All Grown Up (3 page)

As he returned to the house, a rush of warm air greeted him along with the sound of Adele’s voice filling the hallways at high volume. He found Annalise singing along, oblivious to his entrance as she bent over the kitchen table, arranging two place mats at perfect angles and aligning silverware.

It shouldn’t have surprised him to see a high-end iPod dock. Those suitcases had been heavy enough to contain a whole range of electronics.

He waved an arm, hoping to catch her peripheral vision, but she jumped anyway, clutching her chest. “You scared me.” She turned the volume down several notches. “Are you ready to eat?”

He was still wearing his jacket, which was now really wet, so he hung it over a chair and put the chair near a vent. Annalise set an opened beer and a bowl of tomato soup in front of him and added a small plate laden with a sad-looking grilled cheese. It wasn’t exactly burnt, but she had used too much cheese, and the excess had leaked out the side and turned crispy brown.

She hovered until he took a bite of each offering. Then in silence, she brought her own dishes to the table and sat down. With the heat from the stove, the room was finally warm. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam watched her eat. She had tied her hair back in a thick ponytail, revealing a neck begging to be nibbled by some lucky man.

Sam took a swig of beer, swallowed and set the bottle on the table with a muffled
thunk.
Leaning back in his chair, he stared at her. “So tell me, Annalise. Is there some guy back in Charlottesville who’s going to be missing you while you’re away?”

She gave him a wary, sideways glance. “I’m not seeing anyone at the moment. I’ve been slammed at work, and frankly, the last man I went out with was a little too needy. I don’t have time for all that romantic crap.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Crap?”

“You know. Texting twenty times a day. Long dinners and hand-holding in the park. Seriously, the man was a walking Hallmark card.”

Sam grinned. “A lot of women like that kind of thing.”

Annalise frowned at him. “I don’t cook and I’m not into romance. Anything else you want to find fault with?”

“Calm down, Princess. I’m not criticizing. I happen to think you’re a fantastically talented person. I was impressed with the way you organized that carnival for the new school in Burton.” The Wolff family was in the process of funding and building a brand-new school at the foot of Wolff Mountain so the K-8 students wouldn’t have to be bussed so far away.

She narrowed her gaze as if trying to discern sarcasm in his words. “I thought I saw you there.”

“I didn’t speak to you because you were so busy. Like a general in charge of an army. Everything went smoothly as far as I could see.”

She nodded, pleasure lighting her face. “The community wanted to be able to invest in the school project financially. And they did…in a big way. The carnival raised a ton of grassroots money.”

“You juggle a lot of balls simultaneously. I’ve noticed that about you.” His office and Annalise’s were in the same building in downtown Charlottesville. They rarely crossed paths during the day, but they ran in the same social circles and often attended the same charitable events.

“I like to stay busy,” she said. She stood and began taking dirty dishes to the sink. Sam had insisted on installing a dishwasher for his grandmother a long time ago, and had even rigged it so that it was virtually unnoticeable in the period kitchen. Annalise loaded the plates and utensils with brisk, efficient movements.

When she was done, she wiped her hands on a gingham dish towel and leaned back against the counter. “Can we do the tour now? I’m eager to get started.”

Sam swallowed hard and wished he hadn’t finished his beer. Was she doing it on purpose, or was he simply reading into her words his own sexual agenda. “Fine,” he croaked.

Annalise grabbed a pen and notebook from the sideboard—she’d obviously been jotting ideas while he’d labored in the snow. “Where do we begin?”

He sighed inwardly, only now beginning to realize what he’d signed on for. Cabin fever, most definitely. And an unfortunately unrequited dose of healthy lust and attraction.

They walked room to room as Sam talked and Annalise scribbled frantically. Once, peeking over her shoulder, he grinned to see that her handwriting resembled a doctor’s…sharp and dark and illegible. Every now and then she’d stop and stare, seeming to be visualizing what might be. She talked to herself beneath her breath as she studied angles and walls and lighting.

