Tasting Fear (47 page)

“Dream on, big boy,” she said. “I’m done for the night.”

He toweled her off, with his usual passionate attention to detail and herded her toward the stairs. “Food, then,” he said, resigned.

They made sandwiches in his kitchen. Devoured the rest of Margaret’s latest batch of cookies. And when they could find nothing else that was quick and easy to eat, they went back up the stairs, and into Jack’s bed, to twine their naked bodies as closely together as they could.

They talked, carefully. Tentative, groping conversations about their pasts, their histories. Circling around forbidden topics.

But she didn’t want dead zones and “danger keep out” signs in their conversations, either. Vivi sat up, pushing his hands away when he reached to pull her close again. “I have a question, Jack.”

“Ask away,” he said, his face hidden in the shadows.

“What happened after the bust?” She let her hair curtain her face.

He took her hand. “We’re having a beautiful time,” he said, his voice halting. “Don’t ruin it by asking me questions like that.”

“I’m not picking a fight,” she said gently. “I just need to know. Did you go to one of your other family members?”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t reach any of them. My mother was in India, meditating with some guru. My aunt had moved on, to some other boyfriend. They hadn’t stayed in touch.”

“So you just took off, all alone?”

“It wasn’t so bad at first. It was summer, and there was fruit and corn to steal. I ate a lot of hot dogs. Became an excellent shoplifter.”

She laughed, incredulous. “You?”

“I was unbeatable. I told you, remember? Fasting makes me crabby.”

He fell silent, then, and she reached out to stroke his shoulder. It was rigid. “And then?”

“I lasted about eight months,” he said. “I found the places where the runaways crashed. But the winter got cold. One night, I was in this flophouse in North Portland. Some guys picked a fight with me. It ended badly.” He touched the scar on his forehead. “That’s where I got this.”

She leaned down, and kissed his eyebrow, his forehead.

“That was it, for me. I found a phone. Called Margaret, collect.”

“Margaret? You mean, you knew her then?”

“Freddy knew her,” he corrected. “From when he was a kid. He’d told me about her. So I gave her a try. The operator asked if she’d take a call from Freddy Kendrick’s nephew. And she accepted the charges.”

“Wow,” she whispered. “So you went to live with her?”

“For a while,” he said. “She was good to me. I joined the military as soon as I was old enough. Didn’t want to be a burden to her.”

She ran her fingers through the sable texture of his hair, and thought about it all. “You think I’m going to be like them, right?” she said. “Like your family? Running out on you?”

He rolled over, clapping his hand over his eyes. “Oh, fuck, Viv. Don’t do this.” He sounded exhausted. “It’s so beautiful. Don’t wreck it for me. Just let it be what it is. Please.”

“But I just want you to—”

“Let me have this, okay?” He sounded angry again. “For however long as it lasts. Can’t we just stay in the moment?”

She hid from the revealing shaft of moonlight that illuminated the quilt as she considered it. There was something to be said for staying in the moment, hard though it was. She was a normal, flesh-and-blood woman. She craved the usual reassurances, promises, declarations of trust, faith. Love. She wasn’t going to get them from him. Period.

But so what? That did not mean that what he gave her instead was not precious. Or that she shouldn’t cherish it anyway.

After all. Suppose they stayed in the moment, for, say, thirty years? Forty? Fifty? Maybe when he was a grizzled old man, he would give in, laugh at himself. Finally admit that it had been love all along.

She slipped back between the sheets and into his hot embrace.

The image made her smile, but her eyes were wet.

V
ivi stepped back from the wall she was painting and surveyed the warm ivory tone with satisfaction. She adjusted an elegant earthenware vase on its stand with her pinkie finger, the only finger with no paint on it, and stood back to admire the effect. Classy.

Her store was shaping up. Her friends were coming in from all over the West Coast to bring her consignments. Stock was pouring in. Just that morning, Betty and Nanette had left an assortment of handblown bottles and stemware. Yesterday, Rockerick brought leatherwork. Brigid left a pile of jewel-toned handwoven silk shawls and throws. Miraben brought teapots, vases, jugs, dishes. With her own stuff, the shop would be a gallery of wearable, usable art.

