All Grown Up. Janice Maynard

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СКАЧАТЬ 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

      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 СКАЧАТЬ