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Angel of Smoky Hollow
Barbara McMahon
Musician Angelica Cannon arrived in Smoky Hollow, battered suitcase and precious violin in tow, to rediscover her passion for music–not to fall for the town's most eligible bachelor, Kirk Devon.Kirk's faded jeans and laid-back charm are a million miles away from the sharp-suited businessmen of New York. But his warm chocolate eyes most deï ¬ ? nitely put the harmony back into her soul!City girl Angelica has already fallen for Smoky Hollow's magic–now she's succumbing to Kirk's spell….



They left the picnic basket at the edge of the clearing. Crossing the stream on stepping stones, Angelica laughed and Kirk turned to look at her.
“This is so different from New York City,” she explained.
“Better.”
She nodded.
“We’ll be there soon,” he said, turning and heading on again.
When they reached the pool, Angelica was hot and out of breath. The waterfall was a three-foot-tall curtain spilling over a wide lip of rock. She thought she’d love to swim beneath it and have it rain down on her.
Kirk stopped by the edge and trailed his hands in it. Then, mischief in his eyes, he flicked her with water.
Angelica shrieked and turned to run. Laughing so hard she almost fell, she reached the edge of the water. Stopping, she looked at Kirk, who had followed her. “Thanks for the picnic and bringing me here. This is such a lovely place.”
He nodded in acknowledgment, then leaned over and brushed his lips against hers.

Praise for Barbara McMahon
“A fresh spin on some tried-and-true plot elements makes this story work beautifully—and its outspoken, honest heroine is a delight.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Daredevil Tycoon
“Barbara McMahon takes a simple love story—employer falls for the employee—and turns it into a tale filled with romance, heartache and love. While the basis for this novel may be timeless, the issues both Caitlin and Zack face are enough to give this novel the feeling it has never been done before. These two characters rock!”
—loveromancesandmore.webs.com on Caitlin’s Cowboy
“A great story, The Tycoon Prince is fit for any woman (and perhaps a few men) who wished they kissed a few less frogs and had more princes to sweep them off their feet!”
—aromancereview.com

Angel of Smoky Hollow
Barbara McMahon


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Barbara McMahon was born and raised in the south U.S.A., but settled in California after spending a year flying around the world for an international airline. After settling down to raise a family and work for a computer firm, she began writing when her children started school. Now, feeling fortunate in being able to realize a longheld dream of quitting her day job and writing full-time, she and her husband have moved to the Sierra Nevada of California, where she finds that her desire to write is stronger than ever. With the beauty of the mountains visible from her windows, and the pace of life slower than the hectic San Francisco Bay Area where they previously resided, she finds more time than ever to think up stories and characters and share them with others through writing. Barbara loves to hear from readers. You can reach her at P.O. Box 977, Pioneer, CA 95666-0977, U.S.A. Readers can also contact Barbara at her website. www.barbaramcmahon.com.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE
ANGELICA CANNON STEPPED OFF the bus into another world. Dragging her backpack down the steps, she made sure she did not let the precious violin case hit anything. The air was thick with humidity, sultry and hot. The trees that lined the street offered scant shade with the sun directly overhead, but gave some illusion of cool, dashed by the reflecting heat from the asphalt.
Running away wasn’t as easy as she’d thought when she stuffed a few things into her backpack and left without telling a soul where she was headed. Withdrawing a hefty sum from her bank account, before buying a bus ticket south, she was officially off the grid. She’d pay cash for everything and defy anyone to find her before she was ready.
She did not expect to be stepping into another world. Maybe—just maybe—she’d bit off more than she could chew.
Three pairs of eyes watched her disembark from the old bus. Two men had to be close to eighty, their scant gray hair covering little of their heads, their overalls looking as if they’d been made during the Great Depression. They sat on rocking chairs, but were still, as if watching people get off the bus was too important to miss by rocking back and forth.
The third set of eyes latched onto hers and for a moment she caught her breath, unable to step away from the bus, unable to breathe. The man leaned casually against one of the posts holding the roof above the wide porch. His stance was decidedly male.
Dark and dangerous, his eyes reflected the image perfectly. His black hair was wavy and longer than that on the men she normally associated with. He could be the grandson of the other two, as he couldn’t be much over thirty. Buff and brawny—she almost swallowed her tongue as she stared at him, consumed by the spark in his eyes, the way he let his gaze move slowly over her then snap back to hold her eyes in that compelling stare. Her heart sped up. Her sophisticated veneer shattered. She’d never felt such an instant raw sensual attraction before. It was as if every cell in her body became attuned to his. And she hadn’t a clue who he was.
She took a breath and, conscious of someone waiting behind her, stepped away from the bus—toward the trio on the porch of the rough-hewn building that served as bus terminus, general store and gas station. And a place for old men to watch the world go by. A place for a man to mesmerize with his stare.
