Times Change

Chapter 4

He never should have touched her. Jacob cursed himself. Then he found that it was much more convenient, and much more satisfying, to curse her. She’d started it, after all. He’d known, right from the start, that she would make trouble for him.

There were some people in this world—in any world, he thought bitterly—who were just born to complicate other people’s lives. Sunbeam Stone was one of them. In her looks, in her voice, in her gestures, in her personality, she had everything a woman needed to distract a man. To aggravate him to the edge of reason. And beyond.

She challenged him at every meeting. Those cool smiles, that hot temper. It was a combination he couldn’t resist. And he was sure she knew it.

When he’d kissed her—and God knew he hadn’t meant to—it had been like being shot into hyperspace without a ship. How could he have known that damn sulky mouth of hers would be so potent?

He’d never been attracted to passive women. But what difference did that make? He had no intention of being attracted to Sunny. He couldn’t be. He damn well wouldn’t be, no matter what tricks she pulled out of her twentieth-century hat.

What had happened was completely her fault, he decided. She’d taunted and tempted him. She’d wanted to confuse him. Gritting his teeth, he admitted that she’d done a brilliant job of it. After she had and he’d reacted as any normal man would, she’d looked at him with those big, gorgeous eyes full of panic and passion. Oh, she was a case, all right. His study of the twentieth century should have warned him that women had been much more bewildering back then. And craftier.

Hands in pockets, he paced to the window to watch the swirling snow. Oh, she was a bright one, he mused. Sharp as Venusian crystal, and twice as deadly. She knew something wasn’t quite right about his story, and she was determined to find out just what he was holding back. And he was just as determined to keep her in the dark.

In a battle of wits, he had every confidence his would prevail. How much effort would it take to outwit a twentieth-century woman? After all, he was more than two hundred years ahead of her on the evolutionary scale. It was a pity she was so intriguing. And so primitively attractive. But he was a scientist, and he had already calculated that any kind of involvement with her would shoot his equations to hell.

Still, she was right about one thing, he decided. They were stuck with each other. The whole damn mountain was practically empty but for the two of them. The way the snow was falling, it was painfully obvious that they would be in each other’s way for days. However irritating it might be, for the time being, he needed her.

He had to get around her, or through her, to get to his brother. Whatever it took, he would get to Cal.

Turning, he made a long, slow study of the kitchen. The first thing to be faced was that the cabin was too small for them to avoid each other. He could go back to his ship, but he preferred being here, recording firsthand observations. It would be easier to fight whatever attraction Cal felt for this time and place if he understood it. And his innate curiosity would never be satisfied on the ship.

So he would stay. And if that made the pretty Sunbeam uncomfortable, so much the better.

His own discomfort—and the kiss had caused him plenty—would just have to be dealt with. He was, after all, superior.

Feeling more calm, he went back to the table to reassemble the toaster.

As he worked, he could hear the ceiling creak and groan above his head. He smiled to himself when he realized that she was pacing on the second floor. He bothered her. And that was just fine. Maybe she would keep her distance—or at least stop daring him to do something they would both regret.

It was illogical to desire someone he didn’t even like. To fantasize about someone he could barely tolerate. To ache for someone who annoyed him so consistently.

When the screwdriver slipped and mashed his thumb, he cursed her again.

***

He wasn’t going to get away with it She paced from wall to wall, from window to door, trying to work off steam. The nerve of the man, to grab her as if she were some mindless bimbo, then reject her just as callously. Did he think, did he really think, he could vent his . . . his sexual frustrations on her without compunction?

She had news for him.

No one, absolutely no one, treated her in that manner and lived to tell the tale. She’d been taking care of herself for too long. Men might pressure. She pushed them aside. They might seduce. She resisted, effortlessly. They might beg. She—

Her smile bloomed beautifully at the image of Jacob Hornblower begging. Oh, that would be a triumph, she thought. The enigmatic Dr. Hornblower on his knees, at her feet.

With a sigh, she began pacing again. It was a shame, a damn shame, that her standards didn’t permit teasing or clichéd feminine ploys. No matter how much of a jerk he was, she had her ethics.

She was a modern woman, one who stood on her own, with or without a man. One who thought her own thoughts and fought her own fights. She was no Delilah to use sex as a weapon. But she wished, and how she wished, that once, just this once, she could ignore those ingrained principles and seduce him into a pitiful puddle of pleading.

He’d used sex, she thought, kicking a shoe out of her path. And wasn’t that just like a man? They liked to claim that it was women who lured and teased and taunted. Incensed, she gave the hapless shoe a second, vicious kick. Men, the entire bloody species, preferred to play the innocent bystander entrapped by the femme fatale. Hah!