After an hour, Sam ushered her back to the living room. Holding a match to the already prepared firewood and tinder, he waved Annalise to one of the two leather armchairs that flanked the fireplace. “We might as well be warm and comfortable while we go over the rest of what Gram wanted me to tell you.”

Annalise curled up in the comfy seat and tucked her legs beneath her. “You don’t know how exciting it is to have carte blanche with a project like this.”

He joined her, yawning as the warmth from the fire caught him unawares. He’d headed to bed after one the night before, and the alarm had been set for six. Even though having to stay at Sycamore Farm longer than he had planned would play havoc with his schedule, at this particular moment, he couldn’t find it in his heart to care.

Contentment rolled over him in a wave, and his eyes drifted shut.

* * *

Annalise was taken aback to hear her host emit a soft snore. She turned to face him and felt a sharp jab in the vicinity of her heart. His legs were propped on an ottoman, and his hands were tucked behind his head. With his big body outstretched, the shirt he was wearing rode up at his belt line, exposing a tantalizing inch of flat, male abdomen.

Annalise was a tall woman, but Sam was taller still, giving her an odd and incomprehensible sensation of delicate femininity. Which was bizarre to say the least, because although she loved fashion and accessories as much or more than the next woman, she wouldn’t characterize herself as feminine in the traditional sense.

She was blunt and bold and often spoke her mind when she’d be better served holding her tongue. Arguing came naturally to her, and even as adults, she and her brothers and cousins could go at it at a moment’s notice. Not everyone regarded bickering and merciless teasing as an acceptable pastime, though, and with the advent of new family members, the squabbling had been reduced to more socially acceptable standards.

The testosterone-fueled environment Annalise had grown up in had forced her to develop a thick skin. Regrettably, the only person who had ever really had the ability to pierce it at will was presently sitting a few feet away from her.

She wasn’t very good at being still, though the house was certainly peaceful. Inactivity provided too much time for introspection, and Annalise was seldom comfortable with that much self-awareness. She preferred to forge ahead and make up the answers along the way.

Gnawing her lip in indecision, she set her notebook on a side table and quietly stood. Already the fire needed another log. Stealthily, she removed the fire screen, lifted a two-foot piece of oak, kneeled and dropped it carefully onto the flaming embers.

Though she’d never had the opportunity to be a Girl Scout, her brothers had taught her all sorts of skills in the forest. As young children they’d tramped around Wolff Mountain and even invented a club, six members strong. The Wolff Mountain gang.

She paused, fire poker in hand, and felt the sting of tears. Where had this sense of melancholy come from? Was it because, one at a time, each member of the old “gang” seemed to be finding happiness? Healing? Peace?

She was thrilled for her cousins and for her big brother, Devlyn. But where did that leave her and Larkin? Would they always be odd men out?

“Do you see something I don’t see?” Sam spoke from behind her, startling her so badly she dropped the poker.

She picked it up, rearranged the logs and replaced the screen. At last, she turned to face Sam. Her feelings were too close to the surface, and she feared saying something stupid. “Just enjoying the blaze,” she said lightly.

He sat up, yawning. “Sorry to crash on you like that. It’s been a long week.”

“Since you quizzed me, I suppose it’s okay for me to ask if you have a lady friend who will expect you home tomorrow?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and ran his hands through his hair. “I’m between relationships at the moment,” he said, his voice muffled.

Annalise was well aware that Sam Ely was considered a “catch.” Over the years she had noted the stream of females flowing through his life. Noted and been silently wounded by it. “What happened to the last one?”

His head lifted and he resumed his earlier position. But although his body language signaled relaxation, his gaze was guarded. “We differed on some important issues. Politics. Religion.”

“And that was enough to forego sex with Diana Salyers?”

He grinned. “You know a lot about me for someone who hates my guts.”

Annalise sniffed. “You paraded her around all over Charlottesville. Kind of hard to miss. But I’ll admit that I didn’t know it was over. You strike me as being the kind of guy who could overlook things like that.”

He grinned. “Touché. All right. If you must know, I found out she doesn’t want to have kids.”

