Love Under Snowfall (Stranded in Leavenworth #2)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter one

First day of fall quarter, Seattle: Frankie

Frankie Miller lumbered down the vacant hallway with an off-kilter gait that made her lower back cringe. She’d brought too much with her. There was no way she’d need the laptop, notebooks, and what must have been a fifty-pound casebook on day one. But odds were, if she left any one of those things at home, she’d probably end up needing it, and that was an embarrassment she desperately wanted to avoid.

Especially since she was already running late.

You might want to explore a little , the voice of her soon-to-be sister-in-law, Lucy, taunted at the back of her mind. It sure would suck to be late on your first day.

The weekend had been a last-minute scramble. Between finding all the necessary supplies, standing in line for her student ID, and moving into her new place, she had barely a moment to breathe, let alone take a tour of the 750-acre campus. Setting an early alarm seemed like the responsible thing to do but selecting p.m. instead of a.m. in her drowsy haze sabotaged her attempted timeliness. So instead of a two-hour headstart to get her bearings, her amber, sleep-sandy eyes popped open with twenty minutes 'til go time.

The flimsy strap of her crossbody bag dug into her exposed shoulder, causing her to regret the racerback tank she’d thrown on in her haste to leave her apartment. Her flip-flops weren’t the best option either. She'd nearly eaten it a couple of times as the foam soles repeatedly caught on the cobblestones of the main square. Sneakers would have been much better, but since she fell asleep last night before taking the time to unpack, the flimsy footwear was all she could find.

Frankie reached a junction, scanned the large plague of room numbers, and continued waddling down the long corridor.

Room 120.

Room 123.

Her phone buzzed in her back pocket. She knew exactly who the text was from, but he would have to wait. A quick glance confirmed her suspicions and filled her with alarm as she spied the current time.

Crap!

Showing up late would be a bad look. But it was the first day of the quarter. Surely, she wouldn’t be the only straggler on day one. Perhaps she’d be able to sneak in unnoticed and find a seat in the back. Slide under the radar before the dusty old professor had a chance to look up from his notes.

Finally, room 127 came into view, the placard gleaming like a chrome beacon of salvation. Her messy bun bobbled at the crown of her head as she scurried across the hall. She breathed a sigh of relief and gently pushed through the double doors. Making herself as small as possible, she attempted to creep around the perimeter of the room in search of a seat.

“Can I help you?” a deep voice rumbled with mild annoyance as the door sighed shut behind her.

Busted.

Frankie’s eyes snapped up to the front of the room. She was ready to plead her case and ask for a little understanding, but then she froze. Standing behind the podium, instead of the seasoned educator she expected, stood a man not much older than she was.

And he was devastating.

His immaculately tailored suit—the exact color of his navy eyes—hugged the broad expanse of his shoulders. Perfectly coifed black hair upped the ante of his sharp, stern features, giving him a near-sinister vibe. His lips were the only soft thing on him, and even they were pulled tight in a perturbed scowl.

Mouth hanging open, Frankie willed herself to speak.

Say something.

Anything.

Really, anything will do right about now.

But all words—even the notion of language—escaped her, and all she could manage was a pretty spot-on imitation of a statue in the entryway.

“Are you lost, miss . . .? he prompted, speaking louder and slower this time.

“I’m Fra—” she croaked then cleared her throat. “Francesca. Miss Francesca, er, Miller. I’m Francesca Miller, so I guess that would be Miss Miller.”

“Glad we finally got there. What are you doing in my classroom?”

“This is family law, right?”

“It is.”

“I’m in this class.”

“You’re late.” His level tone matched an equally flat expression aside from a muscle clenching at the back of his jaw.

“Only by ten minutes—”

“Twelve.”

Frankie cringed as she glanced around the room in search of a clock. The small auditorium held around eighty people, and every single set of eyes took in her disheveled state. Some smirked, but most had glad I’m not you scrawled across their pitying faces. Her heart raced and she struggled to swallow the boulder-sized lump stuck in her throat.

