out there! This is one of those storms that only comes along once every half-century!"

"Wow," she breathed, staring at the still-falling flakes, which didn't have quite so far to fall anymore.

"You're only allowed to say that after I give you mindless pleasure," Steve teased her, drawing her into his arms as he let the curtain fall back into place. They shared a loving but brief kiss before he set her free with a sigh. "I'm going to have to crawl through the snow to get to the barn, then shovel my way back again. I told Pete the milking starts at five o'clock sharp; I hope he has the sense to start without me, or the girls will get off their schedule and stop producing as much milk."

"You'll need a hearty meal when you're done. I'll start making sausage...um...chicken gravy and b.u.t.termilk biscuits for breakfast," Rachel amended, thinking of the two guests who wouldn't be able to eat pork.

"I'll need a hearty meal before I'm done," Steve quipped, shifting to pull on a second layer of wool socks. The rest of him might get warm from the exertion of all that shoveling, but his toes would freeze if he didn't take care of his feet.

RACHEL JERKED TO A STOP BY THE PARTIALLY OPEN STUDY door. Frowning, she poked her head inside, searching the brightly lit room for its occupant, which shouldn't have been brightly lit at all. The nubbly black curls and chocolate-colored nape of their tan-clad guest met her gaze. He was doing something on their computer, checking something online. Stepping inside, Rachel caught his attention. "Excuse me, but this room is off-limits to guests."

He turned to face her with an apologetic smile. "I'm terribly sorry; I didn't realize. I just saw the computer and the router, and thought I could check my e-mail. Um...while I was online, your instant messaging thingy popped up a little window. You've received an e-mail from someone about a Mr. Swanson. The subject line looked rather urgent-I'm done here, so you can check it out yourself," he added, closing out the last window and rising from her office chair. "Forgive me my meddling, but I wanted to make sure my business was running smoothly."

"What sort of business?" Rachel found herself asking in curiosity as he moved out of her way.

Mike smiled warmly. "Knowledge. It is important to learn, and it is vital to understand. I am something of a teacher, and something of an information broker, a researcher. But then, you already know an education is important; after all, you wouldn't be so successful as a bed-and-breakfast owner if you and your impending husband hadn't gone to college...and met there, and fallen in love. I'll leave you to your work, and go sit in the front parlor."

Rachel blushed as she smiled. Settling into the chair, she started to face the monitor, then turned back. "Oh-I need to stoke and build up the fire in that room first."

"No need," Mike rea.s.sured her. "I checked on it when I got up, and saw that someone had done it earlier."

Puzzled, Rachel frowned at him. "Earlier? It's nine minutes to five a.m.-who would be up this early?"

"Oh, we're all early risers. Especially when motivated. Don't forget your e-mail," he instructed her, nodding at the computer screen. "It looked urgent, and we don't know how long the power from the county can be maintained, what with this storm and all."

Bemused, Rachel turned back to the screen, clicked on the appropriate icon, and started sorting through the list of e-mails received. The latest one puzzled her even more than her early-rising guests. It was from "Lappschaum & a.s.soc." and the subject line read "Pursuant to the Request of Mr. Theodore Swanson." Teddy Swanson was one of their longest-standing guests, according to Steve. He came every single summer, stayed for four weeks, visited all his friends and relatives in the area, then went back to MinneapolisSt. Paul. He was something of a local legend, too, for he had been doing so for most of his eighty-four years, ever since graduating from the local high school and going off to college three hours to the north, where he had found a wife and started a family.

Opening the e-mail, Rachel read the contents. Her hand crept up over her mouth, tears p.r.i.c.kling in her eyes. Someone had written to inform them that Mr. Swanson had died in his sleep. Steve would be devastated, as would his parents, who had hosted Teddy for decades. As had the previous generation of Bethels.

She forced herself to read on...and the hand covering her mouth to hold back her grief now covered up its urge to gape. It seemed that Mr. Lappschaum was Teddy Swanson's executor for his will...and that Teddy had left a trust fund for Steve's future children, to ensure they would have a college education, whenever Steve and she got around to having them. It wasn't a huge amount of money, but with compound interest, it would be enough to ensure at least two offspring had the chance to attend some college or university somewhere across the States.

It was an incredibly generous gift from a man who had been a delight for the Bethels to host. Even though she personally had known him only a few summers, she had enjoyed taking care of the elderly gentleman's needs. He would be missed, but remembered for a long time, especially with this unexpected piece of philanthropy. Closing the browser window, Rachel made her way to the kitchen in a daze. The sad and the happy news could wait until Steve returned from the barn; she had breakfast to make.

ADJUSTING HIS KNIT CAP ON HIS HEAD ONE LAST TIME, Steve opened the door of the lean-to, ready to grab his snow shovel and start forging a path to the barn. The shovel wasn't there, however. Neither snow shovel hung on their a.s.signed pegs hammered into the board running along the outer wall, nor was the regular shovel, which should have been hanging in the tool-shed-style room. Confused, he closed the lean-to door, then opened the back door to the mudroom, expecting to have to climb up over the couple of feet of snow that had piled up over the back porch.

A snow-dusted trench greeted his eyes, wide enough for two people to pa.s.s, and the faint sound of voices in the distance met his ears. Bitter cold seeped into his lungs, and swirling white still fell from the dark sky. Treading over the crunchy, squeaky snow that had begun to reacc.u.mulate at the bottom of the artificial, somewhat broad, curving canyon, he found the source of the cleft in the drifts when he was within viewing distance of the bright glow from the large fluorescent light hung at the peak of the barn roof. Three bodies worked in rotating tandem as he stopped and watched, goaded by the accented voice of the slender woman in black. They had followed the path of the rope he had strung, straight to the barn entrance.

