Chapter 11 #2
A free-fall through space, a springboard through time. He’d experienced both, but they were nothing compared with this. Blindly he reached for her, and his hands slid down her slick skin. Just as their palms met, they leaped over the top together.
***
Perfection. Lazily content, Libby cuddled closer, resting her cheek just over Cal’s heart, all but purring as he stroked her hair.
Soothed. Every part of her was content. Body, mind, heart. She wondered how long it was possible for two people to lie curled in bed without food or water. Forever. She smiled to herself. She could almost believe it.
“My parents have a cat,” she murmured. “A fat yellow cat named Marigold. He doesn’t have an ounce of ambition.”
“A male cat named Marigold?”
Still smiling, she ran a hand down his arm. “You met my parents.”
“Right.”
“Anyway, he lies on the windowsill every afternoon. All afternoon. Right this minute I know exactly how he feels.” She stretched, only a little, because even that seemed to require too much effort. “I like your bed, Hornblower.”
“I’ve grown fond of it myself.”
They were silent for a while, drifting. “That music.” It was playing in her head now, sweet, almost unbearably romantic. “I keep thinking I should recognize it.”
“Salvadore Simeon.”
“Is he a new composer?”
“Depends on your point of view. Late twenty-first century.”
“Oh.” Her bubble burst. Sometimes forever was a very short time. Holding on one last moment, she turned her head to press her lips to his chest. His heart beat there, strong and steady. “Poetry, classical music and aircycles. An interesting combination.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, very. I also know you’re hooked on soaps and game shows.”
“That’s research.” He grinned as she pushed herself to a sitting position beside him.
“I want to be able to speak intelligently on all popular forms of twentieth-century entertainment.” He paused a moment, thinking.
“Do you suppose they kept archives? I really want to know if Blake and Eva work things out in spite of Dorian’s conniving.
Then there’s the problem of who’s framing Justin for the murder of the evil and despicable Carlton Slade.
I vote for the sweet-faced but hard-hearted Vanessa. ”
“Hooked,” she said again, and drew her knees up to her chest to grin at him. “Don’t you have soaps?”
“Sure. Never took the time to watch. I always figured they were for homeworkers.”
“Homeworkers.” She repeated it, liking the precise, genderless phrase. “I haven’t asked you all those questions.” Libby settled her chin on her knees. “When we get back we should finish writing up everything that’s happened to you.”
He flicked a finger down her arm. “Everything?”
“Everything that applies. While we’re doing that, and putting the capsule together, you can fill me in on the future.”
“All right.” He climbed out of bed. Maybe it would be best if they stayed busy for the next few hours. He started to reach for his pants, then noticed the Polaroid, which had fallen to the floor. “What’s this?”
“A camera. Self-developing. You can have a picture in about ten seconds.”
“Is that so?” Amused, he turned it over in his hands. He’d been given one for his tenth birthday that could do precisely the same thing—and it had fitted into the palm of his hand. It had also kept the time, reported the temperature and played his favorite music.
“You’ve got that superior smirk on your face again, Hornblower.”
“Sorry. What do you do? Push this button?”
“That’s right—No!” But she was too late. He’d already framed her and shot. “Men have been murdered for less.”
“I thought you wanted pictures,” he said reasonably as he held the developing image in his hand.
“I’m not dressed.”
“Yeah.” He smiled. “It’s not bad,” he decided. “One-dimensional, but it gets the point across. A very sexy point across.”
Snatching at the sheet, she scrambled to the foot of the bed and made a grab.
“You want to see?” He held the print tantalizingly out of reach but turned it so that Libby saw herself, her arms hooked around her bare legs, her hair tousled, her eyes heavy. “God, I love it when you blush, Libby.”
“I’m not blushing.” She told herself she wasn’t laughing, either, as she tugged on her clothes. Cal set the camera aside and tugged them off her again.
When they left the ship, the shadows were long. After a brief discussion they decided to strap Cal’s cycle to the back of the Land Rover and drive back together.
“It’s a good idea,” Libby allowed. “If we had some rope.”
“What for?” Turning a knob under the seat of the cycle, Cal pulled out two thick, hooked straps.
Libby shrugged. “Well, I suppose if you want to do it the easy way.” She bent over the back wheel, planted her feet and braced herself.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to help you lift it.” She took a firm grip and blew the hair out of her eyes. “Well, come on.”
Cal tucked his tongue into his cheek. “Okay, but don’t strain yourself.”
“Do you have any idea how much equipment we lug around on digs?”
He smiled at her. “No.”