“I’m sorry I’m late. My alarm didn’t go off, and I got somewhat lost.” She chuckled nervously and gestured to her feet. “And the flip-flops slowed me down, and—”

“And you are wasting everyone’s time.” His intense glare finally broke as he shuffled around a few papers then scribbled a note at the top of one.

Was he dismissing her?

Should she leave or find a seat?

“Well?” the intimidating man prompted. “Are you going to grace us with your presence from a seat or the doorway, Miss Miller?”

“A seat,” she blurted then turned and scanned the crowd for an open spot to slink off to.

“You’re in luck. There is one chair that remains open.” Sweeping his arm out in front of him, he gestured with flourish. “Front and center.”

“Thank you,” she said with a curtsy because her lizard brain had completely taken over at that point and she had no control over her body. Ignoring a few snickers, she slinked to her seat, cringing as her footwear slap-slap-slapped her heels with each step.

Professor McMean’n’Scary shuffled his papers once then cleared his throat. “Oh, and Miss Miller?”

Frankie looked up, and the cold, deep ocean of his eyes again captured hers. “Yes?”

“Arrive late again and you’re out of my class. The waitlist is a mile long and full of students hoping that someone like you will wash out quickly so they can take your place. I do not tolerate tardiness. Is that clear?” The terse cadence matched the bristly expression, each sentence punctuated by a clench of his clean-shaven jaw .

“Yes. Um, sir.”

“Yes, Professor Clark,” he corrected her with a low rumble.

Her ears flamed with embarrassment, and she wished desperately that her hair flowed loosely around her shoulders to cover them.

“Yes, Professor Clark,” she parroted quietly.

Can the world open up and swallow me already?

He finally released her from his petrifying focus, settled a pair of black-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his aristocratic nose, and resumed the lecture.

Frankie couldn’t focus on a single word he said as she scrambled to pull out her laptop and textbook. Her classmates turned their attention back to the front. Many typed furiously, trying to capture every word the professor said, while others sat back, nodding smugly everything he discussed was common knowledge. She wished she could pull off that level of aloof confidence—pretend or otherwise.

“Let’s examine the cases assigned for today’s reading,” Professor Clark announced loudly, breaking through Frankie’s shame haze.

The what now?

“We will start with Griswold v. Connecticut .”

Assignment? It’s the first day.

He scanned a sheet of paper and said, “Let’s hear from . . .”

No. No no no. Please, anyone but . . .

“Miss Miller.”

Crap .

“What?” Frankie’s stomach dropped, and her cheeks flushed crimson to match her ears. The rustling sound of her classmates turning to watch her crash and burn was deafening.

“Miss Miller, tell us what the holding was for Griswold .” He stepped out from behind the podium and removed his glasses .

“The what?”

“The holding,” he demanded, brows raised expectantly. Again with that bland expression and piercing eyes.

She was dreaming. She had to be. There was no other way to explain this particular brand of humiliation. Unfortunately, an inconspicuous pinch to the thigh did nothing but make her leg hurt. Perhaps she was in hell.

“Miss Miller, are you still with us?” His exasperation showed as he heaved out a sigh.

Around the auditorium, she felt eighty sets of eyes boring into her with intense scrutiny, just waiting for her to say or do . . . something.

“I’m sorry, but I was unaware that we had a reading assignment on the first day.”

“I see,” he clipped, running his tongue over straight, white teeth. Replacing his glasses, he picked up the list again. “Miss Landry, please tell Miss Miller and the rest of your colleagues what the holding was for Griswold .”

“Gladly, Professor Clark,” she purred, wearing a haughty smirk. “In Griswold v. Connecticut the court held that the state of Connecticut violated the 14th Amendment when the state imposed a law that prohibited the use of any form of contraceptive drug or device.”

“And, Mr. Jacobs,” he continued without affirming Miss Landry’s response. “What was the basis of the court’s decision?”

“Well, professor,” a thin redhead of maybe twenty-two began speaking with the same air of cockiness as Miss Landry.

The rapid-fire questions and answers gave Frankie whiplash as she tried to keep up and swallow her panic. She reminded herself that she deserved to be here, and it would take a lot more than a rocky start to scare her away from something she’d worked so hard for.