“We won’t know until we find it,” she said at length. “If the storm lets up, I should be able to get you to a doctor in a day or two. In the meantime, you’ll have to trust me.”

He did. He couldn’t have said why, but from the moment he’d seen her dozing in the chair he’d known she was someone he could count on. The problem was, he didn’t know if he could trust himself—or if she could.

“Libby . . .” She turned toward him again, and the moment she did he lost what he’d wanted to say. “You have a nice face,” he murmured, and watched her tawny eyes turn wary. He wanted to touch her, felt compelled to. But the moment he lifted his hand she was up and out of reach.

“I think you should get some more rest. There’s a spare bedroom upstairs.” She was speaking quickly now, her words fast and edgy. “I couldn’t get you up there last night, but you’d be more comfortable.”

He studied her for a moment. He wasn’t used to women backing away from him. Cal mused over that impression until he was certain it was a true one. No, when there was attraction between a man and a woman, the rest was easy. Maybe all his circuits weren’t working, but he knew there was attraction on both sides.

“Are you matched?”

Libby’s brows lifted into her fringe of bangs. “Am I what?”

“Matched? Do you have a mate?”

She had to laugh. “That’s a quaint way of putting it. No, not at the moment. Let me help you upstairs.” She held up a hand before he could push himself up. “I’d really appreciate it if you’d keep that blanket on.”

“It’s not cold,” he said. Then, with a shrug, he hooked the material around his hips.

“Here, lean on me.” She draped his arm over her shoulder, then slipped her own around his waist. “Steady?”

“Almost.” When they started forward, he found that he was only slightly dizzy. He was almost sure he could have made it on his own, but he liked the idea of starting up the stairs with his arm wrapped around her. “I’ve never been in a place like this before.”

Her heart was beating a little too quickly. Since he was putting almost none of his weight on her, she couldn’t blame it on exertion. Proximity, however, was a different matter. “I suppose it’s rustic by most standards, but I’ve always loved it.”

Rustic was a mild word for it, he mused, but he didn’t want to offend her. “Always?”

“Yes, I was born here.”

He started to speak again, but when he turned his head he caught a whiff of her hair. When his body tightened, he became aware of his bruises.

“Right in here. Sit at the foot of the bed while I turn it down.” He did as she asked, then ran his hand over one of the bedposts, amazed. It was wood, he was certain it was wood, but it didn’t seem to be more than twenty or thirty years old. And that was ridiculous.