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her lips, signaling Shawn to be quiet.
    "Ted Ackershaw, campground manager. We met when you registered."
    Holt unlocked the door. A balding man wearing a white polo shirt and a pair of red and blue checked Bermuda shorts stepped half-way in the door. "Hi, I'm welcoming new guests. I hope you plan to stay with us for a few days or more.”
    Holt shot Caprice a quick look before answering him. "We're just here for the night."
    "That's a shame because there’s a pot luck supper at the club house. We play music and dance the hokey-pokey.” His eyes lit with enthusiasm as Armor sniffed his shoes. “We’ve arranged for representatives from the Red Cross to be here tomorrow afternoon to accept any donations for the hurricane-relief effort."
    "That’s mighty nice,” Holt said and Caprice sensed he was impressed by the man’s generous spirit. “But we’re in for the night.”
    “My son needs to sleep,” Caprice added.
    "Well, you people seem like the neat kind, but I have to remind everyone to take their trash bags to the Dumpster. If you leave garbage on the site, the raccoons and deer will make a mess."
    Holt nodded. "No problem."
    Ted smiled at Shawn. "We sell seed at the registration desk. Your son might like to feed the squirrels. Why, those little devils will steal the food right from your hands." Ted relaxed, leaned on the threshold and crossed his arms, his expression friendly and welcoming. "So, where're you folks headed?"
    "West to the Skyline Drive. My wife wants to visit Luray Caverns."
    Caprice found her voice. "Yes. It's all I've talked about after seeing those beautiful brochures."
    "My sister-in-law's brother got married next to the Great Stalacpipe Organ." Ted winked at her. "People say it's romantic."
    "Really?" She covered her mouth to yawn and met Holt's gaze. "Our vacation has been exhausting and exciting, hasn't it, dear?"
    Holt shifted and looked at Ted. "We want to get an early start."
    "Well, you can't take I-95. It's closed thirty miles south of Richmond. Too many trees down. Disaster relief teams are trying to aid in the cleanup of the highways, but my guess is progress will be slow. You'll need to cut under and head west on I-64."
    "Thanks. I'll remember that."
    Ted tousled Shawn's head. "I sure do like to chat with nice families such as yourselves, but I can see you’re getting ready for bed." He pointed to Holt. "Better do something for that eye."
    Once he left, Caprice slumped against the refrigerator and Holt chuckled. "We handled that rather well...dear."
    “I'm curious,” she said, relaxing. “Other than your father, your sister, and her girls, you haven't mentioned a girlfriend, or a wife.”
    "There’s no time for a girlfriend, and I’m happily divorced.”
    “Children?”
    His lids veiled his eyes as he turned. “Nope. None.”
    They became busy with nighttime rituals that became awkward and polite. Caprice bathed Shawn then rested beside him in the bunk. She squeezed her eyes, fighting the image of Holt showering, while he, in a Trace Atkins baritone, sang a melancholy tune so low it vibrated through the thin walls and plucked at her heartstrings.
    Eventually the bathroom door opened. She froze, staring into the darkness.
    "Your turn," he grunted and his bedroom pocket door slid shut.
    The shower’s warm water sluiced her body, removing tension. The rough washcloth scrubbed away traveling grime and Lugo’s touch at the airport. As steam shrouded her, she froze, gripping the washcloth between her breasts. Like Van Gogh’s Starry Night , her imagination swirled.
    If Holt chose to invade her privacy right now, how would she defend herself? Could she maim his other eye with a slippery soap bar? Saints protect her!
    She was traveling with a man who kept a pistol handy. In her desperation to find a safe haven for Shawn, had she placed them in even more jeopardy?

Chapter Three
    Except for a muted light over the stove, the camper was dark when Caprice slid between the bunk’s cool