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went into preserved areas and camped. He'd always thought they were strange. But the way Libby spoke of it, it seemed homey.
    "I loved it. I guess those first five years helped me handle the more primitive parts of digs and field-work."
    She was relaxed again. He could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice. Though a nervous Libby held a definite appeal for him, he wanted her relaxed now. The more at ease she was, the more information he might glean.
    "What era do you study?"
    "No specific era. I'm hung up on tribal life, mainly isolated cultures and the effects of modern tools and machines. Things like how electricity changes the sociopolitical mores of the traditional man. I've toyed around with extinct cultures, Aztecs, Incas." This was easy, she decided. The more she talked about her work, the less she would think about that jolting moment in the kitchen and her own inexplicable reaction to it. "I'm planning on going to Peru in the fall."
    "How'd you get started?"
    "I think it was a trip to the Yucatan when I was a kid, and all those wonderful Mayan ruins. Have you ever been to Mexico?"
    Looking back, he remembered a particularly wild night in Acapulco. "Yes. About ten years ago." Or a couple of centuries from now, he thought, and frowned into his bowl.
    "Bad time?"
    "What? No. This tea-" He took another sip. "It's familiar."
    Grinning, she tucked her legs up under her. "My father will be glad to hear that. Herbal Delight-that's his company. He started it right here in this cabin."
    Cal looked down into his cup, then laid his head back and laughed. "I thought that was a myth."
    "No." With a half smile forming, she studied him. "I don't get the joke."
    "It's hard to explain." Should he tell her that over two centuries from now Herbal Delight would be one of the ten biggest and most powerful companies on Earth and its colonies? Should he tell her that it made not only tea but organic fuel and God knew what else? Here was Cal Hornblower, he thought, sitting cozily in a chair in the cabin where it all began. He noted that she was staring at him as if she were going to check his pulse again.
    "My mother used to give me this," he told her. "When I had-" He wasn't sure what childhood illness he could name, but he was certain it wasn't red dust fever. "Whenever I wasn't feeling well."
    "A cure for all ills. You're remembering more."
    "Patches, pieces," he said, still cautious. "It's easier to remember childhood than last night."
    "I don't think that's unusual. Are you married?" Where had that come from? she wondered, and immediately turned her attention to the fire.
    He was glad she wasn't looking at him when the grin split his face. "No. It wouldn't be wise for me to want you if I were."
    Her mouth dropped open, and she twisted around to look at him. Quickly she rose and began stacking the dishes on the tray. "I should take these back in."
    "Would you rather I didn't tell you?"
    She had to swallow once, hard, before she could speak at all. "Tell me what?"
    "That I want you." He closed his hand over her wrist to keep her still. It amazed and aroused him to feel her pulse hammering. His word-by-word perusal of the newspaper hadn't given him an inkling of how men and women interacted in the here and now, but he didn't believe it could be so different.
    "Yes-No."
    Smiling, he took the tray out of her hands. "Which?"
    "I don't think it's a good idea." When he stood up, she stepped back and felt the heat from the fire on her legs. "Caleb-"
    "Is this a special occasion?" He traced a fingertip across her jaw and watched her eyes go as hot as the flames behind her.
    "Don't." It was ridiculous. He couldn't make her tremble with just a touch. But all he had done was touch her. And she was trembling.
    "When I woke up and saw you sleeping in the chair in the firelight I thought you were an illusion." He rubbed his thumb gently over her bottom lip. "You look like one now."
    She didn't feel like one. She felt real, shatteringly real, and