The bells over the door tinkled. Jack walked in. A smile spread over her face. His answering grin made her toes curl.

He looked around with his usual reservation. He disapproved of her decision to open the shop. Vociferously

“Looking good,” he said, grudgingly.

Well, my. Unusually positive, for him. She gazed at him, savoring the glow of sensual energy that hummed between them.

“You look incredible,” he said, leaning toward her.

Vivi pulled back. “Let me wash my hands. Paint cramps my style.”

“Hurry,” he said.

Vivi ran to the bathroom and scrubbed paint off her hands. She stripped off her T-shirt and cutoffs, threw her green dress over her head, shook her hair down. They had been lovers for weeks now, and she still got swirling flutters in her stomach when she saw him.

Jack gazed at the snowy bulk of Mount Adams when she emerged. “Great view,” he commented, as she stood on tiptoe to kiss him.

“It’s a great location,” she said. “Ten days, and I’ll be ready for my grand opening. So what brings you here, Jack? I thought you were taking those larkspurs and veronica into Portland today.”

“I did. The truck overheated on the way back. It has a broken fan belt. I left it at the shop.”

“So you’re bumming a ride home? You’re sure you can endure being seen in public in my disreputable van?”

“I’ll wear a Lone Ranger mask,” he said. “There’s a blues concert tonight, at the riverfront park. Want to go dancing?”

“Dancing? Wow! Yes!”

He cupped her head in his hand, kissed her again, and was maneuvering her toward the privacy of the little office in the back. She giggled, and pulled away. They’d gotten up to hours of juicy, delicious mischief back there on her secondhand desk, every time he came to her shop. But not today. “Don’t get any ideas,” she protested. “I have a lot to do before I can fling myself into the abyss of rampant sensuality.”

“I’ll be back in a couple of hours, then.” A dazzling smile, and the bells tinkled as he walked out.

Breath escaped slowly from Vivi’s lungs. She was terrified at how happy she was, but the feeling was marred by a keen edge of uncertainty. She was trying to get used to uncertainty, but it still rattled her.

The last few weeks were like a dream. The two of them spent every waking moment that they weren’t working together. She was sleeping in his bed, eating with him, living in his house. The apartment in the barn had turned into her studio, when she worked at all. She’d never been so distracted, so knocked off track. She was drinking too much of his powerful coffee, soaking in his big tub, eating his excellent cooking, wearing his huge shirts around.

Their hungry, intense lovemaking left her drained, shivering, empty of thought. When she was in that condition, she could stay in the moment, as he’d begged her to do. And she was in that condition a lot.

She’d gone on with her plan of opening a shop, in spite of Jack’s anger and protests, and the objections of her sisters. If she wanted to put down roots, she had to get on with it.

She tried to protect herself emotionally, the way Jack shielded himself from her, but he was intensely sensitive to her moods. When he sensed her withdrawing, he promptly seduced her and rendered her mindless and whimpering. But he never let down his own guard.

Patience. They belonged together. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. They’d made progress. For God’s sake, they were going dancing tonight. How very normal of them. That was progress.

Everything else was perfect. The trendy location she’d found for her shop in Pebble River was ideal. A local woodworking shop was making a carved hanging sign that read “Vivi’s Treasure Box.” Glass-fronted cabinets were ordered and on their way. She’d organized wholesale accounts with the most talented artists she knew. Her credit was maxed to the limit, but hey. Life was risk. She could stand it. All she had to do was persuade Jack that they had a future together. The biggest risk she’d ever taken. The highest stakes. All or nothing.

But she had no idea what she would do with herself if she lost.

The breeze was warm at the riverfront park. The sensual blues tunes of the band from Portland pulsed through the evening air. A slow romantic song began, and Vivi and Jack merged without a word, swaying like a single body.

It was really happening for her, Vivi thought, in a haze of unbelieving happiness. They were going to let their fears and hesitations go. Together, they formed something greater than the sum of their parts. The music throbbed around them, and his body was the core of her spinning universe. She would never find another man so right for her, who moved her so deeply, and now was the moment to tell him. He was ready to listen. She could feel it.