Wide shoulders, muscular arms and chest, nothing was hidden by the skintight navy T-shirt he wore. Faded jeans tucked into motorcycle boots covered long legs. His face was all angles and planes, tanned a dark teak. She’d never seen anything as gorgeous in her life. The fluttering feelings inside kicked up a notch and she wished she could check makeup, hair and clothes. And find something scintillating to say that would impress him with her wit and sophistication.
Clothes—darn. She looked down at her outfit. The two of them almost matched. She wore a cotton top and faded jeans. So unlike her normal attire. In fact, she’d bet her mother didn’t even know she owned a pair of jeans.
Not that she was going to think about her mother! The great escape included thoughts about her parents, her job, and where she was going in the future.
“You miss your stop, sugar?” the man asked as she approached the porch.
Attuned to musical pitch and tone, Angelica almost swooned with the deep baritone voice and sweet Southern drawl. Talk some more, she almost said. Instead, she replied,
“Is this Smoky Hollow, Kentucky?”
“Last I heard,” he acknowledged.
“Pretty thing,” one of the older men said, as if she weren’t standing six feet in front of him.
“Why’s she here? Kin of anyone we know?” the other asked.
“Just fixing to ask that myself.” The fascinating man stepped off the porch in a casual and utterly masculine manner that had Angelica wondering if her hormones had spiked in some weird way since crossing the state line. She wanted to step up and flirt.
Flirt? She had never done so in her life. Where was that thought coming from?
“Can I help you?” he asked. “I’m Kirk Devon and I know almost everybody around here. Who’re you here to see?”
She blinked. His heah didn’t quite sound like here did at home.
“I’m looking for Webb Francis Muldoon,” she said.
He tilted his head slightly, his eyes intent on her face. “Webb Francis isn’t here,” he said.
She swallowed. Great, she left home and fled fifteen hundred miles and the man she was running to wasn’t even around. A second of uncertainty surfaced. Then she took a breath, needing more information. She was not going to be stopped at the first setback. She had yearned for this for too long.
“When will he be back?” she asked.
“Don’t rightly know. Might be a few days. Maybe longer. What do you want with Webb Francis?”
He took a step closer and Angelica wanted to step back. He was tall, at least several inches over six feet. Next to her own five and a half feet, he seemed to tower over her. But it wasn’t only his height. Tapered waist and hips, long legs and those broad shoulders made him look as if he could carry the weight of the world easily on those shoulders. Strong and masculine in an earthy way she wasn’t used to. She was fascinated, and overwhelmed. Her senses roiled.
“I prefer to explain that to Mr. Muldoon,” she said stiffly.
The bus door clanged shut and the old bus belched a puff of black smoke as it pulled away and groaned down the street.
Angelica watched it go, then looked back at the man in front of her. His eyes were still intent, studying her every expression.
“Looks like your transportation’s gone and left you here. Webb Francis is in hospital at Bryceville. He has pneumonia.”
“He’s sick?” Professor Simmons had assured her she’d be welcomed by Webb Francis. No one had counted on his illness. Least of all her.
“Friend of yours?” Kirk Devon asked still studying her.
“He’s a friend of—a friend.” She closed her mouth without saying another word. She dare not trust anyone. She wasn’t giving out who she was or why she was there until she’d spoken to Webb Francis to see if this was where she belonged. She gazed after the bus. Where was Bryceville? Would the bus have taken her there?
“Got a place to stay?” Kirk asked.
She shook her head slowly. She had thought Webb Francis would help her by recommending a place to stay. She knew Professor Simmons had written a letter for his old friend explaining everything. It was in her backpack, to be given once she met Mr. Muldoon. Looking around she squared her shoulders. She’d traveled in Europe, called Manhattan home, surely she could handle one small town in Kentucky.
“Any hotels around?” She would have seen one, she felt sure, watching as she had the foreign scenery as the bus drove in from Lexington. No skyscrapers here. But maybe there’d be a small boutique hotel on a side street.
“There’s a B&B in town. Sally Ann’s place. You can stay there tonight, decide what to do tomorrow. Don’t reckon Webb Francis will be home before a week. And not then unless folks rally around to keep him fed. You staying long?”
He stepped closer, almost crowding her. Reaching for her violin case, he offered to take it. She snatched it out of his reach, stepped back and swung slightly around so the case was almost behind her. “I can manage. Just point me in the right direction.”
His dark eyes watched for a moment. The air was charged with tension, then he gave a lopsided smile and relaxed. It was hard for Angelica to adjust to the change. The smile did crazy things to her. He looked like some harmless guy trying to help. But she didn’t feel reassured. He was big and strong and too sexy for her own good. She couldn’t get beyond that attraction. His dark hair almost shimmered with streaks of blue, it was so black. When he smiled, she felt a catch in her heart. He could probably charm the birds from the tree with a single smile.
She was not a bird. She had to remember she had a goal and falling prey to the first good-looking man she saw was not in her plans.
Reseating her backpack on her shoulder, she glared at him. No one touched the valuable violin but her.
