There was a low rumble of thunder as she descended the stairs. Another bad sign, she thought. At this rate it would be days before she could get him down the mountain.

Perhaps someone was already looking for him. Friends, family, business associates. A wife or a lover. Everyone had someone.

She groped for the kitchen light as the sky cracked with the first bolt of lightning. It was going to be another boomer, she decided as she opened the refrigerator door. Finding nothing that appealed to her, she rummaged through the cupboards. A night like this called for a nice bowl of soup and a seat by the fire.

Alone.

She sighed a little as she opened the can. Recently she’d begun to think about being alone. As a scientist she knew the reason. She lived in a culture of couples. Single—unmatched, she remembered with a quick smile—single men and women often found themselves dissatisfied and depressed in their own company. The entertainment media subtly—and not so subtly—drilled into them the pleasures of relationships. Families added pressure for the single to marry and continue the family line. Good-natured friends offered help and advice, generally unwanted, on finding a mate. The human being was programmed, almost from birth, to search for and find a companion of the opposite sex.

Maybe that was why she’d resisted. An interesting analysis, Libby mused as she stirred the soup. The desire for individuality and self-sufficiency had been ingrained in her from birth. It would take a very special person to tempt her to share. She had dated only rarely in high school. The same pattern had held true in college. She’d had no interest.

That wasn’t precisely true, she thought. She had had interest—the trouble was, it had usually been scientific. She’d never met a man who dazzled her enough to stop her from making lists and forming hypotheses. Professor Stone, they’d called her in high school. And it still rankled. In college she’d been considered a professional virgin. She’d detested that, had struggled to ignore it, pouring her energy into her studies. The appeal of her personality had made her friends, both male and female. But intimate relationships were another matter.

When all the data had been analyzed, there had never been one who had made her . . . well, yearn, Libby decided. That was the appropriate term.

She supposed there wasn’t a man on the planet who could make her yearn.

Wooden spoon in hand, she turned to take out a bowl. For the second time she saw Cal framed in the doorway. She gave a muffled shriek, and the spoon went flying. A flash of lightning lit up the room. Then it was plunged into darkness.

“Libby?”

“Damn it, Hornblower, I wish you wouldn’t do that.” Her voice was breathless as she rummaged through drawers for a candle. “You scared the life out of me.”

“Did you think I was one of the mutants from Andromeda?” There was a dry tone to the words that had her wrinkling her nose.