If anyone dared to call Sunny Stone a femme fatale she’d punch him right in the face.

He’d forced himself on her. Well, her stiff-necked honesty pushed her to admit that he hadn’t used force for more than a fraction of a second—if at all. Before he’d kissed her senseless.

She hated that. The fact that she’d melted like some weak-kneed romantic heroine. She’d kissed him back, too. What was the word? Wantonly. It made her wince. One lousy kiss and she’d been plastered all over him. So, she owed him for that, as well.

The best way to pay him back, she realized, was to shoot straight for the ego. As far as she could tell, that was the biggest target a man offered a woman. Hiding in her room would only make him think he—and what had happened between them—mattered to her. So she would go about her business and act as though nothing had happened.

He was still in the kitchen when she came down. Sunny turned on the stereo and adjusted the volume. If it was loud enough, conversation would be difficult, if not impossible. After adding a log to the fire, she settled on the sofa with her books. Over an hour passed before he came out and went upstairs. She studiously ignored him.

More from boredom than from appetite, she went into the kitchen and fixed herself an enormous sandwich. Under other circumstances she would have offered to make one for her guest. But the idea of him going hungry just made her own meal that much more palatable.

Content, she bundled into coat and boots to go outside and fill the bird feeder. The short trip brought home to her the fact that her unwelcome company would be in her way for several days. The snow was blinding, falling in swirling sheets that covered her tracks almost as quickly as she made them. There was wind behind it, a nasty wind that raced keening through the trees and sent the pines roaring.

With snow up to the tops of her boots, she lugged the bag of feed back to the shed. Catching her breath, she let the storm blow around her. She could see nothing but the power of it, the anger of it. It was magnificent.

Annoyance faded. All dark thoughts vanished. As she stood with the wind battering her, the snow slapping wet on her cheeks, she felt the excitement and the peace that she rarely felt elsewhere.

Though she never stayed in the mountains long, though she always became restless and went off in search of noise and crowds, there was no place she would rather be in a storm. Winter snow or summer thunder. It was here, alone, that the force, the energy, the mystery, could be appreciated.

A city covered with snow would soon dig itself out. But the mountains were patient. They would wait for sun and time. As she stood with the wind wrapped around her like a wild, relentless lover she wished she could take some piece of this with her wherever she went.

From the window he watched her. She stood like some kind of winter goddess in the whirling snow. Hatless, her coat flapping open, she remained still, heedless, as the snow covered her hair. And she was smiling. Cold colored her cheeks. She seemed more than beautiful now. She seemed untouchable. And invincible.

He wondered as he looked down on her why he wanted her more at that moment than he had when she had been hot and passionate in his arms.

Then she looked up, as if she knew he was watching. Through the blowing curtain of snow, their eyes met. His hands balled into fists, fists identical to the one that clenched in his gut. She was no longer smiling. Despite the distance, he felt the power ricochet back to him, buckling his knees.

If he could have reached out for her then, he would have taken her, regardless of the consequences. In that one look, past, present and future merged into one. He saw his destiny.

Then she shifted, shaking the snow from her hair, and the spell shattered. He told himself she was only a woman, a foolish one, walking in a storm. She would have no lasting effect on him.

But it was a long time after he heard her come inside before he went downstairs again.

She was sleeping on the sofa, books piled at her feet and on the floor. One of the exquisite throws was tossed over her. Despite the volume of the stereo, she slept deeply. Nearby, the fire blazed.

She didn’t look invincible now, Jacob decided. She looked disconcertingly serene. He supposed it was foolish to notice how long her lashes were as they shadowed her cheeks. How soft her mouth was when relaxed in sleep. How her hair, mussed from the wind, shone in the firelight.

They were only physical attributes, and in his time physical appearance could be altered simply and safely. It made life more pleasant, certainly, to look at a beautiful woman. But it was superficial. Totally superficial. Still, he looked for a long time.

***

Sunny woke like a shot when the music cut off. The abrupt silence had her leaping out of sleep with eyes wide and curses on her tongue. Disoriented and irritable, as she always was upon waking, she stared around the darkened room. The fire had burned down to a soft glow and shed little light. Though she didn’t think she had slept long, night had fallen. And so, she realized, had a power line.

With a sigh, she pushed herself from the sofa and groped her way across the room looking for matches. With a candle in one hand and a pack of matches in the other, she turned and walked into Jacob.

At her quick squeal, he brought his hands to her arms, both to steady and to reassure. “It’s only me.”

“I know who it is,” she snapped, infuriated that she’d jolted. “What are you doing?”

“Before or after the lights went out?”

