All Grown Up (13 page)

For a while, silence reigned in the room. Again, a warm fire crackled. Rachel found a pencil and a book of sudoku. Darren brought in a beautiful guitar from his truck and began to sing old ballads.

Annalise rocked slowly, immersing herself in the exquisite, bone-deep peace of holding the tiny body that very quickly went limp against her shoulder. She looked over Butch’s head at his parents. “How do you know what to do?” she asked.

Rachel looked up, nibbling the end of the pencil. “What do you mean?”

“How did you learn to be a mother?”

“Oh, Lord, honey. It’s called trial and error. No two babies are alike. We got lucky on this one, but my best friend has a kid with colic. They haven’t slept in six months. There’s no manual. I call my mother if I really get spooked. And Darren, here, is a rock in the middle of the night when we’re both at our wit’s end. But it all comes down to loving Butch. We do
what
we have to
when
we have to. That’s all there is to parenting. It’s no secret formula.”

Annalise nodded, not that she really understood. It had to be more complicated than that. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be so many awful parents.

Rachel, for all her youth, and she couldn’t be much more than nineteen, seemed mature beyond her years. She eyed Annalise gravely. “Haven’t you ever been around any babies, Miss Annalise?”

“No. Not really. I was the youngest in my family.”

“Are you one of the Wolffs? Darren said he thought he recognized you from your pictures in the paper.”

Oh, hell. Make that
crap.
She couldn’t even give up cussing in her own head. And no matter what she did, she could never escape the notoriety of being a Wolff. “I am. The only girl in the bunch.” She said it lightly, but she wondered what Rachel was thinking.

“It must have been hard…growing up around all that testosterone.”

Annalise grimaced. “You could say that. They couldn’t decide whether to coddle me or to toughen me up.”

Darren stopped playing momentarily, curiosity written on his raw-boned face. “Which won out?”

Annalise thought about it for a moment. She’d never really analyzed how her family treated her, but oddly enough, it dawned on her that it was a mixture of both. “Depends on the day,” she whispered, not wanting to wake the baby. “They act like I’m one of them when it comes to sports or arguing politics. But when we hit on the subject of my adult life and my ability to run it as I see fit, we sometimes break ranks.”

Rachel nodded slowly. “They want to wrap you in cotton. I know the feeling. There are three of us girls, and my daddy thinks we’re still ten years old and wearing pigtails.”

Darren lit into a lullaby, his rough tenor slightly off-key, but pleasing nevertheless. “If I ever have a girl,” he said, pausing as the guitar wandered through the chorus, “it will be the same. Daddies and their daughters have something special.”

Annalise and Rachel laughed, ruefully acknowledging a universal truth.

Rachel stood and reached for the baby. “He’ll go down for the night now. I’d better turn in, too. The little rascal will be up at dawn.”

As Annalise watched, Darren tucked his guitar away and went to put his arm around his wife and son. “Thanks for the hospitality, ma’am. I know Rachel will be glad of the company.”

“Me, too,” Annalise said. “Me, too.”

She went through the house, extinguishing all the lights. Everywhere she looked, she saw Sam. Laughing, frowning, teasing, seducing. He’d filled the house with his charm and his personality, and now, even with the advent of three visitors, the rooms felt empty and forlorn.

Her bedroom was even worse. The second time he’d made love to her was right here…on this mattress, face-to-face. Now, with Sam long gone, it was hard to believe it had happened. Maybe this weekend was all a dream.

She’d fantasized plenty about Sam Ely over the years. And wondered, if she hadn’t thrown herself at him so blatantly, whether she might have had a chance later…when she was older.

Well, she was older now. And Sam…wow. Sam was in his prime. And still unattached. As she climbed into bed, she thought about all the women she had seen him date over the years. Each relationship, no matter how long or short, had broken her heart. And when each one ended, a tiny flicker of hope had valiantly remained lit in her heart.

She had believed, with incredible naïveté, that as long as Sam was still on the market, there was a chance.

Now, thanks to her job, she had stumbled upon her opportunity. She’d been locked up, all alone with Sam for forty-eight hours, give or take a few. And the sparks had flown. So much so, that she felt singed by the fire. She and Sam were sexually compatible, that much was clear. A man couldn’t fake pleasure to that extent. Sam wanted her.

But wanting wasn’t enough.