“I’ll take your backpack, then,” he said, lifting it from her shoulders before she knew it. “Can’t let a lady carry all those heavy things,” he drawled as he turned and gestured for her to proceed in the direction away from the store.
The sidewalk ended fifty feet beyond the store. The road narrowed, feeling closed in with the trees that flanked it. With the sun overhead, there was little shade to ease the heat reflecting from the asphalt. If she’d had any idea of how hot it was in Kentucky in summer, she’d have—done what? This was her only bolt hole and she was grateful for it. She’d just have to deal with the heat. She hoped the walk to the B&B wasn’t long, or she’d be a puddle in the road. Glancing at her companion, she was annoyed he didn’t seem to notice the heat at all. If his pace was any indication, he didn’t. She was already growing winded.
“You didn’t tell me your name,” he commented after a few yards.
“Angelica Cannon.” She was sure no one around here had ever heard of her. She felt she’d stepped into a time warp, looking around at the lack of amenities and action. She felt curiously free knowing people here would only learn what she chose to share about her life. She could be totally anonymous if she wanted.
“Sally Ann runs a B&B, you said?” she asked. The shoulder was gravel and dirt and not wide enough to walk on. Would it be any cooler if she could take to the dirt instead of the asphalt? She was growing grateful to her guide that he’d taken the backpack. She was so hot!
“She does. And makes the best pancakes this side of the Mississippi. You tell her you want some one morning, she’ll pile them on your plate. You look like you need some good down-home cooking.”
Angelica frowned. Was that a backhanded comment about her slender frame? Or an insult? Did he think women needed more curves to be attractive? What did she care? He was some backwoods guy, not one of the men of influence she was used to dating. Not a patron of the arts, not a subscriber to the symphony. He probably wouldn’t recognize genuine world class music if it hit him on the head.
His longer gait had her rushing to keep up. Not that she’d ask for him to slow down. That would only prolong her listening to the slow Southern drawl and risk forgetting any good sense remaining.
Though how dashing away in the night showed good sense, she wasn’t sure. She hadn’t been a prisoner. She should have stayed and shown the logic of her choices. Only, she still couldn’t envision herself standing up against her parents. They had done so much for her. They only wanted the very best. How ungrateful she’d be to rail against everything. And it wasn’t as if she was turning her back on her life. For the most part she enjoyed music. It was only lately—she needed a break. She was flat-out burned out.
But try as she might, they never listened to her. Always pushing, always saying they knew what was best for her. She was almost twenty-five years old. Surely she had to know what was best for her by now. Coming here without confirming her would-be host was available didn’t show such good sense—even she had to admit that. But she had, and now she’d make the most of whatever chance she had. It was only temporary. Worst case, she could relax for a few days and then make new plans.
Through the trees she caught a glimpse of a large white clapboard structure. As they rounded a slight bend in the road, Angelica saw the house straight-on. A bit shabby in appearance, nevertheless it was impressive, with a wide porch, dormer windows flanked by green shutters and an immaculate green lawn. Flowering bushes encircled the base of the house. A colorful flower plot in the center of the lawn surrounded an old oak tree whose shade was just starting to touch the wide front porch of the house. Rocking chairs and benches lined up in a row.
Did every building in Smoky Hollow have a porch? She’d heard Southerners were a laid-back group of people. Had to be the heat. She’d like to lie down until the temperature dropped about twenty degrees. Maybe sitting in the shade was the next best thing.
Kirk stepped on the porch and banged on a screen door. The wooden door to the house stood open wide and a moment later a woman bustled down the hall that stretched out from the door, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“Kirk, gracious, good to see you. Is there something wrong?”
“Hey Sally Ann. I brought you a paying guest.”
“I declare.” She opened the screen door and stepped out, looking at Angelica with curiosity. “Was I expecting you?” she asked, tilting her head slightly and smiling. She tucked the dish towel in the top of her apron.
Angelica shook her head. “Mr. Devon said you take guests. I came to see Webb Francis Muldoon and learned he’s not here.”
“No, poor man, sick as can be in Bryceville. Mae went over this morning to see him. Evelyn and Paul will be going tomorrow. When are you going back, Kirk?”
“Might take this young lady to see him tomorrow if that’s what she wants,” he said, flicking a glance at Angelica.
Angelica studied him for a moment. Her common sense told her to stay away from this man. She could forget her own name if she wasn’t careful. Yet if he offered transportation she would not have to spend another moment on the local bus. That would be well worth some time with Kirk Devon.
With her expected ally gone, she needed to reassess everything. How long would Webb Francis be sick? What was she to do in the meantime?
“I’d pay for the ride to Bryceville,” she said looking straight at Kirk.
His face pulled into a frown. “Not if I’m going that way anyway. I’ll leave around ten. Meet me at the store.” He turned and gave Sally Ann a wide smile. “You take care of this one. She’s not used to Kentucky.”
He handed Angelica the backpack.
