“My daddy,” she responded in kind, “the executive.”
He winced just a little. “Don’t let it get around. So, let me get a look at you.”
Grinning, Libby took her own survey. He still wore his hair too long to be conservative, though there was a sprinkle of silver in the dark blond waves, and a bit more dashed through his beard. Both were trimmed now by a barber with a French accent, but little else about William Stone had changed. He was still the man she remembered, the man who had carried her papoose-style through the forest.
He was tall, and at best he would be considered stringy. Long legs and arms gave him a gangly look. His face was gaunt, his cheekbones sunken. His eyes were a deep, pure gray that promised honesty.
“So?” Libby turned in a saucy circle. “What do you think?”
“Not too bad.” He slipped an arm around Caroline’s shoulders. Together they looked as they always had. United. “We did a pretty good job on the first two, Caro.”
“You did an excellent job,” Libby corrected. Then she stopped. “First two?”
“You and Sunbeam, love.” With an easy smile, Caroline reached in the back of the pickup. “Why don’t we get the groceries inside?”
“But I—Groceries.” Biting her lip, Libby watched her parents pull out bags. Several bags. She had to tell them... something. “I’m so happy to see both of you.” She grunted a bit when her father set two heavy brown sacks in her arms. “And I’d like to... that is, I should tell you that I’m not... alone.”
“That’s nice.” Absently William pulled out another sack. He wondered if his wife had noticed the bag of barbecued potato chips he’d stashed inside. Of course she had, he thought. She never missed anything. “We always like to meet your friends, baby.”
“Yes, I know, but this one—”
“Caro, take that one along inside. One’s enough for you to carry.”
“Dad.” Seeing no other way, Libby blocked her father’s progress. She snagged her lip again when she heard the door swing open and shut behind her mother. “I really should explain.” Explain what, she wondered? And how?
“I’m listening, Libby, but these bags are getting heavy.” He shifted them. “Must be all the tofu.”
“It’s about Caleb.”
That caught his attention. “Caleb who?”
“Hornblower. Caleb Hornblower. He’s... here,” she managed weakly. “With me.”
William cocked one gently arched brow. “Oh, really?”
***
The man in question parked his cycle behind the shed and, lecturing himself, strode toward the house. There was nothing wrong in taking an afternoon break. In any case, the computer was hard at work even in his absence. He’d completed most of the major repairs to the ship, and in another day, two at the most, it would be ready for flight.
If he wanted to spend an extra hour or so with a beautiful, exciting woman, he was entitled. He wasn’t dragging his heels. He wasn’t in love with her.
And the sun revolved around the planets.
Swearing under his breath, he walked through the open back door. Just seeing her made him smile. Even if he could only see her small, nicely rounded bottom as she rummaged in the bottom of the refrigerator. His mood lifting, he walked quietly over to grab her firmly, intimately, by the hips.
“Babe, I can never make up my mind which side of you I like best.”
“Caleb!”
The astonished exclamation came not from the woman he’d only just turned into his arms but from the kitchen doorway. His head whipped around, and he stared at Libby, who was gaping, wide-eyed, from across the room, her arms full of brown bags. Beside her stood a tall, thin man who was eyeing him with obvious dislike.
Slowly Caleb turned back to see that he was embracing an equally attractive, if somewhat older, woman than the one he’d expected.
“Hello,” she said, and smiled quite beautifully. “You must be Libby’s friend.”
“Yes.” He managed to clear his throat. “I must be.”
“You might want to let go of my wife,” William told him. “So that she can close the refrigerator.”