Though he had begged her to give them a chance—with every seeming evidence of sincerity—his words had to be weighed in the context of forced proximity, sexual excess and the cold light of day. Annalise wanted to say yes…so much that it hurt her chest to hold back. But she had to be strong enough for both of them. Strong enough to say no.

Sam deserved to have his perfect woman. He was too good a man to settle for less than that. And she cared about him too much to begin something that would disappoint him in the end.

* * *

After finally falling into a fitful sleep, she awakened abruptly sometime around 3:00 a.m. Her heart pounding, she listened for whatever sound had disturbed her. Unfortunately, this time she wasn’t going to find Sam huddled in front of the fire trying to get warm.

Pulling on her robe and slippers, she stepped into the hall and saw light coming from beneath the living room door. A baby’s cry disturbed the silence of the sleeping house.

Rachel looked up when Annalise entered the room. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I was trying to calm him in our bedroom. But Darren has so much work to do tomorrow, and he needs his rest.”

Annalise pulled an ottoman close to the rocking chair and sat down. “Don’t be silly. I sometimes prowl around the house at night. Most women I know are light sleepers.”

“I’ve always thought that was God’s way of making us ready for motherhood.”

That one simple statement struck Annalise with the force of a lightning bolt. Could it be that easy? Were women born with an inherent capability for nurturing? She reached for hazy memories of her mother, trying to catch a vision of bedtime songs, snuggly hugs, storybooks read together. Nothing came to mind except an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Why don’t you let me tend to him for the rest of the night? You must be exhausted. If you trust me, that is,” she said hurriedly. “Don’t feel like you have to. I know I’m a stranger.”

Rachel closed her eyes and sighed. “I shouldn’t say yes. Butch is my baby, not yours. But Lord knows, the thought of a few uninterrupted hours of sleep sounds like heaven right now.”

“Then do it. I swear I’ll guard him with my life, and if he’s inconsolable, I’ll come get you.”

“You talked me into it. Let me go change him, and I’ll bring the diaper bag back with me.”

As mom and baby departed, Annalise added logs to the simmering coals in the fireplace, and soon a cheery blaze roared. She dragged the generous-sized sofa in front of the hearth, her cheeks heating as she thought of what she and Sam had done on this very piece of furniture. It was humbling to realize that he lived in her thoughts constantly. Even though he had physically left the premises, the memories remained, tantalizing and vivid.

Butch was still fussing when Rachel returned. She handed Annalise a teether. “Let him suck on the hard side. It might help.” She paused, her nose crinkling. “Are you sure about this? It might be a long night.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Annalise said, taking Butch from her arms. “Consider it a show of support from one woman to another. We females have to stick together.”

Rachel’s grin was tired. “I’ll owe you one.”

When she left, Annalise stared down at Butch. His eyes were puffy from crying. His nose was snotty, and his cheeks were cherry-red. “Poor darlin’. We’ll get by. You’ll see.”

She sat down in the rocker, trying to get him to latch on to the teether, but he was having none of that. At last, she cradled him on her breast, stroking his downy-soft head as he snuffled and squirmed. At least he wasn’t full-out bawling. That might have rattled a novice like Annalise. But this she could handle.

When he simply wouldn’t be still, even with the rocker moving to and fro in a steady motion, Annalise began to sing. An old Billy Joel ballad her father liked, a Sheryl Crow song about soaking up the sun, several Adele numbers. At last little Butch sighed deeply and began to relax.

Annalise’s own eyes were heavy. She wondered why she had always been so scared of this. Rachel was right. Much of it was instinctive. Of course, that was easy to say with the child’s parents just down the hall. It might be a whole different story if she held her own fussy baby.

But then again, with the right man for help and support, how bad could it be?

Idly patting the little boy’s back, she felt the smooth nap of his pajamas. Soft, so soft. And Sam wanted three or four of these. A family, a bulwark against the world, a unit bound by love and belonging.

Soon, Gracie and Gareth’s baby would arrive. Annalise had a feeling that other little ones wouldn’t be far behind. Wolff Mountain would once again echo with childish laughter.

Her hands trembled as a wave of longing swept through her, leaving her spent and weak. She had sent Sam away. Because she was afraid of failing. Failing as a woman. Sam’s kind of woman. Motherhood didn’t offer do-overs. And Sam wanted babies. Plural.

