Tasting Fear (39 page)

The box was made of variously sized chunks of translucent, sand-smoothed bottle glass, both brown and green. Edges lined with strips of copper foil. Soldered together by a webwork of fine silver wire. Her business card was tucked into the bottom of it.

His hand closed over the box in a tight, shaking fist, crushing it. Pieces of glass cracked. Pain stabbed into his hand. Blood dripped out between his fingers. He forced them to open.

The box was mangled, shapeless, poised on his bloody, shaking claw. The business card with Vivien D’Onofrio’s name was crumpled, bloodstained. He liked the effect.

He stared at the chunk of garbage and began to laugh.

Uppity bitch. She thought she’d won. Thought she was smarter. But she’d see who was boss, in the end. Oh, yes, she’d see.

Vivi woke up slowly, in a bright patch of morning sunshine that streamed through the curtainless window, straight into her eyes.

She rolled over and found Edna panting right into her face. She stroked the dog’s velvety ears. Wow. She felt so comfortable. The futon was so much softer than the little mattress in her van. Ah.

And she had to find another bed, fast. She could not be obligated to Kendrick for something so intimate as a bed.

She pulled clothes on, fed Edna, and munched on some yogurt and granola. The weather was gorgeous. A great day to hike back to the van, locate someone with a tractor, and stay out of Jack Kendrick’s way. But first, she needed to touch base with her sisters and check her e-mail.

The cell phone had no coverage. She looked around the apartment for a phone jack, and found one next to the back door in the kitchen, but there was no phone attached. She needed a vehicle to buy herself a phone. But it was probably the same phone line as the one in his house. Which meant she would have to ask permission to use it.

That thought turned her legs rubbery with anticipation.

She marched out—and a spasm of doubt stopped her on the steps. Maybe just a casual peek in the bathroom mirror, to wash the crumbs out of her eyes. She hustled inside and did the facial-cleansing routine. With toner. And moisturizer. And brushing her hair would be good. And that sweatshirt with the sleeves ripped out was terribly shabby. She rummaged through the duffel. Maybe the green tank—no. Too revealing. The red jersey. A belt, with a big, intimidating buckle. A hint of mascara. And a tiny swipe of gloss for her lips. Barely any.

One last look into the mirror sent her back to her purse to pull out a pair of silver and carnelian drop earrings. She posed for Edna, who wagged her approval, and out they stepped into the cool morning.

The fragrance was overwhelming: earth, flowers, pine needles, dew, rain. The air itself seemed to sparkle as it went into her lungs. Birds warbled. Pale sunlight sifted through pine needles, in a fluttering, swaying pattern. She looked around, openmouthed.

She hesitated before his door. It was seven-thirty, after all. Maybe he was a late sleeper. She’d decided to come back later when an unfamiliar voice called from across the yard. “Hello, there, missy!”

Vivi whirled around. A small, elderly lady with bluish hair, dressed in a rose-spattered dress and carrying a paper bag, was making her way up the path with the help of a cane. “Good morning,” she replied, smiling at the welcome that creased the old lady’s wrinkled face.

“And what’s your name, young lady?”

“Vivi D’Onofrio. Pleased to meet you.” She extended her hand.

The old lady set down the paper bag and took Vivi’s proffered hand, squeezing it gently. “My name is Margaret Moffat O’Keefe, but you can call me Margaret. So! My Jack has been a naughty fellow, hmm?”

Vivi was nonplussed for a moment, until she understood the twinkle in the old lady’s eyes. “Oh, no! Um, not with me! I barely know him. I’m just a friend of a friend, staying here for a while. In the apartment. Up there.” She pointed to the barn. “I was just looking for him. I was afraid he might be sleeping, so I didn’t want to—”

“Oh, good heavens, no. Jack’s no slug-a-bed.” Margaret’s faded eyes took on a speculative gleam as she stumped up the porch steps. She rapped smartly with the head of her cane on the front door.

“Jack, dear?” she called. “Are you home?”

There was no response. “Well, his truck is here, so he’s probably just gone down to see to his flowers,” Margaret said. “Have you seen his flowers?” Vivi shook her head, and Margaret clucked her disapproval. “Young Jack must show you his flowers! They are a sight.”

“Not these, you mean?” Vivi indicated the flower beds in the yard.

