The brandy was the genuine article and no hallucination, he decided. It was velvet fire coursing down his throat. He closed his eyes and let the fire spread. “I’m still a little disoriented. How long have I been here?”

“Since last night.” The color was coming back, she noted. His voice sounded calmer, more controlled. It wasn’t until her muscles relaxed that she realized how tightly they’d been tensed. “I guess I saw you crash about midnight.”

“You saw it?”

“Well, I saw the lights and heard you hit.” She smiled, continuing to monitor his pulse, when he opened his eyes again. “For a minute I thought I was seeing a meteor or a UFO or something.”

“A—a UFO?” he repeated, dazed.

“Not that I believe in extraterrestrials or spaceships or anything, but my father’s always been fascinated by that kind of thing. I realized it was a plane.” He was staring at her again, she thought, but there was curiosity rather than anger in his eyes. “Feeling better?”

He couldn’t have begun to tell her how and what he was feeling. Cal had an idea that that was all for the best. He needed to think before he said too much. “Some.” Still hoping it was all some bizarre mistake, he rattled the paper in his hand. “Where’d you get this?”

“I drove into Brookings a couple of days ago. That’s about seventy miles from here. I picked up supplies and a few newspapers.” She glanced absently at the one in his hand. “I haven’t gotten around to reading any of them yet, so they’re already old news.”

“Yeah.” He looked at the papers that were still on the floor. “Old news.”

With a laugh, she rose and began to make an effort to tidy the room. “I always feel so cut off here, more so than when I’m in the field hundreds of miles away. I imagine we could establish a colony on Mars and I wouldn’t hear about it until it was all over.”

“A colony on Mars,” he murmured, feeling his stomach sink as he glanced at the paper again. “I think you’ve got about a hundred years to go.”

“Sorry I’ll miss it.” With a sigh, she looked out the window. “Rain’s starting up again. Maybe we can catch the weather on the early news.” After stepping over books, she flicked on a small portable television. After a moment, a snowy picture blinked on. She dragged a hand through her hair and decided to watch without her glasses. “The weather should be on in a—Caleb?” She tilted her head to one side, fascinated by his dumbstruck expression. “I’d swear you’d never seen a television in your life.”

“What?” He brought himself back, wishing he had another brandy. A television. He’d heard of them, of course, in the same way Libby had heard of covered wagons. “I didn’t realize you had one.”

“We’re rustic,” she told him, “not primitive.” She narrowed her eyes when he gave a choked laugh. “Maybe you should lie down again.”