Kathy replaced the receiver she turned to see Dakota standing in the doorway.
“Where is your man?” he said.
Kathy blinked. “My man? I don’t have one.”
“He died?”
“No, I’ve never been married. In this time era, women often live alone.”
“Then who protects you? Feeds you? Makes a home for you?”
“I do,” she said, splaying one hand on her chest. “I take care of myself.”
“That’s not the natural order of men and women. Women do not have the skills or strength to do men’s work. Wearing man-pants won’t help you achieve what you are not capable of doing.”
“Man-pants? Oh, you mean my jeans. It’s appropriate for women to wear…well, man-pants. These,” she went on, lifting one foot, “are tennis shoes. They come in all colors. I have on white ones, but I own a blue pair, a red pair, a…Never mind. I have a feeling you don’t give a hoot about tennis shoes.”
Dakota shrugged.
“You’re positive you feel all right?” Kathy said. “It occurs to me that it might be very hard on a person to be hurled through time.”
“I’m fine, except for being hungry.”
“You need some food? Well, all right. Maybe if we do something ordinary like having breakfast we’ll be able to approach this whole thing more calmly. Yes, that’s a good idea. When in doubt…eat.”
In the kitchen, Kathy immediately decided that if she attempted to explain to Dakota what a stove, refrigerator and microwave were, they’d never get around to eating. For now, she’d just let him be totally confused about all the paraphernalia.
She opened the refrigerator and removed bacon, a carton of eggs and a quart of milk. A few minutes later, the bacon was sizzling in a frying pan as she wirewhipped eggs and milk in a bowl.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dakota tentatively touching things, sometimes leaning forward for a closer look, before moving on to the next item that beckoned.
This kitchen, Kathy thought, was too small. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. It wasn’t big enough when she was sharing it with Dakota. There was more than just his size causing her to feel suddenly crowded and unsettled, it was also the aura of masculinity emanating from him. His raw, earthy, male essence was sensuously overwhelming.
She was acutely aware of her own femininity to the point that her skin tingled. Dakota was man. She was woman. Those facts should be nothing more than simple data. But it wasn’t simple for some mysterious reason.
No, she’d covered that topic while she was getting dressed. She was not going to fall prey to Dakota’s male magnetism. He wasn’t a man, he was a problem to be solved.
With a sigh, Kathy forked the bacon onto a pad of paper towels, drained the majority of the grease into a coffee can at the back of the stove, then poured the frothy egg mixture into the pan. Staring off into space she stirred the eggs in a steady rhythm with a slotted spoon.
A problem? Oh, dear, that was putting it mildly. She wished she could decide that this whole scenario couldn’t possibly have taken place and, therefore, it hadn’t. But she’d run out of ways to attempt to convince herself that it wasn’t true. Dakota was most definitely there.
“Smoke,” Dakota said, from where he stood behind her.
“What?” Kathy said. “Oh, my gosh, I’ve burned the eggs.”
She quickly lifted the frying pan to another burner on the stove, muttering under her breath as she vigorously stirred the eggs.
“Woman,” Dakota said, “you don’t cook well. I think perhaps you’ve spent too much time trying to do men’s work and have neglected learning how to properly perform your duties.”
“That’s great, just dandy,” she said, glaring at him. “I have a 1877 chauvinist on my hands. So, okay, this meal is a disaster, but I’m not my usual organized self this morning. This is not the way I ordinarily start my day. Got that? And don’t call me ‘woman’.”
“You are a woman.”
“I realize that, but the way you say it is demeaning. My name is Kathy.” She paused. “Oh, Dakota, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so cross with you. I’m upset by all that’s happened. Let’s take a deep breath and eat breakfast, such as it is.”
She carried the meal to the table. Dakota followed her and stared at a chair. He watched Kathy settle onto one, then splayed a hand on the seat, pressing down on the smooth wood to determine its strength.
“It will hold your weight,” Kathy said. “Trust me.”
Dakota eased himself onto the chair, his muscles tensed should he find it necessary to move away quickly. A few minutes later he relaxed and scrutinized the offering on his plate.
The bacon was crisp, but the eggs were burned in spots and runny in others. He looked at Kathy, and watched in fascination as she shoveled eggs onto a fork.
“What is that tool?” he said.
“This? It’s a fork.” She poked it into her mouth, pulled it back out empty of eggs, then chewed and swallowed. “See? It’s a way of getting the food where it needs to go. Try it.”
He wrapped one large hand around the fork handle, jammed the prongs into the eggs, then jerked his hand upward, spilling the contents.
“Slowly, Dakota, gently. Try it again.”
“Mmm,” he said, glaring at her.
Kathy smiled as she watched him attempt to master the strange tool called a fork. He moved cautiously this time, and she could see him assessing the challenge with intelligence and determination. Yet, there was also an endearing, little-boy quality to the scene that caused a warm, fuzzy feeling to tiptoe around her heart.
“You did it,” she said, clapping her hands as Dakota chewed a delivered forkful of eggs.
He swallowed, then frowned. “This tastes terrible.”
Kathy shrugged. “If you don’t like it, don’t eat it. It’s up to you.”
“I need the nourishment. Bad cooking is better than nothing, I suppose.”
“Don’t push me, Dakota.”
“Push you?” he said, looking directly into her eyes. “I would never harm you, Kathy. I am an Apache. I respect women, I respect you. I wouldn’t push you, beat you or strike out at you.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean…”
“If you have your nose split someday, it would be by your choice.”
“Pardon me?”
“An Apache woman who commits adultery has her nose split so everyone will know
