“My mother used to give me this,” he told her. “When I had—” He wasn’t sure what childhood illness he could name, but he was certain it wasn’t red dust fever. “Whenever I wasn’t feeling well.”

“A cure for all ills. You’re remembering more.”

“Patches, pieces,” he said, still cautious. “It’s easier to remember childhood than last night.”

“I don’t think that’s unusual. Are you married?” Where had that come from? she wondered, and immediately turned her attention to the fire.

He was glad she wasn’t looking at him when the grin split his face. “No. It wouldn’t be wise for me to want you if I were.”

Her mouth dropped open, and she twisted around to look at him. Quickly she rose and began stacking the dishes on the tray. “I should take these back in.”

“Would you rather I didn’t tell you?”

She had to swallow once, hard, before she could speak at all. “Tell me what?”

“That I want you.” He closed his hand over her wrist to keep her still. It amazed and aroused him to feel her pulse hammering. His word-by-word perusal of the newspaper hadn’t given him an inkling of how men and women interacted in the here and now, but he didn’t believe it could be so different.

“Yes— No.”

Smiling, he took the tray out of her hands. “Which?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” When he stood up, she stepped back and felt the heat from the fire on her legs. “Caleb . . .”

“Is this a special occasion?” He traced a fingertip across her jaw and watched her eyes go as hot as the flames behind her.

“Don’t.” It was ridiculous. He couldn’t make her tremble with just a touch. But all he had done was touch her. And she was trembling.

“When I woke up and saw you sleeping in the chair in the firelight I thought you were an illusion.” He rubbed his thumb gently over her bottom lip. “You look like one now.”

She didn’t feel like one. She felt real, shatteringly real, and terrified. “I have to bank the fire for the night, and you should go back to bed.”

“We can bank the fire for the night. Then we can go to bed.”

She squared her shoulders, furious at the realization that her palms were sweating. She would not stammer, she promised herself. She would not act the inexperienced fool. She would handle him the way a strong, independent woman would, a woman who knew her own mind. “I’m not going to sleep with you. I don’t know you.”

So that was a condition, Cal mused. After thinking it over, he found it rather sweet and not completely unreasonable. “All right. How long do you need?”

She stared at him. At length she dragged both hands through her hair. “I can’t figure out if you’re joking or not, but I do know you’re the oddest man I’ve ever met.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” He watched her bank the fire carefully. Competent hands, he thought, an athletic body, and the most vulnerable eyes he’d ever seen. “We’ll get to know each other tomorrow. Then we’ll sleep together.”