"That's it! Put your back into it! Four more shovels to go! Keep it up, David; you're doing well! Three more shovelfuls! Watch that clump, Joey, it's about to fall! Two more shovels...and it's my turn again!"

Joey stepped to the right as Dave stepped back, and Bella stepped up into Joey's place on the left. She hacked at the snow with her spade-tipped shovel while Joey scooped up the broken chunks of s...o...b..nk and tossed them up over the head-high s...o...b..nk enfolding them. Breathing hard, David leaned on his shovel and watched them for a moment, then idly glanced behind him. He blinked at the sight of Steve standing there, watching them, then straightened and held out the shovel.

"Here. Your turn. I'm bushed."

"Nonsense!" Bella a.s.serted as she lunged the implement in her hands at the wall of snow between them and the small side door set in the end of the barn wall, next to the larger, sliding doors. "Exercise is good for you! All those endorphins, pumping through your blood! Plus it will make us appreciate our breakfast all the more. Five more shovelfuls, Joey, then it'll be our host's turn!"

Guessing what was expected of him, Steve stepped up behind them, waited for his turn, and slotted himself on the left as Joey stumbled back, breathing just as hard as his friend had. "Man!" He gulped, his breath steaming in the snow-swirled air. "Where does she get all that energy?"

Steve found himself hard-pressed to keep up with her, even though he was fresh and she must have been working the two boys for at least half an hour. She continued to chop into the snow with the spade in her hands, switching sides with him so that he could scoop away the loosened snow. Joey stepped back in after a few more minutes, having regained some energy. Within a minute after that, they reached the door and had to take more care so as not to damage the wooden planks of the siding, sc.r.a.ping more than shoveling.

Grinning, Bella twisted open the door as soon as the way was mostly clear, and gestured Steve into the warmth of the building. "There you go! Mind you, I want to enjoy fresh milk and eggs for my breakfast when you are through. Come along, boys. Unless you want to muck stalls and pitch hay while you're at it?"

Muttering their refusals as politely and quickly as they could pant, the two youths followed her, taking the shovels back with them. Amazed at how the odd, black-clad woman could get such honest work out of the local pack of troublemakers, Steve shook his head and stepped inside. It was only a couple minutes after five, and he could hear the lowing of the ladies in their byres. Or rather, not in their byres, he noted with satisfaction. Pete was already leading what looked like the second cow out of her stall, taking her to the dairy room for food and milking, just like he had the previous afternoon. It was a relief for Steve to see that their girls would've been fine without him.

Shedding a layer as the heat of the barn seeped into him, Steve headed for Ellen's stall; she needed to be hand-milked for the colostrum, rather than put on the machine that would send her first-milk into the same pails as the rest. But when he got to her, he found she'd already been milked. When Pete came back, he grinned shyly at Steve, who was straightening from checking the now slack udder.

"Already done it, Mr. Bethel; she gave it up easy, too. Of course, I was smart enough to wash my hands in hot water so they'd still be warm when they touched her. It's in the fridge with the rest, in the processing room. I wasn't sure you'd make it out here in less than three hours, given how deep th' snow got overnight; then I heard Miz Bella yelling at Dave an' Joey, making 'em clear a path to the barn. Made me right glad, too," he added, taking Eliza's halter and backing the lowing cow out of her stall. "I mean, you showed me the microwave and the frozen stuff in the deep-freeze, but I ain't so good at cookin', even with prepackaged stuff. Miz Rutherford's cookin' beats my own hands-down, any day."

"It also beats my own," Steve agreed, entering the last stall and taking the halter of the remaining cow. "And she loves doing it, too, which is the important part. We're having chicken gravy on homemade b.u.t.termilk biscuits once we're done cleaning, milking, and cleaning again in here."

"Well, I'm glad you're here; that machine ain't too familiar," Pete admitted. "You did show me, and I could figure out whatever I couldn't remember, but I'd rather trade you; I'll muck out the stalls as clean an' fresh as can be, while you take care of these ladies in the dairy. Deal?"

"Deal," Steve agreed. Nearly ten minutes of shoveling had been more than enough for him; not having to change out the bedding in the stalls was a very welcome offer. "Don't forget, we'll need to gather the eggs in the henhouse, which is through that door over there..."

"AND THE YEAR AFTER THAT, WE WERE TRAVELING IN THE Bahamas," Bella related as the others finished laughing, "so those lavi-lavi turned out quite useful as makeshift sarongs, but I'll never stop teasing Mike about having to wear what we think of as a skirt over his trousers!"

"It's a good thing I can enjoy a laugh at my own expense," Mike warned her, pa.s.sing along the bowl of fried potatoes they were sharing at the dinner table, "or I'd have to retaliate with the tale of you and the fresh coconut halves you wore for a hula dancer's top at that costume party that one Christmas Eve two years ago. It turns out she's allergic to fresh coconut milk," he confided to the others. "But only when it's allowed to dry on her skin."

"That was me," Ca.s.sie interjected, lifting her finger while Joey and Pete eyed her speculatively. "Not Bella. And that is too painful a subject to discuss at the dinner ta-"

The lights went out, stopping the chatter around the long oak table. With the cessation of speech came an awareness of the cessation of the furnace that had been blowing its heat in a subtle background whoosh, easily missed until it went missing. They could hear the wind still blowing outside, and the hiss of snow on the upper half of the windows, since it had drifted and covered the lower half already. It was a poignant moment, dark and quiet. Then Steve sc.r.a.ped back his chair, clearing his throat.

"If everyone will stay here, I'll go get a flashlight and some candles, then start up the generator once we can see."

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," Ca.s.sie 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 b.u.mp 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 b.u.t.tons, 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 b.u.t.tons 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.