With a heavy sigh, John leaned over to give the dog's ears a rub. "Guess we better head inside, huh boy?"
A muffled “thwack” was his answer as Angus’ tail beat happily against the snow-covered wood. They could stay outside for only so long, especially with the temperature dropping as quickly as it was. But going inside meant dealing with her again, seeing her in his space, smelling her, wanting her.
"Come on. Let's go in." John turned, steeling his resolve to resist this woman,and more importantly,remain steadfast in refusing her request.
Chapter 4
Frankie nestled into the couch, sinking into the oversized cushions. She tugged a patchwork throw across her lap and clutched the weathered leather journal to her chest as she stared at the clock. It felt like John and Angus had been outside for an eternity and for a few brief moments, she wondered if she'd been abandoned. She dismissed the notion as ridiculous. Anyone would be insane to go anywhere in this weather.
She wrinkled her nose at the irony of that thought, becauseshehad been insane enough to go traipsing through the Wisconsin wilderness, knowing full well that a storm was approaching. Compounding the error (or was it lunacy?) was her complete lack of familiarity with the area. Even worse, she had to drive on the opposite side of the road in a vehicle that, in her opinion, was backwards.
Regardless, it was unlikely that John and Angus would hop in his truck and drive god knows where to avoid a conversation or her presence in general.
She had worked off her frustration washing the dishes from dinner and wiping down what she could, all the while admiringthe craftsmanship of what clearly was more than a simple log cabin in the woods. After cleaning the kitchen. she'd busied herself switching her clothes to the dryer, sending up a silent prayer of gratitude to John for being so thoughtful as to toss them in the washing machine.
Chores completed, Frankie dug the treasured journal from her backpack and patiently awaited their return. She thumbed to the pages she'd bookmarked, instinctively knowing she'd need her grandmother's words to not only soothe herself, but to convince a curmudgeonly man from halfway across the globe to help her with their mission.
10 July 1950
My adventures have taken me across the majority of this country already, but the magic of Wisconsin has captured me, welcoming me into its emerald embrace. It is a refreshing, albeit hot and humid, surprise. The deep green of the forests and varieties of trees throughout the area are lush with health and vitality. The streams and lakes are crystal-clear, and the hiking is exceptional. I can't help but notice that this is exactly what England should strive for, especially after the New Forest sustained so much damage during the war. So here I am, wandering this majestic land, a stranger to these shores, yet I've never felt so close to Mother Nature.
But something else interesting happened, something I could not have anticipated. I met a man today by the name of Ben Robbins. When I came upon him on my hike, he was tending something the likes of which I had never seen and simply had to stop and ask. He informed me they were his maple syrup lines which seemed to stream through the forest like a large spider web of white tubing. I must admit that because I havebeen betrothed for so long, I have rarely looked upon a man and considered his attractiveness. My fate and path were set long ago by my family. But with Mr. Robbins, that's exactly what my mind did. I could not have helped it if I'd tried.
I don't think I've ever met a man more handsome in my life, and while he is the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, there was so much more to him than looks. He told me he is the conservator of these forests, that it is his family's legacy and responsibility to manage and protect this land. It was the passion that radiated from his eyes that was so magnetic, so intriguing. I believe I would have been drawn to him even if he had been unsightly.
I hope to see him again tomorrow.
XOXO, Meredith
Frankie traced a finger lightly over the delicate page full of handwritten memories. Over seventy years ago, her grandmother had traveled to America to sew her wild oats before submitting to her arranged marriage. In her travels, she had arrived in this same corner of Wisconsin and fell in love, both with the land and with Ben Robbins, John's grandfather. It was where Meredith Blake’s passion for the environment and reclamation had been born. This journal was proof of that and more.
Frankie's hands tightened. It was not just a record of her grandmother's travels and experiences in America so long ago, but also the chronicle of a star-crossed romance. One of which she was almost certain John was unaware.
The door finally swung open and an icy wind and swirl of snowflakes preceded Angus and John. Frankie pulled the throw closer and smiled as Angus padded over with a soft woof, then buried his cold nose into her hands. "You're such a pretty boy,aren't you, Angus?" she crooned as she smoothed the snowflakes from his fur. "Do you feel better?"
A quick shake and vigorous wag of the pup's tail was her answer as he meandered back to his bed in the corner.
Frankie's gaze shot to John who stood near the door, watching her with solemn blue eyes. It might have been her imagination, but it was as if he was afraid to come back in, afraid to be near her. Her pulse ticked up another notch. "How's the storm?" she asked softly.
"Getting worse." He turned and, with a grunt, toed off his boots then hung his coat on a nearby hook. "The snow is piling up quick. It's a good thing I found you when I did. I would have had a tough time spotting your car with a blanket of snow over it."
Frankie shivered at the sobering thought. She had been cold enough with the rain and ice, adding snow on top of it would have been a disaster. She silently thanked her guardian angel for leading John to her car before it had been too late.
"Yes, well." She cleared her throat. "I would say thank you again, but I know you're tired of hearing it. Please just know that I am grateful."
His electric eyes met hers from across the room and the corner of his mouth tilted up in a half smile. John didn't say a word, only lifted his chin slightly, then walked to the large waist-high cherry cabinet near the fireplace. He grabbed the whiskey decanter that sat on the top shelf and strolled to his side table, then poured a healthy dram in his previously abandoned glass.
He held up the decanter giving it a slight shake that made the amber liquid dance in the firelight. "Would you like a drink?"
"No, thank you." She gave him a weak smile. "I've never been much of a whiskey drinker. But I would advise you to keep your red wine away from me. Especially Italian. It's my weakness."
He huffed a soft laugh. "I'm fresh out right now, but I'll remember that for next time."
Frankie’s brows lifted. Would there be a next time? The man was obviously skittish around her and was most likely planning a way to get her back to the inn, regardless of the weather.
Although she was in town for the week, it was possible John would not want anything to do with her after she revealed her secret. The odds of running into each other again were high in this small town, but she was certain he could make himself scarce if he wanted to.
John dropped into his overstuffed chair and draped his feet on the ottoman, then leaned back with a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. Frankie watched the firelight play across the angles of his face, highlighting the contours of his high cheekbones, square jawline, and Adam's apple. This man could walk into London’s fashion district and have several top modeling agencies fighting over him in an instant. A mental image of his underwear ad splayed out on a magazine sashayed through her head. It was disgustingly hot.