But what if she were wrong? What if her unconventional past was no longer relevant? Sam seemed to like her the way she was. Were her insecurities about her femininity nothing more than habit? What if Annalise Wolff had a maternal instinct despite all odds? And not just that…what if she had the ability to be the kind of woman Sam needed, the kind of woman who trusted in herself, believed in herself and opened her heart to share love?

Butch was sound asleep now, his tiny snore a miracle in itself. Carefully, she stood, moving toward the sofa. Laying him down for a brief instant, she stoked the fire and replaced the screen. Grabbing the pile of covers she had gathered earlier, she eased down oh-so-carefully, positioning her body with her back to the fire and Butch tucked carefully between her and the back cushion.

Their little nest was surprisingly comfortable. She wanted to savor the experience, to file it away to pull out and remember on another day. But her eyes were heavy, and she succumbed to sleep.

Twelve

S
am wasn’t worth a damn when he got back from the country. It was business as usual in his office Monday morning, and for the first time in years he didn’t care about any of it. The interns were patently disappointed to see him. They had been looking forward to their sanctioned reign. Too bad the weather hadn’t cooperated and kept Sam stranded.

The late January warm-up and a dose of undiluted sunshine appeared to be making everyone happy and cheerful. Everyone but Sam. A man known for his easygoing disposition, he shocked himself and most of his staff by snapping and growling. At last he resorted to hiding out in his inner office to keep from doing bodily harm to anyone who dared cross him.

He ached with missing Annalise. Memories of their lovemaking taunted him, keeping him hard and frustrated. The days and nights he’d spent with her seemed like a dream…except for the fact that he could still smell her perfume on his clothes.

Like a lovesick schoolboy, he’d kept those flannel shirts out of the laundry hamper, unable to erase her presence from his life. She was difficult and challenging and sexy as hell. More than any woman he had ever known, Annalise Wolff satisfied the hunger in him, a need that was as much emotional as physical.

The only thing keeping him sane was the knowledge that on Wednesday morning she would be coming back to the city, and he’d at least be able to see her at the office. Thank God for Darren and his crew.

From the moment Sam drove away from the farm, his brain had wrestled with a problem that had no answer. For years he’d been trying to find the perfect woman, the one who would give him his perfect family. And now, in one of fate’s perverse games of chance, he’d fallen in love with the one woman who not only didn’t trust him, but who also was the antithesis of everything he thought he wanted.

He could move on…keep looking for a suitable candidate. The trouble was, he was pretty sure he couldn’t live without Annalise Wolff. Which meant he had some big decisions to make. He’d give her until Wednesday evening to miss him, and then he was going to claim what was his.

Annalise loved him. He had to believe that. Because the alternative was simply unacceptable.

* * *

Annalise loved having the Harrells underfoot. The house buzzed with noise and laughter, Darren measured and crawled into the basement and ordered parts. Rachel cooked and entertained the baby, and was well on the way to being a new, honest-to-goodness friend. Annalise felt comfortable around her. And despite their differences in lifestyle and finances, Rachel was not intimidated by Annalise.

Monday, before dinner, something odd struck Annalise. So much so that she marched into the kitchen and asked, “It only now occurred to me that you took over the meal preparation duties when you arrived. Not that I mind…I’ve loved it, but how did that happen? You don’t strike me as the kind of woman who would waltz in and take over someone else’s kitchen.”

Butch was tucked into a high chair gobbling Cheerios. Rachel’s face turned pink. “Well, um…”

“Spill it, woman, I won’t bite.”

Rachel shrugged. “Mr. Ely pulled me aside and asked me, soon after we arrived. He said you couldn’t cook and that you were self-conscious about it. He didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“I see.” Annalise digested that, feeling a little fillip of warmth in her chest. Sam really was a gentleman. But it seemed thoughtfulness was simply his default setting. It didn’t mean he cared about Annalise. “Well, he’s right. About the not cooking, I mean. Carry on with my blessing and my gratitude.”

“Do you not like to cook?” Rachel asked, her gentle smile curious.

“It’s a long story. And pretty boring. Let’s just chalk it up to growing up with in an all-male household.”

“I get it. The culinary arts weren’t high on the list.”

“More like repairing foreign cars and learning to fly a helicopter.”

Rachel’s eyes rounded. “You can really do that?”

