All Grown Up

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.

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.”