With a nod, Miguel ran back into the rain.

It took him four trips to clean out the truck bed. The tarpaulin had leaked badly and everything was soaked.

When Miguel held the two suitcases up, water dribbled out of them. “I was going to buy a new cover, but Uncle Rafe said his was ‘as good as new.’”

“It probably was in 1954.” She picked up one of the signs. The poster board was so wet it curled around the fence stake they’d stapled it to. But that didn’t matter, as the slogans they’d painted on them had been washed away.

“A fireplace! And wood!” Miguel said. “Thank heaven. You didn’t happen to bring any food, did you?” He knelt down to arrange the logs.

“I’m a Kansas girl. Of course I have food. My mother believes that if a person misses a meal, he’ll drop dead. She jammed my bag full of all sorts of delicious things.” She hesitated. “You’re sopping wet.”

“I am. Get me some dry clothes out of my suitcase, will you?”

She smiled at his joke as she opened the suitcases and pulled out wet clothes, then spread them across the furniture so they could dry. There wasn’t much in the room: a couch, an armchair, a plastic-topped table with two metal chairs. Part of one wall held a single-counter kitchenette. And there was a bed. A solitary bed covered with a pretty quilt.

Vera went to the bed, pulled off the quilt and held it up to him. “I promise I won’t look.”

“In that case, I’m not taking anything off.”

Vera felt herself flush. She tossed the quilt onto the couch. “Suit yourself.” She got her denim bag, set it on the table and began pulling out food.

Miguel got the fire started, then began unbuttoning his shirt. As he peeled the wet fabric from his skin, she did her best not to look. She failed.

His skin was the color of honey, with a little hair on his chest. He was lean and muscular. She was sure he knew she was watching him, but he didn’t turn to look at her. Instead, as though he were alone, he slowly undressed.

When he slid his jeans down, Vera gave up her pretense of unpacking food and watched him. He was sideways to her, facing away.

Under his jeans, he had on white briefs. His legs were muscular from a lifetime of farmwork. Slowly, he rolled down the wet briefs. When he was nude, Vera could feel her heart pounding.

He still didn’t look at her, but reached to the side, picked up the quilt and wrapped it around his beautiful body. Only then did he turn to her.

Vera knew what his eyes were saying. He’d always been clear that he was attracted to her.