She lifted her chin in the air. "Meaning?"

"Meaning he would invest as little as possible of his own capital in the venture. I bet the place doesn't even have indoor plumbing. And if you're about to ask me how he would get away with it with marks, don't bother-I'll tell you. He'll simply explain it away as part of the 'experience' of getting in touch with your inner self."

Zanita's side of the truck was suspiciously silent.

"What-no comeback?"

Her shoulders sagged. "No, you're right. I didn't think of any of those angles. I'm really not very good at this, am I?"

She looked so dejected, he instantly felt remorse. "You would have, baby, if you were feeling better."

"I suppose so," she sighed.

"How are you feeling?"

"There is nothing wrong with me!" A sneeze punctuated her adamant statement.

"I'll tell you what-why don't you take one of your instant Zanita naps, and if another UFO comes along, I promise I'll wake you up."

She smiled faintly. "Thanks, but I don't think I could fall asleep now."

"This is Zanita talking, isn't it? The woman who has developed the habit of snoozing to a fine art?"

The corners of her mouth twitched. "Well, I suppose I could try."

"I have complete confidence in your abilities in this area. In fact, I can give you a recommendation, should you ever need one."

"That's a real comforting thought, Doc." She sneezed again.

"You're sure you're not sick?" he asked in a dry tone.

"I told you, I'm fine."

"Don't you dare even think of rubbing that vile stuff on my chest!"

Tyber had entered the bedroom carrying a tray of various sickroom paraphernalia. Thermometer. Flashlight. Tongue depressor. Tongue depressor? Tissues. Aspirin. And a jar of disgusting ointment.

"C'mon, baby, Blooey concocted it just for you. He says it has fresh herbs in it."

"Like what?"

"Sassafras, comfrey, horehound..."

She crossed her arms stubbornly over her chest. "It stinks!"

"Okay." He put the jar of salve on the night table. "Guess I'll have to go to Vermont without you."

"You will not! Achoo?"

"You'll never be better by next Friday if you don't take care of yourself."

"I am taking care of myself!"

"Vermont is so pretty this time of year-peak foliage season. Too bad I'll have to enjoy it all by myself." He sat on the bed, patiently waiting for her to come around. It didn't take long.

"My head hurts." Her lower lip pouted.

"I know," he commiserated sadly.

"My throat feels scratchy," she explained, as if he didn't know.

"Poor thing." He dipped into the jar.

"And my joints ache, too."

"This will help." He rubbed the ointment on her chest. "Feel better?"

"A little," she grudgingly conceded.

"Let me take your temperature." He popped the thermometer into her mouth, thinking she really looked quite adorable with her mutinous expression and flannel granny gown buttoned up to her chin. Not that he would mention it to her. God knew how she would interpret it. By comparison, men preferred to have their fingernails ripped out.

When he removed the thermometer, Zanita tried to stare over his shoulder at the reading, but he turned to the side to scrutinize it privately, as if it were a top secret formula of some kind.

"Well, what does it say?" she demanded.

"It says you have a temperature. Say ahh...." He stuck the tongue depressor in her mouth and peered down her throat with the flashlight.

"I hate to break this to you, Doc, but you're a Ph.D, not an M.D."

He arrogantly raised his eyebrow at her.

"You know what you're doing?"

He nodded.

"So, what's the verdict?"

"Mild case of flu."

"Mild? I'm dying!"

"Not for another sixty years-if you eat your vegetables."

"You just want to get rid of all that squash." She stuck her tongue out at him.

He clicked his tongue. "You are a terrible patient."

"So what?" She glared mutinously at him.

"My, my, my. We are cranky, aren't we?"

"I hate being sick!"

"Really? What a revelation! Excuse me while I call the Enquirer." Her mouth quirked at that. "Haven't completely lost our sense of humor, I see. Would you like me to sleep in one of the other bedrooms tonight?"