She could see him well enough, silhouetted by the firelight, to make out the smile. “It’s the storm.”

“What about it?” The muscles in her arms were tensed. He had to resist the urge to slip his hands up the sleeves of her sweater and soothe them and stroke her skin.

“It knocked out the power.”

He hadn’t let her go. He’d told himself to, but his hands hadn’t listened. “Would you like me to fix it?”

Her laugh was quick and a bit unsteady. She wished she could blame the power failure for her nerves, but she’d never been afraid of the dark. Until now. “It’s a little more complicated than a toaster. The power company will get to it when they can.”

He was sure he could jury-rig something, but he didn’t mind the dark. “All right.”

All right, she thought, letting out a long breath. In the meantime, she was alone with him. Added to the fact that she wasn’t sure about his mental balance was the very real problem of being attracted to him. One thing at a time, she told herself, and took a deliberate step back.

“We have plenty of candles.” To prove it, she lit the one she held in her hand. It helped her confidence when she saw the flame hold steady. “And plenty of wood. If you’ll put a couple of logs on the fire, I’ll deal with getting us more light.”

He watched the way the small flame flickered in her eyes. She was nervous, he realized, and wished that didn’t make her even more seductive. “Sure.”

Sunny gathered every candle she could put her hands on. Too late she realized that one or two would have seemed rustic. The dozen she had scattered through the room only added an impossibly romantic atmosphere. Stuffing the matches in her pocket, she reminded herself that she wasn’t affected by things like atmosphere.

“You wouldn’t know what time it is, would you?” she asked him.

“Not exactly. Around six.”

She sat on the arm of the sofa nearest the fire. “I slept longer than I thought.” Now she was going to have to make the best of a bad situation. “So, did you entertain yourself this afternoon?”

“I fixed the faucet.” It had taken more time and given him more trouble than he’d anticipated, but he’d managed.

“You’re a regular Harry Homemaker, aren’t you?” Because it sounded sarcastic, she smiled. They really did only have each other at this point, and alienating him wouldn’t be wise. “I could fix some sandwiches.” She rose, willing to be gracious if it kept her busy. “Want a beer?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Sunny took two of the candles into the kitchen and nearly relaxed before she realized he’d followed her in. “I can manage this by myself.” She opened the refrigerator and swore when she remembered that the light wouldn’t come on. Saying nothing, Jacob handed her a candle. She shoved two beers at him.

He remembered how she had dealt with the bottles that morning, and he was delighted when he found the same tool and popped the tops.

“Switch on the radio, will you?”

“What?”

“The radio,” she repeated. “On the windowsill. We might get a weather report.”

He found a small plastic box. He was grinning at it as he found the dial and turned on static.

“Mess with the tuner,” she advised him.

He was contemplating borrowing it and taking it back home. “Mess with it?”

“You know . . . fool with it. See if you can come up with a station.”

He stared at the little portable for a moment, wondering how one fooled an inanimate object. Making sure Sunny’s back was to him, he took the radio off the windowsill and shook it. Because that seemed stupid, he began to turn dials. The static faded in and out.

“Mustard or mayo?”

“What?”

“On your sandwich,” she said, striving for patience. “Do you want mustard or mayo?”

“It doesn’t matter. Whatever you’re having.” He found some tinny music that was almost audible. How did people tolerate such unreliable equipment? he wondered. At home he had a portable unit that could give him the weather in Paris, a play-by-play of a ball game, a traffic report from Mars and a passable cup of coffee. Simultaneously. This antique child’s toy wasn’t coming up with anything more than what sounded like a banjo playing in a wind tunnel.

“Let me try.” Setting the sandwiches aside, Sunny snatched the radio from him. In moments there was a blast of music. “It’s temperamental,” she explained.

“It’s a machine,” he reminded her, miffed.

“A temperamental one.” Satisfied, she set it back on the counter, then carried her sandwich and her beer to the table. “Weather report’s not much use anyway.” She applied herself to the sandwich. “I already know it’s snowing.”

Jacob picked up one of the potato chips she had piled beside the bread. “More to the point is to know when it’s going to stop.”

“Speculation.” She shrugged as he joined her. “No matter how many satellites they put up there, it’s still guesswork.”

He opened his mouth to contradict her but thought better of it and bit into his sandwich instead. “Does it bother you?”

“What?”

“Being . . .” What phrase would she use? “Being cut off.”

“Not really—at least not for a day or two. After that I start to go crazy.” She winced, wondering if that was the best choice of words. “How about you?”

