Times Change (9 page)

“Right.” His term seemed to describe the injustice of it perfectly. “Who needs it?”

“You don’t.”

She smiled at him. “Thanks. Three aces, pal. Read ’em and weep.”

“Straight flush,” he countered, and had her sputtering while he piled up more cookies. “You don’t have the temperament to work for someone else.”

“So I’ve been told,” she muttered. “Several times.” She was down to her last five cookies. Her luck, Sunny thought, had been on the down side too long. “But if it’s a matter of learning how to adjust or learning how not to eat I’m going to have to go with the first. I don’t like being poor.”

“I imagine you could do whatever you wanted to do, if you really wanted to do it.”

“Maybe.” And that had always been the problem. She had no idea what she wanted. She dealt the hand and, deciding to be reckless, went for an inside straight. And ended up with trash. A bluff was always better than a fold, she thought, pushing her miserly pile of cookies into the pot.

He cleaned her out with a pair of deuces.

“Here.” Because winning always put him in a good mood, he offered her a cookie. “Have one on me.”

“Thanks a lot.” She bit into it. “Your luck seems to be on tonight.”

“Apparently.” He was feeling a bit reckless himself. She looked a great deal more appetizing than the cookies. “We could play one more hand.”

“For what?”

“If I win, you make love with me.”

Surprised, but determined to keep her poker face intact, she swallowed the bite of cookie. “And if I win?”

“I make love with you.”

Popping the rest of the cookie into her mouth, she studied him as she chewed. It would almost be worth it, she mused, to see his face if she took him up on it. Almost worth it, she reminded herself. Either way, she would win. And she would lose.

“I think I’ll pass,” she said lightly. Rising, she walked over to the sofa, spread herself out on it and went to sleep.

Chapter 6

A blast of music ripped Sunny out of a dead sleep and had her rearing up. When lights blinded her, she groaned and tossed a hand over her eyes in self-defense.

“Who ordered the party?” she asked as Tina Turner roared out rock at top volume.

Jacob, who had dozed off in front of the fire, simply pulled the blanket over his head. Whenever he slept, he preferred to do it like the dead.

Swearing, she pushed herself up off the couch. She had stumbled halfway to the stereo before it dawned on her. “Power!” she shouted, then immediately raced over to sit on Jacob. She heard a muffled grunt from under the blanket and bounced gleefully up and down. “We’ve got power, J.T. Lights, music, hot food!” When he only grunted again, she poked him. “Wake up, you slug. Don’t you know you can be shot for sleeping on sentry duty?”

“I wasn’t sleeping. I was bored into catatonia.”

“Well, snap out of it, pal. We’re back on the circuit.” She yanked the cover off his face and grinned when he scowled at her. “You need a shave,” she observed. Then, in her delight, she gave him a loud, smacking kiss between the eyes. “How about a hamburger?”

He got a bleary look at her face, all smiles and mussed hair. To his disgust, he felt his body responding. “It can’t be more than six in the morning.”

“So what? I’m starving.”

“Make mine rare.” He pulled the blanket over his face again.

“Uh-uh. You have to help.” Ruthlessly she ripped the blanket off him again. “Up and at ’em, soldier.”

This time he opened only one eye. “Up and at what?”

“It’s an expression, Hornblower.” She shook her head. “Just how long were you in that lab?”

“Not long enough.” Or entirely too long, if all it took to arouse him was a skinny woman sitting on his chest. “I can’t get up when you’re sitting on me. Besides, I think you broke my ribs.”

“Nonsense. I’m ten pounds underweight.”

“You wouldn’t think so from here.”

Too cheerful to be annoyed, she scrambled up, took a firm grip on his forearm and, after some pulling and tugging, dragged him to his feet. “You can make the french fries.”

“I can?”

“Sure.” To demonstrate her confidence in him, she kept her hand in his and pulled him into the kitchen. “Everything’s in the freezer. God, it’s cold in here.” She rubbed the bottom of one stockinged foot on the top of the other. “Here.” She tossed him a bag of frozen fries over her shoulder. “You just dump some on a cookie sheet and stick them in the oven.”

“Right.” He thought he could figure out the workings of the oven, but he hadn’t a clue as to what a cookie sheet might look like.

“Pans are . . . down there.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of a cabinet while she contemplated the package of hamburger.

“The meat’s frozen,” he pointed out.

“Yeah. Well, we’ll have sloppy joes.”

“Which are?”

“Delicious,” she assured him. Whistling along with the music, she began to rattle pots. Cooking was far down on her list of favorite pastimes, but when push came to shove she was willing to give it her best shot. “Here, use this.” She handed him a long, thin piece of metal blackened by heat.

The cookie sheet, Jacob surmised. He went to work. “I don’t suppose there’s a possibility of coffee.”