Three

S
am took it as a good sign that Annalise was interested in his love life. Not that he had decided to coax his irascible house guest into bed. But it was nice to know there was some level of emotional involvement, despite her determined antipathy.

He crossed one ankle over the other and rubbed his chest with one hand. Annalise’s gaze tracked his every move.

She worried her bottom lip. “You want kids?”

Her incredulity nicked him. “I’m on the wrong side of thirty-five. Is that so strange?”

Instead of sitting down, she paced, her nervous energy palpable. “I didn’t peg you for the family type. Didn’t your parents divorce?”

He nodded. “When I was nine. Dad worked long hours, so Mother got full custody and took me to Alabama, where she was from.”

“Hence the accent.”

“Yeah. Alabama was great, but I’d visit Dad several times a year, and then every summer, I came here. To Sycamore Farm. Gram and Pops were security. Roots.”

“And this farm will all be yours one day.”

“I’m in no hurry. It’s so far from town I don’t know if I’d ever live here full-time. But weekends and vacations certainly. I’d like my sons and daughters to have the same great experiences I remember.”

“Kids…plural? I thought children of divorce ended up cynical loners.”

“Do I seem like that kind of guy to you?”

She turned to face him, their gazes locking across the room. For long moments the only sound was the pop and crackle of the fire. “No,” she said finally. “But I did assume you were a confirmed bachelor.”

“Not at all. In fact, when the right woman comes along, I’ll snap her up and hopefully give Gram and Pops some great-grandchildren while they’re still young enough to enjoy them.”

“Interesting.” Annalise walked to the window and tugged aside thick brocade draperies. Darkness had fallen and the glass was too frosted to see anything anyway.

He couldn’t read her at the moment. “What about you?” he asked. “Are you going to ride the wave of happily-ever-afters that has overtaken the Wolff family?”

She turned, clearly shocked. “Me? Oh, no. And definitely not kids. It wouldn’t be fair.”

There was no palatable explanation for the leaden block of disappointment in his stomach. “How so?”

Now she paced behind him, meaning that unless he wanted to stand up and join her, he had no way of studying her expression. He stayed seated and gave her the space she seemed to need.

Her voice was almost wistful. “I’ve never been around children. At all. You know that none of us were allowed to go to school until we were college-aged.”

“You had private tutors, right?”

“Yes. And let me tell you, I had a really hard time making friends when I was an eighteen-year-old college freshman. All I knew was how to relate to guys. Girls were a mystery to me, and sororities, giggling confidences, sexual bragging… All of it baffled me.”

“What does any of this have to do with having kids?”

“Let’s just say I’m not the nurturing type and leave it at that.”

Her answer unsettled him. He felt sure there was more to the story. But they didn’t have the kind of relationship where he could drag it out of her. After all, he was lucky to be sharing a house without armed hostilities.

He waved a hand over the back of his chair. “Come sit down. Let me tell you what Gram wants.” With the cozy fire and the sense of isolation bred by the storm, the room had become far too intimate.

By the time he retrieved his briefcase from the kitchen and extracted a folder, Annalise was sitting with suspect docility in her chair by the hearth. He’d half expected her to change into jeans and a sweatshirt, but then again, he wasn’t sure she owned anything that plebian.

Merely looking at her threatened his peace of mind. She was the kind of beautiful that made a man’s heart ache. And other parts of him…well, hell. His body reacted predictably.

Trying to ignore the picture she made, he sat back down, clearing his throat. “How much do you know about the house?”

“Not too much, really. I’m all ears.”

She had taken her hair down, and now it floated around her shoulders, black as sin and just as appealing. As he watched, mouth dry, she curled one strand around her finger and played with it absently. The innocently sensuous motion of her hand mesmerized him.

He dragged his gaze away and stared blindly at the papers in his hand.

“Tell me,” she said impatiently. “The more I know, the better I’ll be able to recreate the past. Every house has a living memory. My job is to find it here at Sycamore Farm.”

“Right.” He gathered his thoughts and tried to pretend he was talking to a stranger. “Sycamore Farm dates back to the time of Jefferson and Monticello. Some journals even suggest that one of my long ago ancestors was a friend of the Jeffersons, but that hasn’t been proven.”