“I don’t like being closed in,” he said simply. He had to smile when he heard the light tap of her foot on the floor. He was making her nervous again. He took an experimental swig of beer. “This is good.” He glanced around when a voice broke into the music to announce the weather. The cheerful, painfully breezy announcer carried on for several moments before getting to the mountains.

“And you people way up in the Klamath might as well snuggle up. Hope you’ve got your main squeeze with you, ’cause it looks like you’re in for a big one. The white stuff’s going to keep right on falling through tomorrow night. Expect about three feet, you hardy souls, with winds gusting up to thirty miles an hour. Brrr! Temperatures down to fifteen tonight, not counting old Mr. Wind Chill. Bundle up, baby, and let looove keep you warm.”

“Not very scientific,” Jacob murmured.

Sunny made a rude noise and scowled at the radio. “However it’s presented, it means the same thing. I’d better bring in some more wood.”

“I’ll get it.”

“I don’t need—”

“You made the sandwiches,” he pointed out, sipping more beer. “I’ll get the wood when we’re finished.”

“Fine.” She didn’t want him to do her any favors. She ate in silence for a time, watching him. “You’d have been better off to wait until spring.”

“For what?”

“To come to see Cal.”

He took another bite of his sandwich. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it was terrific. “Apparently. Actually, I’d planned to be here . . . sooner.” Almost a year sooner. “But it didn’t work out.”

“It’s a shame your parents couldn’t come with you . . . you know, to visit.”

She saw something in his eyes then. Regret, frustration, anger? She couldn’t be sure. “It wasn’t possible.”

She refused, absolutely, to feel sorry for him. “My parents couldn’t stand not seeing Libby or me for so long.”

The disapproval in her voice rubbed an already raw wound. “You have no conception of how the separation from Cal has affected my family.”

“Sorry.” But she moved her shoulders to show that she wasn’t. “I’d just think if they were anxious to see him they’d have made the effort to do so.”

“The choice was his.” He pushed back from the table. “I’ll get the wood.”

Touchy, touchy, she thought as he started toward the door. “Hey.”

He rounded on her, ready to fight. “What?”

“You can’t go out without a coat. It’s freezing.”

“I don’t have one with me.”

“Are all scientists so softheaded?” she muttered. Rising, she went into a long cupboard. “I can’t think of anything so stupid as to come into the mountains in January without a coat.”

Jacob took a deep breath and then said calmly, “If you keep calling me stupid, I’m going to have to hit you.”

She gave him a bland look. “I’m shaking. Here.” She tossed him a worn pea coat. “Put that on. The last thing I want is to have to treat you for frostbite.” As an afterthought, she threw him a pair of gloves and a dark stocking cap. “You do have winters in Philadelphia, don’t you?”

His teeth gritted, Jacob struggled into the coat. “It wasn’t cold when I left home.” He dragged the hat down over his ears.

“Oh, well, that certainly explains it.” She gave a snort of laughter when he slammed the door behind him. He wasn’t really crazy, she thought. A little dim, maybe, and so much fun to aggravate. And if she aggravated him enough, Sunny mused, she might just get some more information out of him.

She heard him cursing and didn’t bother to muffle a laugh. Unless she missed her guess, he’d just dropped at least one log on his foot. Perhaps she should have offered him a flashlight, but . . . he deserved it.

Wiping the grin from her face, she went to the door to open it for him. He was already coated with snow. It was even clinging to his eyebrows, giving him a fiercely surprised expression. She bit down hard on her tongue and let him stomp across the kitchen, his arms loaded with wood. At the sound of logs crashing into the box, she cleared her throat, then calmly picked up her beer and his before joining him in the living room.

“I’ll get the next load,” she told him solicitously.

“You bet you will.” His foot was throbbing, his fingers were numb, and his temper was already lost. “How does anybody live like this?”

“Like what?” she asked innocently.

“Here.” He was at his wit’s end. He threw out his arms in a gesture that encompassed not only the cabin but also the world at large. “You have no power, no conveniences, no decent transportation, no nothing. If you want heat, you have to burn wood. Wood, for God’s sake! If you want light, you have to rely on unstable electricity. As for communication, it’s a joke. A bad one.”

Sunny was a city girl at heart, but nobody insulted her family home. Her chin came up. “Listen, pal, if I hadn’t taken you in you’d be up in the woods freezing like a Popsicle and no one would have found you until the spring thaw. So watch it.”

Overly sensitive, he decided, lifting a brow. “You can’t tell me that you actually like it here.”

Her hands fisted and landed on her hips. “I like it here just fine. If you don’t, we’ve got two doors. Take your pick.”

His little excursion to the woodpile had convinced him that he didn’t care to brave the elements. Neither did he care to swallow his pride. He stood for a moment, considering his choices. Without a word, he picked up his beer, sat and drank.