“Sure. I keep a stash.” Still whistling, she dumped the chunk of frozen meat in a pot and set it on low. In moments she had water on to boil and cups waiting. “Heat, hot water, real food.” She did a quick little tap dance before digging into a bag of potato chips. “You don’t appreciate the little things until you can’t have them,” she said with her mouth full. “I don’t know how people managed before electricity. Imagine having to heat water over an open fire. It must have taken forever.”

Jacob was watching the electric ring slowly turn red under the kettle. “Amazing,” he agreed, and contemplated just eating the coffee grounds dry.

“Those fries won’t cook unless you put them in the oven.”

“Yeah.” He wished she wouldn’t watch him as he studied the dials. The Bake setting seemed safe enough—unless they were supposed to be broiled. He would have given a year of his life for the nutritional center in his lab.

“Spend much time in the kitchen?” Sunny asked from behind him.

“No.”

“Who would have guessed?” With a cluck of her tongue, she turned the oven on, then popped the tray inside. “Takes about ten, maybe fifteen.”

“Seconds?”

“I love an optimist. Minutes.” Because she understood what it was like to wake up ready to chew glass, she patted his cheek. “Why don’t you go have a shower? You’ll feel better. Most of this should come together by the time you’re finished.”

“Thanks.” As he made his way upstairs he figured it was the nicest thing she’d done for him so far.

He spent a great deal of time cursing the ridiculously archaic workings of her shower. But she was right. He did feel better when he’d accomplished it. Using his ultrasound, he rid himself of his beard. Then he took his daily dose of fluoratyne for his teeth and, curious, poked inside the mirrored cabinet over the sink.

It was a scientific treasure trove. Lotions, potions, creams, powders. A glance at the safety razor made him shudder. The toothbrush made him grin. He saw little puffs of white that appeared to be cotton, thin brushes, tiny pots filled with vividly colored powder.

There was a cream with an exotic name. When he opened the top and sniffed, it was as if Sunny had joined him in the small, steamy room. He made quick work of putting it back on the shelf.

There were pills. A cursory glance showed him that she had them for headaches, body aches, head colds, chest colds. He would make a note to take back a few samples. There was a small plastic case that held a circle of tiny pills that weren’t marked at all. Since they were half gone, he assumed they were something she took regularly. That concerned him. He didn’t like to think that she was ill. Replacing them, he wondered how he might ask her about her medication.

He started downstairs, then simply followed the scents. He didn’t know what she could have done with the hunk of frozen meat, but it smelled like heaven. And there was coffee. No perfume could have been sweeter. She handed him a cup as he walked in the door.

“Thanks.”

“It’s okay. I know how it feels.”

He sipped, giving her a clinical study over the rim. Her eyes were clear, and her color was good. She looked perfectly healthy. In fact, he couldn’t remember ever having seen anyone healthier. Or more alluring.

“When you look at me like that I feel like a germ under a microscope.”

“Sorry. I was just going to ask how you felt.”

“A little stiff, a lot hungry, but basically okay.” She tilted her head. “How about you?”

“Fine. I had a headache,” he said, suddenly inspired. “I took some of your pills.”

“Okay.”

“The ones in the little blue case weren’t marked.”

Her eyes widened, rolled, then filled with laughter. “I don’t think they’d do you much good.”

“But you need them?”

This time she closed her eyes and shook her head. “And he calls himself a scientist. Yeah, you could say I need them. Better safe than sorry, right?”

Baffled, but losing ground, he nodded. “Right.”

“Then let’s eat.”

She had plates by the range with buns open on them. Using a generous hand, she scooped the saucy meat into them, tossed a heap of fries beside it and was done. She didn’t speak again until she’d worked her way through half the meal.

He watched her dump a stream of white crystal from a pottery tube on her potatoes. He shook some on his own experimentally. Salt, he discovered. The real thing. Though the taste was wonderful, he resisted the temptation to use more and wondered about her blood pressure. If he could have figured a way, he would have popped her into the medilab on the ship for a checkup.

“I guess we’re going to live.”

He wasn’t sure what he was eating, but she was right again. It was delicious. “It stopped snowing.”

“Yeah, I noticed. Listen, I hate to say it, but I’m glad you were here. I’d have hated to be here alone the last couple of days.”

“You’re pretty self-sufficient.”

“But it’s better when you have somebody to fight with. I never asked . . . do you plan to hang around until Cal and Libby get back? It could be weeks.”

“I came to see him. I’ll wait.”

She nodded, wishing his answer hadn’t relieved her. She was getting entirely too used to his company. “I guess you must be in a position to take as much time off as you like.”

“You could say that time is exactly what I do have. How long are you staying?”