Angelica couldn’t argue the point, but she wondered how obvious she appeared. She felt like a stranger on a different planet. She was used to glass and concrete, canyons shadowed by tall buildings. The breeze blowing from the Hudson. Or freezing winters fighting slush and traffic and time.
Before she could even thank her reluctant guide, he’d turned and began walking back the way he came.
“Thank you,” she called after him, ever mindful of manners her mother had drummed into her head.
He didn’t acknowledge her appreciation.
“He can’t hear you,” Sally Ann said. “Come on in. I’ve got a nice room right on the front of the house. Gets the breeze at night. Quiet, too, unless those Slade boys are carrying on.”
Angelica nodded and followed her hostess into the house, wondering who the Slade boys were and what carrying on meant. The tall ceilings kept the temperature tolerable. It was a relief to be out of the sun. Climbing stairs that creaked with each step, she wondered how old the house was. The faded wallpaper on the walls gave the feeling of days gone by—long gone by. But the house was spotlessly clean. And smelled like apple pie.
“Here it is. What do you think?” Sally Ann stepped into a large room with wide windows overlooking the street. The oak in front shaded it from the sun. It wasn’t as cool as air-conditioning could achieve, but it was pleasant enough. Definitely twenty or more degrees cooler than outside.
The double bed was covered with an old quilt. There was a slipper chair near one of the windows, a large double-wide bureau and knickknacks galore from little ceramic kittens playing with yarn to old figurines of ladies in antebellum attire.
“This is nice,” Angelica said, taking it all in. It was so different from her sleek Manhattan apartment, with chrome and leather furnishings and modern art on the walls. This was warm and homey. She had never seen a place like it. She liked it.
“Supper’s at six. If you don’t eat here, there’s a good diner in town. Without a car, you’re going to be hard-pressed to find anything else you can walk to and get back before dark.”
“I’d like supper here,” Angelica said, slowly lowering her backpack to the floor. Her precious violin she hugged against her chest for comfort. She felt it was the only familiar thing in life right now.
“Meals are extra.” Sally Ann quoted a figure that was ridiculously low.
Angelica smiled and nodded. “I’d like that.” If everything was that cheap in Kentucky, she could stay longer than originally planned.
If Webb Francis got well and agreed to help her.
And if she could keep her mind on work and not the disturbing presence of Kirk Devon!

Kirk walked back toward town. He planned to call Webb Francis as soon as he reached a phone. Did the man know Angelica Cannon? He had not seemed worried about an invited guest showing up when Kirk saw him yesterday. The more he thought about it, the odder it seemed. What would a young woman whom no one ever heard of have in common with Webb Francis—except for the fiddle. Webb Francis was a world-class fiddle player. At the music festivals and hootenannies held in and around Smoky Hollow, Webb Francis was renowned for his talent. Could she be a student wannabe? Would explain the violin case she guarded. He should have told her he had no interest in her instrument.
Melvin and Paul still held the fort on the porch of the store. There were a couple of others from town chatting with them. Waiting. When they spotted Kirk, the questions began to fly as everyone wanted to know more about the woman who came to visit Webb Francis.
“Don’t know any more than you do. But I’m taking her over to see him tomorrow. Maybe that’ll clear things up.” He spoke another minute or two to the neighbors then headed for home. It was hot. Late July in Kentucky was always hot. He’d been in hotter places. But a long time ago. Time and places he didn’t want to remember.
Next time he’d take his motorcycle. It wasn’t a long walk to town, but midday wasn’t the time to be out walking in the sun.
Reaching the log cabin built as if it grew directly from the forest floor, Kirk went straight to his phone. In a moment he was connected to Webb Francis at the hospital.
“You expecting an Angelica Cannon?” Kirk asked after ascertaining his friend was improving.
“Who?”
“Some woman with a fiddle in a case, backpack, faded jeans and a secretive attitude.”
“Doesn’t sound like anyone I know. Far as I can remember, no one’s going to show up to see me.”
“Claims she was expecting to see you. I figure she’s going to try to talk you into giving her some lessons or something.”
Webb Francis coughed for a long moment. Then said, “Not up to it. Send her on her way.”
“I’m bringing her in to see you tomorrow.”
“I’m not up to taking on a student. The doctors here can’t even tell me when I’m going home.”
“Rest up. We’ll sort this out tomorrow. She’s staying at Sally Ann’s tonight. If you’re not up to seeing her, she can come back after you get well. Need anything?”
Webb Francis coughed again. “Naw, I’m good. It’ll be good to see you, Kirk. Don’t know about some stranger.”
“Take it easy. I’ll handle things.”
“You always do. Good thing for me and your granddad you came home when you did.”
Kirk stared out the window at the bank of trees. Good and bad. If he had not returned, he could believe Alice was waiting for him. Still—his grandfather needed him. He’d seen the sights he’d wanted to see. It had been time to return home.
“See you tomorrow,” he said and slowly hung up the phone.
