All Grown Up

by Janice Maynard

  “Still, it’s fun to think about. And the two properties are not all that far apart as the crow flies.”

  “True. At any rate, we lost the land for about twenty-five years late in the nineteenth century, after the Civil War. The house suffered some damage and the family experienced financial reversals. But fortunately an enterprising Ely farmer bought it back about 1900, and it’s been in the fold ever since.”

  “I love to think about that lineage. You’re very lucky, Sam.”

  “Your dad and uncle have begun something similar at Wolff Mountain. I know the Wolff legacy was born in darkness, but think about the years ahead. Especially with all the weddings and babies on the way.”

  “Only one baby so far, and that’s a few months away. Little Cammie was already five when we met her, so having a newborn on the mountain really will be different.”

  “Don’t you think you’ll want a house up there at some point?”

  His question seemed to take her by surprise. “I haven’t thought about it.”

  “Liar.”

  Her head snapped around so fast it was a wonder she didn’t have whiplash. “What does that mean?” Indignant and offended, she glared at him. Ah, that was the Annalise he was accustomed to seeing. “It means that I know you, Princess. You’re a decorator. You live for color and lighting and creating beautiful spaces. You can’t tell me you haven’t daydreamed about your own place on the mountain.”

  Her eyes darkened. “I have such mixed emotions about Wolff Mountain,” she said softly. “Whenever I go there, it brings it all back. Tragedy and family and sadness and home. I’m not sure I want to perpetuate that.”

  “I could help you design it.” He wasn’t sure where the words came from. They tumbled from his lips uncensored.

  She stared, her eyes huge. “You would?”

  “Of course. It would be an honor. I feel like my dad’s involvement in creating the castle makes me an honorary Wolff, anyway. And even if you build your own place, you could still live in Charlottesville.”

  A small smile teased her lips. “I may hold you to that.”

  “I’m a man of my word.”

  They looked at each other, Sam itchy and aroused and unused to being locked up in a cozy room with a woman who pushed his buttons so successfully. And God knew what the unpredictable Annalise Wolff was thinking. Probably diabolical ways to smother him in his sleep.

  He would consider seducing her if he wasn’t fairly certain she’d go after his private parts with a butcher knife. Beware a woman scorned. The old adage rang in his ears, though he hadn’t scorned her in the traditional sense. But any softer feelings she felt for him so long ago were clearly dead and buried.

  Annalise wrinkled her nose. “We keep getting sidetracked. Tell me what your grandmother is thinking about colors and fabrics.”

  He leaned forward, handing her several sheets of paper clipped together. When his fingers brushed hers, he felt an unmistakable burst of heat. “She wrote a lot of stuff out for you to go by. I think she trusts you a great deal. She mostly included things she wants kept the same. Other than that, you can do that magic that you do and make Sycamore Farm a showplace.”

  As Annalise read through what he had given her, Sam added more logs to the fire and went back out onto the front porch to assess the situation. It wasn’t good. They were closing in on twelve inches, with no end in sight. He stood there in his shirt sleeves for a moment, feeling the bitter sting of wind and ice crystals on his face.

  The frigid air was almost a relief. His reaction to Annalise Wolff had taken him entirely off guard. The attraction was nothing new. He’d watched her grow from a child into a beautiful, vibrant woman over the years. And even when she had thrown herself at him, he’d been tempted. Really tempted.

  But at no time since then had he ever really entertained the idea of pursuing her. First and foremost because she had such a damned big chip on her shoulder about him rejecting her. And then there was the almost inevitable awkwardness if they tried something and it didn’t work.

  Sam and his dad were welcome visitors at Wolff Castle at least on a monthly basis. What would happen if Sam dated Annalise, slept with her and ended things? The fallout had the potential to disrupt relationships that were years in the making.

  For a brief moment he allowed himself to consider the possibility that he and Annalise might be good together. Really good. Wedding bells and white dress good. He was ready to settle down, more than ready. His own childhood had been decent, but he had always envied the Wolff kids and their invisible but unmistakable bond.