“Still, it’s fun to think about. And the two properties are not all that far apart as the crow flies.”

“True. At any rate, we lost the land for about twenty-five years late in the nineteenth century, after the Civil War. The house suffered some damage and the family experienced financial reversals. But fortunately an enterprising Ely farmer bought it back about 1900, and it’s been in the fold ever since.”

“I love to think about that lineage. You’re very lucky, Sam.”

“Your dad and uncle have begun something similar at Wolff Mountain. I know the Wolff legacy was born in darkness, but think about the years ahead. Especially with all the weddings and babies on the way.”

“Only one baby so far, and that’s a few months away. Little Cammie was already five when we met her, so having a newborn on the mountain really will be different.”

“Don’t you think
you’ll
want a house up there at some point?”

His question seemed to take her by surprise. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“Liar.”

Her head snapped around so fast it was a wonder she didn’t have whiplash. “What does that mean?” Indignant and offended, she glared at him. Ah, that was the Annalise he was accustomed to seeing. “It means that I know you, Princess. You’re a decorator. You live for color and lighting and creating beautiful spaces. You can’t tell me you haven’t daydreamed about your own place on the mountain.”

Her eyes darkened. “I have such mixed emotions about Wolff Mountain,” she said softly. “Whenever I go there, it brings it all back. Tragedy and family and sadness and home. I’m not sure I want to perpetuate that.”

“I could help you design it.” He wasn’t sure where the words came from. They tumbled from his lips uncensored.

She stared, her eyes huge. “You would?”

“Of course. It would be an honor. I feel like my dad’s involvement in creating the castle makes me an honorary Wolff, anyway. And even if you build your own place, you could still live in Charlottesville.”

A small smile teased her lips. “I may hold you to that.”

“I’m a man of my word.”

They looked at each other, Sam itchy and aroused and unused to being locked up in a cozy room with a woman who pushed his buttons so successfully. And God knew what the unpredictable Annalise Wolff was thinking. Probably diabolical ways to smother him in his sleep.

He
would
consider seducing her if he wasn’t fairly certain she’d go after his private parts with a butcher knife.
Beware a woman scorned
. The old adage rang in his ears, though he hadn’t scorned her in the traditional sense. But any softer feelings she felt for him so long ago were clearly dead and buried.

Annalise wrinkled her nose. “We keep getting sidetracked. Tell me what your grandmother is thinking about colors and fabrics.”

He leaned forward, handing her several sheets of paper clipped together. When his fingers brushed hers, he felt an unmistakable burst of heat. “She wrote a lot of stuff out for you to go by. I think she trusts you a great deal. She mostly included things she wants kept the same. Other than that, you can do that magic that you do and make Sycamore Farm a showplace.”

As Annalise read through what he had given her, Sam added more logs to the fire and went back out onto the front porch to assess the situation. It wasn’t good. They were closing in on twelve inches, with no end in sight. He stood there in his shirt sleeves for a moment, feeling the bitter sting of wind and ice crystals on his face.

The frigid air was almost a relief. His reaction to Annalise Wolff had taken him entirely off guard. The attraction was nothing new. He’d watched her grow from a child into a beautiful, vibrant woman over the years. And even when she had thrown herself at him, he’d been tempted. Really tempted.

But at no time since then had he ever really entertained the idea of pursuing her. First and foremost because she had such a damned big chip on her shoulder about him rejecting her. And then there was the almost inevitable awkwardness if they tried something and it didn’t work.

Sam and his dad were welcome visitors at Wolff Castle at least on a monthly basis. What would happen if Sam dated Annalise, slept with her and ended things? The fallout had the potential to disrupt relationships that were years in the making.

For a brief moment he allowed himself to consider the possibility that he and Annalise might be good together. Really good. Wedding bells and white dress good. He was ready to settle down, more than ready. His own childhood had been decent, but he had always envied the Wolff kids and their invisible but unmistakable bond.

