“Oh.” She dropped her gaze, before his bright eyes could catch it and nail it down again. “Do you always walk around in thunderstorms?”

“I like the rain,” he said. “I like the way it smells. And I wish you’d put that thing down.”

“I’ll put it down when I’m ready to put it down,” she said shakily.

He tossed down his stick. “Whatever. Just don’t hit me with it.”

“Not without provocation,” she said.

His mouth twitched. “Would you just chill the fuck out?”

She felt ridiculous, and threw the tire iron back into the van in disgust.

“You travel alone?” he asked.

“No. I travel with my dog,” Vivi replied.

Edna bounded out when her existence was mentioned, landing in the mud with a wet plop. She shook herself, trotted over to the stranger, and gave his large brown hand a sniff. She yelped her approval and leaped up on him.

“Down, Edna,” Vivi ordered, startled. Edna had never cozied up to strangers. It made her feel vaguely betrayed. “Get back in here!”

The dog trotted back, panting into Vivi’s face. “Sorry about that,” she told him.

“No problem.” A brief smile lit his face. “Nice dog.”

“Too nice,” Vivi muttered. She started to push back the tangled hair that clung to her face, but stopped. Mud on her hands.

He gazed at her, with that supernatural calm. Maybe hanging out in nature for too long did that to a guy. Look at him, walking through the pouring rain because he liked the way it smelled. Give her a break.

It made her feel frantic, citified, stressed out. A shallow little squeaking hamster racing on the wheel. And the hungry fanged kitties lurking, licking their chops. Waiting for their lunch.

Oh, Christ, she needed a vacation. A night’s sleep. Something.

“You’re stuck,” he remarked.

She suppressed a sarcastic comment about stating the glaringly obvious, and concentrated on wiping her hands on her drenched T-shirt. Good grief. He could see everything through that shirt. She hadn’t worn a bra. She wasn’t wearing a jacket. She was blushing. Again.

“I noticed that actually,” she said. “Can you tell me how might I get a tow around here?”

He prodded the mud with his stick once again, looked up at the lowering clouds. “No,” he said. “See how steep that hill is? No one can pull you out until this dries up.” He stroked Edna’s head. “So why did you bring this piece of junk out onto the worst road in the county in the middle of a thunderstorm?”

“This van is not junk,” Vivi flared. “It’s been my home for years, and it’s perfectly fine. It’s the road that’s the problem, not my van!”

He looked incredulous. “You live in this thing?”

“I’m a craftswoman,” she informed him. “I work the craft fair circuit, so I live on the road. Up till now, that is.”

“Interesting, but it doesn’t explain what you’re doing on my land.”

Why, that arrogant putz. “None of your business,” she snapped.

“It is now,” he said. “This thing is blocking my road.”

Vivi lifted her chin. “Didn’t you just say that nobody’s going to be driving on it until it’s dry?”

His eyes caught hers, held them fast. “True enough,” he said. “But it’s still my land.” He gazed at her thoughtfully. Not ogling her, but her body still shivered, as if he were checking her out inch by inch.

She suppressed an urge to cross her arms across her breasts. She would remain nonchalant, or die in the attempt. “Besides, I’m not trespassing. I’m going to my new place. How far is it to Kendrick’s?”

The man’s face went blank for a second. Then his brow furrowed. He stared at her, then at the mud-splattered, fantastical painting on the side of her van. “Don’t tell me you’re Vivien D’Onofrio.”

Tension started to tighten, in her belly, her neck. “And just why shouldn’t I tell you that?”

“You’re not what I expected,” he said. “I have to talk to Duncan.”

“Oh, my God. You mean, you’re Jack Kendrick?” She stared at him, speechless. She’d been expecting a stolid jarhead type, older, thicker, with graying hair buzzed off.

Not a silver-eyed sex god who loved to walk in the rain.

“You’re early,” he said, an accusing note in his voice. “Duncan sent me an e-mail last night saying you were still in Idaho yesterday. I expected you this evening, or tomorrow. What, did you drive all night?”

“Uh, yes.” He didn’t need to know what a cowering scaredy-cat she was, so she skipped the explanations, while running their entire conversation through her mind, trying to assess how rude she’d been.

Hmmph. Pretty bad. No ruder than he deserved, but still. She had to make an effort. He was doing her a big, fat favor, after all. “Um. Seems like we got off to a bad start,” she said, trying to sound conciliatory.

“Yeah, it does.” He no longer looked Zen mellow. He looked pissed.

Vivi asked carefully. “What do you mean, not what you expected? she asked. “What were you expecting?”

“Duncan told me you were a professional designer with a stalker problem who needed to drop out of sight for a while. He did not tell me that you were a tattooed, itinerant teenager sexpot neo-hippie.”

Vivi’s jaw dropped. Teenager? Neo-hippie? Sexpot, for God’s sake? All thoughts of conciliation vanished. “You rude son of a bitch!” she hissed. “I am a professional! You owe me an apology!”

“We’ll see.” Jack’s face was blatantly unapologetic.

Sexpot? Her brain stuck on that like a hook. God knew, it was not how she’d describe her muddy, strung-out, sleep-deprived, what-the-cat-dragged-in self, but holy cow! Who did the guy think he was?

So he was that insufferable type of man who made snap judgments based on a nose ring and a tie-dye T-shirt. Truth to tell, she’d been meaning to take the nose ring out before meeting him, just to suss him out first. She’d meant to stop at a place with a bathroom, put on some decent clothes, brush her hair, maybe even put on some makeup.

So much for that brilliant plan. Add another mistake to the list.

She held up her arm, displaying the tattoo of coiled barbed wire that circled her narrow wrist. “You’ve got a problem with me, Kendrick?”

“Yes,” Jack said flatly.

Vivi was blushing again. Smarting, from being judged by him. She bit back a babbling flood of explanations that were none of his business. Explanations that she owed to nobody. In truth, that tattoo wasn’t one she’d chosen. Her mom’s boyfriend had taken her to his buddy’s skeevy tattoo parlor when she was ten, to spite Vivi’s mom. As an attention-getting technique, it had bombed, big-time. Vivi’s mom had been too focused organizing her next heroin fix to notice. Vivi figured she was probably lucky the guy hadn’t put the tattoo on her face. Talk about an alternative look.

But she didn’t enjoy playing the victim, so she’d flaunted the tattoo. And nobody had forced her to get the mandala tattoo over the crack of her ass, or the crescent moon and star on the top of her foot, or the smiling gothic sun face that adorned her shoulder blade, or the flower over her left breast. And Kendrick couldn’t even see those.

She’d never felt embarrassed about her funky, alternative look before. Usually, she enjoyed getting in the face of uptight people. It was good for their health, to have their assumptions challenged. But for some reason, the self-appointed task of challenging assumptions was no fun for her today. She didn’t have the juice for it. Not with this guy.

“Would you mind answering my original question?” she asked, her voice tight. “How far is it to your place?”

“By this road, two and a half miles. Cross-country, a little over a mile and a half. Why didn’t you take the other road?”

“What other road?”

“I just put in another road, from the other side of the property. It’s much shorter, and better kept. I e-mailed the directions to Duncan. He should have passed them on to you.”