“Oh, no. I mean down by the river. I think he has columbines and lamb’s ears and Sweet William coming in now. And bachelor buttons, of course, and heaven only knows what else.”

Vivi smiled at the beaming old lady. “It sounds magical.”

“I’d take you down myself, but this arthritis has slowed me down some. You just sit down on the porch and have a cookie, and Jack will be along. I baked some molasses crinkles for Jack. He loves cookies.”

“Is he related to you?” Vivi asked.

“Not technically, but I think of Jack as my honorary grandson, since he came here to live with me some twenty-five ago, or so. In fact, he bought this property from me some years back. Dear boy.”

Vivi had to stifle a giggle at the thought of that big block of seasoned manhood being referred to as a “dear boy.”

“Well, I’ll be running along. Come have a cup of tea with me one of these mornings when you’re settled in. And say hello to Jack for me.” She held out the bag. It was heavy and fragrant. “And you tell Jack to show you the hot springs,” Margaret added, a gleam in her eye.

“Hot springs?” Vivi was intrigued.

“Oh, yes, dearie. There are some natural hot pools a couple of miles upriver. Very private. Just beautiful. Something tells me you would like them, bless your heart.” She patted Vivi’s shoulder.

“Something told you right,” Vivi said, with relish. Wow. Cookies. Flowers. Hot springs. She’d hit the mother lode. This place was paradise on earth.

Vivi gazed after the old lady as she made her slow, careful way down the walk. How incredibly sweet of her. An intoxicating buttery-sweet fragrance rose from the bag. She peeked inside. Molasses cookies, warm and fresh. She sat down on the porch steps and reached for one.

Predictably enough, her hand was in the bag when Jack strode around the house, carrying an armful of what looked like columbines, though they were much bigger than any columbines she’d ever seen. She yanked her hand out guiltily, licking her fingers with embarrassed bravado. He stopped in front of her, and nodded in silent greeting.

“Hi. I, uh, just met Margaret.” Vivi closed the bag and folded down the top. “She brought you cookies.”

“So I see,” he said.

“She said I could have some,” Vivi said, before she could stop herself, and blushed furiously as he began to smile. The lines crinkling up around his eyes sparked a warm glow somewhere in the vicinity of her navel. It crept inexorably downward.

“Eat all you want,” he said. “What kind are they this time?”

“Molasses,” Vivi informed him. She wrenched her gaze away now from the smile that had now become a grin, complete with shockingly white, beautiful teeth, and focused on his long, work-hardened hands, gently holding those long flowers. Whew. That grin. This guy had a whole store of secret weapons. Every one calculated to lay her low.

She struggled to remember what she’d come down to ask him.

“Ah, I need to make some phone calls, and get on the Internet, too, to check my mail orders. And, ah, my cell has no coverage here,” she said. “So I was just wondering—”

“Of course. There’s a jack in your kitchen, but it’s my phone line. I assumed, considering your security problem, you weren’t going to want to list a number right now. You mind sharing a line with me? I don’t spend much time hanging on the phone.”

“Me neither,” she said. “That’s fine with me, if it’s okay with you.”

“If you want to use your cell, hike up to the top of that rise,” he said. “See that stand of spruce? You’ll get some coverage up there. But for now, use my phone. Hook your computer up in the kitchen.”

“Thanks,” she murmured.

“I meant to get you a phone. You weren’t supposed to arrive so soon.” He gazed at her accusingly through the stalks of columbine.

“Yeah, right,” she mumbled. “Don’t you want to go and put those down somewhere?”

“Yeah, and then I’m, going to make coffee. Come and have a cup.”

She watched, fascinated, as he walked across the yard toward a small outbuilding. Oh, boy. The back view of his jeans was as appealing as the front. She leaned her head on her hands and exhaled, slowly.

Inside his cozy kitchen once again, she gazed at trays of seedlings while he put on the coffee. When she felt his big, silent presence drawing near her again, she gave in to her curiosity. “Margaret and Duncan said you grow flowers,” she ventured

Jack stroked the bottom of a delicate leaf in one of the trays. It trembled above the forest of thin, delicate pale stems, as if floating there. “Yes. I’ve got some
Aquilegia flavescens
, and
Delphinium exaltatum
, and
Dianthus barbatus
coming in right now. I’m taking a load into Portland today.”

“What’s that in English?”

“Columbines, larkspurs, and sweet william,” he clarified.