  Sam wanted his own children, whenever they came along, to have siblings, to experience the fun and security of knowing that someone always had your back. The Wolffs had been good to him when he visited with his father over the years. But Sam was older even than Gareth, so he hadn’t really been able to assimilate into the pack.

  As an adult man, he’d forged lasting friendships with all of them. He was particularly close to Jacob and Devlyn. Annalise was the only real holdout, and apparently in her eyes, Sam would always be to blame for their standoff. He was willing to expend the required energy to win her over, but what then? If a romantic liaison went awry, it would be World War III all over again, only this time with no hope of détente.

  Shivering hard, he turned his back on the blizzard and went inside.

  * * *

  By the time Annalise finished reading through all the notes Sam’s grandmother had made, Sam still had not returned. She added one more log to the blaze and then went to her room to unpack. The antiques spread throughout the house had been lovingly cared for, and it was heartening to know that many of them would be preserved in the newly renovated house.

  After filling the narrow closet and most of the drawers in the dresser and armoire, she folded back the covers and tossed her gown and robe on the bed. The beautiful pieces were silk and not very warm. Perhaps she should have thought through the ramifications of sleeping in a drafty farmhouse in the dead of winter.

  As she passed by the mirror with its wavy, slightly mottled glass, she stopped and stared at her reflection. What did Sam see when he looked at her? Was she still the socially awkward, love-stricken young woman to him?

  Thinking about that dreadful moment in the past was physically painful. It was more than embarrassment. That she could have moved beyond. But the hurt that ran deeper was his criticism. Even as he’d said the words aloud, she had recognized the truth of them. She was too pushy, too oblivious to other people’s feelings at times.

  A more experienced woman would have gauged Sam’s disinterest and backed off. But all Annalise had been able to recognize was her own desperate longing for the young teenage boy she had adored as a child. The adolescent boy who had gone on to become a breathtakingly handsome man.

  “Are you all settled in? Do you need anything?”

  Sam lounged in the doorway, effortlessly charming and charismatic. His head nearly brushed the lintel. All of a sudden, the small, delightful bedroom felt claustrophobic.

  Annalise felt panic creep into her throat. What if he could see how much he still affected her? Even worse, what if he thought she was pathetic? Lusting after a man who was no more than a family friend.

  She cleared her throat. “I think I’ll hit the sack. Good night.”

  He glanced at his watch. “It’s eight-thirty, Annalise.”

  “Oh.” Busted. Had she even brought a book to read? “I don’t suppose there’s internet?”

  He chuckled. “Are you kidding? Gram and Pops are pretty much up with the times, but they flatly refused to get a computer. Even though I begged. It might be a different story now that they’re in Florida. We’ll see. But you’ve got your phone…you should be able to check email as long as the storm isn’t disrupting tower signals.”

  He paused, shifted from one foot to another, then gave her a lopsided grin. “There’s something I could show you…if you’re not too tired. But you’ll definitely need a coat or swe
ater, because it’s on the third floor.”

  She nodded slowly. “Okay.” Grabbing up a soft suede jacket, she slipped her arms into the sleeves and scooped her hair out of the collar. “I’m ready.”

  Sam didn’t bother with another layer. Apparently he was made of tougher stuff. She followed him up one set of stairs and then another, pausing at a landing as Sam found a key on his key ring and unlocked a rather short door. Ducking to follow him in, she inhaled the scent of history…dust, old paper and the passage of time.

  Sam reached up and pulled the chain to illuminate a single lightbulb suspended from the rafters. The space in which they stood ran half the length of the house. It was bone-chillingly cold, and the storm winds shrieked around the gables of the roof with magnified ferocity.

  Annalise shuffled from one foot to the other, arms wrapped around her waist. “This better be good.”

  The grin Sam cast over his shoulder made her weak in the knees. “Follow me.” He led her down one side of the room to a section of the attic that had obviously once been walled in. “I imagine this might have been used as servant quarters years ago.” Although segments of the wall were nothing more than exposed two-by-fours or whatever the historical equivalent was, part of a single section was still covered in wallpaper. Really old wallpaper.

