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next move, I’m going to try my new boots.”
    She looked up, her eyes slightly unfocused. “In this weather?”
    “This weather is what they’re for. I have to take readings outside every three hours, night and day.”
    Her mouth fell open. “When do you sleep?”
    “In three-hour segments. I’ll drag a sleeping bag out and sleep on the floor. I hope my alarm won’t wake you.”
    She got out of her chair. “I can’t let you sleep on the floor because I came up here uninvited.”
    “Invited or not, you’re a guest. Haven’t you heard of Southern hospitality?”
    “Haven’t you heard of Yankee determination?” she countered.
    For a long moment they stood staring at each other, neither one willing to back down. Finally she gave in. “Okay,” she said and stretched, giving him a too-clear picture of the curve of her hips under the snug stretch pants. He tore his gaze away and ripped open the Green Mountain cardboard box and lifted the boots out. They had thick soles and a soft fleece lining.
    “They look just like the picture in the catalog,” he said, holding them up. But you don’t, he wanted to say. Not with the clothes over the underwear and your hair framing your face as if it were silk. He bent over, pulled the boots on and tried to get a grip on himself.
    “I hope they fit,” she said anxiously.
    “They’re fine.” He reached into the bottom of the box. “This must be the underwear.”
    Miranda scooted forward in her chair and reached for the package. For all she knew he might try it on right here and now. “You said extra large, but I think they’re too big. Extra large is really large,” she stammered. But he opened the bag before she could stop him and held the underwear up to his body. It wasn’t hard to imagine the gray cotton knit molding to his broad shoulders and tapering to his flat stomach.
    “They’ll do,” he said and sat down to lace his boots. She moved backward into her chair again and took a sip of wine. When he went outside she looked at her watch. So many hours before she could go home. If the weather cooperated. Restless, she got out of her chair and went to the kitchen to wash the dishes.
    She was up to her elbows in soapy water when he came back, knocking the snow off the boots just outside the door. She wiped her hands on her pants and watched him remove his down vest. “What’s it like out there?”
    He shook his head and drops of water flew. “It’s snowing.” Her heart fell. When he approached, she could see the flakes in his eyebrows. “But there’s a break in the altostratus clouds,” he announced. Her mouth curved into a relieved smile. “You’ll be glad to get out of here,” he observed.
    She went back to the sink. “You’ll be glad to have me gone.”
    He found a towel and began drying the dishes she set in the wooden rack. “Not until I beat you at chess.”
    “That’ll never happen. Not if we stay up all night.”
    From behind her he said, “Want to try?” in a lazy drawl that turned her knees to jelly.
    She swallowed hard and handed him another plate. Their hands met and her heart stopped. His eyes weren’t really blue, she realized, they were the dark blue-gray of the winter sky. “Try what, staying up all night?” Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. It would solve the problem of who was going to sleep on the cot. And she was just competitive enough to want to win.
    “It was just a suggestion.”
    She shrugged and dried her hands. “I’m game.”
    They went back to their places at the table. He checked her king, but she moved it out of the line of attack. While she waited for his next move she studied his hands, wide and strong and capable, and wondered why his wife hadn’t missed him when he was gone. He had the kind of thick straight hair a woman might want to run her hands through, he was a great cook and then there was the Southern accent. He looked up and caught her staring at him and she felt the heat rise to her face.
    If she