Time and Again

panic wouldn't help. Taking three deep breaths, she felt some balance return. "Caleb, if you gave yourself a little more time, do you think you could narrow the odds?"
    "Maybe. Probably," he conceded. "Libby, I'm running out of time. The ship's already been in the open for two weeks. It was blind luck that we headed off the Rankins yesterday. What do you think would happen to me, to us, if it were found? If I were found?"
    "The real season doesn't start for weeks. We hardly get more than a dozen hikers in a year."
    "It only takes one."
    He was right, and she knew it. They'd been living on borrowed time right from the start. "I'll never know, will I?" She traced a finger under the fading wound on his brow. "Whether you made it."
    "I'm a good pilot. Trust me." He kissed her fingers. "And it'll be easier for me to concentrate if I'm not worried about you."
    "It's hard to argue with common sense." She worked up a smile. "I know you said you had a few last details to see to at the ship. I'm just going to walk back to the cabin."
    "I won't be long."
    "Take your time." She needed some of her own. "I'll fix a bon voyage supper." She started off at an easy gait, then called over her shoulder, "Oh, Hornblower, pick me some flowers."
    He picked an armful. It wasn't easy balancing them as he flew the cycle. The path beneath him was strewn with white and pink and pale blue blossoms. He thought they smelled like her-fresh, earthy, exotic.
    In the hours he'd worked aboard ship one thought had run continually through his mind. She'd been willing to go with him. To leave her home. Not just her home, he corrected. Her life.
    Perhaps it had been impulse, something that had been born of the moment.
    Reasons didn't matter. He needed to hold on to that one sweet thought. She'd been willing to go with him.
    He saw only the faintest light through the kitchen window. That had him frowning as he stored his bike and retrieved a few of the fallen flowers. Perhaps she'd decided to take a nap or was waiting for him in the front of the cabin by the fire.
    He liked the idea of seeing her there, curled up on the couch under one of her mother's exquisite throws.
    She'd be reading, her eyes a little sleepy behind her glasses.
    Pleased with the image, he opened the door and found a completely different, and even more alluring, one.
    She was waiting for him. But it was candlelight. She was still lighting them, dozens of them, all pure white. The table was set for two, and a bottle of champagne sat nestled in a clear bucket. The room smelled of candles, of the spices she'd used for cooking, and of her.
    She turned to smile at him, and he felt the breath quite simply leave his body.
    Her hair was swept up off her neck so that he could see the long, delicate curve. She wore a dress the color of moonlight that glittered at the bodice as she moved. It left her shoulders bare, then slipped like a lover down her hips and thighs.
    "You remembered." She crossed to him, holding out her arms for the flowers. He didn't move a muscle.
    "Are they for me?"
    "What? Yes." Like a man in a trance, he offered them to her. "There were more when I started out."
    "This is more than enough." She had a vase waiting, and she filled it. "Dinner's almost ready. I hope you like it."
    "You dazzle me, Liberty."
    She turned back, electrified by what she saw in his eyes. "I wanted to, just once." When he just continued to stare, her shyness rose up and had her twisting her fingers. "I bought the champagne and the dress while I was in town yesterday. I thought it would be nice to do something a little special tonight."
    "I'm afraid if I move you'll vanish."
    "No." She offered her hand and gripped hard when he took it. "I'll stay right here. Why don't you open the bottle?"
    "I want to kiss you first."
    Her heart went into her smile as she wound her arms around his neck. "AH right. Just once."
    They ate. But the trouble she had gone to over the meal was wasted. They didn't know what they were tasting. Champagne was superfluous. They were already drunk on each other. The candles burned down low while they lingered.
    They carried some up to the bedroom, filling the room with the soft, flickering light so that they could watch each other as they loved.
    There was sweetness, slow, savoring sweetness. There was urgency, fevered, racing urgency. There was power and tenderness, demand and generosity.
    Hour melted into hour, but they never drew apart. Each tremble, each sigh, each heartbeat would