Cal decided he’d probably inherited his father’s more even temperament. Except he didn’t feel very even-tempered at the moment.

With a sigh, he sat on the bed. “You’d like her,” he murmured to the images. “I wish you could meet her.” That was a first, he thought. He’d never had the urge to bring any of his companions home for family approval. It was probably the result of spending the day with Libby’s parents.

He was stalling. Rubbing his hands over his face, Cal admitted he was wasting his time with busywork and self-indulgent analysis. He should already be gone. But he’d promised himself another day. There was Libby’s time capsule to do . . . that is, if she was still speaking to him.

She was bound to be angry about the little number he’d pulled on her before he’d left that morning. That was fine, he decided as he stretched out. He’d rather have her angry than smilingly urging him on his way. Lazily he checked his watch. She should be back in a couple hours.

Right now he was going to have a nap to make up for the long, frustrating and sleepless night he’d spent on her couch. Switching on the sleep tape beside the bed, he closed his eyes and tuned out.

***

Idiot, Libby thought, gripping the wheel tightly as she maneuvered the Land Rover along the winding switchback toward home. Conceited idiot, she clarified. He’d better have an explanation when she saw him again. No matter how she racked her brain, she could come up with no reason why he had kissed her in that furious, mean-spirited way.

Something to think about.

Well, she had thought about it, Libby reminded herself while she navigated the narrowing dirt road. It still made her furious. And it still didn’t make any sense. Then again, she had a twice-married neighbor in Portland who claimed men never made sense.

They always had to her—as a species, anyway, Libby thought grimly. And on paper. Now, for the first time, she was involved in a one-on-one with a flesh-and-blood member of the male genus, and she was baffled.

Libby bumped over rocks as she tried once again to solve the mystery of Caleb Hornblower.

Perhaps it had had something to do with the visit by her parents. But then, he’d been moody the morning before they had arrived. Moody, but not angry, she remembered, and they had made slow, quiet love by the stream during the afternoon. He’d seemed cheerful enough at dinner, perhaps a little withdrawn, but that was only natural. It must be very difficult for him to be around people when he had to concentrate on not saying anything that might give him away.

She felt a tug of sympathy and stubbornly ignored it.