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, because she had 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 admiring the 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 have been 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.
Frankie wrinkled her nose at the train of her thoughts, annoyed that she was so obsessed with this man”s stunning good looks. Lusting after this man was the last thing she needed and was not what she was here for. That path was just a distraction.
”What”s that look for?”
Frankie blinked as John”s deep voice cut through her convoluted thoughts. Her eyes snapped to his. ”I beg your pardon?” She almost cringed at the smoky sound of her voice.
Get it together, Frankie!
He pointed a finger at her, making a circle motion in the air. ”Your face just squinched up. What was that for?”
”Oh. Uh…” She licked her lips, wondering if she should just barrel into the truth or make up a story. She opted for truth. ”I was just thinking that you”re not what I expected.”
His eyes narrowed as he watched her over his whiskey glass, then he took a slow sip, his gaze never leaving hers. ”What did you expect?” he asked after a long pause.
Her mouth twisted to the side. ”Well, considering there”s only a handful of sentences about you on the internet and absolutely no photos, I assumed you”d be an old grump with a hunchback suffering from a nasty case of gout, and maybe even a hairy wart or two on your nose. You know—the type of person who typically shies away from the camera.”
John”s laughter boomed throughout the room. ”That sounds attractive.”
”Yes, well.” Frankie lifted a delicate shoulder. ”Most of the information I gathered was from word of mouth, and those people had never met you in person. They had only spoken to you on the phone. But none of that matters. It’s the mission that is most important to me. The fact that you”re probably the most incredibly handsome man I”ve ever met is irrelevant.”
She gasped and covered her mouth when she realized she”d said that last part out loud. She squeezed her eyes shut when his gaze lit with unmistakable mirth and his deep chuckle echoed through the room. ”Please tell me I didn”t say that out loud.”
”Oh, you definitely did.” He paused for a moment. ”But…”
Frankie peered at him through one squinted eye. ”But?” she encouraged after his silence lingered.
”But I”d be lying if I said you weren”t the most beautiful woman I”ve ever laid eyes on.”
Frankie nearly choked at his admission. That path was dangerous.
”And I”d also be lying,” he continued, “if I said that I haven”t daydreamed every moment of the last two hours of taking you into that bedroom and finding out just how many different ways I could make you scream.”
Frankie”s mouth dropped open while heat bloomed deep in her belly. No man had ever talked to her like that, and while she knew she should be offended, she absolutely loved it. Maybe she was a little more like Sharon than she’d care to admit.
She held his gaze, locking on the smoldering desire clear in his deep blue stare, flustered and uncertain what to say to that. ”Well, then.” It wasn”t often when someone rendered her speechless.
He threw her a brash grin. ”Yes, well then.”
The cheeky American. Sharon would absolutely adore him.
She cleared her throat and with a monumental effort, changed the subject. ”I brought something with me from London that might interest you.”
His skeptical grunt was her only answer, but his gaze never left hers.
”We have more in common than you may realize,” she remarked. “A passion for the environment is in your blood, your DNA, handed down to you from your forefathers. That same passion is also in my blood.
“In the summer of 1950, my grandmother traveled to America before she was to be wed. She visited many areas around this country, but it was in Wisconsin where she found her passion for restoring forests damaged during the war.”
His eyebrows jumped, but he remained quiet as he sipped his whiskey. In that small movement, she knew she had his attention.
Frankie held up the journal and waved it in the air. ”She recorded her travels in here and wrote about arriving in a small town in northern Wisconsin where she ran into a man while on a hike. In fact, the majority of this journal is about her time here.”
A muscle in John”s cheek moved, but still he said nothing, still pinning her with that heated gaze. In fact, if it weren”t for that telltale twitch, she”d have thought he didn”t care.
”The man”s name was Ben Robbins, and he claimed to be the conservator of these forests. That summer, this man, who I believe was your grandfather, taught her everything he knew about the environment and inspired her work in the field.”
Frankie watched, fascinated, as John”s face transformed, his eyes widening and mouth going slack. She held her breath as he slowly sat upright, his spine rigid. ”Are you telling me your grandmother was Meredith Blake?”
It was Frankie”s turn to be dumbfounded. How in the world could this man whom she had never met before, who hadn”t known she even existed only hours earlier, know her grandmother”s name? Meredith Blake was a celebrity in certain scientific circles, but mostly in the UK environmental groups. In America, she would just be another British activist.
Her tongue flicked out as she wet her lips before she gave him a quick nod. ”Yes, she was my grandmother. How do you know her name?”
His head tilted to the side as his gaze narrowed and his brow furrowed, as if contemplating something. After several interminable moments, he stood and moved to the large walnut bookcase across the room. His finger ran across the spines of several books before landing on a narrow black spine cobwebbed with cracks from both age and use.
He pulled it from the shelf then turned with a lopsided smile, emphasizing the groove in his cheek. ”It does indeed look like we have more in common than meets the eye,” he said as he dropped onto the sofa next to her, his weight causing her to lean toward him.
She watched, fascinated as John thumbed to a page in the middle that held a fragile, pressed daisy and began to read out loud:
July 10, 1950
What is that word you use when it seems like the universe drops something into your lap? When you meet someone who you know, in your gut, is important to you, but you don”t know why? Serendipity? Fate?
The woman was a real beauty. This tall brunette was all attitude and confidence as she strode from between the trees like the goddess Artemis herself. She claimed to be on a hike, but it was obvious she was lost. Not surprising since she was from England.
But I knew at that moment I had met my soulmate.
Frankie stared at the black, worn journal in John”s large hands—it was so much like the one she held in her own grasp. Both describing the love of nature and a tale of star-crossed lovers. She took several calming breaths, but it was several moments before she could speak. ”That was your grandfather”s journal? Describing the day he met my grandmother?”
The slight dip of his chin was his answer, his indigo eyes smoldering with some intense emotion, a muscle in his cheek twitching. She wanted to trace her finger along that plane.
”So you know? That our grandparents not only knew each other, but that they also fell in love?”
”I know the story, yes. But I had no idea that woman was your grandmother. How could I have known that? We”ve only just met.”
Frankie lifted a shoulder and barked out a sarcastic laugh. ”How indeed? Talk about serendipitous meetings.” She met his gaze. ”It was on a hike nearby where they met, yes?”
Again, he gave only an affirmative nod.
”She wrote about meeting a man who was tending his maple lines, which she described as a spider web-like network that spread out through the trees. It was that experience, that summer she spent with your grandfather, that inspired her work to restore the forests of England. She became a powerful voice for the movement.”
”I know,” John answered, his voice full of awe. ”My grandfather bought every book she ever published. Kept a folder with every article she was featured in. It drove my grandmother nuts that he was so obsessed with a woman halfway across the globe.”
Their eyes held for what felt like an eternity. “Tell me something,” he finally muttered.
She lifted her brows, waiting for his question.
“When your grandmother returned to England, she married your grandfather right away, yes?”
“Not right away. They were married three months after her return.”
His eyes narrowed, his body imperceptibly tensing. “When was their first child born?”
“My father was born two years later, in 1952. Why do you ask?”
John’s lips curled up in a satisfied smile, his body visibly relaxing. “No reason.” He dropped a hand between them and turned it up, his fingers widespread. Biting her lip, Frankie carefully fitted her palm to his. They sat side-by-side, gazes held and fingers threaded together, bonded by their connection in history.
John squeezed her hand lightly, staring at their clasp. ”I”ll help you any way I can. What do you want to know?”
A huge smile stretched across Frankie”s face. ”Everything.”