“Yeah. If someone put a gun to my head. My father and uncle use one for both business and pleasure. I stopped riding in it a long time ago…and have lobbied fiercely for them to get rid of it. But no one listens to me.”

“Wow. You’re really something, Annalise. I’m glad we got to know each other.”

The compliment was heartfelt, sincere. Annalise accepted it as such, realizing with a sort of dazed puzzlement that perhaps other people were not as dismissive of her accomplishments as she was.

Clearing her throat of some emotion that constricted her words, she said, “Thank you. You’re pretty amazing, as well.”

* * *

By the time Wednesday morning arrived, Annalise had a good grasp of which rooms would require the most work and which furniture needed to be donated, pending Mrs. Ely’s approval. The weather was fabulous, and though the ground was muddy in the wake of the snowmelt, it felt good to be outside.

After breakfast, in preparation for leaving, she wandered the perimeter of the house, trying to imagine Sam and his mythical family staying there. Already she hated the woman in the picture. Annalise wanted to be her.

She stopped dead, her toes curling in her borrowed rubber boots as the truth hit her.
Holy hell. She wanted to have Sam’s babies. All of them…however many the good Lord chose to send their way.

Swaying on her feet, she told herself to snap out of it. Sam didn’t want her. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He enjoyed her body.
He enjoyed her body
. That’s all it was. Sex. Plain and simple.

Only, with Sam, sex was the furthest thing from simple. It was world-altering, unprecedented. In his arms, she felt complete, she felt feminine, desired. And that feeling of fulfillment allowed her for the first time in her life to see another choice, another way.

Sam had opened the door to possibilities. Had practically begged her to take a chance, to be the daring, adventuresome woman the world thought she was. Sprawled in his bed after their last, erotic shower, he had laid his cards on the table.
Are you willing to take a chance that we’ve been too blind to see the truth?
Sam had been brave enough to take the first step, to initiate a shift toward something far more profound even than physical pleasure.

But she had fallen into old habits of self-protection. And in doing so, had sent him away. Afraid to be hurt again, terrified of the idea of bringing children into the world. Scared that Sam would look at her with disappointment and regret. She deserved the pain that made her chest ache with grief too deep for tears.

She might have been brought up in a household of men, true. And yes, she had many skills not typically regarded as “womanly.” But Sam liked her the way she was. He’d said so on more than one occasion. And surprisingly, he’d taught her to see herself as he did…and to accept and appreciate what she saw.

A man like that was rare and wonderful. So it was about time she got her act together and went after him.

* * *

A couple of hours later, she stopped at a Walmart in a suburb outside of Charlottesville. It was a safe choice, with little likelihood that she would run into anyone she knew. Jittery and anxious, she knew she wouldn’t be able to tolerate small talk. Plus, she didn’t want to have to explain what she was doing.

Grabbing a shopping cart, feeling more than a little self-conscious, she headed for the housewares department and began throwing things in the basket. Twenty-five minutes later, she scoured the grocery aisles. All in all, “Project Sam” took just under an hour.

She shook her head in self-derision as she headed back out to her car. Grand gestures were more expensive than she realized. It was a good thing she had money to burn. Which reminded her, she needed to send Rachel and Darren a really nice baby gift, even if it was a bit belated.

When she arrived in Charlottesville, her condo welcomed her with stale air and half-dead plants. She’d forgotten to water them…again. For a moment, the old insecurity surfaced. How could she take care of a baby? She’d been reared by a bad mother for a brief period of her life, and then no mother at all. Her formative years had been influenced by air rifles, fist fights and playing army ambush in the forest surrounding Wolff Castle.

Her brain whirled while, on autopilot, she put away the cold groceries and unloaded her luggage from the car. After her fourth trip, she shook her head in disgust. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe she
was
high-maintenance. It had never been a problem. Her father had indulged her every wish. But in any situation when a baby came into the picture, everything had to change.

She didn’t want to think of herself as a selfish person. Charity, both via her checkbook and her volunteer hours, was important to her. And she cared deeply about her family. But being a mother was so much more. It involved self-sacrifice and a consistent determination to put another person’s needs first.

Could she be that woman for Sam? For herself? For a newborn?

She sat down hard, clutching a bag of flour. Terror and exhilaration squeezed her chest in equal measures. Suddenly, the future taunted her with bright possibilities. But she was not so naive as to ignore the flip side of the coin. If she tried to change and failed, the consequences were unthinkable.