Action kept memories at bay. He rose and went to the studio behind his house. He could get in some serious work this afternoon. And evening. And maybe think a bit more about the stranger who looked sad and lost and a bit scared. She presented a puzzle. Strangers didn’t come to Smoky Hollow often. Faded jeans and cotton top could be clothes of anyone. But her porcelain complexion and wide, tired blue eyes spoke of something different. Who had such creamy white skin these days? Her blond hair had been pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, sleek and shiny. What would it look like loose in a bank of waves framing her face?
He shook his head. He didn’t need interest rising at this juncture. He knew enough to know whatever her story, she wouldn’t be long in Smoky Hollow. And he’d had enough trouble with women in the past. Something had always been missing. He didn’t think about it any more. He liked his life just the way it was now. No complications, no drama.
And a tad lonely.
He pushed away the thought when he entered the structure a short distance behind his house. He’d built both buildings himself, using the knowledge and skill he’d picked up from many construction projects over the years. From the outside, both the house and shed merely looked like log cabins. Inside he had utilized the finer aspects of carpentry that enabled the house to be comfortable and stylish. The studio was a different matter. With strongly insulated walls, it was cool in summer, warm in winter, and totally utilitarian.
Standing in the doorway, he flipped on the switch. The daylight fixtures bathed the entire space in plenty of light. The tall windows added natural daylight. In the center of the building stood the sculptured piece of wood he was currently working. Five feet tall, it was not quite life-size. A mother with a baby in her arms and a child clinging to her knee, the semi-abstract rendition gave the illusion of motherhood everywhere without details to features and age.
The carving part was finished. He walked around it, studying it from every angle. Next was the final stage—sanding until it was as smooth as glass. Then applying the stain that would bring out the natural luster of the wood. Bring the statue to life. He reached for the first sandpaper and began long even strokes down the length of the back.
Caught up in his work, he didn’t realize the passage of time until he felt the pangs of hunger. Glancing at his watch, he realized it was after midnight. He hadn’t eaten since lunch. Time to take a break. He placed the staining cloth in an airtight container, put the used sandpaper in the trash.
Studying the figure once more, he was pleased. The deep stain had highlighted the grain of the wood. The smooth finish was pleasing to touch. He knew Bianca would snap it up for her gallery. He’d take photos tomorrow to send to her. Once they agreed on price, he’d load it up and deliver. She was always asking for more work. But he did the pieces as the mood struck.
It was cooler than expected when he stepped outside. He walked the familiar path from his studio to home with out light. He knew every inch of his property—and most of the surrounding properties as well. Another way to keep the memories at bay, walk in the dark where he could become attuned with nature, and forget the curve balls life some times threw.

CHAPTER TWO
ANGELICA ARRIVED at the store several minutes before ten the next morning. The two older men she’d seen yesterday were both in the same spot. Had they spent the night there?
“Good mornin’,” one said.
“Morning, miss,” the other echoed.
She greeted them both and then turned to look down the road. She hadn’t a clue in which direction Kirk would come from. Probably not from the B&B as he had walked back toward the store when he left yesterday. She hoped he’d meant it when he offered her a ride. She hadn’t a clue how to get to Bryceville on her own.
“Nice day,” one of the men said.
“Beautiful,” she agreed. Then took a moment to really appreciate the morning. It was already warm, but not as hot as it had been yesterday. The tall trees were widespread, shading a good portion of the store and parking lot. She could hear birds trilling in the branches. She tried to remember the last time she’d noticed birds singing in the morning. She rarely opened the windows in her high-rise apartment. And when she did, it was traffic noise she heard, not birds. Her parents’ home in Boston had huge elm trees in the yard, yet she couldn’t remember ever listening to birds. How odd. Was she so oblivious to what was going on around her?
A low rumble sounded to her left and she looked that way. In only a moment a motorcycle roared into view, stopping when it reached the porch. The throaty purr of the engine filled the morning air. Taking off his helmet, the driver grinned at her.
“Ready to go to Bryceville?” Kirk asked.
She stared at him and at the big black-and-chrome motorcycle, fear and fascination warring. “On that?” she almost squeaked. She’d never ridden a motorcycle in her life! What if it crashed? She flexed her fingers. What if she spilled onto the pavement and damaged her hands?
“I have an extra helmet,” he said, unstrapping it from the back and holding it out to her.
Angelica stared at it for a moment. She looked into his eyes which seemed to challenge her. The seconds ticked by. No one spoke. Only the trilling of the birds filled the silence. Almost fatalistically she stepped off the porch. She had come into a different world. She had wanted something different and found it—in spades.
Hesitating another moment, she took the helmet, put it on. Then, following his instructions, she climbed on to the powerful motorcycle. Once seated, she felt the vibration beneath her, the warmth of the man in front of her.
“Hold on,” he said, putting his own helmet back on.
When she hesitated, he reached back and brought both her arms around his waist, slapping one hand over the other. It was impersonal and expeditious. But it brought her slam up against his back. She felt every muscle as he moved and pushed the bike back from the store. She didn’t view it as impersonal, this was very personal. Her body against his, her arms around his hard stomach. She couldn’t breathe. She was so aware of his strong body, her blood pounded through her veins.
