Nora Roberts - Times Change

“Yes.” He took a chance, depending on his research. “I’ve never used one quite like this.”

She relaxed a little. “Well, this place is a throwback.”

“I was thinking exactly the same thing.”

As the kettle began to sputter, she turned to make the tea. As she worked, she carelessly pushed her sweater up to her elbows. Long, limber arms, he noted. Deceptively fragile in appearance. He rubbed his own forearm. He’d already had a sample of their strength.

“Maybe Cal didn’t tell you that my parents built this place in the sixties.” She poured steaming water into cups.

“Built it?” he repeated. “Personally?”

“Every stone and log,” she told him. “They were hippies. The genuine article.”

“The 1960s, yes. I’ve read about that era. It was a counterculture movement. Youth against the establishment in a political and social revolution that involved a distrust of wealth, government and the military.”

“Spoken like a true scientist.” A weird one, she added silently as she brought the mugs to the table. “It’s funny to hear someone who was born during that time talk about it as if it were as far removed as the Ming dynasty.”

Following her lead, he sat down. “Times change.”

“Yes.” Frowning, she watched as he rubbed a fingertip over the table’s surface. “It’s called a table,” she said helpfully.

He caught himself and picked up the mug. “I was admiring the wood.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s oak. My father built it, which is why there’s a matchbook under one of the legs.” At his blank look, she laughed. “He went through a carpentry phase. Almost everything he built in this place wobbles.”

He could barely imagine it. Oak split from an actual tree and formed into a piece of furniture. Only those with the highest credit rating could afford the luxury. Even then they were limited by law to a single piece. And here he was, sitting in a house made entirely of wood. He would need samples. It might be difficult with her watching him, distrusting him, but it wasn’t impossible.

Thinking it over, he sipped the tea, stopped, then sipped again.

“Herbal Delight.”

Sunny lifted her mug in salute. “Right the first time. We could hardly drink anything else without risking a family crisis.” With a shake of her head, she studied him over the rim of her mug. “It’s my father’s company. Didn’t Cal tell you that, either?”

“No.” Baffled, Jacob stared into the dark, golden tea in his mug. Herbal Delight. Stone. The company, one of the richest and most expansive in the federation, had been established by William Stone. The myths about his beginnings were as romanticized as those about the nineteenth-century president who had been born in a log cabin.

No, not a myth, Jacob thought as the fragrant steam rose from the cup. Reality.

“Just what did Cal tell you?”

Jacob sipped again and struggled for patience. He wanted to record all of this as soon as possible. “Just that he had . . . flown off course and crashed. Your sister took care of him, and they fell in love.” The old resentment welled up in him, and he set down his mug. “And he chose to stay with her, here.”

“You have a problem with that?” In a movement that mirrored his, Sunny set down her mug. When they eyed each other now, there was as much dislike as distrust in their looks. “Is that why you didn’t bother to show up at the wedding? Because you were annoyed that he decided to get married without clearing it with you?”

His eyes, shades darker as anger grew, snapped to hers again. “No matter what or how I felt about his decision, I would have been here if it had been possible.”

“That’s big of you.” She shot up to snag a bag of cookies from the pile of groceries. “Let me tell you something, Hornblower. He’s lucky to have my sister.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“I would.” Sunny ripped the bag open and dug in. “She’s beautiful and brilliant, kind and unselfish.” She gestured with half a cookie. “And, if it’s any of your business—which it isn’t—they’re happy together.”

“I have no way of knowing that, either.”

“Whose fault is that? You’ve had plenty of time to see them together—if it really mattered to you.”

There was fury, rash and dark in his eyes now. “Time has been the problem.” He rose. “All I know is that my brother made a rash decision, a life-altering one. And I intend to make certain it wasn’t a mistake.”

“You intend?” Sunny choked on a cookie and had to snatch up her mug and drink before she could speak again. “I don’t know how things work in your family, pal, but in ours we don’t make decisions by committee. We’re each considered individuals with the right to choose for ourselves.”

He didn’t give a damn about her family. He only cared about his own. “My brother’s decision affects a great number of people.”

“Yeah, I’m sure his marrying Libby is going to change the course of history.” Disgusted, she tossed the bag of cookies back on the counter. “If you’re so worried, why the hell has it taken you over a year to put in an appearance?”

“That’s my business.”

“Oh, I see. That’s your business. But my sister’s marriage is also your business. You’re a real jerk, Hornblower.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said you’re a jerk.” She tugged a hand through her hair. “Well, you go right ahead and talk to him when they get back. But there’s one thing you haven’t put in your calculations. Cal and Libby love each other, which means they belong together. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got things to do. You can let yourself out.”

She stormed off. Moments later, Jacob heard what he imagined was the sound of a primitive wooden door slamming shut.

An exasperating woman, he thought. Interesting, of course, but exasperating. He was going to have to find a way to deal with her, since it was obvious he’d have to extend his stay until Cal’s return.

As a scientist, he considered it a tremendous opportunity. To study a primitive culture firsthand, to talk face-to-face with an ancestor—of sorts. He glanced up at the ceiling. He doubted the volatile Sunbeam would appreciate being considered an ancestor.

Yes, it was a tremendous opportunity—scientifically. Personally, he already considered his association with the primitive woman a trial. She was rude, argumentative and aggressive. Perhaps he had the same traits, but he was, after all, superior, being older by several centuries.

The first thing he was going to do when he returned to the ship was open the computer banks and look up what the word jerk meant when applied to a man in the twentieth century.

***

Sunny would have been delighted to give him a concise definition. In fact, as she paced her room she thought of half a dozen more colorful descriptions of his character.

The nerve of the man. To waltz in here more than a year after his brother and her sister married. Not to congratulate them, she thought furiously. Not for a nice family reunion. But to offer his half-baked opinions as to whether Libby was worthy of his brother.

Creep. Jackass. Imbecile.

As she swung past the window, she spotted him down below. Her hand was already on the window sash, prepared to lift the glass so that she could shout the epithets at him. Her anger snapped off as quickly as it had ignited.

Why in the world was he walking into the forest? Without a coat? Narrowing her eyes, she watched him trudge through the snow toward the sheltering trees. Where the hell was he going? There was nothing in that direction but more trees.

A question sprang into her mind that she’d been too occupied to consider before. How had he gotten here? The cabin was miles from town, and a good two hours’ drive from the nearest airport. How the devil had he managed to pop up in her bedroom, coatless, hatless, gloveless, in the middle of winter?