"No!" She belatedly flushed at the vehemence of her response. "I-I sort of... well..." She picked at the bedcovers.

Tyber yawned. "Feel free to finish anytime."

"I like the feel of you next to me at night, all right?" she snapped.

Tyber smiled broadly. "All right." He quickly shed his clothes and got under the covers. "You don't have to be so touchy. Jeez, women!" He took her in his arms.

Zanita cuddled against his broad, warm chest, snuggling in to go to sleep.

"Comfy?"

"Mmm-hmmm." She rubbed her face against his chest.

"Good, but you better not sneeze on me."

"I wouldn't do tha-ah... ah... achoo!"

"Zanita!"

She was dying.

Her head throbbed. Her joints throbbed. Her throat was on fire.

Worse than that, she was paralyzed from the knees down. She could not move her legs!

Blearily, she opened her eyes and managed to lift her head a few inches off the pillow to see an orange ball of fur lying contentedly across her feet. Hambone! She dropped her head to the pillow and groaned.

The door opened and Tyber strolled in, all chipper with morning cheer. "Hey, how are you doing this morning?" He placed some orange juice on the bedside table.

"Get the cat off my legs," she croaked. Hambone opened his eyes, and seeming slightly insulted, lumbered off to lie next to her.

"Shame on you; he only wanted to see how you were feeling. I brought you some oatmeal."

"Oatmeal? I never eat oatmeal!"

"Well, you do now." Tyber leveled a no-nonsense look at her, causing her to cave in immediately.

"Oh, all right." She viewed the bowl sullenly until she happened to lock eyes with the cat. A silent communication seemed to occur in that moment. They both smiled at each other. "Just leave it there; I'll try to eat some later."

Tyber placed his hand across her forehead. "You still have a fever."

"I feel worse," she said petulantly.

"Today will be the worst day; you'll feel better tomorrow. Anyway, Blooey's making you some chicken soup for lunch, and Hambone's here to keep you company. Do you want to watch TV?"

Her nose arched in the air. "I don't watch daytime television."

"I have satellite. I hear there's a monsterthon on Channel 132 today." He raised and lowered his eyebrows as if to say, how could you not?

"You have satellite? I never noticed a dish."

"I didn't say which satellite, did I?" Her mouth gaped. "Here's the remote. By the way, I called your office and told them you wouldn't be in for a few days."

"Tyber! I was going to go in later! You shouldn't have-" She broke off, coughing.

"Uh-huh. I'm going down to do some work in the lab; if you need anything, Blooey's in the kitchen. Don't forget that oatmeal."

As soon as he was gone, Zanita looked at the cat. The cat looked at her. And the oatmeal was history.

"Prepare yourself." Tyber strode purposefully into the room a few hours later to glare down at her from the foot of the bed.

"What is it-more oatmeal?"

"No. I don't think Hambone is up to anymore just yet. He's still trying to digest the last batch."

She didn't quite meet his eyes. "How did you know?"

"He's lying in the sun like a snake that just swallowed a gopher. Besides that, he had oatmeal all over his whiskers. Blooey had to chase him all over the house with a wet rag to clean it off him."

"So that's what all that racket was. Then if it's not oatmeal, what is it?"

"Grandfather Hank just called and he's hopping mad. He wants to know who I am and what the hell I'm doing with you." He leveled a searing look at her.

"Oh," she said in a small voice.

"You didn't tell him you were moving in here, did you?"

She winced. "No."

He leaned over the bed, trapping her between his arms, which came down on either-side of her. His voice was deceptively calm. "What did you think would happen when he could not reach you at home?"

She gulped. "That wouldn't have happened."

He pinned her to the pillow with a look. "I'm waiting."

"Call forwarding," she said in a small voice.

He just stared at her, a little muscle ticking in his jaw.

"You-you don't understand. You just don't tell Hank stuff like this. He's-he's like from another century. And since this is only a temporary situation, why upset the old guy?"

"The old guy is on his way here even as we speak."