He gave the two old men a wave. In seconds they were flying down the narrow country road.
Angelica caught her breath in fear, closed her eyes and tightened her grip on the one solid thing in her world right now, Kirk Devon. His entire body was rock solid. His stomach muscles were like iron. His back muscular and hard. Once she caught a breath again, she risked opening her eyes. She rested against his back, head turned sideways. Slowly she lifted her head and peered over his shoulder. Trees whipped by. The black pavement seemed to unfold like a ribbon before them, curving and twisting, opening up straight ahead for long stretches before diving back into the thickness of the trees.
Gradually the fear morphed into elation. She felt as if they teetered on the brink of disaster, yet Kirk seemed to know exactly what he was doing. If this was his normal mode of transportation, he was an expert. She couldn’t ease back on her desperate hold, but she could breathe again. And slowly begin to relish the wind racing across her skin, seeping into the helmet. She wondered what it would be like to fly along without the safety helmet.
Fear faded. He hadn’t crashed, no reason to think he would with her onboard.
Conversation was impossible. Which was a good thing. She couldn’t think of a single topic of conversation that might interest him. She could hardly ask out of the blue if he were married. She shouldn’t be so aware of another woman’s husband. Her curiosity spiked. Had he always lived in Smoky Hollow? What did he do for a living? He hadn’t been working yesterday. And obviously wasn’t working this morning. Did he have rotating days or something? Was this his weekend? Or was he visiting like she was?
No, he’d known those men on the porch. Known Sally Ann. So what was a guy as dynamic as he was doing in sleepy Smoky Hollow, Kentucky?
Maybe he was unemployed. Lot of that going around.
She could consider herself unemployed. Her last contract had ended and she had yet to sign the new one waiting for her at her agent’s office. She had enough in savings to live quite a while before she needed to find another position. Inevitably, she’d return to New York. What else could she do besides play the violin? She hoped by then, however, that she’d know herself better and be able to withstand the pressure placed on her by others. This was her first vacation ever. She’d gone right to the symphony from the conservatory. Toured Europe when the New York season ended.
She needed this break, and hopefully the new direction it would give her.
Today was too awesome to have to consider the future. It was enough to take delight in this moment.
After being plastered to Kirk’s solid back for the better part of thirty minutes, Angelica was reluctant to move when they reached the hospital.
He sat for a second after he stopped and then said, “It’s safe to let go now.”
Burning with embarrassment, she snatched her hands back and awkwardly got off the motorcycle unassisted, almost falling on her face. His arm caught her around the waist while she was still trying to get her legs to move. Heart aflutter, knees wobbly, she pulled back and took off the helmet. She slicked her hands over her hair; it still felt in place. Tied back as it was, it didn’t get mussed often. Though she’d never worn a helmet before.
He took both helmets and placed them on the handlebars. Then headed for the hospital entry.
“Are they safe here?” she asked, glancing back at the motorcycle in the parking lot.
“Sure.” He shrugged. “If someone needs them more than I do, let him take them. I can buy others.”
She’d never thought about that aspect of theft. “What if they just want to resell for money?”
“As I said, if they need it more than I do, okay by me.”
She followed, trying to understand his thought process. Where she lived everyone was out to get ahead, to be the brightest and best, to make more money, to protect what they’d acquired. Now this man seemed totally unconcerned about the safety of his equipment.
Entering the hospital, Kirk guided her to the elevator and they rose to the third floor. Angelica kept her face forward, denying herself the opportunity to gaze at Kirk Devon. She hoped he had no idea of how edgy she felt around him—so aware of herself as a woman and him as a man.
Maybe Webb Francis would be well soon enough to help her out. If not, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. Having made the break, she did not want to return home without having accomplished her goal. But she hadn’t a clue what she could do in Smoky Hollow waiting for him to recover.
There seemed to be a lot of bustle in the corridor leading to Webb Francis’s room, with doctors jotting notes on charts, nurses checking on patients. Kirk walked confidently along and knocked perfunctorily on the partially opened door.
Entering right behind him, Angelica saw the older man propped up in bed with an oxygen cannula in his nose. His white hair was brushed back from his face. He looked pale and wan to her eyes. He smiled when he saw Kirk, then looked pleasantly curious when he saw her.
“Brought her, I see,” Webb Francis said.
Kirk offered his hand and gripped the sick man’s briefly, then turned to look at Angelica. “Angelica Cannon, meet Webb Francis Muldoon.”
“Hello, Mr. Muldoon. I’m sorry to learn you’re ill. Professor Simmons suggested I come to see you.” She pulled out the letter the professor had written on her behalf. “This explains things, I hope.”
Webb Francis took the letter. He read it through then looked at Angelica. “Miss Cannon, I’m honored you’d come to learn from me. Seems like I could learn from you.”
