“Please don’t be so defensive,” Jack said.

Vivi put the van in gear. It lurched forward, bumping over ruts, and crawled gamely up the hill. “That’s hard, under the circumstances.”

“I have an understanding with Duncan. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you have this security problem,” he said. “If you can stand it, that is. I doubt you’ll be staying that long anyway.”

“And why is that?”

“Your kind never do,” he said calmly.

The van crested the hill. Vivi stared out the windshield with hot eyes. “My ‘kind’?” she repeated.

“I don’t mean that the way you’re taking it. But I can see from the kind of person you are that you won’t settle in one place for long.”

“Ah.” The van lurched violently over the deep ruts, making her teeth jar painfully in her head. “Indeed.”

“It’s a valid lifestyle choice,” he went on. “I’m not judging you.”

“The hell you’re not.” They crawled slowly up another steep hill. “I’m going in to Pebble River after lunch,” she announced. “I’m going to a furniture store. I’m buying a bed. A table. A bookcase. And I’m going start looking for a place to open my shop.”

“Shop?” He turned to her, frowning. “What’s this about a shop?”

“I mean to open a shop. Pebble River is a perfect place for the kind of business I have in mind—”

“Hold on, here. Wait a fucking minute. I thought you were in hiding. I thought these bastards were trying to kill you. I thought that was the whole point of being here. Now you’re talking about opening a shop? Public records, databases, the Internet? What the fuck are you thinking? You’re out of your mind!”

She blew out a long breath. She’d been going back and forth about this issue into the wee hours every night. “How long can I huddle in a hole and shiver?” she exploded. “I can’t afford this! I have to support myself somehow, and this is the—”

“Are you doing this to prove something to me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, you self-absorbed jerk!” she yelled at him. “This isn’t about you! I’m just going about my business!”

They arrived at the house. Vivi pulled in next to Jack’s truck, got out, and slapped the door shut. Her eyes glanced over the painting on the side and winced away. Jack was looking at it. And judging her for it, too.

She’d always been ambivalent about that painting, but Rafael would have been so hurt if she’d painted over his masterpiece. And he’d been so sweet and supportive after the Brian debacle, sharing his booth, showing her the crafts fair ropes. The writhing serpent and muscle-bound warrior on her van was a small price to pay.

Jack was following her up the stairs. She glared over her shoulder. “Excuse me? Where do you think you’re going?”

“I just want to see what you’ve done with the place,” he said.

“I haven’t done much of anything. It looks about the same,” she said. “Please excuse me. I want to make myself lunch.”

Jack raised an eyebrow and waited. Vivi sighed, and fitted the key in the lock. “Whatever. Come on in. I imagine you want lunch, too?”

“Lunch would be nice,” he said, blandly.

The first thing he did was check the seedlings. She’d been watering them, afraid to kill them by planting them incorrectly, but even more afraid of asking for help. But he just stroked the little plants with his fingertip. “We should set these out today,” he said.

“Fine.” She got to work making the grilled cheese sandwiches, so she could have an excuse to keep her back to him.

He walked into the living room. She’d been doing inventory, and her current stock was spread across the green velvet drape on the floor: earrings; pendants; brooches; her compartmentalized boxes of beads; her stash of chunks of broken hand-blown glass, coils of silver and gold wire, hooks and clasps; her boxes of fun and colorful collected junk. The walls were decorated with hangings, paintings, drawings.

“Did you do these pictures?” Jack asked.

“No,” Vivi said. “I’ve met lots of artists in the past few years. I collected my favorite pieces. The ones I could afford, anyway. This is the first chance I’ve ever had to hang them up and look at them properly.”

Jack walked slowly around the room. “And your stuff?”

“There’s not a lot of my work here,” Vivi said, feeling defensive. “Just what’s on the floor. My favorite meda are bronze and blown glass, but you can’t do that in a camper van. I got sidetracked by my jewelry sideline, but I’m tired of it. I want to get back to sculpture.”

Jack leaned over the cloth and picked up a fine lacework of antique beads and colored glass. “You sit on the floor to work?”

“I can’t wait to buy a table,” Vivi said.

He frowned. “I could have found you something.” He picked up a green bottle adorned with onyx beads and a filigree of silver foil. “These are beautiful. Unique.”

“Thank you.” She was uncommonly flustered by the compliment.

“You’re tired of making jewelry? That’s too bad. You must get tired of things quickly,” Jack said.

There he went again, poking his stick between the bars of her cage. Vivi suppressed a flare of savage irritation. “No,” she said tightly. “I love designing jewelry. What I’m sick of is mass-producing for the crafts fairs. That’s just assembly-line work.”

“Ah,” he murmured. “I see.”

“I have a good feel for what will sell,” she went on. “I study the colors and styles in the women’s magazines, make pieces to match, and they go like hotcakes. It was fine for a while, but I’m burnt out.”

“Remember, you don’t have to prove anything to me,” he said.

“Then stop jabbing at me!” she flared. “You’re pissing me off!”

He put the bottle down. “Sorry,” he murmured. “So if you’re not a jewelry designer anymore, what exactly are you?”

“I think I’m a sculptor, but ask me again in six months.”

“But who knows where you’ll be in six months?” He held a pair of malachite earrings up to the light, letting them dangle from his fingers.

Vivi did not dignify that with a reply. She stalked back into the kitchen.

She stuck her head around the door when the sandwiches were sizzling. “Lunch is on. Come get it while the cheese is gooey.”

Jack sat opposite her on the kitchen floor. They ate their sandwiches, and the usual tense, charged silence fell upon them after.

Vivi stared at the crumbs on her paper plate. “Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked, with rigid politeness.

“No, thanks,” he said.

“Then excuse me while I make one for myself.” She put the kettle on and stuffed napkins and paper plates into the garbage.

“You’ve been talking to Margaret?” he asked.

“That’s right. She’s got some good ideas for possible locations for me.”

“For your shop,” he said. “To sell your own designs?”

“Among other things. I know lots of excellent artisans, after all those years on the circuit. And there’s money around here, to support a business like mine. A gallery of wearable, usable art.”

“And aside from the danger issue, you think that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Vivi stuck out her chin.

“It’s a big layout of money,” he said. “A big risk.”

“Yeah? So?”

“I hope you’re not being unrealistic. To say nothing of stupid.”

She decided to let the “stupid” comment slide. “Why? Lots of people start businesses. Sure, it’s risky. Life is risky. Why do you think it’s unrealistic for me?”

She had to ask, even though she was afraid of the answer.

He was silent for a moment. “I think you’ll regret it,” he said. “That kind of investment requires a huge time commitment. And a serious attention span.”

Vivi counted to ten. “I’m not going to play this game anymore.”

“Any woman who sleeps in a sleeping bag, eats off paper plates on the floor, and cooks with aluminum campware doesn’t impress me with her readiness to put down roots.”

Vivi grabbed up the last plate and stuffed it into the garbage. “I’ve been stranded here for five days with no vehicle,” she snapped.