Since Sunny considered it a victory, she joined him. But she wasn’t ready to give him a break. “You’re awfully finicky for a guy who pops up on the doorstep without so much as a toothbrush.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said you’re awfully—”

“How do you know I don’t have a toothbrush?” He’d read about them. Now, with fire glinting in his eyes, he turned to her.

“It’s an expression,” Sunny said, evading his question. “I simply meant that I wouldn’t think that a man who travels with one change of clothes should be complaining about the accommodations.”

“How would you know what I’ve got—unless you’ve been going through my things?”

“You haven’t got any things,” Sunny muttered, knowing that once again she’d opened her mouth before she’d fine-tuned her brain. She started to rise, but he clamped a hand on her shoulder. “Look, I only went through your bag to see—just to see, that’s all.” She turned, deciding a level look was the best defense. “How could I be sure you were who you said you were and not some maniac?”

He kept his grip painfully firm. “And are you sure now?” He caught the quick flicker in her eyes and decided to exploit it. “There wasn’t anything in my bag to tell you one way or the other. Was there?”

“Maybe not.” She tried to shrug his hand off. When it remained, she balled one of her own into a fist and waited.

“So, for all you know, I am a maniac.” He leaned closer, until his face was an inch from hers, until her eyes saw only his eyes, until his breath mingled with her breath. “And there are all kinds of maniacs, aren’t there, Sunny?”

“Yes.” She had trouble getting the word past her lips. It wasn’t fear. She wished it were. It was something much more complicated, much more dangerous, than fear. For a moment, with the firelight flickering beside them, the candles wavering, the wind beating soft fists on the window, she didn’t care who he was. All that mattered was that he was going to kiss her. And more.

The fact that he would do more was in his eyes. The image of rolling on the floor with him sprang into her mind. A wild, willful tangle of bodies, a free, frantic burst of passion. It would be that way with him. The first time, and every time. Raging rivers, quaking earth, exploding planets. Such would love be with him.

And after the first time there would be no turning back. She was certain, as she had never been certain of anything, that if there was a first time, she would want him, she would crave him, as long as there was breath in her body.

His lips brushed hers. It could hardly be called a kiss, yet the potency of it sent shock waves streaking through her system. And had warning bells screaming in her head. She did the only thing a sensible woman could do under the circumstances. She drove her clenched hand into his stomach.

His breath pushed out in a huff of pained surprise. As he doubled over, nearly falling in her lap, she slipped to one side and sprang to her feet. She was braced and ready for his next move.

“You’re the maniac,” he managed after he’d wheezed some air into his lungs. “I have never in my life met anyone like you.”

“Thanks.” She was nibbling on her lip again, but she let her tensed arms drop to her sides. “You deserved that, J.T.” She held her ground as he slowly lifted his head and sent her a long, killing look. “You were trying to intimidate me.”

It had started out that way, he was forced to admit. But in the end, when he had leaned toward her, smelled her hair, felt the soft silk of her lips, it had had nothing to do with intimidation and everything to do with seduction. His. “It wouldn’t be hard,” he said after a moment, “to learn to detest you.”

“No, I guess not.” Because he was taking it better than she’d anticipated, she smiled at him. “I tell you what—since we are family, so to speak . . . I do believe you, by the way. That you’re Cal’s brother, I mean.”

“Thanks.” Finally he managed to straighten up. “Thanks a lot.”

“Don’t mention it. As I was saying, since we’re sort of family, why don’t we call a truce? It’s like this—if the weather keeps up, we’re going to be trapped here together for several days.”

“Now who’s trying to intimidate whom?”

She laughed then and decided to be friendly. “Just laying my cards on the table. If we keep throwing punches at each other, we’re only going to get bruised. I figure it’s not worth it.”

He had to think about that, and think hard. “I wouldn’t mind going for two out of three.”

“You’re a tough nut, J.T.”

Since he didn’t know what to make of that description, he kept silent.

“I still vote for the truce, at least until the snow stops. I don’t hit you anymore and you don’t try to kiss me again. Deal?”

He liked the part about her not hitting him anymore. And he’d already decided he wouldn’t try to kiss her again. He would damn well do it, whenever he chose to. He nodded. “Deal.”

“Excellent. We’ll celebrate the truce with another beer and some popcorn. We’ve got an old popper in the kitchen. We can make it over the fire.”

“Sunny.” She paused, candle in hand, in the doorway. He couldn’t help but resent the way the flickering light flattered her. “I’m still not sure I like you.”

“That’s okay.” She smiled. “I’m not sure I like you, either.”