The country and land near the shores of the Great Lake were stunning, even with their white covering. Tall trees of all varieties reached up to the blue sky. Though the snow had stopped, the massive accumulation of lake-effect snow now appeared as tall white walls on the sides of plowed roads, ones that were barely wide enough for two-way traffic.
Following in Van’s truck’s tracks, I scolded myself for not accepting his offer of a ride to his house. If it weren’t for the tracks from his truck, barreling through the snow that had blown back onto the roads, I was skeptical as to whether the car I rented would be able to proceed.
Once we’d passed through Washburn, a quaint little city even smaller than Ashland, we were back onto narrow roads in wilderness. If I chose to stay in this area, for the job or any other offer, it would take me some time to get used to the difference between here and the city of Chicago.
Gone were the big buildings and traffic jams.
The road I was following wound through the tall trees until we arrived at a lane with an open gate, leading to what I assumed was Donovan Sherman’s home. Following his truck, I drove up a winding, inclined lane. My mouth opened as I stared through the windshield, taking in the huge structure. By its sheer size alone, I wondered if at one point this had been a hotel or bed and breakfast. At the same time, it appeared modern with a lot of windows and a combination stone and wood-sided exterior.
With the rental car parked on the cleared wide driveway, I stepped from the car and lifted my face to the massive structure. Pulling my down jacket around me, I stuffed my hands into the pockets to shield myself from the cold. I turned slowly all the way around, taking in the way the structure surrounded three sides of the driveway.
The closing of Van’s truck door echoed from the garages on my left. I turned, noticing how different he appeared from the night I met him. His mountain-man clothing was replaced with his custom-fitted suit and covered by a double-breasted wool coat. Instead of boots he wore leather loafers that clipped upon the concrete as he walked toward me from one of the double garages, the one where he’d just parked his truck. His orange hat was nowhere to be seen, and his gelled dark mane blew in the breeze.
I took in the other two double garage doors. Both sides of the structure were two stories, the center was three. Turning, it appeared as if the middle structure was the main house with another wing to the right and one to the left.
“This is a lot of house for one man.”
“I suppose it is.”
Van placed his hand in the small of my back. “Come with me and let me show you around.”
“Said the spider to the fly,” I mumbled as the pressure of his too-familiar touch brought thoughts of another part of our agreement to mind.
Without replying, Van led me up the front stone porch to the large entry. The door before us was easily five feet taller than Van. It was odd to see him appear dwarfed. That hadn’t happened in the cabin or Mr. Fields’s office. He turned the large knob and pushed the door inward.
We entered a foyer with a high ceiling and a uniquely beautiful lighting fixture above. To one side was an elegant built-in hall tree. It wasn’t the kind that was freestanding, but rather integrated ornate woodwork, easily six feet wide with a bench, storage areas, and hooks. There was a louvered door to the right. Van opened it, offering to take my coat and hang it in the front closet. As he hung my outer coat and his, I peered at what was awaiting me beyond this enclosed entry, my curiosity piqued.
The house was blockaded by an exquisite set of tall French doors, the interior distorted by the leaded-glass panels. Van’s hand was again on my lower back as he opened the French doors.
I wasn’t unaccustomed to the finer things in life. The home where I was raised in Lincoln Park had been in our family for two generations. My mother’s parents, the son of her grandfather who founded Wade Pharmaceutical, purchased the home for nearly half a million. Fifty years later it was easily worth ten million. The six-bedroom limestone structure was every bit as grand as it had been when it first came to our family.
However, as Van opened the front door and we stepped inside, I was impressed with the understated elegance I saw before me. The floor plan, as well as the furnishings, was the perfect combination of opulent and rustic. The tiled entry within gave way to glistening wood floors, open rounded archways to both sides, and a large room beyond with pillars. The staircase curved upward to the second-story landing and beyond to a third story. Both levels and the staircase had railings and a banister with a shiny wood handrail and wrought-iron railing spindles.
“As you can see,” he said, “there’s plenty of space.”
Making my way beyond the entry, I saw the main level was open and spacious. I was drawn into the large living room and over to the wall of windows peering out over the bay. The water was frosted by snow, covering the ice under the tranquil sky. “This view is lovely.”
“It’s a bit different from Chicago’s skyline.”
I nodded, still mesmerized by the pristine snow covering.
“I appreciate the isolation,” Van said.
Turning one way and the next, I searched for other homes. “How much land do you have?”
“Not as much as I’d like.”
A smile tugged at my lips. “Earlier you said you want more power. Now you want more land. Will you ever have enough?”
He inhaled as he shrugged. “I suppose some see it as greed, but that’s not how I see it.” His eyes moved from me to the beautiful scene beyond the windows. “I’m also not unsatisfied. I believe that the quest for more and better is because there is always something more, something newer, a fresh challenge. I think that living a life without the need for the next step would be uninspired. What would be the point of waking without a goal for each day?”
“Some people set satisfaction as their end goal. Once they achieve it, they enjoy it.”
Van shook his head as he turned to me. “It’s the pursuit I enjoy.”
“So if I had agreed to marry you, I’d no longer be enjoyable? You’d want to move on to another?”
“No, Julia, that isn’t what I said. You see, having you agree to marry me would be the first step in our relationship. I would pursue you to have more, better, the unknown, and even the unobtainable.” He started to reach for my cheeks; before he did, Van pulled his hands back and straightened his lips. “Let me show you around more.”
I reached for his hand; the warmth radiated from him to me. “What were you going to say?”
He squeezed my hand and let our connection sever. “It’s irrelevant.”
“Tell me anyway.”
The ends of Van’s lips curled. “One day, Miss McGrath. Currently, you agreed to an employer-employee relationship. It would be highly inappropriate for me to tell you what I was thinking while under those titles.”
My grin blossomed on my face. “Perhaps you should share your human resource officer’s name with me. I may need to make a complaint.”
“If you take this position, you won’t be employed by Sherman and Madison Corporation or any of its subsidiaries. I’m afraid the agreement will be strictly between you and me.”
“If I have a complaint?”
“Bring it to me,” he said.
“And if you are unsatisfied with my work?”