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.”