Times Change

Chapter 2

They moved apart warily, two boxers retreating to their corners at the sound of the bell. Jacob wasn’t entirely sure how to handle her, much less the bombshell she had dropped. His brother was married.

Once they were standing a careful three feet apart, he dipped his hands in the pockets of the comfortable jeans. He noted that, though her stance was easy, she was still braced, ready to counter any move he might attempt. It would have been interesting to make one, just to see what she would do and how she would do it. But he had priorities.

“Where’s Cal?”

“Borneo. I think it’s Borneo. Might be Bora Bora. Libby’s researching a paper.” She had time to study him objectively now. Yes, there was a definite resemblance to Cal, in the way he stood, in the rhythm of his speech. But, even though she accepted that, she wasn’t ready to trust him. “Cal must have told you she’s a cultural anthropologist.”

He hesitated, then brought out the smile again. He wasn’t nearly as concerned now with what Cal had or had not told him in his report as with what his brother had told this woman named Sunbeam. Sunbeam, he thought distractedly. Was anyone really named Sunbeam?

“Of course.” He lied smoothly and without compunction. “He didn’t mention he’d be away. How long?”

“A few more weeks.” She tugged the red sweater down over her hips. She could already feel bruises forming. It didn’t annoy her. She had held her own—well, almost held her own—against him. And she hoped she’d get another shot. “It’s funny he never said you were coming.”

“He didn’t know.” Frustrated, he looked out the window at the snow and the trees. He’d come so close, so damn close, only to wait. “I wasn’t sure I could make it.”

“Yeah.” With a lazy shrug, she rocked back on her heels. “Like you couldn’t make it to the wedding. We all thought it was odd that none of Cal’s family showed up for the big day.”

He turned back at that. There was definite censoriousness in her voice. He didn’t care for it—he rarely tolerated it—but in this case it was almost amusing. “Believe me, if we could have been here, we would have.”

“Hmm. Well, since we’ve finished wrestling, we might as well go down and have some tea.” She started toward the door, flicking a glance over him as she passed. “What degree black belt do you have?”

“Seventh.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Right.” More than a little miffed, she started downstairs. “I didn’t figure people like you would go in for martial arts.”

“People like me?” He spoke absently as he ran his palm over the smooth wood of the railing.

“You’re a physicist or something, right?”

“Or something.” He spotted a woven throw over the back of a chair in striking colors that challenged rather than blended. Though the look of it tugged at his memory, he resisted the temptation to go over for a closer examination. “And you? What are you?”

“Nothing. I’m working on it.”

When Sunny swung into the kitchen, she went directly to the stove. She didn’t notice the blank astonishment on Jacob’s face.

Like something out of an old video or reference book, he thought as he scanned the room. Only this was much, much better than any reproduction. Delightful, he thought, astonishment turning to pleasure. Absolutely delightful. His hands itched to try out every dial and knob.

“Jacob?”

“What?”

With her brows drawn together, Sunny stared at him. An oddball, she decided. Gorgeous, certainly, but an oddball. And for the time being she was stuck with him. “I said we’re big on tea around here. Do you have a preference?”

“No.” He couldn’t resist. He simply couldn’t. As she turned to put the kettle on to boil, he wandered over to the white enameled sink and turned a clunky chrome dial. Water hissed out of the wide-lipped faucet. Holding a finger under the running stream, he discovered it was ice-cold. When he touched the tip of his tongue to his damp finger he detected a faint metallic flavor.

Completely unprocessed water, he decided. Amazing. They drank it exactly as it came out of the ground. Forgetting Sunny, he stuck his finger under again and found that the water had heated enough to make him jolt. Satisfied for the moment, he turned the water off. When he turned back, he saw that Sunny was still standing by the stove. She was staring at him.

There was no use cursing himself, he decided. He was simply going to have to control his curiosity until he was alone.

“It’s very nice,” he offered.

“Thanks.” Clearing her throat, she kept facing him as she reached behind for the mugs. “We call it a sink. They do have sinks in Philadelphia, don’t they?”

“Yes.” He took a chance, depending on his research. “I’ve never used one quite like this.”

She relaxed a little. “Well, this place is a throwback.”

“I was thinking exactly the same thing.”

As the kettle began to sputter, she turned to make the tea. As she worked, she carelessly pushed her sweater up to her elbows. Long, limber arms, he noted. Deceptively fragile in appearance. He rubbed his own forearm. He’d already had a sample of their strength.

“Maybe Cal didn’t tell you that my parents built this place in the sixties.” She poured steaming water into cups.

