Fayette-A Time to Laugh
The greatest passion of Flora McAdams’ life has always been her love of animals. From girlhood she has made it her passion to care for orphaned wild creatures and ailing family pets in the pig iron town of Fayette. Now, at age eighteen, she has no lack of four-footed patients needing her skill, and no time or thought for romance, until a quiet Norwegian machinist comes to town.
Sven Jorgensen hoped his first encounter with the feisty Flora McAdams would be his last. Whether at the village vegetable garden or the town racetrack, he can’t seem to avoid her. But time works miracles. After watching her transform neglected and homeless canines into healthy, loving pets, his thoughts of her are altered as well. Can he somehow convince her that he has more than friendship in mind for their future? ISBN 0-923048-90-1 Trade Paperback; 240 pages; $14.
Great Lakes Romances
Great Lakes Romances
Fayette--A Time to Laugh
Wednesday, September 3, 1879
Preoccupied with her intention to fill her baskets with fresh vegetables at the village garden on Furnace Hill, eighteen-year-old Flora McAdams didn’t miss her copper-colored dog, Stubby, until she heard an angry shout from the Machine Shop nearby.
“Get out, you miserable mutt!”
She turned just in time to see a scowling machinist snap an oily rag at Stubby’s nose.
He yelped in pain and scurried back to her, tail down.
Fury rose within. “Good glory! Can’t you see he’s an old dog that wouldn’t hurt a flea?”
The machinist, a stranger to her, crossed his arms on his homespun vest, his chiseled countenance and cold, blue-gray eyes casting a clear message of condemnation. Then he turned and disappeared inside, his wavy light-brown hair tousled by the lake breeze that chased after his svelte, five-foot-ten-inch frame.
Flora set down her baskets to comfort Stubby, then told him to sit and stay. Pushing back her hat, the straw one with the notch in the brim that a cat had bitten off, she strode into the noisy shop. Ignoring Louis Follo, the machinist she’d known for quite some time, she headed straight for the dog-loathing fellow. Coming to a halt one foot from his face, she stood as erect as her five-foot-four-inch height would allow and shook her finger at him, shouting, “Don’t you ever hit my dog again! Is that clear?”
Grasping her firmly by the elbow, he escorted her out the door despite her foot-dragging. “No dogs allowed. Women, either. Too dangerous,” he insisted, his Scandinavian-accented words calm but indisputable. With a dip of his head, he turned to go.
Flora watched his determined stride carry his lean, but solid, form and straight shoulders into the shop once more. She followed on his heels and tapped him on the shoulder, letting loose the moment he faced her. “You ought to be kinder to animals, especially dogs. One of them will turn on you and tear you apart one of these days if you keep snapping at them the way you did. Then you’ll be sorry!”
His rugged countenance darkened. “Dogs are nuisance, distraction. Like you. Now, go!”
He reached for her but she backed all the way to the door. “You’ll be sorry, mark my words!” She spun away, exiting, head high.