“Just, ah . . . taking in the view.”

Satisfied, she gestured toward his plate. “Are you finished?”

“Yeah. This is a great room.”

“I’ve always liked it. Of course, it’s a lot more convenient with the new range. You wouldn’t believe the old museum piece we used to cook on.”

He couldn’t keep from grinning. “I’m sure I wouldn’t.”

“Why do I get the feeling there’s a joke and it’s two inches above my head?”

“I couldn’t say.” After picking up his plate, he moved to the sink and began to open cupboards.

“If you’re looking for a dishwasher, you’re out of luck.” Libby stacked the rest of the breakfast dishes in the sink. “My parents would never bend their sixties values that far. No dishwasher, no microwave, no satellite dish.” She plugged the sink, then reached in front of Caleb for the bottle of dish detergent. “You want to wash or dry?”

“I’ll dry.”

He watched, delighted, as she filled the sink with hot, soapy water and began to scrub. Even the smell was nice, he thought, resisting the urge to bend down and sniff at the lemony bubbles.

Libby rubbed an itch on her nose with her shoulder. “Come on, Hornblower, haven’t you ever seen a woman wash dishes before?”

He decided to test her reaction. “No. Actually, I think I did in a movie once.”

With a bubbling laugh, she handed him a plate. “Progress steals all these charming duties from us. In another hundred years we’ll probably have robots that will stack the dishes inside themselves and sterilize them.”

“More like a hundred and fifty. What do you want me to do with this?” He turned the plate in his hand.

“Dry it.”

“How?”

She lifted a brow and nodded toward a neatly folded cloth. “You might try that.”

“Right.” He dried the plate and picked up another. “I was hoping to go take a look of what’s left of my sh—my plane.”

“I can almost guarantee the logging trail’s washed out. The Land Rover might make it, but I’d really like to give it another day.”

He bit down on his impatience. “You’ll point me in the right direction?”

“No, but I’ll take you.”

“You’ve already done enough.”

“Maybe, but I’m not handing you the key to my car, and you can hardly walk that distance on those roads.” She took the corner of his cloth and dried her hands while he tried to formulate a reasonable excuse. “Why wouldn’t you want me to see your plane, Hornblower? Even if you’d stolen it, I wouldn’t know.”

“I didn’t steal it.”

His tone was just abrupt enough, just annoyed enough, to make her believe him. “Well, then, I’ll help you find the wreckage as soon as the trail’s safe. For now, have a seat and let me look at that cut.”

Automatically he lifted his fingers to the bandage. “It’s all right.”

“You’re having pain. I can see it in your eyes.”

He shifted his gaze to meet hers. There was sympathy there, a quiet, comforting sympathy that made him want to rest his cheek on her hair and tell her everything. “It comes and goes.”