She was so enthralled as she stretched up to whisper in his ear, she barely noticed the large hand tapping on her shoulder.

A big, booming voice intruded on her consciousness. “Vivi? Viv D’Onofrio? Sweet thing, is it really you?”

Vivi turned. A stocky blond man with a goatee, a waxed moustache, and a purple silk shirt stood smiling at her. A narrow tie dotted with suns and moons adorned his shirt. Vivi tried to place him, and he grinned widely, revealing his trademark golden eyeteeth.

“Rafael!” she cried out, as he enveloped her in a bear hug. “Is it you? What happened to the beard, the dreadlocks, the tie-dye?”

“And this is my disheveled pixie Vivi? You look stunning. That long, long hair! I could eat you up with a spoon! Give me another hug!”

“Put her down.” Jack’s voice was quiet, but authoritative.

Rafael swiveled his head, leaving Vivi’s feet dangling a foot off the ground. He took one look at Jack. She thudded heavily to the ground.

Rafael’s widened eyes traveled the length and breadth of Jack’s body. “Viv!” he exclaimed. “You devil, you! Where did you find this one?”

“Jack, this is Rafael, my buddy from art school, the guy I told you about. Rafael, this is Jack Kendrick. My van got stuck in his mud.”

“How provocative,” Rafael murmured. “The van clued me in that you were here. I saw it in the parking lot, and I’ve been prowling the grounds looking for you. And what does this Jack Kendrick do?”

Jack blinked at him, quizzically. “Uh…”

“He grows flowers,” Vivi supplied.

“How picturesque. I love it.” Rafael’s golden teeth flashed. “What are you doing in these parts, angel? Apart from, ah…the obvious.” His gaze flashed toward Jack, eyebrows waggling wildly.

“I’m starting a business in Pebble River,” she said.

Rafael’s eyebrows shot up. “Putting down roots?”

God, she hoped. “I’m burnt on the crafts fairs. But enough about me. Tell me about your transformation. Are you respectable now?”

“Prosperous, my dear. Different from respectable,” he said, fingering a diamond that glinted discreetly in his ear. “Remember Rudolfo, the promoter of the show we did in Monterey? He made me his site manager, and one thing led to another, and now I’m a promoter!”

“That’s great, Rafael! I’m so happy for you!”

Rafael twirled a diamond solitaire ring on his finger, batting his eyes. “Thank you. I was so ready to change my image. You should see me in full regalia! Armani, Prada. I look like a million bucks.”

She tugged his tie affectionately. “What brings you here?”

“Business. I was in San Francisco, setting up a gallery show. And I’m heading back to New York tomorrow, because some clients are flying in from London on Saturday—”

“Whoa, you’re riding high!” she said, impressed. “The last time I saw you, we were roasting hot dogs around a campfire!”

“Life marches on! The art in my New York gallery can be seen by appointment only, I’ll have you know,” Rafael said proudly. “Artists would kill to show me their work. I act disgustingly self-important. You’d laugh your head off if you saw. Anyway, this band is a fave of mine, so I popped over from Portland to see the concert before I fly back to New York, and am I glad! I’ve been desperate to get in touch with you! I have the perfect job for you, love. Mine!”

Vivi squinted at him, confused. “What? Yours? How?”

“You heard me. My clientele is growing, and I’m putting together high-end shows that travel, but with my gallery in New York, I can’t always be on the move. I need a curator and site manager. You could do for me what I did for Rudolfo. I’m talking invitational shows, where you handpick the artists, jury the art, curate the show, plan the tour, choose galleries, lofts, ballrooms, hotels. The money is extremely good. And a canny career move for a developing artist, if I may advise you.”

“Wow,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s a very generous offer, but—”

“Don’t make snap decisions!” Rafael admonished. “This job has been good to me. I want to pass on the good fortune! Think about it!”

“I’m speechless,” Vivi said, touched. “It’s kind of you to think of me, but the truth is, my life is complicated right now. And I’m kind of in the midst of something here.”

“I can see that!” Rafael eyed Jack with blatant approval. “But let me just explain how perfect my job is for you.”