“I’m not sure. It’s too late to get into school this semester. I thought I might write to some colleges. Maybe I’ll try the East Coast. It would be a change.” She sent him a quick, hesitant smile. “How would I like Philadelphia?”

“I think you would.” He wondered how to describe it to her so that she would understand. “It’s beautiful. The historic district is very well preserved.”

“The Liberty Bell, Ben Franklin, all that.”

“Yes. Some things last, no matter what else changes.” Though it had never mattered much to him before. “The parks are very green and shady. In the summer they’re full of children and students. The traffic’s miserable, but that’s all part of it. From the top of some of the buildings you can see the entire city, the movement, the old and the new.”

“You miss it.”

“Yes. More than I’d imagined.” But he was looking at her, seeing only her. “I’d like to show it to you.”

“I’d like that, too. Maybe we can talk Cal and Libby into flying out. You could have a real family reunion.” She saw his expression change and instinctively laid a hand over his. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.”

“You’re angry with him,” Sunny murmured.

“It’s personal.”

But she wasn’t going to be put off. He wasn’t the snarling idiot she had first assumed him to be. He was just confused. If there was one trait she shared equally with her sister, it was the inability to turn away a stray.

“J.T., you must see how unfair it is to resent Cal for falling in love and getting married, for starting a life here.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Of course it is.” This time, she promised herself, she would not lose her temper. “They’re both adults, and they’re certainly able to make up their own minds. Besides, well, they’re wonderful together.” He sent her a silent, cynical look that infuriated her. “They are. I’ve seen them with each other. You haven’t.”

“No.” He nodded. “I haven’t.”

“That’s nobody’s fault but—” She caught herself, ground her teeth and went on, more calmly. “What I’m trying to say is that I might not have known Cal before he became part of the family, but I know when someone’s happy. And he is. As for Libby—he does something for her no one else ever has. She’s always been so shy, so easily pushed into the background. But with Cal she just glows. Maybe it’s not the easiest thing to accept that someone else is the best thing that ever happened to a person you love—but you have to accept it when it’s true.”

“I don’t have anything against your sister.” Or, if he did, he intended to keep it to himself for the time being. “But I intend to talk to Cal about the change he’s made in his life.”

“You really are bullheaded.”

He considered the description and decided it was apt enough. “Yes.” He smiled at her, delighted by the sulky mouth, the lifted chin. “I’d say we both are.”

“At least I don’t go around poking my nose into other people’s affairs.”

“Not even pleasantly plump women who want to torture themselves into . . . what was it—a Merry Widow?”

“That was entirely different.” With a sniff, she pushed her plate away. “I may be cynical, but even I believe in love.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

“Oh, really?” Her lips curved, because she was sure she had backed him into a corner. “Then you won’t interfere if you see that Cal and Libby are in love.”

“If they are, I hardly could, could I? And if they’re not—” he gestured, palm up, “—then we’ll see.”

She steepled her fingers, measured him. “I could always send you back into the forest, let you freeze in your sleeping bag.”

“But you won’t.” He toasted her with his coffee cup. “Because, underneath the prickly hide, you’re basically kindhearted.”

“I could change.”

“No, you couldn’t. People don’t, as a rule.”

Abruptly intense, he leaned forward to take her hand. It was a gesture he didn’t make often, and one that he couldn’t resist at that moment. “Sunny, I don’t want to hurt your sister. Or you.”

“But you will. If we’re in your way.”

“Yes.” He turned her hand over thoughtfully. It was narrow, and surprisingly soft and delicate for one that packed such a punch. “You have strong family feelings. So do I. My parents . . . they’ve tried to understand Cal’s decision, but it’s difficult for them. Very difficult.”

“But they’ve only to see him for themselves to understand.”

“I can’t explain.” He shifted his eyes from their joined hands to hers. “I wish I could. More than I can tell you.”

“Are you in trouble?” she blurted out.

“What?”

“Are you in trouble?” she repeated, tightening her fingers on his. “With the law, or something.”

Interested, he kept his hand in hers. Her eyes were huge and drenched with concern. For him. He couldn’t remember ever being more touched. “Why would you think so?”

“The way you’ve come here . . . I guess the way you haven’t come before. And you act . . . I don’t know how to explain. You just seem so out of place.”

“Maybe I am.” It should have been amusing, but he didn’t smile. If he hadn’t been so sure he would regret it, he would have pulled her into his arms and just held on. “I’m not in trouble, Sunny. Not the way you mean.”

“And you haven’t been—” she searched for the most delicate way to approach the subject “—ill?”

“Ill?” Baffled, he studied her. The light dawned, slowly. “You think I’ve been—” Now he did smile, and surprised them both by bringing her hand to his lips. “No, I haven’t been ill, physically or otherwise. I’ve just been busy.” When she tried to draw her hand away, he held on. “Are you afraid of me?”