“Built it?” he repeated. “Personally?”

“Every stone and log,” she told him. “They were hippies. The genuine article.”

“The 1960s, yes. I’ve read about that era. It was a counterculture movement. Youth against the establishment in a political and social revolution that involved a distrust of wealth, government and the military.”

“Spoken like a true scientist.” A weird one, she added silently as she brought the mugs to the table. “It’s funny to hear someone who was born during that time talk about it as if it were as far removed as the Ming dynasty.”

Following her lead, he sat down. “Times change.”

“Yes.” Frowning, she watched as he rubbed a fingertip over the table’s surface. “It’s called a table,” she said helpfully.

He caught himself and picked up the mug. “I was admiring the wood.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s oak. My father built it, which is why there’s a matchbook under one of the legs.” At his blank look, she laughed. “He went through a carpentry phase. Almost everything he built in this place wobbles.”

He could barely imagine it. Oak split from an actual tree and formed into a piece of furniture. Only those with the highest credit rating could afford the luxury. Even then they were limited by law to a single piece. And here he was, sitting in a house made entirely of wood. He would need samples. It might be difficult with her watching him, distrusting him, but it wasn’t impossible.

Thinking it over, he sipped the tea, stopped, then sipped again.

“Herbal Delight.”

Sunny lifted her mug in salute. “Right the first time. We could hardly drink anything else without risking a family crisis.” With a shake of her head, she studied him over the rim of her mug. “It’s my father’s company. Didn’t Cal tell you that, either?”

“No.” Baffled, Jacob stared into the dark, golden tea in his mug. Herbal Delight. Stone. The company, one of the richest and most expansive in the federation, had been established by William Stone. The myths about his beginnings were as romanticized as those about the nineteenth-century president who had been born in a log cabin.

No, not a myth, Jacob thought as the fragrant steam rose from the cup. Reality.

“Just what did Cal tell you?”

Jacob sipped again and struggled for patience. He wanted to record all of this as soon as possible. “Just that he had . . . flown off course and crashed. Your sister took care of him, and they fell in love.” The old resentment welled up in him, and he set down his mug. “And he chose to stay with her, here.”

“You have a problem with that?” In a movement that mirrored his, Sunny set down her mug. When they eyed each other now, there was as much dislike as distrust in their looks. “Is that why you didn’t bother to show up at the wedding? Because you were annoyed that he decided to get married without clearing it with you?”

His eyes, shades darker as anger grew, snapped to hers again. “No matter what or how I felt about his decision, I would have been here if it had been possible.”

“That’s big of you.” She shot up to snag a bag of cookies from the pile of groceries. “Let me tell you something, Hornblower. He’s lucky to have my sister.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“I would.” Sunny ripped the bag open and dug in. “She’s beautiful and brilliant, kind and unselfish.” She gestured with half a cookie. “And, if it’s any of your business—which it isn’t—they’re happy together.”

“I have no way of knowing that, either.”

“Whose fault is that? You’ve had plenty of time to see them together—if it really mattered to you.”

There was fury, rash and dark in his eyes now. “Time has been the problem.” He rose. “All I know is that my brother made a rash decision, a life-altering one. And I intend to make certain it wasn’t a mistake.”

“You intend?” Sunny choked on a cookie and had to snatch up her mug and drink before she could speak again. “I don’t know how things work in your family, pal, but in ours we don’t make decisions by committee. We’re each considered individuals with the right to choose for ourselves.”

He didn’t give a damn about her family. He only cared about his own. “My brother’s decision affects a great number of people.”

“Yeah, I’m sure his marrying Libby is going to change the course of history.” Disgusted, she tossed the bag of cookies back on the counter. “If you’re so worried, why the hell has it taken you over a year to put in an appearance?”

“That’s my business.”

“Oh, I see. That’s your business. But my sister’s marriage is also your business. You’re a real jerk, Hornblower.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said you’re a jerk.” She tugged a hand through her hair. “Well, you go right ahead and talk to him when they get back. But there’s one thing you haven’t put in your calculations. Cal and Libby love each other, which means they belong together. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got things to do. You can let yourself out.”

She stormed off. Moments later, Jacob heard what he imagined was the sound of a primitive wooden door slamming shut.

An exasperating woman, he thought. Interesting, of course, but exasperating. He was going to have to find a way to deal with her, since it was obvious he’d have to extend his stay until Cal’s return.

