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rubbed tension from her temples. The time travel concept hurt her head.
    “I’ve never seen a holographic recording of a concert or of anything else.”
    “The performances weren’t lost. Bummer.” His voice softened and his shoulders rounded with disappointment. “They were never captured.”
    The wind whistled and a branch creaked. She jumped on the chance to change the subject from ancient history and its relics—like her—to something easier. The weather as conversation was trite but safe. “Sounds like we’re in for a real winter storm.”
    “Yeah, we’re stuck for a couple of days, maybe longer,” he said cheerfully.
    Minka had camped in far worse places. She shuddered and snapped the lid on that set of bleak memories. “We were lucky to find this cabin, big guy.”
    “Luck’s not part of the deal, Batzorg led us straight here.”
    “How did he find it?”
    Lorcan picked up the tray and moved toward the door. He shifted the load to his hip, turned back, and winked before leaving. “You’ll have to ask him yourself, hot stuff.”
    His parting shot made her smile. She liked the sound of hot stuff. Sure she did, because hot stuff wasn’t her at all. She was much more the gal-pal type. Except around these guys, her arousal was constant and unmistakable…with all three of them?
    Very different and very weird. But she’d left both nice and normal behind a long time ago.
    Nigel leapt off the bed and darted after his new friend.
    Little traitor dumped me for a measly couple of cans of seafood. She sniffed and reassured herself that he’d come back whenever the big guy closed the kitchen. Probably.
    Alone again, she grew restless and explored the room. A small closet held spare bed linens, a large heavy jacket, and a pair of men’s rubber boots. The other door opened to a bathroom with running water. She looked at the old-fashioned claw-footed tub with longing and tried the hot water faucet. Stinging cold chilled her fingers, exactly the same icy temperature that came from the C-labeled brass knob.
    A lack of hot water barely dampened the thrill of having access to a functioning bathroom. After a quick check of the well-stocked linen cupboard, she dug through her pack for her toothpaste, brush and floss. Once she’d cleaned her teeth, she made use of the small oval mirror to comb her messy hair and clip it off her neck. She locked her molars to endure a cold-water spot wash. Not fun, but better than using her dwindling supply of baby wipes.
    Before she stripped, the door in the other room opened and the floor creaked. She unclipped her hair, shook out her curls, and hurried back into the bedroom.
    Batzorg had removed his helmet, revealing close-cropped hair as dark as his midnight eyes. He held an old-fashioned galvanized-steel wash tub half filled with steamy water. He set the bath in front of the fire. Vilmos followed him into the room carrying a kettle of hot water, towels and real soap.
    Her eyes widened in delight. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a hot bath. Sudden tears of gratitude welled, making her blink hard. Three decent guys pop into my life and I turn into a complete wimp.
    “Put the kettle by the tub, the towels on the chair,” Batzorg directed.
    Doc still wore his helmet with the face shield raised. For a moment, his gaze locked with hers. With a quick flash of his dimple he set down his burdens and asked, “Where do you want the soap?”
    “On top of the towels, then leave.” Batzorg’s eyes locked on hers and didn’t waver.
    Heat rose from her chest to stain her neck and face.
    She was almost sure Doc wanted to stay, but he obeyed Batzorg’s orders without a word of protest. She empathized with his choice. The triad leader compelled obedience.
    “Thanks for helping,” she called after him. She angled her gaze away from the hot water to the even hotter Batzorg. Ignoring her rampaging hormones, she did the right thing and handed him an easy exit line. “Thanks