  Annalise bent forward, trying to get close enough to see in the dim light. “Jiminy Christmas, Sam. Is this original?”

  She felt his presence, big and warm, at her shoulder. “Jiminy Christmas?”

  Heat washed up her throat. “I made a New Year’s resolution to give up cussing.”

  “Ah.” He was so close she could inhale his clean, male scent, so close she could hear him breathe.

  Doggedly, she focused her attention on the wall. “Has anyone on the historical renovation team seen this?”

  Sam pulled a small flashlight out of his hip pocket and handed it to her. “No. But the plan doesn’t call for any changes up here. You’re one of the only people I know who would get excited about this.”

  She shone the small beam of light on the edge of the faded paper. Once upon a time it had probably been a cheery yellow. Now, the scattering of small flowers was barely visible on a field of cream. “There’s more under here, isn’t there?”

  She sensed rather than saw him nod. “I’ve picked at the frayed part enough to tell that there are at least three more layers beneath this. I think that with an X-Acto knife we might be able to extract the various pieces so that you could look at them.”

  “This is so damn cool!” She clapped her hand over her mouth and heard Sam laugh. “Is there or was there anything like this downstairs?” she asked, hoping to distract him from her failings.

  “If so, it’s long gone. You’ll find Sheetrock and more modern building supplies. But I know Gram would be thrilled if you were able to find a paper similar to one of these and use it in at least one room…just to tie the past to the future.”

  “I’d love to try. But why do you think they would have gone to the trouble to use wallpaper up here if it was for servants?”

  “My guess is that the paper was a way to keep wind out. Back then, before roofing was really well done, I’m sure this area of the house was almost like living outside.”

  “Hmmm…” Her brain raced even as she absorbed the fact that she and Sam stood shoulder-to-shoulder. He seemed to be almost deliberately crowding her personal space.

  Her jacket was warm, and with Sam in touchable distance her blood was pumping. The cold didn’t even register at the moment. Nevertheless, she feigned a shiver. “I’ll come back up here one day when I can see better.”

  “I could show you more treasures. Disintegrating silk dresses with bustles and button-up shoes. Old army uniforms. Collections of sabers and muskets. Even Gram’s wedding dress.”

  She faced him, wondering what he would do if she went up on tiptoe and kissed him. “It will keep, won’t it? I think I’m ready for bed. It’s been a long day.” She handed over the flashlight, and he tucked it in his pocket. But neither of them moved.

  “Annalise, I…”

  She’d never heard Sam Ely sound unsure of himself. And the scowl that etched tight planes on his face wasn’t encouraging.

  Sexual tension arced and crackled between them. If it had been any other man, any other situation, Annalise would have initiated a kiss. But the specter of Sam from the past held her back. Guys like to do the chasing.

  Confused, embarrassed and angry with herself for acting like a 1950s debutante, she turned abruptly. “I’m done here.”

  She had taken three steps in the direction of the door when the lights went out. Her momentum carried her forward, and she tripped over something on the floor and stumbled to her knees. “Ouch, damn it.” Pain shot up her leg to her hip, and her big toe throbbed.

  “Hold still. Don’t move.” Sam rustled behind her, and muttered beneath his breath when something fell to the floor with a loud thunk.

  “What was that?”

  “I dropped the stupid flashlight.” He crouched beside her, reaching out in the darkness. “Are you still in one piece?”

  “Bruised but functional.”

  “Let me help you up.” His arms went around her and they both froze.

  “Sam,” she said, her voice unsteady. “That’s my boob you’re holding.”

  He released her like a man backing away from a poisonous snake. “Sorry.”

  She found his hand with hers. “Pull.” Gradually, wincing as her knee protested, she made it upright. “Okay then. I can walk.”

  “Not without me, you can’t. Hold on to the back of my belt and I’ll get us to the door.”

  “Are we going to look for the flashlight?”

