She stood with the hammer in her hand and gazed at the print. At last she admitted to herself that it reminded her of Sam. The association could be explained easily. She’d been touched last weekend by what she’d learned about his childhood. But that wasn’t all of it. It wasn’t a very big leap from Sam as a child to Sam as a father. Instinctively she knew that he longed for that role.
She, on the other hand, had no unfulfilled need to become a mother. At least she didn’t think so. Eric certainly hadn’t wanted babies around to interfere with his work, and she’d agreed with him that their careers hadn’t left room for parenting. But Sam’s life, the country life, seemed to beg for the addition of children. She decided to give the matter more thought. A lot more thought.
However, she also found herself wishing it was Saturday instead of Wednesday and that Sam was next door instead of miles away. The longing to have contact with him grew so strong that she searched for a legitimate reason to call him. Hitting on an idea, she picked up her cell phone.
“An appointment?” he said after hearing why she’d called. He chuckled in a way that sent warm shivers over her. “What do you need an appointment for? This is Sumersbury, not Manhattan.”
She felt the peace of the country wrap around her at his words and his relaxed tone. “Yes, but you might have had plans or a friend could have stopped by like last Saturday, and I thought we should have a couple of hours to discuss this without being interrupted.” His silence on the other end made her review what she’d said, and she flushed. “I mean—”
“Anna, if you want two hours of uninterrupted time with me, you’ve got it,” he said softly. “I’ll even turn off my phone.”
“Sam, I’m so sorry,” she said, dropping all pretenses. “I called because I miss you.”
“That’s the best news I’ve had all day.”
“But it doesn’t make sense. I don’t know you well enough to miss you. I keep wondering if I’m drawn in by everything—the country setting, the loom, the idea of children—”
“The what?” Sam choked out.
“Oh, Lord, I didn’t mean to say that. Maybe I should hang up now, before I have both feet in my mouth.”
“No, wait. I have to hear the explanation for this one.”
“I’m just babbling,” she said, frantic to cover up her inadvertent slip. “Please forget it. I’m probably working too hard.”
“Anna. Talk to me.”
She sighed. “It’s just that I never thought of being a mother before, and I never bought pictures with children in them. I never bought pictures at all when Eric was here, but he left and took all his pictures, and for months I’ve had nothing on the walls, which was fine. But this week the place suddenly looked bare, so I bought a framed print to hang over the couch. When I got it home, I realized it had children in it.” As she paused to take a breath, she heard his gentle laughter. “What’s so funny?”
“You make the discovery of children in your picture sound like finding roaches in your cabinets. Don’t you like children?”
“Sure I like children, but I’ve never liked them in my pictures before.”
He paused. “Are you trying to say that this picture with children in it has something to do with me?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But I hung that thing on the wall, and soon afterward, I made up this dumb excuse to call you. I don’t know what any of it means.”
“Seems pretty simple to me. City girl with hectic career gazes longingly across the fence to what seems to be peaceful domesticity in the country. I’d like to think I have something to do with your longings, but I may just be convenient.”
“I don’t want you ever to just be convenient.”
“I’m glad we agree on that score. But don’t ignore your feelings about possibly changing your lifestyle. You can do that whether I’m part of the change or not.”
“I know. It’s just….” She traced a pattern on the couch with her finger. “Are you free at ten on Saturday morning?”
“I’m free anytime you’re in Sumersbury.”
“You weren’t last Saturday night,” she replied.
“You’re right. I was having dinner with friends at the tavern.”
Her traitorous heart gave a little leap. “Oh.”
“I take it you won’t be coming up on Friday night this week?”
She wished he hadn’t asked. “Uh, no. I have an appointment in the city.” And now she was deceiving him. She was sinking fast.
He was silent for a moment. “Would this appointment be with a single man by any chance?”
She swallowed hard. Time to come clean. “As a matter of fact, yes. But it’s not what you’re thinking.” She stood and began pacing. “I asked my friend Vivian to help me figure out whether my reaction to you was just a case of being on the rebound and she suggested I go out on a date with one of her husband’s friends. Find out if I have as much fun being with him as I had being with you last weekend.” She paused. “Do you think I should cancel the date?” she asked, almost wishing he’d say yes.
She heard his deep sigh. “I won’t lie to you. The thought of you out with another man is not pleasant, but if it’s what you need to do to clarify your feelings about me, then you should do it. Besides, if you go and have a wonderful time, we’ll both have a better idea where we stand.”
“And if I have a lousy time?”
He laughed in that warm way that she was starting to treasure. “Then my prayers will be answered.”
Six
Anna arrived in Sumersbury by nine-thirty on Saturday. She walked through the front door and put her sack of groceries down on the parlor floor. “Hello, loom,” she said, walking over to touch the sun-warmed wood. Her fingers left faint prints in a week’s worth of dust. If she was here every day, the loom wouldn’t get this dusty. But she wasn’t here every day.
For a minute she allowed herself the fantasy of living in this house permanently. Unfortunately, she’d have nothing to live on. Sumersbury certainly couldn’t provide enough business to keep her employed as an interior designer, and she couldn’t imagine the town would provide any other full-time jobs that would fit her needs.
