Time and Again

was lucky, he was in a hospital suffering from shock and a little brain damage. But from the looks of things he'd been snapped back over two centuries into the primitive, often violent twentieth century.
    The last thing he could remember before waking up on Libby's couch was flying his ship. No, that wasn't quite accurate. He'd been fighting to fly his ship. Something had happened- He couldn't quite bring that into focus yet. Whatever it had been, it had been big.
    His name was Caleb Hornblower. He'd been born in the year 2222. That made two his lucky number, he remembered with a half laugh. He was thirty, unmatched, the older of two sons, and a former member of the International Space Force. He'd been a captain, and for the last eighteen months he'd been an independent. He'd made a routine supply delivery to the Brigston Colony on Mars and had veered off from his normal route on the return trip home because of a meteor shower. Then it had happened.
    Whatever it was.
    Now he had to accept the fact that something had shot him back in time. He had crashed, not only through Earth's atmosphere, but through about two and a half centuries. He was a healthy, intelligent flier who was stuck in a time when people considered interplanetary travel the stuff of science fiction and were, incredibly, playing around with nuclear fission.
    The good part was that the experience hadn't killed him and he'd landed in an isolated area in the hands of a gorgeous brunette.
    It could, he supposed, be worse.
    His problem at the moment was figuring out how he could get back to his own time. Alive.
    He adjusted his pillow, scratched at the stubble on his chin and wondered what Libby's reaction would be if he went downstairs and calmly related his story.
    He'd probably find himself out the door, wearing no more than her father's sweats. Or she'd call the authorities and have him hauled off to whatever passed for rest-and-rehabilitation clinics at this point in time. He didn't imagine they were luxury resorts.
    What annoyed him at the moment was that he'd been a poor history student. What he knew about the twentieth century would barely fill a computer screen. But he imagined they would have a pretty primitive way of dealing with a man who claimed he'd crashed his F27 into a mountain after making a routine run to Mars.
    Until he could find a way out, he was going to have to keep his problem to himself. In order to do so, he'd have to be more careful about what he said. And what he did.
    He'd obviously made a misstep the night before. In more ways than one. He grimaced as he recalled Libby's reaction to his simple suggestion that they spend the night together. Things were obviously done differently then-no, now, he corrected. It was a pity he hadn't paid more attention to those old romances his mother liked to read.
    In any case, his problems ran a lot deeper than having been rejected by a beautiful woman. He had to get back to his ship, had to try to reconstruct what had happened in his head. Then he had to make it happen in reality. As far as he could see, that was the only way to get home again.
    She had a computer, he remembered. As archaic as it was, between that and the mini on his wrist he might be able to calculate a trajectory.
    Right now he wanted a shower, a shave and some more of Libby's eggs. He opened his door and nearly walked into her.
    The cup of coffee she held was steaming, and she nearly splashed it all over his bare chest. Libby righted it, though she thought a little scalding was just what he deserved.
    "I thought you might like some coffee."
    "Thanks." He noted that her voice was frigid, her back stiff. Unless he missed his guess, women hadn't changed that much. The cold shoulder never went out of style. "I want to apologize," he began, offering her his best smile. "I know I veered out of orbit last night."
    "That's one way of putting it."
    "What I mean is- you were right and I was wrong." If that didn't do the trick, he knew nothing about the nature of women.
    "All right." Nothing made her more uncomfortable than holding a grudge. "We'll forget it."
    "Is it okay if I think you have beautiful eyes?" He saw her blush and was utterly charmed.
    "I suppose." The corners of her mouth turned up. She'd been right about the Celtic blood, she reflected.
    If the man didn't have Irish ancestors, she'd have to go into a different line of work. "If you can't help it."
    He held out a hand. "Friends?"
    "Friends." The moment she put her