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Sasha, Leo, and their guests were bundling up, pulling on their coats, scarves, and hats in preparation for the trip up to the mansion for the cocktail hour when a heavy knock sounded at the door. Aroostine yanked open the door to reveal a windblown John Carlisle.
Sasha glanced up from buttoning her coat up to her chin and called for him to come inside.
“I’m afraid I can’t.”
Something about the timbre of his voice made her stop mid-button and join Roo at the door.
“Is something wrong?”
“Nothing serious, I hope. But one of the guests from the reunion group came barreling into the kitchen while Hatty was lifting a pot of wassail from the stove to pour into the punch bowl. It’s quite hot, you know. Just this side of boiling, actually. Hatty and the young man collided, and the wassail spilled. She has a bad burn on her hand.”
“Oh, no,” Sasha murmured as several gasps filled the air.
Bodhi stepped forward. “I’m a doctor. Would you like me to take a look?”
John’s face softened. “That’s kind of you. But we’ve already called our primary care provider. Doctor Graham has time to see her, so we’re on our way into town. But we need to leave now. Hatty can’t drive herself, given her injury.”
Sasha wrapped her arms around herself as if that might somehow stave off the chill and leaned out the door. From the station wagon, Hatty flashed a smile and waved gamely with her good arm. The other was wrapped in a white-and-red checked kitchen towel.
“I’ll be good as new in a jiffy!” Hatty called.
“I hope so,” John muttered more to himself than to her. Then he spoke louder. “We really do need to hurry so we can make it back before the storm hits.”
From the living room, Carl asked, “Have they updated the track? Sasha wouldn’t let us bring our phones, so we have no real-time weather.”
John’s expression flattened. “It changed course. It’s headed straight toward us. We should be fine, though. If the power goes out, there’s a standby generator connected to each building. And there are flashlights with fresh batteries in all the bedrooms.”
Evidently tired of waiting, Hatty struggled out of the car one-handed, lowered her head against the wind, and made her way up the stone path.
“What are you doing? Get back in the car,” John fussed at his wife.
She ignored him and continued her march up to the house. When she reached the porch, she smoothed her hair with her uninjured left hand.
“I wanted to tell you to help yourselves to the snacks and drinks if you want to go ahead with the cocktail hour. The food’s in the fridge in the kitchen, and the drinks are self-explanatory,” Hatty explained to Leo.
He smiled. “What if we hold off and have nightcaps after dinner when you and John are back?”
“That’s an excellent idea,” John agreed. “We’ll stop by and let the other group know the plan on our way out.”
Sasha thought Hatty’s expression tightened ever so slightly at the mention of Rex and his college friends. An instant later, she was sure she’d imagined it. The other woman’s eyes were bright and lively, and a small smile creased her lips.
“Come on, John, we don’t want to keep Doctor Graham waiting,” she urged her husband.
He nodded and took careful hold of her left arm, and they turned to face the wind together.
“Drive safely,” Sasha called after them before shutting the door against the howling wind.
As their hosts braved the weather to return to their car, Sasha leaned into her husband’s side. “I feel awful. Poor Hatty.”
He wrapped an arm around her waist and nodded his agreement. “I hope her doctor can get her fixed up. A nasty burn like that is no fun.”
“Terrible timing for a terrible mishap,” Bodhi mused.
They turned toward him.
“The weather is really bad and getting worse,” he elaborated. “Driving through that blowing snow isn’t going to be a picnic. And who knows if they’ll even be able to make it back? If the forecast is right, we’re in for a monster storm.”
He seemed to realize how his serious tone had dampened the atmosphere and jerked his head toward Maisy, who was standing next to built-in shelving that held an actual record player and a neat row of vinyl albums. “Hey, Ms. Dee-Jay, let’s put some records on.”