She sneaked a quick peek at his somber profile. “Why do you use Latin names?”

“I like how specific it is. There are hundreds of subgroups for common flower names. Each one has its own totally different personality.”

“Wow,” she murmured, impressed.

He looked self-conscious. “I don’t mean to be a nerd. I got off on studying them when I was in the military. Nothing like staring at flowers when you’re sweating in the desert with sand rasping in every crack under your body armor.” He paused, and looked at her chest. “Like dreaming of water while you’re dying of thirst,” he finished.

He was standing so close, she could smell the loamy scent of plants and earth on him, although his hands smelled like lemon dish soap. “You’re, um, staring at my
Eranthis hylematis
, Jack,” she said. “It’s making me nervous.”

“Sorry,” he said. “And it’s
Eranthis hyemalis,
not
hylematis.
”

Whoa. That hot, dangerous flirtatious energy was starting to stretch and twist between them, muscular and dangerous and unpredictable.

She had to distract them, before things got weird. “How’d you get into this business?” she asked.

“I like plants,” he said. “My uncle Freddie was into organic gardening when I was a kid. I studied plant biology on the Internet when I was in the service, and afterward, when I worked overseas.”

“In Afghanistan? On that task force with Duncan, right?”

“Right. I’ve done some landscaping work for the parks department in Portland and Vancouver, too. Ornamental horticulture, stuff like that. But I prefer to live out here. I’ve built up a good business. The land down by the river’s good for rare specialty stuff, and I know florists who are happy to buy local and get stock that’s days fresher than the flowers they fly in over the pole from Holland. I’ve got a refrigerated truck and a twelve-by-twelve walk-in cooler. I harvest and deliver them myself. Simple and direct. Works out well for everybody.”

“What an awesome way to make a living,” she said.

“It’s hard work,” he said. “But I like the flowers.” He turned his silver-gray gaze on her face, and she realized what his eyes reminded her of. They had the same glowing depths that she’d seen in the eyes of a timber wolf.

“Did you sleep well on the futon?” he asked.

“Yes, wonderfully. Thank you.”

The coffee began to gurgle. He went to the stove, leaving her free to normalize her breathing and get herself in hand.

The coffee tasted wonderful with Margaret’s cookies. Jack finished his cup, got up, and rinsed it briskly. “I’d better get going,” he said. “You going to be okay by yourself here, with no wheels?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’ve got Edna. We’re set.”

“Help yourself to anything you might need, in my cupboards, or the fridge,” he said. “There’s the phone, as you see. Oh, and I called Dwayne Pritchett about your van. He’ll be coming over with his tractor as soon as it dries up, but he doesn’t want to risk it for a few days yet.”

“Great. I appreciate that,” she said. “Also, could you tell me how to find the hot springs? Maybe Edna and I will hike up and take a look.”

He spun around. “Hot springs?” His eyes had gone cold.

She shrank back, apprehensive. “Uh, Margaret said there were some natural hot springs upriver a couple of miles. Something wrong?”

He scowled down into the sink. “Shit.”

“What’s the matter?” Vivi demanded. “Are you pissed at me?”

“Not at you. I’m irritated with Margaret. We have an agreement to keep the springs secret. Nobody wants hikers trespassing on our land. Now Margaret decides to tell a stranger.”

“I’m hardly a trespassing hiker,” Vivi pointed out, insulted.

“No. But it’s not as if you’re a long-term resident, either.”

“Does that mean you’ll be kicking me out soon?” She sprang to her feet. “Please be clear about that, Kendrick. Before I start ordering furniture.”

“Don’t take it personally. Margaret should’ve discussed it with me, that’s all. And don’t call me Kendrick. It makes me feel like I’m back in boot camp. I’ll take you to the springs when I get back from Portland.”

Vivi counted to ten, lips pressed flat. “Please, don’t trouble yourself.” She wished she hadn’t asked. She could probably find it on her own. A couple of miles upriver. How hard could it be?

He read her mind, and fixed her with a stern glare. “Do not go without me,” he said forcefully. “The cliffs are dangerous, and the path is washed out.”

“Fine.” Vivi deposited her coffee cup in the sink.

“I’ll be back around four, if you want to go then,” he added.

“Like I said, don’t go to any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. I meant what I said about not going alone.”

“I heard you the first time.” She let his door slam shut.