“Plenty. On three. One, two, three!” She let out an astonished breath as they lifted the cycle shoulder-high. It couldn’t have weighed more than thirty pounds. “You’re a riot, Hornblower.”
“Thanks.” He secured the cycle quickly. “You going to let me drive this time?” When she dug the keys out of her pocket and jiggled them, he went into his pitch. “Come on, Libby, there’s no one around.”
“Be that as it may, you never showed me a driver’s license.”
“If we’re talking technicalities, I don’t think it would apply. Libby, if I can pilot that—” he jerked his thumb in the direction of the ship “—I sure as hell can drive this. I want to see what it’s like.”
She tossed him the keys. “Just remember, this vehicle stays on the ground.”
“Got it.” As pleased as a kid with a new toy, he settled behind the wheel. “It works with gears, right?”
“I believe so.”
“Fascinating. This pedal here?”
“The clutch,” she said, and wondered if she’d just taken her life in her hands.
“The clutch, right. That’s what disengages the system so that you can change gears. Higher gears for higher speeds. That’s the idea, isn’t it?”
“The other pedal? The one beside it? That’s the brake. Pay attention to the brake, Hornblower. Pay very close attention.”
“Don’t worry about a thing.” He sent her a cocky grin, then turned the key. “See?” They went in reverse for two fast feet before they came to a jarring stop. “Just a minute. I think I’ve got it now.”
“You’ve got to put it in off-road.”
“Off what?”
Though her palms were slightly damp, she showed him. “Take it easy, will you? And try to go forward.”
“No problem.” The Land Rover bucked the first few feet, causing Libby to grip the dash with both hands and pray. Cal was having the time of his life, and he was a little disappointed when the ride smoothed out. “Nothing to it.” He sent her a cocky grin.
“Just watch where you’re going. Oh, God!” She tossed her hands in front of her face so that she wouldn’t see the tree they were about to ram.
“Are you always a nervous passenger?” he asked conversationally as he maneuvered around the tree.
“I could grow to hate you. I’m sure of it.”
“Loosen up, babe. Let’s take a little detour.”
“Cal, we should—”
“Run for the gusto,” he finished. “Isn’t that the phrase?”
“I think it’s ‘Go for the gusto,’ but this isn’t a beer commercial.” She bit her lip and clung to her safety belt. “Anyway, you can keep it. I think I’d rather live a long, dull life.”
He plunged down a rocky slope, driving as if he’d been born behind the wheel. “This is the next best thing to flying.” He shot her a look. “Well, maybe not the next best, but it’s close.”
“I think several of my vital organs have jarred loose. Cal, you’re going to go right through that—” The water swooshed up, two glittering curtains on either side of the Land Rover.
Libby was drenched when he shot up the opposite bank.
“Stream,” she muttered, dragging her soaked hair out of her eyes.
As wet as she was, he gave a delighted whoop and swung around to go through the stream again. She heard her own laughter as the water slapped over her a second time.
“You’re crazy.” They left the ground briefly, then jolted down with a thud. “But you’re not dull.”
“You know, with a few modifications, this would go over big at home. I can’t figure out why they don’t make them anymore. If I came up with a prototype I could send my credit rating through the ozone.”
“You’re not taking it with you. I still have fourteen payments to make.”
“Just a thought.” He could have driven for hours. But the air was chill and she was beginning to shiver. Cal circled back.
“Do you know where we are?”
“Sure, about twenty degrees northeast of the ship.” He tugged on her wet hair.
“I told you I could navigate. Tell you what, when we get back we’ll take a hot shower.
Then we can build a fire and have some of that brandy.
Then we can—” He swore and hit the brakes hard.
A group of four in hiking gear was a few feet ahead.
“Damn,” Libby muttered. “We hardly ever get anyone this close in so early in the season.” It took only a glance for her to determine that the price tags had hardly been removed from the packs and boots.
“If they hike much farther in that direction, they’ll be on top of the ship.”
Libby swallowed a bubble of panic and smiled as the group approached. “Hello.”
“Well, hi there.” The man, big, solid and fortyish, leaned on the Land Rover. “You’re the first people we’ve seen since morning.”
“We don’t get many hikers up this way.”
“That’s why we picked it. Right, Susie?” He patted a pretty, exhausted-looking woman on the shoulder. Her only answer was a very weary nod. “Rankin. Jim Rankin.” He took Cal’s hand and pumped it. “My wife, Susie and our boys, Scott and Joe.”
“Nice meeting you. Cal Hornblower. Libby Stone.”
“Out four-wheeling it, huh?”
Noting Cal’s blank look, Libby said, “Yes, we were about to head in.”