As a scientist, he considered it a tremendous opportunity. To study a primitive culture firsthand, to talk face-to-face with an ancestor—of sorts. He glanced up at the ceiling. He doubted the volatile Sunbeam would appreciate being considered an ancestor.

Yes, it was a tremendous opportunity—scientifically. Personally, he already considered his association with the primitive woman a trial. She was rude, argumentative and aggressive. Perhaps he had the same traits, but he was, after all, superior, being older by several centuries.

The first thing he was going to do when he returned to the ship was open the computer banks and look up what the word jerk meant when applied to a man in the twentieth century.

***

Sunny would have been delighted to give him a concise definition. In fact, as she paced her room she thought of half a dozen more colorful descriptions of his character.

The nerve of the man. To waltz in here more than a year after his brother and her sister married. Not to congratulate them, she thought furiously. Not for a nice family reunion. But to offer his half-baked opinions as to whether Libby was worthy of his brother.

Creep. Jackass. Imbecile.

As she swung past the window, she spotted him down below. Her hand was already on the window sash, prepared to lift the glass so that she could shout the epithets at him. Her anger snapped off as quickly as it had ignited.

Why in the world was he walking into the forest? Without a coat? Narrowing her eyes, she watched him trudge through the snow toward the sheltering trees. Where the hell was he going? There was nothing in that direction but more trees.

A question sprang into her mind that she’d been too occupied to consider before. How had he gotten here? The cabin was miles from town, and a good two hours’ drive from the nearest airport. How the devil had he managed to pop up in her bedroom, coatless, hatless, gloveless, in the middle of winter?

There was no car, no truck, not even a snowmobile, outside the cabin. The idea of him hitchhiking from the highway was ludicrous. A man didn’t simply walk into the mountains in January. At least not if he was sane.

With a shudder, she stepped back from the window. Maybe that was the answer. Jacob Hornblower wasn’t just a jerk. He was a deranged jerk.

That was an awfully big leap, she told herself. Just because she didn’t like him wasn’t a good enough reason to assume he was crazy. After all, he was Cal’s brother, and over the past year Sunny had become very fond of Cal. Brother Jacob might be an annoying, interfering pain in the neck but that didn’t mean he had loose screws.

And yet . . .

Hadn’t she thought he was weird? Hadn’t he acted weird? She looked out the window again, but the only sign of him was the fresh tracks in the snow.

Cal seemed normal enough, she mused, but what did any of them know about his family or his background? Next to nothing. It had always seemed to Sunny that her brother-in-law was strangely close-mouthed when it came to his family. She glanced back toward the window again. Maybe he had his reasons.

The man had acted odd right from the start, Sunny decided. The way he’d come into the house unannounced to stand in her bedroom and pore over a copy of Vogue as if it were the Dead Sea Scrolls.

Then there was his behavior in the kitchen. Playing with the faucet. And staring. It was as though he’d never seen a stove or refrigerator before. Or hadn’t seen one in a very long time. Her mind was jumping like a rabbit. Because he’d been locked up, she thought. Put away where he wasn’t a danger to society.

Catching her lip between her teeth, she began to pace again. Her foot connected with his flight bag. Jolting backward, Sunny stared at it. He’d forgotten it. That meant he would be coming back.

Well, she could handle it. She could take care of herself. Rubbing her palms against her thighs, she stared down at the bag. But it wouldn’t do any harm to take a few precautions.

Going on impulse, she knelt down. Invasion of privacy or not, she was going to look through the bag. It was odd itself. No zipper or straps. The Velcro peeled apart almost soundlessly. Casting one guilty look over her shoulder, she began to dig.

A change of clothes. Another sweater, black this time. No label. The jeans were soft and obviously expensive, though there was no designer name on the back pocket. No label anywhere. And they were new. She would have sworn they had never been worn. Setting them aside, she pushed deeper. She found a vial marked fluoratyne that contained a clear liquid, and a pair of high-top sneakers in supple leather. No shaving gear, she mused, no mirror. Not even a toothbrush. Just a set of obviously new clothes and a vial that might very well contain some kind of drug.

Her last discovery was the most puzzling of all. An electronic device, no bigger than the palm of her hand, was tucked in the corner of the bag. Circular in shape, it was hinged back. When she opened it she saw a series of tiny buttons. After touching the first, she jumped back at the sound of Jacob’s voice.

As clear as a bell, it came from the circle of metal in her hand. He was reciting equations, as far as she could tell. Neither the numbers nor the terms meant anything to her. But the fact that they were emitted by the little disk opened up new realms of possibility.