  “No. Who knows how far it rolled, and I have several more downstairs.”

  She had to touch his waist, brush his hip, to find her way around to his back. And she was pretty sure he inhaled sharply when her fingers curled around his belt and brushed his spine. His skin was smooth and hot to the touch.

  A step at a time they made their way through the stygian gloom. What had been a short distance before now became an obstacle course. Suddenly, Annalise yelped and pressed into Sam, wrapping her arms around his waist.

  She felt him tense. “What’s the matter?”

  “Something ran across my foot.”

  “Probably just a mouse.”

  “Just a mouse?”

  “I know you’ve had the occasional rodent in Wolff Castle.”

  “I didn’t play footsie with them,” she complained, shuddering. With all the lights out, who knows how many creatures would come out to play?

  “The Annalise Wolff I used to know wasn’t afraid of anything. Your brothers and cousins dared you to try all sorts of ridiculous stunts, and you took the bait every time, determined to prove you were as good as they were.”

  “Well, I’ve matured since then.”

  He cursed as they both staggered around some kind of chest. “Too bad…I kind of liked that crazy girl.”

  Annalise didn’t have an answer for that. Was he trying to tell her something, or was this chitchat designed to distract her from the fact that with the electricity out, this old house was going to chill rapidly?

  At last Sam located the door, which was rather anticlimactic, because as soon as they stepped through it, they were no better off than they were before. Now they faced two steep flights of stairs.

  He ran his palm down her arm, ultimately linking their fingers. “Stay close. I’ll follow the stair rail, and you hang on to me.”

  Annalise wasn’t about to argue. Her heart was dancing to some kind of ragged staccato beat and her lung capacity had shrunk to nothing. Not even to herself would she admit that holding hands with Sam Ely rocked her world.

  “Works for me,” she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. His grip was firm and warm, unbelievably so, since her own smaller hand was icy.

  It was a clumsy sort of ballet, but it worked, albeit slowly. At the
second-floor landing they stopped to catch their breath. Sam squeezed her fingers. “You doing okay, Princess? I know you didn’t sign on for this.”

  It seemed as if he surrounded her, all hard muscle, broad chest and gravelly voice.

  She swallowed, her throat dry as the dust that danced in drafts beneath the roof. “Not to worry. I may not have been a Girl Scout, but I can handle you and a dark house.”

  Four

  Sam was disoriented, and it had more to do with having Annalise Wolff clinging to him than it did with the lack of electricity. He was getting definite mixed signals. One wrong move on his part could be disastrous.

  Right now, she was silent, seemingly docile. Perhaps regretting her last boastful retort. He was pretty sure she hadn’t meant for it to come out sounding like sexual innuendo.

  He sighed inwardly. Rarely did he find himself wandering in the dark when it came to a woman, and now he was in the position of doing so both literally and metaphorically. Keeping his voice neutral, he tugged on her hand. “Ready to keep going?”

  He felt her nod. “Yes. Won’t there at least be some firelight from the kitchen and living room?”

  Stepping gingerly down one step and then another, he led her behind him. “As long as the embers haven’t burned too low.”

  Moments later they made it to the hallway.

  She exhaled. “Well, we didn’t break a leg. That’s something.”

  He could tell that Annalise was ready to escape into her bedroom and call it a night, but he kept a firm grip on her hand. “We need a snack. Dinner was a long time ago. Can I interest you in a s’more?”

  “Served by a roaring fire? Sure.”

  He steered her to her earlier seat. “Sit here and don’t move. We’re surrounded by lethal furniture. I’ll go find the flashlights.” He wasn’t gone more than two minutes. Grabbing what he needed out of the kitchen, he returned to find Annalise stoking the fire. The roaring flames danced and crackled, spreading a semicircle of light and warmth.

  “What part of sit still don’t you understand?” Joining her in front of the hearth, he laid two sets of graham crackers and chocolate bars on the mantel and then ripped open a bag of marshmallows. Threading one onto a wire coat hanger, he handed it to her.