Vivi abruptly became aware of the quality of Jack’s fierce, silent attention. “Um, Rafael, do you suppose we could meet for coffee and talk about this tomorrow? Now is not the best time for—”

“What better time? We arranged this time in the astral plane! I have to catch a plane tomorrow. Seize the moment!” Rafael took her arm and led her away from the crowd. Vivi glanced uncomfortably back at Jack. He followed closely, his face unreadable.

“Listen carefully,” Rafael began earnestly. “A sample month in the life of Vivi D’Onofrio, art promoter. One week in San Francisco, eating sushi and going to the opera. The next week in Berkeley, taking in wild experimental theater. A tour of the wine country in between. On to Los Angeles, San Diego, Santa Fe, always a different view. No fleabag motels, no moldy campground showers. You eat in award-winning restaurants, you sleep in five-star hotels. You deal in outrageously expensive art. It’s fun, stimulating, challenging. What do you say?”

“You know money has never been a big priority for me—”

“Oh, I know.” Rafael patted her shoulder. “But just try making lots of money for a while, and see how fast you get used to it.”

“The real reason is not the money,” she plodded on. “I’m—”

“This job is your way back into the high-end art world! Everything that bastard Wilder took from you, you can have again! I’m not suggesting you be a site manager or curator forever. I’m thinking about your long-term artistic career! If you go this road, with the contacts you develop, you can write your own ticket!”

“But my shop is already organized, and I—”

“A little shop in a little town has its charm, but think about it. Work with me for a while, and that scumbag Wilder will be eating your exhaust. Just imagine the satisfaction.”

Vivi imagined it. She twisted gently out of Rafael’s grip and wrapped her arms across her chest. Shivering, although the night was warm. The crowd swirled around them, but the music faded to the background of her mind as she pondered the images.

The big-time art world. Success, fame, money. The life she’d dreamed of as a struggling young artist. It didn’t make her heartbeat quicken anymore. She lifted her gaze past her friend’s expectant face, to where Jack stood, behind him. His stance rigid. Eyes fixed on her.

That life didn’t include Jack. The finality of that fact sent a stab of nervous panic through her. “Ah…ah, it’s tempting, but—”

“And you could play fairy godmother to your artist friends! You’d have the power to bring their stuff to the attention of the high-end buyers! You could change their lives! Wouldn’t that be grand?”

Vivi took a slow breath. “It sounds great, but I found a perfect location for my shop. I’m content with that. I’m staying put.”

She twisted to see if Jack was still listening. He was close behind, but when she tried to meet his eyes, he looked straight ahead.

Rafael’s gaze shifted, from Vivi to Jack, back again. “Ah. I understand, angel. You just think about it. I won’t push.”

Vivi turned to Jack and reached out to take his hand. “The band is starting another song. Let’s go back near the stage, okay?”

Jack’s hand was stiff, unresponsive. “I’m ready to leave,” he said.

Rafael’s smile faded. He looked at Jack fingering the waxed ends of his moustache. “I hope I haven’t put you in a tight place, love,” he said. “Will you think about it?”

“Certainly, I’ll think about it,” Vivi said quietly. “And thank you. It’s a beautiful offer, and you’re a wonderful friend.”

Rafael gave her an impulsive hug. “Give me your cell number. Promise me you’ll give it some serious thought. I’ll walk you out to the van.”

She pulled out her phone. “I don’t get much mobile coverage out where I live,” she told him. “I’ll give you the landline number at my shop, and at Jack’s house, too.”

They exchanged various numbers as they strolled. Rafael’s eyes grew nostalgic as they stopped at the van. He turned to Jack. “Did Viv tell you that I—”

“Yeah, she told me,” Jack said dourly. “You painted the serpent.”

Rafael’s eyes turned dreamy. “This was my best van painting. I’d be more than willing to paint the other side for you, love. How about a portrait of the two of you? Chain-mail bathing suits, shreds of fur, a flaming sword? You can be hugging his leg. I love it when the girl hugs the guy’s leg.” His gaze flicked to Jack’s muscular thigh. “Mmmm.”