He grimaced. Finally, he fully understood the dilemma his grandfather had faced so long ago.
Frankie reached up and traced her finger over the carved heart on the bedpost. "I can't believe our grandparents were here together. It feels so surreal."
"It was always just a piece of my grandfather's past to me. I read about it in his journals after he passed away, but it was an abstract memory. Something he’d experienced in his long life that didn't affect me. But now…" His arm tightened around her middle. "I agree."
"Your grandmother must have hated this." Her finger moved over the initials. "To be reminded every day of her husband's lover, especially one that he professed to love."
John huffed. "I'm sure it rubbed raw for a bit, but my grandmother never lived here. She hated being in the woods and had her own place in town where she raised her boys. She worked at the library and was very content with that life."
"They lived separate lives?"
"Mmmmm…" He kissed her shoulder again. There was something about it that drew his lips. "My grandfather didn't marry for a long time after Meredith left. Maybe he hoped she would change her mind and come back, but that was never in the cards for them. After a while, he realized he needed to hand the conservatorship down to his children, so he married my grandmother and they had three sons and a daughter."
"That makes me sad."
"Don’t be. They both got what they needed from the marriage. My grandfather got a successor and my grandmother had security. She moved to Chicago as soon as the children were grown. My father eventually took over the conservatorship andmy two uncles and aunt all went their own way. Their families come back to vacation here every year, but most of my cousins live in Chicago or Los Angeles."
"It sounds very mercenary,” she commented. “Are you close with them? Your cousins?" Her hand traced up his arm. It was his turn with the goosebumps.
"Yes, most of them anyway. Several have cabins or vacation houses around the lake and we typically hold a large reunion every summer."
"That sounds fun." She was quiet for a moment. "I bet it's beautiful here in the summer."
"It would take your breath away," he replied, suddenly wishing beyond hope that she wouldn't leave. He ruthlessly bit back an offer for her to stay. That's not what she was there for. He had to remember that. She would only resent him if he pressured her to make a choice.
John closed his eyes and grit his teeth. He foresaw reliving his grandfather's agony. How in the world could he watch this woman, whom he'd only known for a few days, walk away and take his heart with her? How could he ask her to stay knowing that her life’s work and her own family legacy was in England?
Was history destined to repeat itself?
***
Frankie followed behind John—her gaze plastered to his rear as he moved expertly down the trail. The way the muscles bunched and released as he climbed up the incline was mesmerizing and she couldn't tear her eyes away. It still amazed her that she'd felt every single inch of that strong masculine physique last night. Of course, now she craved it even more. What sane woman wouldn't?
If Sharon knew that Frankie and John had become intimate, she would go berserk. The woman was a master at ferreting out such things and would figure it out within a matter of minutes. She had a nose for gossip, especially the sordid and steamy kind. Frankie could picture the scene in her head and felt her pulse sky rocket. She’d never hear the end of it from Sharon. It would be difficult, but she had to keep this fling to herself.
Frankie’s gaze skimmed upward, noting the way John’s strong shoulders strained at the jacket he wore. A thought popped in her head.
"You never did tell me how you got the nickname Lumberjack John."
She could make out a ghost of a smile as he glanced back at her. "There's not much to the story."
"But it's a great nickname, yeah? I bet there's more to it than what you're saying."
John stopped as they approached a rotting log, offering her a hand as she stepped over. She flashed him a smile of thanks and her gaze dropped to his rock-hard backside as he continued on the trail.
"Not long after I took over from my father, there was a logging competition that came to town. Most of the competitors were professional loggers who made money on the side at these events." He shot her a steely look over his shoulder.
"Yes? And?" Frankie urged after he was quiet for several seconds.
"And I was twenty-two and full of myself, certain I could beat seasoned professionals who had a decade of experience. There was one guy…" He shook his head. "Damn, I'd never seen anyone with that much muscle definition. It was like he was carved from stone, and on top of that he was a full head taller than me. But despite his size, he could skim up and down those trees likea monkey. He could chop faster than anyone there and would completely bury an ax head in the throwing competitions."
"And he beat you?" Frankie offered.
John barked a laugh. "Hell yes, he beat me. He destroyed everyone. I was completely out of my league, but he took me under his wing that day. He helped me along the way, showing me the correct way to handle the logs and how to make a proper cut without getting disqualified. Anyway, because I finished the competition rather than giving up when it got tough, he gave me my logger nickname." He shrugged. "The locals latched onto it, enjoying it way more than I did."
Frankie giggled. "I think it's sexy as hell."
He stopped and turned to her, his brows arched. "Is that so?"