He was a spy. Probably for the other side. Whatever the other side was. And from his behavior it was natural to assume that he was an unbalanced spy. Imagination had never been Sunny’s weak point. She could see it all perfectly.

He had been captured. Whatever techniques had been used to pull information from him had unhinged his mind. Cal had covered for him, making up a story about his brother being an astrophysicist, too deep in research to travel to the West Coast, when in reality he had been in some sort of federal institution. And now he’d escaped.

Sunny pushed buttons at random until Jacob’s voice clicked off. She would have to treat him carefully. Whatever her personal feelings, he was family. She’d have to make absolutely certain he was a dangerous lunatic before she did anything about it.

***

A stupid, often annoying person. Jacob scowled at the puff of smoke he saw through the last line of trees. He didn’t care for the definition of jerk. Being called annoying didn’t bother him in the least. But stupid did. He would not tolerate some skinny woman who considered the combustion engine the height of technology calling him stupid.

He’d gotten quite a bit done overnight. His ship was well camouflaged, and his records had been brought up to date. Including his infuriating encounter with Sunbeam Stone. It hadn’t been until sunrise that he’d remembered his flight bag.

If she hadn’t made him lose his temper, he would never have left it behind. Not that it contained anything valuable. It was the principle of the thing. He was not absentminded by nature, and he only forgot minor details when his mind was absorbed with larger ones.

And he resented thinking of her. She had popped into his mind on and off as he’d worked through the night. A constant annoyance—like an itch on the shoulder blade that was just out of reach. How she’d crouched, ready to fight, chin up, body braced. How that body had felt under his, tensed, challenging. How her hair glowed, like her name.

Furious, he shook his head, as if to dislodge her from his thoughts. He didn’t have time for women. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate them, but there was a time for pleasure. This wasn’t it. And if it was pleasure he wanted, Sunbeam Stone was not where he should look for it.

The more he thought about where he was, when he was, the more he was certain that Cal needed to be brought to his senses and taken home.

Some sort of space fever, Jacob decided. His brother had suffered a shock, and the woman—as some women had throughout time—had taken advantage of him. When he approached Cal logically, they would get into the ship and go home.

In the meantime, he would take the opportunity to study and record at least this small section of the world.

At the edge of the forest, he paused. It was colder today, and he sincerely regretted the lack of warmer clothing. Gray clouds, plump with snow, had drifted in to cover the sun. In the gloomy light he watched Sunny lifting logs from the woodpile at the rear of the cabin. She was singing in a powerfully erotic voice about a man who had gotten away. She didn’t hear his approach, and she continued to sing and stack wood in her arms.

“Excuse me.”

With a yelp, she jumped back, sending the split logs flying. One landed hard on her booted foot, and she swore roundly and hopped up and down. “Damn it! Damn, damn, damn! What’s wrong with you?” Clasping her wounded foot with one hand, she braced the other on the cabin wall.

“Nothing.” He couldn’t help the grin. “I think there’s something wrong with you. Does it hurt?”

“No, it feels great. I live for pain.” She gritted her teeth as she set her foot gingerly back on the ground. “Where did you come from?”

“Philadelphia.” She narrowed her eyes. “Oh, you mean now?” With a jerk of his thumb, he said, “That way.” He paused to glance at the logs scattered in the snow. “Want some help?”

“No.” Favoring her foot, she crouched down to retrieve the logs. All the while, she watched him carefully, braced for any move he might make. “Do you know why I’m here, Hornblower? For peace and solitude.” She blew the hair out of her eyes as she looked up at him. “Do you understand the concepts?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Turning, she limped back into the cabin, letting the door slam shut behind her. After dumping the logs in the woodbox, she came back to the kitchen. And swore. “What now?”

“I left my bag.” He sniffed the air. “Is something burning?”

With a sound of disgust, she darted to the toaster, banging on it until the smoking, blackened bread popped up. “This stupid thing sticks.”

To get a better look at the fascinating little device, he leaned over her shoulder. “Doesn’t look appetizing.”

“It’s fine.” To prove it, she bit into the toast.

Her scent drifted to him over the smoke. His instant reaction annoyed him, but pride had him resisting the instinctive move away. “Are you always so stubborn?”

“Yes.”

“And so unfriendly?”

“No.”

She turned and was immediately made aware of the miscalculation. He didn’t move aside, as she had expected. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his palms against the counter and casually caging her between his arms. There was nothing she detested more than being outmaneuvered.

“Back off, Hornblower.”

