tolerated it—but in this case it was almost amusing. “Believe me, if we could have been here, we would have.”
“Hmm. Well, since we’ve finished wrestling, we might as well go down and have some tea.” She started toward the door, flicking a glance over him as she passed. “What degree black belt do you have?”
“Seventh.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Right.” More than a little miffed, she started downstairs. “I didn’t figure people like you would go in for martial arts.”
“People like me?” He spoke absently as he ran his palm over the smooth wood of the railing.
“You’re a physicist or something, right?”
“Or something.” He spotted a woven throw over the back of a chair in striking colors that challenged rather than blended. Though the look of it tugged at his memory, he resisted the temptation to go over for a closer examination. “And you? What are you?”
“Nothing. I’m working on it.”
When Sunny swung into the kitchen, she went directly to the stove. She didn’t notice the blank astonishment on Jacob’s face.
Like something out of an old video or reference book, he thought as he scanned the room. Only this was much, much better than any reproduction. Delightful, he thought, astonishment turning to pleasure. Absolutely delightful. His hands itched to try out every dial and knob.
“Jacob?”
“What?”
With her brows drawn together, Sunny stared at him. An oddball, she decided. Gorgeous, certainly, but an oddball. And for the time being she was stuck with him. “I said we’re big on tea around here. Do you have a preference?”
“No.” He couldn’t resist. He simply couldn’t. As she turned to put the kettle on to boil, he wandered over to the white enameled sink and turned a clunky chrome dial. Water hissed out of the wide-lipped faucet. Holding a finger under the running stream, he discovered it was ice-cold. When he touched the tip of his tongue to his damp finger he detected a faint metallic flavor.
Completely unprocessed water, he decided. Amazing. They drank it exactly as it came out of the ground. Forgetting Sunny, he stuck his finger under again and found that the water had heated enough to make him jolt. Satisfied for the moment, he turned the water off. When he turned back, he saw that Sunny was still standing by the stove. She was staring at him.
There was no use cursing himself, he decided. He was simply going to have to control his curiosity until he was alone.
“It’s very nice,” he offered.
“Thanks.” Clearing her throat, she kept facing him as she reached behind for the mugs. “We call it a sink. They do have sinks in Philadelphia, don’t they?”
“Yes.” He took a chance, depending on his research. “I’ve never used one quite like this.”
She relaxed a little. “Well, this place is a throwback.”
“I was thinking exactly the same thing.”
As the kettle began to sputter, she turned to make the tea. As she worked, she carelessly pushed her sweater up to her elbows. Long, limber arms, he noted. Deceptively fragile in appearance. He rubbed his own forearm. He’d already had a sample of their strength.
“Maybe Cal didn’t tell you that my parents built this place in the sixties.” She poured steaming water into cups.
“Built it?” he repeated. “Personally?”
“Every stone and log,” she told him. “They were hippies. The genuine article.”
“The 1960s, yes. I’ve read about that era. It was a counterculture movement. Youth against the establishment in a political and social revolution that involved a distrust of wealth, government and the military.”
“Spoken like a true scientist.” A weird one, she added silently as she brought the mugs to the table. “It’s funny to hear someone who was born during that time talk about it as if it were as far removed as the Ming dynasty.”
Following her lead, he sat down. “Times change.”
“Yes.” Frowning, she watched as he rubbed a fingertip over the table’s surface. “It’s called a table,” she said helpfully.
He caught himself and picked up the mug. “I was admiring the wood.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s oak. My father built it, which is why there’s a matchbook under one of the legs.” At his blank look, she laughed. “He went through a carpentry phase. Almost everything he built in this place wobbles.”
He could barely imagine it. Oak split from an actual tree and formed into a piece of furniture. Only those with the highest credit rating could afford the luxury. Even then they were limited by law to a single piece. And here he was, sitting in a house made entirely of wood. He would need samples. It might be difficult with her watching him, distrusting him, but it wasn’t impossible.
Thinking it over, he sipped the tea, stopped, then sipped again.
“Herbal Delight.”
Sunny lifted her mug in salute. “Right the first time. We could hardly drink anything else without risking a family crisis.” With a shake of her head, she studied him over the rim of her mug. “It’s my father’s company. Didn’t Cal tell you that, either?”
“No.” Baffled, Jacob stared into the dark, golden tea in his mug. Herbal Delight. Stone. The company, one of the richest and most expansive in the federation, had been established by William Stone. The myths about his beginnings were as romanticized as those about the nineteenth-century president who had been born in a log cabin.
No, not a myth, Jacob thought as the fragrant steam rose from the cup. Reality.
“Just what did Cal tell you?”
Jacob sipped again and struggled for patience. He wanted to record all of this as soon as possible. “Just that he had . . . flown off course and crashed. Your sister took care of him, and they fell in love.” The old resentment welled up in him, and he set down his mug. “And he chose to stay with her, here.”
“You have a problem with that?” In a movement that mirrored his, Sunny set down her mug. When they eyed each other now, there was as much dislike as distrust in their looks. “Is that why you didn’t bother to show up at the wedding? Because you were annoyed that he decided to get married without clearing it with you?”
His eyes, shades darker as anger grew, snapped to hers again. “No matter what or how I felt about his decision, I would have been here if it had been possible.”
“That’s big of you.” She shot up to snag a bag of cookies from the pile of groceries. “Let me tell you something, Hornblower. He’s lucky to have my sister.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“I would.” Sunny ripped the bag open and dug in. “She’s beautiful and brilliant, kind and unselfish.” She gestured with half a cookie. “And, if it’s any of your business—which it isn’t—they’re happy together.”
“I have no way of knowing that, either.”
“Whose fault is that? You’ve had plenty of time to see them together—if it really mattered to you.”
There was fury, rash and dark in his eyes now. “Time has been the problem.” He rose. “All I know is that my brother made a rash decision, a life-altering one. And I intend to make certain it wasn’t a mistake.”
“You intend?” Sunny choked on a cookie and had to snatch up her mug and drink before she could speak again. “I don’t know how things work in your family, pal, but in ours we don’t make decisions by committee. We’re each considered individuals with the right to choose for ourselves.”
He didn’t give a damn about her family. He only cared about his own. “My brother’s decision affects a great number of people.”
“Yeah, I’m sure his marrying Libby is going to change the course of history.” Disgusted, she tossed the bag of cookies back on the counter. “If you’re so worried, why the hell has it taken you over a year to put in an appearance?”
“That’s my business.”