She glanced at her watch and picked up the grocery sack. She had just enough time to put away her food and drive over to Sam’s. She’d made an appointment, and she intended to be a little early. After refrigerating the perishables and shoving the rest into cupboards, she walked out to the car, where she’d left her catalogs, notes and a few rough sketches.
Halfway into the driver’s seat, she changed her mind and gathered up her materials. Locking the car, she walked around the house and across the leaf-strewn yard. With the distinctive outcropping of granite to guide her, she located the narrow pathway through the woods. Feeling a little like Davy Crockett or Daniel Boone, she stepped from the sunny clearing into the shade of the trees.
Picking her way up the gradual ascent of the trail propelled her back to childhood memories of hide-and-seek and special places that only best friends knew about. Maybe her nose triggered her imagination as it identified the toasted smell of dry leaves in a patch of sun and the moist richness of wet bark. Little brown birds—sparrows or finches, she decided—fluttered through branches of partially denuded trees and snatched a few remaining berries from bushes. For them the banquet was nearly over, and they’d have to fly south very soon.
A chipmunk scampered across the path, and with a flick of its tail, disappeared in a rustle of underbrush. She stopped and tried to figure out where the little animal had gone, but the camouflage was too perfect. She wondered what wildlife she’d see if she sat on a nearby fallen log and waited, especially at dusk. Perhaps a deer or a raccoon.
Thinking of raccoons reminded her of Estelle’s singing, which reminded her of Sam and her appointment. She laughed and continued along the path. She couldn’t sit on any logs today, or she’d be late. Besides, the prospect of being with Sam outweighed her interest in wildlife. It would be nice, though, t
o have the leisure to be with Sam and sit on a log. Had she known about the path before, she might have explored it this summer.
No, you wouldn’t have, contradicted a voice within her. You were pulled inside yourself like a hermit crab in its borrowed shell. You weren’t into exploring anything. But through luck or fate, she’d been ready to emerge from her shell when the opportunity presented itself through a television special, a loom, and a very sexy man.
She still wasn’t clear where her new directions would lead, but life was becoming interesting and fun again. New possibilities, including the exploration of this lovely path, seemed to appear with each day. She hurried forward as the trail dipped toward Sam’s farmhouse.
A few hundred yards from his house, the overgrown charm of the woods gave way to precise rows of evergreens. The path had been allowed to continue its meandering route, marked by occasional stones placed along each side. Wherever the trail crossed a line of trees, a space had been left unplanted. Whether credit for preserving the original historic path belonged to Sam or his grandfather, Anna approved of the decision.
The path ended in Sam’s backyard. The barn was to her left, and a low rock wall bordered the other side of his property. His small back porch, not screened as hers was, lay directly in front of her. She noticed an old, unused horseshoes pit and a stack of firewood much larger than hers.
Several pastel-colored dish towels flapped like semaphore flags on a clothesline that sagged in the middle. She walked over to the line and examined one of the towels. Sure enough, it was hand-woven. Just as Sam had told her, he used his grandmother’s handiwork to accomplish mundane chores, as his grandmother would have wanted.
The towels were dry. She put down her stack of materials on the brown grass at her feet and removed the first clothespin, the old-fashioned kind that looked like an armless human figure. She remembered using bits of cloth and a little paint to transform clothespins like this into dolls. She found the clothespin holder hanging on the line and tossed the pin inside. Then she removed the next pin, folded the towel and put it on top of her notes.
In a few minutes she knocked on Sam’s back door. He opened it and gave her a smile of pleased surprise. “I was listening for your car, but—”
“But I came over on the path,” she said. “And I’m late, but I stopped to bring in your dish towels.” She held out the folded stack resting on top of her bundle of paper and catalogs.
“Thanks.” He laughed and took the dish towels while he ushered her into the kitchen. “But you really didn’t have to take care of my laundry.”
“I know. I wanted to. Wooden clothespins, hand-woven towels drying on a backyard line—you can’t imagine what a treat that is for a city girl. Too bad the TV people will be here in the dead of winter, and you can’t have the towels hanging out for the cameras.”
“You’re teasing me,” he said as he put the stack on a butcher-block counter.
“Believe it or not,” she said, gazing at him and absorbing the comfort of his presence, “I’m not kidding. I had fun taking down the wash. Do you dry all your laundry that way, on the line?”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but no. I have an automatic dryer like everyone else, but with the dish towels I just—” He shrugged. “I like hanging them out.”
“And taking them in? I didn’t spoil your fun, did I?”
He grinned. “Even if you did, I’d be a mean man to deny you the thrill you just had. You’re welcome to commune with that clothesline anytime.”
“Now you’re making fun of me.”
“I wouldn’t dare. I’ve admitted hanging those towels out for no good reason, so I guess we’re both touched in the head.”
She laughed. “I’ll buy that.”
“God, it’s good to see you again.”
His comment faded her smile, changed the mood. She gripped her catalogs to her chest to keep from reaching for him.
