All Grown Up

by Janice Maynard

  “It’s probably just the wind at this point. Although, to be honest, the power isn’t all that reliable on a good week. And by the way, the plans include undergrounding all the utilities. Not only for occasions like today, but to restore the original look of the place.”

  “Holy cow, Sam. That will cost a fortune.”

  Coming from the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in America, her amazement was telling. “Yeah,” he said, grinning. “But I’m an architectural purist. What can I say?”

  The lights flickered a second time, galvanizing him into action. “I need to go bring in as much firewood as I can. If the power goes out, we’ll camp out in the living room.”

  “That’s behind the kitchen, right?”

  “Yes. The two rooms share a chimney. Fortunately, that section of the house has already been finished. If you don’t mind, how about making us a couple of omelets while I get the wood. If we do lose power, it would be nice to have one last hot meal.”

  Annalise blanched.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not handy in the kitchen,” she said with a wry, self-deprecating twist of her mouth.

  “Nothing fancy,” he assured her. “There’s lunch meat in the fridge. Just chop up some ham.”

  She grimaced, and for a split second he witnessed in Annalise a shocking vulnerability he had never seen before. “I’m serious, Sam. I don’t cook.”

  The expression on her face seemed to indicate she was awaiting his derision. And although he was certainly incredulous, he tried to hide his surprise. “I guess that makes sense. Growing up without a mother must have been tough.”

  “I wanted the chef to teach me. When I was thirteen. But Daddy said it was inappropriate for me to spend time in the kitchen when I could be learning Latin and Greek. He has odd ideas about things like that.”

  “And in college?”

  “I lived in the dorm. Ate in the cafeteria. When I got out on my own, it wasn’t an issue. I order a lot of take-out, and when I entertain, I hire a caterer.”

  He was momentarily speechless.

  Annalise lifted her chin. “I know your grandmother is a fabulous cook. And I’m sure your mother is, as well. But if that’s what you were expecting, you’re out of luck. I planned on eating a lot of cereal and canned tuna while I’m here.”

  Sam inhaled, feeling as though he was stepping through a minefield. “It’s not important, Annalise. You caught me off guard, that’s all. I have this impression of you as being Superwoman, and I suppose I thought there was nothing you couldn’t do.”

  Her tense shoulders relaxed. “That’s a nice thing to say.”

  He tugged her hair. “I can be nice on occasion. When I’m not continually provoked.”

  “Is that a jab at me?”

  He lifted an eyebrow innocently. “Would I do that?”

  They laughed softly in unison, and he felt an imperceptible shift in the parameters that had governed the recent cold war between them.

  Annalise waved her hands. “Go get the wood. I’ll make some sandwiches. And I do know how to heat soup.”

  “Well, there you go,” he said. “What more do we need?”

  He found himself whistling as he carried armload after armload of wood into the house from the pile beside the barn. Something inside him felt charged with anticipation, though if he’d been called on to identify the odd feeling, he wouldn’t have been able to pin it down. For the moment, he was content to enjoy the prospect of an evening with a beautiful woman.

  If they had to rely on the fireplace for everything, the supply of logs would dwindle rapidly. So he labored until his arms ached and his back protested. When he finally was satisfied that they had enough fuel for the immediate future, he replaced the tarp covering the woodpile and prayed they wouldn’t need to revisit it anytime soon.

  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.

&nb
sp; 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

  Sam 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.”