“No.” He did shift, but closer. As on their first meeting, their thighs rubbed, but there was nothing loverlike in the connection. “You interest me, Sunbeam.”

“Sunny,” she said automatically. “Don’t call me Sunbeam.”

“You interest me,” he repeated. “Do you consider yourself an average woman of your time?”

Baffled, she shook her head. “What kind of a question is that?”

She had dozens of shades in her hair, from pale white to dark honey. He was sorry he had noticed. “One that requires a simple answer. Do you?”

“No. No one likes to be considered average. Now would you—”

“You’re beautiful.” His gaze skimmed over her face, deliberately, a test of himself and his endurance. “But that’s merely physical. What do you think separates you from the average?”

“What are you doing, a thesis?” She lifted a hand to shove him away and met the solid wall of his chest. She could feel his heartbeat there, slow and steady.

“More or less.” He smiled. He was disturbing her at a very basic level, and he found it intensely satisfying.

It was his eyes, Sunny thought. Even if the man was unhinged, he had the most incredibly hypnotic eyes. “I thought you dealt with planets and stars, not with people.”

“People live on planets.”

“At least this one.”

He smiled again. “At least. You could consider this a personal interest.”

She wanted to shift but realized that would only make the contact more intimate. Cursing him, she kept her voice and her gaze level. “I don’t want your personal interest, Jacob.”

“J.T.” He felt the quick tremor from her body into his. “The family usually calls me J.T.”

“All right.” She spoke slowly, all too aware that her brain had turned to mush. What she needed was some distance. “How about you get out of my way, J.T., and I put together some breakfast?”

If she didn’t stop nibbling on her lip, he was going to have to stop her in the most effective way he knew. He hadn’t realized that such a small, nervous habit could be seductive. “Is that an invitation?”

Her tongue slipped out to nurse her lip. “Sure.”

He leaned closer, enjoying the way her eyes widened, darkened, steadied. It wasn’t easy to resist. He was known for his brilliance, his tenacity, his temper. But not for his control. And he wanted to kiss her, not scientifically, not experimentally. Ruthlessly.

“Toast!” he murmured.

She let out a quick puff of air. “Froot Loops. They’re great. My favorite.”

He eased back, much more for his sake than for hers. If he was going to spend the next few weeks around her, he was going to have to work on that control. Because he had a plan.

“I could use some breakfast.”

“Fine.” Telling herself it was a change of strategy, not a retreat, she darted across the kitchen to pluck two bowls from the cupboard. With those and a colorful box in hand, she walked to the table. “We could never have these as kids. My mother was—is—a health fiend. Her idea of cold cereal is hunks of roots and tree bark.”

“Why would she choose to eat tree bark?”

“Don’t ask me.” Sunny grabbed the milk from the fridge, then dumped it over the piles of colorful circles. “Anyway, ever since I moved out I’ve been on a binge of junk food. I figure since I ate healthy for the first twenty years I can poison myself for the next twenty.”

“Poison,” he repeated, giving the cereal a dubious look.

“To the health fiend, sugar’s poison. Dig in,” she added, offering him a spoon. “Burnt toast and cold cereal are my specialties.” She smiled, charmingly. She, too, had a plan.

Because he wouldn’t have put it past her to poison him, he waited until she had begun to eat before he sampled the cereal. Soggy candy, he decided. And fairly appealing. He considered the informal meal a good start if he wanted to ingratiate himself with her enough to pump her for. information.

It was obvious that Cal had told no one except Libby about where—and when—he had come from. Jacob gave him full marks for that. It was better all around if the matter was kept quiet. The repercussions would be . . . well, he had yet to calculate them. But Sunny might not have been far off when she had said that Cal’s marrying her sister could change the course of history.

So he would play the game close, and cautious, and use the situation to his advantage. Use her to his advantage, he thought with only a twinge of guilt.

He intended to pick her brain, about her family, her sister in particular, her impressions of Cal. And he wanted her firsthand account of life in the twentieth century. With a little luck, he might be able to convince her to guide him into the nearest city, where he could add to his data.

It wouldn’t do to lose her temper with him, Sunny thought. If she wanted to find out exactly who and what he was, she would have to employ more tact. It wasn’t her strong point, but she could learn. She was as completely alone with him as it was possible to be. And, since she had no intention of packing up and leaving, she would just have to exercise some caution and some diplomacy. Particularly if he was as loony as she believed.

It was too bad that he was crazy, she thought, smiling at him. Anyone that attractive, that blatantly sexy, deserved a solid, working brain. Maybe it was only a temporary mental breakdown.

