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 was the pop and crackle of the fire. “No,” she said finally. “But I did assume you were a confirmed bachelor.”
“Not at all. In fact, when the right woman comes along, I’ll snap her up and hopefully give Gram and Pops some great-grandchildren while they’re still young enough to enjoy them.”
“Interesting.” Annalise walked to the window and tugged aside thick brocade draperies. Darkness had fallen and the glass was too frosted to see anything anyway.
He couldn’t read her at the moment. “What about you?” he asked. “Are you going to ride the wave of happily-ever-afters that has overtaken the Wolff family?”
She turned, clearly shocked. “Me? Oh, no. And definitely not kids. It wouldn’t be fair.”
There was no palatable explanation for the leaden block of disappointment in his stomach. “How so?”
Now she paced behind him, meaning that unless he wanted to stand up and join her, he had no way of studying her expression. He stayed seated and gave her the space she seemed to need.
Her voice was almost wistful. “I’ve never been around children. At all. You know that none of us were allowed to go to school until we were college-aged.”
“You had private tutors, right?”
“Yes. And let me tell you, I had a really hard time making friends when I was an eighteen-year-old college freshman. All I knew was how to relate to guys. Girls were a mystery to me, and sororities, giggling confidences, sexual bragging…All of it baffled me.”
“What does any of this have to do with having kids?”
“Let’s just say I’m not the nurturing type and leave it at that.”
Her answer unsettled him. He felt sure there was more to the story. But they didn’t have the kind of relationship where he could drag it out of her. After all, he was lucky to be sharing a house without armed hostilities.
He waved a hand over the back of his chair. “Come sit down. Let me tell you what Gram wants.” With the cozy fire and the sense of isolation bred by the storm, the room had become far too intimate.
By the time he retrieved his briefcase from the kitchen and extracted a folder, Annalise was sitting with suspect docility in her chair by the hearth. He’d half expected her to change into jeans and a sweatshirt, but then again, he wasn’t sure she owned anything that plebian.
Merely looking at her threatened his peace of mind. She was the kind of beautiful that made a man’s heart ache. And other parts of him…well, hell. His body reacted predictably.
Trying to ignore the picture she made, he sat back down, clearing his throat. “How much do you know about the house?”
“Not too much, really. I’m all ears.”
She had taken her hair down, and now it floated around her shoulders, black as sin and just as appealing. As he watched, mouth dry, she curled one strand around her finger and played with it absently. The innocently sensuous motion of her hand mesmerized him.
He dragged his gaze away and stared blindly at the papers in his hand.
“Tell me,” she said impatiently. “The more I know, the better I’ll be able to recreate the past. Every house has a living memory. My job is to find it here at Sycamore Farm.”
“Right.” He gathered his thoughts and tried to pretend he was talking to a stranger. “Sycamore Farm dates back to the time of Jefferson and Monticello. Some journals even suggest that one of my long ago ancestors was a friend of the Jeffersons, but that hasn’t been proven.”
“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