.
.
He wasn't a stranger to taking care of stock. He'd done it before, on his uncle's farm.
It's just that nowhere on Tauron had been this cold.
He tried to hold on to his gratitude fully, with both hands, but as those hands broke through another patch of ice in the water trough, he asked himself why they couldn't have crashed somewhere further south.
Somewhere with beaches, and warm ocean waves, and as long as he was dreaming…fruity rum drinks, like the resorts on Scorpia.
He lifted out the last chunk of ice and nodded at the horses, hoping they appreciated his efforts.
*******
He had groused about the timetable of central heat a time or three this winter, giving Laura (and Ellen, and Saul) icy frowns when they all explained that even though the technology existed, cost and available supplies would likely prohibit central heating in Falcon's Rest for some time. The Romans had done it, he'd pointed out. Why couldn't they?
Laura had suggested that splitting more wood for the stoves would warm him up quick enough, and that had ended that discussion.
Bill's mind was still on tropical beaches and drinks festooned with paper umbrellas when he stomped the snow off his boots in the entryway of the Adama house. The warm heated air was a balm to his semi-frozen lungs…and then he got a whiff of something that transported him back to the beaches he'd been fantasizing about while outside.
"That smells wonderful! What is it?"
Laura came out of the kitchen, skirts rustling against her legs. "That farrier called Big Swede came by after he finished at the barn. He brought us an early Christmas gift." She had two steaming mugs in her hands and the fragrance was heavenly. He walked over and took one, wrapping his hands around the heat that felt so good to his cold palms.
"Reminds me of something." He took a deep sniff and was put in mind of holidays he'd only taken in his imagination.
"It's hot buttered rum," she said, sipping at her own drink. "He had a mixture of spices and butter, and told me to stir it into rum and hot water." Nutmeg, cinnamon, and some unidentifiable spice rose to his nostrils, underpinned with the sweet musk of dark rum and a waft of fresh cream.
It wasn't a fruity rum punch with a paper umbrella. It was better…simple and rich and tasting of their new home. He sipped again and looked out the window at the endless fields of snow. They sparkled in the moonlight like the most pristine Scorpian beach.
"Warming you up?" she asked, waiting until he sat down before slipping into his lap.
He wound an arm around her waist and took another long sip. The warmth spread down to his toes and he felt fully thawed out for the first time that day from the heady mix of the liquor and the touch of his wife.
"Yeah. Tell Big Swede I said 'thanks' when he comes through again."
They didn't need beaches. He could find it in himself to be thankful for North Dakota in winter…as long as she was in his arms, them finding heat together.