“So.” She tapped her spoon against the side of her bowl. “What do you think of Oregon so far?”

“It’s very big—and underpopulated.”

“That’s how we like it.” She let the lull drag out. “Did you fly into Portland?”

He wavered between a lie and the truth. “No, my transportation brought me a bit closer. Do you live here with Cal and your sister?”

“No. I have a place in Portland, but I’m thinking of giving it up.”

“To what?”

“Just giving it up.” She shot him a puzzled look, then shrugged. “Actually, I’m toying with the idea of going east for a while. New York.”

“To do what?”

“I haven’t decided.”

He set his spoon aside. “You have no work?”

Automatically her shoulders squared. “I’m in between jobs. I recently resigned from a managerial position in retail.” She’d been fired from her job as assistant manager of the lingerie department of a mid-level department store. “I’m considering going back to school for a law degree.”

“Law?” His eyes softened. There was something so appealing about the look that she nearly smiled at him and meant it. “My mother is in law.”

“Really? I don’t think Cal mentioned it. What kind of law does she practice?”

Because he thought it would be a bit difficult to explain his mother’s position, he asked, “What kind did you have in mind?”

“I’m leaning toward criminal law.” She started to elaborate, then stopped herself. She didn’t want to talk about herself but about him. “It’s funny, isn’t it, that my sister should be a scientist and Cal’s brother should be one? Just what does an astrophysicist do?”

“Theorizes. Experiments.”

“About stuff like interplanetary travel?” She tried not to smirk but didn’t quite succeed. “You don’t really believe all that stuff—like people flying off to Venus the way they fly to Cleveland?”

It was fortunate he was a cool hand at poker. His face remained bland as he continued to eat. “Yes.”

She laughed indulgently. “I guess you have to, but isn’t it frustrating to go into all that knowing that even if it becomes possible it won’t happen in your lifetime?”

“Time’s relative. In the early part of this century a flight to the moon was considered implausible. But it has been done.” Clumsily, he thought, but it had been done. “In the next century man goes to Mars and beyond.”

“Maybe.” She got up to take two bottles of soda from the refrigerator. “But it would be hard for me to devote my life to something I’d never see happen.” As Jacob watched in fascination, she took a small metal object out of a drawer, applied it like a lever to the top of each bottle and dislodged the caps. “I guess I like to see results, and see them now,” she admitted as she set the first bottle in front of him. “Instant gratification. Which is why I’m twenty-three and between jobs.”

The bottle was glass, Jacob mused. The same kind she had tried to strike him with the afternoon before. Lifting it, he sipped. He was pleasantly surprised by the familiar taste. He enjoyed the same soft drink at home, though it wasn’t his habit to drink it for breakfast.

“Why did you decide to study space?”

He glanced back at her. He recognized a grilling when he heard one, and he thought it would be entertaining to both humor and annoy her. “I like possibilities.”

“You must have studied a long time.”

“Long enough.” He sipped again.

“Where?”

“Where what?”

She managed to keep the pleasant smile intact. “Where did you study?”

He thought of the Kroliac Institute on Mars, the Birmington University in Houston and his brief and intense year in the L’Espace Space Laboratory in the Fordon Quadrant. “Here and there. At the moment I’m attached to a small private facility outside of Philadelphia.”

She wondered if the staff of that private facility wore white coats. “I guess you find it fascinating.”

“Only more so recently. Are you nervous?”

“Why?”

“You keep tapping your foot.”

She placed a hand on her knee to stop the movement. “Restless. I get restless if I stay in one place too long.” It was obvious, painfully so, that she wasn’t going to get anywhere with him this way. “Listen, I really do have some things to . . .” Her words trailed off as she glanced out the window. She didn’t know when the snow had begun, but it was coming down in sheets. “Terrific.”

Following her gaze, Jacob studied the thick white flakes. “Looks like it means business.”

“Yeah.” She let out her breath in a sigh. Maybe he did make her nervous, but she wasn’t a monster. “And it’s not the kind of weather suitable for camping in the woods.” Fighting with her conscience, she walked to the door, back to the table, then to the window. “Look, I know you don’t have a place to stay. I saw you walk into the forest yesterday.”

“I have . . . all I need.”

“Sure, but I can’t have you go trudging into the hills in a blizzard to sleep in a tent or something. Libby would never forgive me if you died of exposure.” Thrusting her hands in her pockets, she scowled at him. “You can stay here.”

He considered the possibilities and smiled. “I’d love to.”