Time and Again

at the one in his hand. "I haven't gotten around to reading any of them yet, so they're already old news."
    "Yeah." He looked at the papers that were still on the floor. "Old news."
    With a laugh, she rose and began to make an effort to tidy the room. "I always feel so cut off here, more so than when I'm in the field hundreds of miles away. I imagine we could establish a colony on Mars and I wouldn't hear about it until it was all over."
    "A colony on Mars," he murmured, feeling his stomach sink as he glanced at the paper again. "I think you've got about a hundred years to go."
    "Sorry I'll miss it." With a sigh, she looked out the window. "Rain's starting up again. Maybe we can catch the weather on the early news." After stepping over books, she flicked on a small portable television. After a moment, a snowy picture blinked on. She dragged a hand through her hair and decided to watch without her glasses. "The weather should be on in a-Caleb?" She tilted her head to one side, fascinated by his dumbstruck expression. "I'd swear you'd never seen a television in your life."
    "What?" He brought himself back, wishing he had another brandy. A television. He'd heard of them, of course, in the same way Libby had heard of covered wagons. "I didn't realize you had one."
    "We're rustic," she told him, "not primitive." She narrowed her eyes when he gave a choked laugh.
    "Maybe you should lie down again."
    "Yeah." And when he woke up again, this would all have been a dream. "Mind if I take these papers?"
    She stood to help him up. "I don't know if you should be reading."
    "I think that's the least of my worries." He discovered that the room didn't spin this time, but it was still a comfort to drape his arm around her shoulders. Strong shoulders, he thought. And a soft scent. "Libby, if I wake up and find out this has all been an illusion, I want you to know you've been the best part of it."
    "That's nice."
    "I mean it." The brandy and his own weakened system were taking over. Because his mind felt as if it had been fried in a solar blast, he didn't fight it. She had little trouble easing him into bed. But his arm stayed around her shoulders long enough to keep her close, just close enough to brush his lips over hers.
    "The very best."
    She jerked back like a spring. He was asleep, and her blood was pounding.
    Who was Caleb Hornblower? The question interrupted Libby's work throughout the evening. Her interest in the Kolbari Islanders didn't even come close to her growing fascination with her unexpected and confusing guest.
    Who was he, and what was she going to do about him? The trouble was, she had a whole list of unanswered questions that applied to her odd patient, Caleb Hornblower. Libby was a great listmaker, and a woman who knew herself well enough to be aware that all her organizational talents were eaten up by her work.
    Who was he? Why had he been flying through a storm at midnight? Where did he come from and where had he been going? Why had a simple paperback novel sent him into a panic? Why had he kissed her?
    Libby pulled herself up short there. That particular question wasn't important-it wasn't even relevant. He hadn't really kissed her, she reminded herself. And whether he had or hadn't wasn't the issue. It was gratitude, she decided, and began to nibble on her thumbnail. He'd only been trying to show her that he was grateful to her. Libby certainly understood that a kiss was-could be-a very casual gesture. It was part of Western culture. Over the centuries it had become as unimportant as a smile or a handshake. It was a sign of friendship, affection, sympathy, gratitude. And desire. She bit down harder on her nail.
    Not all societies used the kiss, of course. Many tribal cultures- She was lecturing again, Libby thought in disgust. She looked down at her hands. And she was biting her nails. That was a bad sign.
    What she needed was to get her mind off Hornblower for a while and fill her stomach. Pressing a hand to it, Libby rose. She wasn't going to get any work done this way, so she might as well eat.
    Since Caleb's room was dark, she passed it by, telling herself she'd check on him when she came back up. Sleep was undoubtedly more essential to his recovery than another meal.
    There was a low rumble of thunder as she descended the stairs. Another bad sign, she thought. At this rate it would be days before she could get him down the mountain.
    Perhaps someone was already looking for him. Friends, family, business