Page 5 of Lumberjack John
"How are we n… not slipping?" she asked slowly. "I was all over the road and it's worse now."
"I have chains on the tires. It's the only thing that works on ice." He pressed a button on the steering wheel and the sound of ringing filled the cab.
"John?" a desperate voice answered. "Any luck?"
Frankie blinked. John? As in John Robbins? She couldn't have gotten that lucky.
"I found her," he answered. "She went off the road about four miles from my place. The car will need a tow when the storm is over. I have no idea how she got all the way out there, but we're heading back to my cabin." He glanced at her, his eyes scanning her in a quick inventory. "She's somewhat hypothermicbut responding quickly to the survival blanket. I'll get her in a warm bath when we get home and have her eat. I'll radio you if there's a problem."
"That's great, John. Good work." Ranger Brooks' voice was flooded with relief. "I'll let the sheriff and Maysie know."
John disconnected the call as they made a left down a path so narrow it couldn’t be considered a road. It was nearly impossible to spot from the road. Frankie rolled her eyes and scoffed softly. She had driven past that spot several times and never thought to try it. It was no wonder she’d missed it.
"What was that sound for?" John asked, the hood of his jacket shifting as he shot her another look. She realized she still hadn't gotten a good glimpse of his face.
"You're John Robbins, yeah? And this is the turnoff for your cabin? I drove past it at least a dozen times. I don't know how anyone can get around in this bloody place."
His deep chuckle filled the cab. She smiled despite herself. The sound was soothing and cozy, like a warm shepherd's pie. "Locals don't even think about it. We just know where to turn."
"Hmm. Or perhaps you do it deliberately to keep the riff raff away."
"It wouldn't be the first time." The truck stopped. "Here we are. You stay put. I'll come around to get you."
Frankie’s gaze rested on the charming cabin perched on a small rise. It resembled a picture-perfect Christmas card. Just as Ranger Brooks had described, it was nestled in a copse of dense pine trees, so protected it could easily be missed if you weren't looking for it. The truck's headlights illuminated a covered porch that ran along the front of the house, complete with several rocking chairs. It was an ideal place to enjoy a morning or afternoon tea.
Her door opened, and he reached over to unbuckle her seatbelt, again scooping her up as if she weighed nothing. He paused for a moment. "Grab your bag."
Frankie commanded her arms to respond and was pleasantly surprised when they moved. She reached down and snagged her backpack, hugging it to her midsection as he scaled the stairs, two at a time. He hunched slightly and muttered in her ear, "Grab the doorknob for me, would you?" She turned the knob as he pushed the door open with his foot, and Frankie nearly moaned with delight at the decadent warmth that enveloped them. A soft woof greeted them from a large cushion in the far corner of the room.
"Oh, a dog! How cute." The huge chocolate lab thumped its tail against the floor and lumbered to its feet, winding slowly toward them in greeting.
The entire room gave the impression of a luxury whiskey commercial or an exclusive resort in the Scottish Highlands—a roaring fire in a large stone fireplace, a rich, brown reclining chair with a sturdy wooden side table that held a book and a half-full whiskey glass, a huge umber couch with large fluffy blankets tossed over the back, and an open kitchen with a pot bubbling on the stove. Frankie didn't care about the cliches inundating her, because in that moment it all looked like paradise.
John set Frankie on her feet. "Are you steady enough?" he asked, his deep voice rumbling in her bones. "Or do you need to sit?"
"I'm feeling much better now. But I should probably sit down." She slumped into the closest leather chair, trying to keep the pressure off her screaming bladder. The last thing she wanted to reveal was that she desperately needed to use the loo.
The dog ambled over and gazed at her with adoration, its tail swinging back and forth in greeting. "Good boy, Angus." John gave the dog a rub of the ears before he disappeared down ahallway. "You keep an eye on her for me. Okay, buddy?" he called out over his shoulder. “I’ll just be a minute.”
Frankie held her hand to the dog, who sniffed her fingers lightly then pushed his head into her hands. "Oh, you're a sweetie, aren't you?" she crooned, running her fingers over his soft fur.
A few moments later, John strode back into the room. "Come with me," he urged. She still couldn't see much of his face other than the dark, close-cropped beard covering a firm jaw.
"Let's get you into the bathtub. Hopefully it’ll warm you up enough to ward off any hypothermia." He drew her up from the chair and ushered her down the short hallway.
"Oh, that sounds lovely," Frankie commented, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other as she swayed into first the doorframe and then the wall. She couldn't remember the last time she’d been so clumsy.
John pushed open the door at the end of the hallway and stood aside ushering her into the room with a slight bow of his head. Frankie gasped softly at the contrasted opulence. It was the type of bathroom showcased in television shows of the rich and famous, not something she’d imagine in a Wisconsin backwoods cabin.
"This is incredible," she breathed as she stared at the oversized, white, clawfoot tub in the corner juxtaposed against the dark slate stone floor and wood-planked walls. The sound of rushing water echoed in the cavernous space and steam curled above the tub like silken clouds. It felt like a misty dream given where she’d been just a short time ago.
John knelt and tapped her leg. "Let's get these shoes and socks off. You’ll probably have a tough time doing it yourself right now."
A nervous bubble of laughter erupted from her as she braced her hands on his shoulders, noting the hard, bulging musclesbeneath her fingertips. "You're right about that." She was suddenly grateful she'd shaved her legs the night before as he slid off her shoe and rolled the soggy sock down until it slipped off and fell to the floor with a wet splat. She planted her foot and gasped at the heat radiating up from the floor. "Oh my god, this is amazing! What is this?"
"Heated flooring." He tapped her other leg, and she lifted the foot obediently. "The water isn't too hot, just enough to ward off the chill," he said as he tipped his head toward the heavenly tub.
With both feet planted, she leaned her head back and hummed at the bliss as the warmth traveled up her body. "Or I could just splay out on this floor. I bet that would take care of me."
