“That’s one way of putting it.”

“What I mean is . . . you were right and I was wrong.” If that didn’t do the trick, he knew nothing about the nature of women.

“All right.” Nothing made her more uncomfortable than holding a grudge. “We’ll forget it.”

“Is it okay if I think you have beautiful eyes?” He saw her blush and was utterly charmed.

“I suppose.” The corners of her mouth turned up. She’d been right about the Celtic blood, she reflected. If the man didn’t have Irish ancestors, she’d have to go into a different line of work. “If you can’t help it.”

He held out a hand. “Friends?”

“Friends.” The moment she put her hand in his she wondered why it felt as though she’d made a mistake. Or jumped off a bridge. He had a way of using only the barest brush of his fingertips to send her pulse scrambling. Slowly, wishing he wasn’t so obviously aware of her reaction, she drew her hand away. “I’m going to fix breakfast.”

“Is it all right if I have a shower?”

“Sure. I’ll show you where everything is.” More comfortable with something practical to do, she led the way down the hall. “Clean towels in the closet.” She opened a narrow louvered door. “Here’s a razor if you want to shave.” She offered him a disposable safety razor and a can of shaving cream. “Something wrong?” He was staring at the items she offered as though they were instruments of torture. “I guess you’re used to an electric,” she said, “but I don’t have one.”

“No.” He managed a weak smile, hoping he wouldn’t slit his throat. “This is fine.”

“Toothbrush.” Trying not to stare at him, she handed him a spare that was still in its box. “We don’t have an electric one of these, either.”

“I’ll, ah, rough it.”

“Fine. Take whatever looks like it will fit out of the bedroom. There should be jeans and sweaters. I’ll have something ready in a half hour. Time enough?”

“Sure.”

Cal was still staring at the toiletries in his hands when she shut the door.

Fascinating. Now that he was over the panic, the fear and the disbelief, he was finding the whole episode fascinating. He studied the cardboard box and toothbrush with a grin, like a boy who’d found a fabulous puzzle under the Christmas tree.

They were supposed to use these things three times a day, he remembered. He’d read all about it. They had different flavors of paste that they scrubbed all over their teeth. Sounded revolting. Cal squirted a dab of the shaving cream on his finger. Gamely he touched it to his tongue. It was revolting. How had anyone tolerated it? Of course, that had all been in the days before tooth and gum diseases had been eradicated by fluoratyne.

After opening the box, he ran a thumb over the bristles. Interesting. He grimaced into the mirror, studying his strong white teeth. Maybe he shouldn’t take any chances.