“Now I’ve made you uncomfortable,” he said.
“No, it’s okay.” But she avoided his gaze.
“Come on,” he said, sweeping his arm toward the parlor. “I’ve cleaned my ledgers off the sofa. We can sit there and go over what you’ve brought. I’ll be good, I promise. I won’t ask about your date last night until we’re finished, even if the need to know is burning through me like hot coals. I’ll probably fidget some, but disregard any signs of my discomfort. It’ll pass.”
She chuckled. “Oh, Sam.”
“Can’t help it. But we really should decide about the house stuff first, or we may never get to it. From that stack of material you have, I figure you’ve worked pretty hard on this project.”
“I want to do a good job.”
“And I’m sure you will. Speaking of that, would you like to see how the hall looks without the wallpaper?”
“You’ve taken it off already?” She’d expected to have to prod him on that unpleasant job.
“All gone. I’ll show you.”
She followed him through the dining room into the parlor and up the stairs. “My goodness,” she said, blinking at the pale yellow walls running the length of the hall. “What a difference.”
Sam stuck his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and looked pleased with himself. “I had to pick the shade of yellow, but we could paint another shade over this if you don’t like it. I never knew there were so many different yellows in the paint world.”
Anna evaluated the look of the hall. “I think this is perfect,” she said, and enjoyed his smile of satisfaction. “It reminds me of early morning sunshine. All it needs is some stenciling along the top, near the ceiling.”
“Stenciling? Like we did in grade school?”
“Essentially. I brought some patterns for you to look at. Painting in the outlines of a stencil takes more patience than skill.”
“I don’t have a real good supply of either.”
She glanced at him. “Judging from this hallway, I doubt that. After taking off wallpaper, you’ll think stenciling is wonderful fun. Besides, it’s very country chic. The TV people will be delighted, and with both of us working, the job shouldn’t take very—”
“You’ll help?”
“Sure. I told you it was kind of fun.”
Sam shook his head and looked bewildered. “But you’re the designer. You’re not supposed to be involved with the dirty work, are you?”
“Not in the designing I do for the store. You’re right about that. If someone wants stenciling, I have it done and the store gets a percentage. But this isn’t a job for the store, although I may end up buying a few things there.” She paused. “You know, maybe that’s part of what’s been missing from my work. Maybe I have this thing for manual labor,” she added, laughing at herself. “After all, I felt compelled to fold your dish towels, and now I’m all excited about stenciling designs on your walls. Maybe we should continue the pattern into the parlor, too.”
“Lady, if you crave manual labor, you’d better move to the country. I’ll put you to work on the Christmas trees.”
“Now let’s not get carried away. I don’t want to become a farm worker, but the satisfaction of doing things with my hands….” She gazed off into space as the concept settled into her mind. No wonder she’d been drawn to the loom.
“I wish you hadn’t phrased it quite that way.”
She glanced at him. “What?”
“I’m trying so hard not to kiss you, and then you started talking about doing things with your hands.”
She flushed as her heartbeat quickened. “I didn’t intend to—”
“I know,” he said, but his gaze was intense. “Never mind. I think we ought to go downstairs and see what you’ve dreamed up for the rest of the house.” He turned and led the way to the sofa in the parlor.
She followed, her mind racing at his open admission that he wanted her. No matter how much she tried to tamp down her emotions, a word or glance from him was enough to set her on fire. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t still a little concerned that
one of them would end up burned.
They sat on the sofa a cushion width apart, and Anna placed her materials deliberately between them. “Okay,” she began, “let’s start with what we’re sitting on.”
“Meaning the sofa, of course,” he interjected with a wink.
“Now, Sam, if you’re going to sabotage—”
“Sorry.”
With a look of warning that made him chuckle, she started over. “I’d like to have the sofa recovered in this fabric,” she said, rummaging through her fabric swatches and holding up a small red print.
“Bright.”
“Yes. This room needs stronger contrasts to pick up the colors of the braided rug. Plus, the red will make a perfect backdrop for your grandmother’s hand-woven cushions. The print is small enough that it won’t clash with the patterns in the pillows.”
“If you say so.”
“And the curtains should come down. I’d like the windows bare, if you can stand it.”
“Bare windows?” He looked doubtful.
“Yes,” she said, warming with enthusiasm. “Let the sun stream in. I noticed a whole collection of ruby glassware in the kitchen. We can set some on the windowsill and more on the mantel, once it’s cleared and polished. The sun coming through that red glass will make the whole room glow.”
The doubt eased from his expression, but she didn’t want to force anything on him. “Listen, if you really hate anything I suggest, speak up.”
“Go on.”
“Well….” She hesitated. “I think you should store those two armchairs and buy new ones. That may be your biggest expense, but if we cut corners in other areas, the new chairs will fit into the budget you gave me.”
“Would you like to keep them at your house? You’re a little short on furniture over there.”
“Um, temporarily,” she said, not wanting to tell him how much she despised the chairs. They might have been favorites of his grandparents, placed as they were flanking the fireplace.
“You don’t like them at all, do you?”
'Tis the Season Page 7