Sam wanted his own children, whenever they came along, to have siblings, to experience the fun and security of knowing that someone always had your back. The Wolffs had been good to him when he visited with his father over the years. But Sam was older even than Gareth, so he hadn’t really been able to assimilate into the pack.

As an adult man, he’d forged lasting friendships with all of them. He was particularly close to Jacob and Devlyn. Annalise was the only real holdout, and apparently in her eyes, Sam would always be to blame for their standoff. He was willing to expend the required energy to win her over, but what then? If a romantic liaison went awry, it would be World War III all over again, only this time with no hope of détente.

Shivering hard, he turned his back on the blizzard and went inside.

* * *

By the time Annalise finished reading through all the notes Sam’s grandmother had made, Sam still had not returned. She added one more log to the blaze and then went to her room to unpack. The antiques spread throughout the house had been lovingly cared for, and it was heartening to know that many of them would be preserved in the newly renovated house.

After filling the narrow closet and most of the drawers in the dresser and armoire, she folded back the covers and tossed her gown and robe on the bed. The beautiful pieces were silk and not very warm. Perhaps she should have thought through the ramifications of sleeping in a drafty farmhouse in the dead of winter.

As she passed by the mirror with its wavy, slightly mottled glass, she stopped and stared at her reflection. What did Sam see when he looked at her? Was she still the socially awkward, love-stricken young woman to him?

Thinking about that dreadful moment in the past was physically painful. It was more than embarrassment.
That
she could have moved beyond. But the hurt that ran deeper was his criticism. Even as he’d said the words aloud, she had recognized the truth of them. She
was
too pushy, too oblivious to other people’s feelings at times.

A more experienced woman would have gauged Sam’s disinterest and backed off. But all Annalise had been able to recognize was her own desperate longing for the young teenage boy she had adored as a child. The adolescent boy who had gone on to become a breathtakingly handsome man.

“Are you all settled in? Do you need anything?”

Sam lounged in the doorway, effortlessly charming and charismatic. His head nearly brushed the lintel. All of a sudden, the small, delightful bedroom felt claustrophobic.

Annalise felt panic creep into her throat. What if he could see how much he still affected her? Even worse, what if he thought she was pathetic? Lusting after a man who was no more than a family friend.

She cleared her throat. “I think I’ll hit the sack. Good night.”

He glanced at his watch. “It’s eight-thirty, Annalise.”

“Oh.” Busted. Had she even brought a book to read? “I don’t suppose there’s internet?”

He chuckled. “Are you kidding? Gram and Pops are pretty much up with the times, but they flatly refused to get a computer. Even though I begged. It might be a different story now that they’re in Florida. We’ll see. But you’ve got your phone…you should be able to check email as long as the storm isn’t disrupting tower signals.”

He paused, shifted from one foot to another, then gave her a lopsided grin. “There’s something I could show you…if you’re not too tired. But you’ll definitely need a coat or sweater, because it’s on the third floor.”

She nodded slowly. “Okay.” Grabbing up a soft suede jacket, she slipped her arms into the sleeves and scooped her hair out of the collar. “I’m ready.”

Sam didn’t bother with another layer. Apparently he was made of tougher stuff. She followed him up one set of stairs and then another, pausing at a landing as Sam found a key on his key ring and unlocked a rather short door. Ducking to follow him in, she inhaled the scent of history…dust, old paper and the passage of time.

Sam reached up and pulled the chain to illuminate a single lightbulb suspended from the rafters. The space in which they stood ran half the length of the house. It was bone-chillingly cold, and the storm winds shrieked around the gables of the roof with magnified ferocity.

Annalise shuffled from one foot to the other, arms wrapped around her waist. “This better be good.”

The grin Sam cast over his shoulder made her weak in the knees. “Follow me.” He led her down one side of the room to a section of the attic that had obviously once been walled in. “I imagine this might have been used as servant quarters years ago.” Although segments of the wall were nothing more than exposed two-by-fours or whatever the historical equivalent was, part of a single section was still covered in wallpaper. Really old wallpaper.