“Please, call me Angelica. I’ve had a rather narrow focus lately. I want a change. My favorite class at the Conservatory was folk music. I’d love to hear it firsthand and put some effort into learning the music, maybe writing it for future generations.” The memory of her parents’ horrified rejection of her suggestion she follow up with more folk music classes back in her student days flickered. She pushed it away. She was old enough to be in charge of her own life and the direction she wanted it to go.
“Ah, a good project, though a lot of the writing down has already been done. Bet we could come up with a few songs not yet saved for posterity, eh, Kirk?”
Kirk shrugged. “If you say so. Seems like the same ones are played over and over—favorites of course. What’s the latest from your doctor?” He looked intently at Webb Francis.
While the man responded, Angelica watched the interaction. Kirk had the habit of focusing entirely on the person speaking. He didn’t let any distractions enter in. She liked that. It beat someone always looking at his watch, or scanning the surroundings to be noticed, or to scope out who else might be around.
“The man says I’m not going to be released until my blood gases are back to normal. Then I need some in-home care. Told him I’m feeling better and I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time,” Webb Francis said.
“Sure, but everyone needs a hand from time to time. That’s easily taken care of,” Kirk said. “Just let me know when to come get you.”
“Still gonna be a few days.” Webb Francis tapped the refolded letter against the sheets. He studied her for a moment, then said, “Angelica, you could stay in my house until I get back. Save B&B expenses at Sally Ann’s. I got a couple of empty bedrooms. Pick the one you like. When I’m better, we can discuss what I can or can’t do for you.”
She flicked a glance at Kirk. What would he think of his friend offering the use of his house to a virtual stranger?
From his frown, Kirk was not in favor of the idea. But he said nothing.
“When you come home, maybe I could help out a bit,” she said. She’d love to learn as much as she could from the man. Until he returned home, she’d talk to some of the residents of Smoky Hollow to find out about the old music. From what her professor had said, music was well represented in the hamlets of Kentucky.
“We’ll see.” The older man looked at Kirk then Angelica. “Show her around for me, Kirk, will you? And introduce her to Dottie and Tommy. They know lots of the old songs. Tommy plays the dulcimer, you know. And Gina. She’ll be a help.”
Kirk hesitated a moment, then shrugged and nodded.
“Did you come on Kirk’s motorcycle?” Webb Francis asked Angelica.
She nodded. “First time I’ve ever been on one,” she confided.
Kirk grinned. “Best way to see Kentucky,” he said.
It must be a private joke because Webb Francis laughed at Kirk’s comment. “You take care of my guest until I get there, you heah? Show her around. Make sure she has everything she needs.”
“I hear. I’ll make sure she gets the royal treatment.” He looked at her while he said it.
Angelica felt every cell in her body come to attention. She wasn’t sure she liked that idea. She’d rather not spend a lot of time around this disturbing man. How was she to get anything done? She’d never felt this strong attraction before. Most of her dates had been with men more interested in being seen with a rising star than in developing deep personal relationships. Not that she dated much. Schooling and then practice had taken a huge priority in her life. She wasn’t comfortable about her reaction to Kirk. Hopefully it would fade in the next ten minutes—or sooner.
The two men chatted for a few minutes. She stepped back and watched, fascinated by the peek into their lives through their conversation about people they both knew. Most of her friends were musicians. From the comments made, Webb Francis and Kirk had a wide assortment of friends. She listened wistfully, fascinated.
“What about the music festival?” Webb Francis asked at one point.
“It’ll all come together,” Kirk said.
The topic piqued Angelica’s interest. “What music festival?” she asked.
“The last weekend of August we have a big musical festival with folks coming from all over the state. We play, sing, dance. That’s one event you don’t want to miss,” Webb Francis said. “There’ll be a couple of impromptu gatherings before then, I expect. Rehearsals, sort of. Usually happens throughout the summer. Kirk, see what you can get going. Then Angelica can play for us.”
Kirk nodded, looking at her. “Play that fiddle you carry around, huh?”
“It’s a violin. A very old and valuable one,” she said with some asperity. A fiddle indeed.
“Same thing,” Webb Francis said. “I’ve got some sheet music in the little room off the living room. Find you some music so you can play at the festival,” he suggested.
She nodded, annoyed Kirk seemed amused at her defense of her violin. Obviously once away from the music world she was used to, she shouldn’t expect the same reverence she received in New York. Well, that’s what she wanted, more anonymity and less pressure. She couldn’t have it both ways.
In only a few moments, Kirk suggested they leave. Angelica could see Webb Francis was growing tired. Would he truly be up to returning home in a few days? She hoped so, but doubts began to grow.
As they walked out of the hospital, several people greeted Kirk—mostly women, Angelica noticed. Not that she blamed them. He looked even better today than when she’d first met him. The jeans were newer and fit like a glove. The shirt with the sleeves rolled back wasn’t as fitted as the T-shirt had been, but still showed off the perfect physique. His dark eyes seemed to notice everything, and the smile he gave when greeting people sent her heat index spiking.