* * *

Sam left work Wednesday night before 6:00 p.m. His relatively prompt homecoming was such an anomaly, he knew he was in trouble. All day, he had imagined Annalise in her car, driving the interstate, heading back to him.

His hand shook as he put a key in the lock of his loft-turned-condo. All he wanted during the next half hour was a shower, a change of clothes and a few quiet minutes to decide if the plan he was contemplating was total suicide.

As soon as he opened the door, he groaned inwardly, cursing life’s capricious sense of humor. His mother was in residence, God help him.

“Hi, sweet pea,” she said, enveloping him in a cloud of Obsession, a tight hug and a Southern accent so thick it took him back in time for an instant.

“Mom,” he said, grimacing inwardly and fiercely regretting that he had ever given her a key. “What are you doing here?” He loved her dearly, but after he’d hit his mid-thirties, she’d been at DEFCON 1 in her campaign to marry him off. Her pop-in visits, often with some co-conspirator in tow, were usually poorly disguised matchmaking attempts.

Charlaine Ely smiled broadly, clad in a stylish winter suit that belied her age. “Can’t a momma visit her baby? Come in the kitchen and see Daphne. You’re gonna love what she’s fixin’ for us.”

* * *

Annalise had broken her New Year’s Eve resolution so many times and in so many ways, she probably should have her mouth washed out with soap. Cooking was damned hard. The FCC needed to take a bunch of those Cooking Channel chefs to court for false advertising.

At long last, her creation was finished. She stared at the cake on her trashed kitchen counter with misgivings. Although it was supposed to be round and two-layered, it had ended up more of a free-form shape with a distinct dip in the middle. Disguising it the best she could with icing, she finally gave up and decided it was the thought that counted. The cake was resting on a cardboard circle she’d bought when she got the groceries. Hell, she didn’t even own any Tupperware. She’d had to buy a knockoff.

Getting the cake into the carrier was a bit like forcing a beloved pet into a cage for a trip to the vet. The cake didn’t want to go. In the end, she had to use her bare hands, which unfortunately meant ripping off part of the icing in the process, and thus having to make another half batch to cover up her boo-boos.

She decided to clean up the kitchen when she got back. Nobody was going to be around to see the disaster anyway. Her outfit was ruined, so she dashed into the bedroom and grabbed a pair of designer jeans and a winter-white cashmere turtleneck. One dash of eyeliner, a fillip of mascara and a swish of lip gloss, and she was ready. High-maintenance indeed.

The trip to Sam’s condo was less than ten miles, but the drive felt like it took an eternity. She hadn’t exactly worked out what she was going to say when she saw him. She was hoping that her peace offering and perhaps some quick and kinky sex might ease the way.

Tapping her fingers on the steering wheel as she idled at a red light, her thighs quivered and her breasts grew heavy and tight as she contemplated his welcome.
Please, God, don’t let him be mad.

He was well within his rights to be furious. The last time they’d been together, he’d asked
her
to ask
him
to stay. But instead of meeting his overture halfway, she had practically shoved him out the door in a futile effort to prove to herself that she didn’t need Sam.

What an idiot she was.

Thank God she had come to her senses. But what if it was too late? The prospect of seeing condemnation in his eyes—disgust, even—shriveled her soul. Sam’s opinion mattered to her. It always had. Which was why she was prepared to grovel today if necessary. She had a big speech to make and she wanted desperately for it to go well. Maybe Sam would be in a forgiving mood.

Ruefully, she realized that the last time she had been this nervous was the evening she propositioned Sam when she was twenty-one. That day had ended in disaster. Though her stomach clenched and twisted, she refused to dwell on the negative. Sam cared about her. And this time, she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he wanted her sexually.

Relationships were founded on far less all the time. But she had really screwed up with Sam.

Was he going to believe the truth? That she had changed her entire world view on the basis of one magical weekend? That she was willing to consider the possibility of a grown-up relationship…of children?

She found a parking spot on the street, got out on shaky legs and locked the car with a flip of the button on the door. Unfortunately, her keys were on the seat beside the cake box.

Damn, damn, damn…

She would
not
cry. Tears were girly and weak and unworthy of her new resolve. Thankfully, she had her cell phone in her hand. She called her automobile club service, and because she was downtown, the helpful service tech was at her side in fifteen minutes.