She couldn’t help chuckling. “Maybe.”
“Absolutely. So I think we should just get on to the next step.”
“Which is?”
“Lunch.”
“Hornblower.” With a sigh, she dropped her forehead on his chest. It was a pity this was one of the things she loved about him—his ability to appreciate the simple things. “I wish you’d get it through your head that this is a sensitive situation. What are we going to do about it?” She waited one beat. “If you ask me about what, I’m going to smack you.”
“You talk tough.” Framing her face with his hands, he lifted it. “Let’s see some action.”
Libby didn’t make even a token protest as his mouth lowered to hers. It was all some sort of a dream anyway, she told herself. Surely she could make everything come out all right in her own dream.
There was a loud, annoyed cough from behind her. Jerking away from Cal, she looked at her father. “Ah...”
“Your mother says lunch is ready.” Though he hated acting so predictably, he gave Cal one last measuring look before he went back into the kitchen.
“I think he’s warming up to me,” Cal mused.
In the kitchen, William scowled at his wife. “That man always has his hands on one of my women.”
“One of your women.” Caroline let out a long, robust laugh. “Really, Will.” She tossed her head so that both of her earrings danced. “He does have very nice hands.”
“Looking for trouble?” With one arm, he scooped her up against him.
“Always.” She gave him a warm and very provocative kiss before turning toward the doorway. “Come sit down,” she said, sharing her radiant smile with Cal. “I just threw a salad together.”
She had four bowls set out on her own woven mats. In the center of the table was a concoction of vegetables and herbs, with the surprising addition of green bananas, sprinkled with whole-wheat croutons and ready to be mixed with a yogurt dressing. Libby gave one wistful thought to the BLTs she’d planned on before she sat down.
“So, Cal...” Caroline passed him the bowl. “Are you an anthropologist?”
“No, I’m a pilot,” he said, just as Libby announced, “Cal’s a truck driver.”
Libby muttered under her breath as Cal calmly dished up salad. “Cargo,” he explained, pleased that he could honor Libby’s wish to stick with the truth. “I deal primarily with cargo. Libby figures that makes me an airborne truck driver.”
“You fly?” William drummed his long, skinny fingers on the table.
“Yes. That’s all I ever really wanted to do.”
“It must be exciting.” Caroline leaned forward, always willing to be fascinated. “Sunbeam, our other daughter, is taking flying lessons. Maybe you can give her some pointers.”
“Sunny’s always taking lessons.” There was both amusement and affection in Libby’s voice as she passed the salad on to her mother. “She’s good at everything. She took up parachuting and figured the next step was to learn how to fly the plane herself.”
“Makes sense.” He glanced over at Caroline. Caroline Stone, he thought, not for the first time. The twentieth-century genius. Cal would have found it no more incredible to be sharing a meal with Vincent Van Gogh or Voltaire. “This is a wonderful salad, Mrs. Stone.”
“Caroline. Thanks.” She slanted a look at her husband, knowing he would have preferred his sausages and chips and a cold beer. After more than twenty years, she hadn’t quite converted him. That never stopped her from trying.
“I feel very strongly that proper nutrition is what keeps the mind clear and open,” she began. “I recently read a study where proper diet and exercise was directly linked to longer life spans. If we cared for ourselves better, we could live well over a hundred years.”
Noting the expression on Cal’s face, Libby gave his ankle a kick under the table. She had a feeling he’d been about to inform her mother that people did live over the century mark, and regularly.
“What’s the use of living that long if you have to eat leaves and twigs?” William began, but then he noted his wife’s narrowed look. “Not that these aren’t great leaves.”
“You can have something sweet for dessert.” She leaned over to kiss his cheek. Six rings glittered on her hands as she offered the bowl to Cal again. “Have some more?”
“Yes, thanks.” He took a second serving. His appetite continued to amaze Libby. “I admire your work, Mrs. Stone.”
“Really?” It still pleased her when anyone referred to her weaving as her “work.” “Do you have a piece?”