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.”
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