“Need anything here before we return to Smoky Hollow?” he asked when they approached the motorcycle.
“How would I carry it if I did?” she asked.
“We’d manage.” He was looking at her with the same intensity. Those dark eyes seem to see right down into her soul.
She felt light-headed. Looking at the motorcycle, she drew in a breath.
“I’ll wait until I get to Smoky Hollow. If I’m really going to stay in Webb Francis’s house, I’ll need some food and things. The store there sells everything I’d need, right?”
“Pretty much. We’ll stop for lunch before heading home. All right with you?”
She nodded, interested in what she would see of Bryceville. Much more developed than Smoky Hollow and a larger town to boot, it was nothing like New York, but few places were. She was curious to see more.

By the time they reached Smoky Hollow in the midafternoon, Angelica’s head was swimming with new impressions and ideas. She had not, however, learned much about her guide. He’d driven through Bryceville pointing out landmarks. They’d eaten at a little café on a side street where everyone seemed to know Kirk and were friendly and welcoming when introduced to her. The ride back had been hot, the heat couldn’t be outrun and she was feeling limp when they stopped in front of the store.
“Stock up on what you need. I’ll be back and we’ll get your things from Sally Ann’s, then I’ll take you to Webb Francis’s place,” he said when she got off the bike.
Handing him her helmet, she eyed the bike. “On that?”
“I have a truck.”
She wondered why they hadn’t taken the truck into Bryceville. But she merely nodded. “Thank you, I appreciate that. This is such a small town, once I’m settled, I’m sure I can walk everywhere.”
“Pretty much.” He pushed back, then took off.
The two permanent fixtures on the porch asked her how she’d liked Bryceville.
“Very nice,” she replied as she passed to enter the store. She’d heard people in small towns knew everybody’s business. What a novelty that was. She didn’t know all the neighbors in her apartment floor and she’d lived there three years.
Stepping inside, Angelica was immediately fascinated by the old building. The wooden floors beneath her feet were worn, as if from a hundred years of shoppers. The shelves were not as tall as in most supermarkets, but from the assortment of merchandise, she realized the store carried all she’d need—just not in the vast quantities of larger establishments.
Bella Smith was the shopkeeper and as friendly as Angelica was coming to expect. The woman had her confiding her plans to move to Webb Francis’s home and the fact Kirk was helping before the shopping cart was half filled.
“He helps everyone. Such a contrast to his grandfather,” the woman said, watching as Angelica added pasta to her shopping cart.
“His grandfather lives around here?” Angelica asked, curious about her reluctant guide. Could she get the shopkeeper to tell if Kirk was married or not?
“Sure does. Lives down on Doe Lane. Mean old man. He raised Kirk. Amazing to me the boy turned out as well as he did.”
Angelica blinked at the older woman’s choice of words. Boy? The man was all man and then some.
When she had enough food to last a few days, she went to the checkout counter.
“How’s Webb Francis doing?” Bella asked as she rang up the purchases.
“Seemed very weak and tired to me. But he’s hoping to come back home before long.”
“Good thing Kirk checks in on him. He could have been worse if Kirk hadn’t found him when he did and taken him to hospital. There, I think that’s all you wanted. You let me know if you need anything else.”
“Thank you.” Angelica looked at the four bags of groceries, wondering how she was going to get them to Webb Francis’s home. She had stocked up so she didn’t need to shop again soon, but now she wondered if she would have been better off with just a few things to tide her over until morning.
“Ready?” Kirk walked in the store. His timing was perfect.
She nodded, careful to take a deep breath in case she didn’t get to breathe again until she got used to him being around. Was there something in the air that was making her crazy around this man? She wasn’t even sure she liked him. He didn’t seem to like her that much either.
“Got your truck?” Bella asked.
“Sure, lots to carry,” he said, taking two of the bags as if they weighed nothing. Angelica picked up the third and Bella the last one. When she stepped out on the porch, Angelica saw a big pickup truck parked nose in. Kirk placed the bags in the area behind the passenger seat of the extended cab. He quickly took hers and Bella’s and stowed them as well.
“Let’s go,” he said, pushing back the passenger seat so Angelica could climb in.
“If you have this, why did we take the motorcycle this morning?” she asked when he climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine. Refreshing cool air blew from the vents. She relished the coolness, moving one vent so the air blew directly on her face.
“This is practical. The bike is fun.”
Angelica thought about that. When was the last time she’d done something for pure fun? She needed to get a life. She loved music, but felt very one-dimensional with all the focus on the classical and modern compositions and the endless hours of practice.
So now she was expanding music to include other aspects. What else could she expand in her life?
She glanced at Kirk, considering. She did not have a steady man in her life. And up until now, that hadn’t bothered her. She still didn’t know if he was married, but there was no ring on his left hand.
They made quick work of getting her few possessions from Sally Ann’s and then headed back past the store and on down a quiet street heading east.
“How far from town is Webb Francis’s house?” she asked when they were underway.
Kirk didn’t answer. She glanced at him. He was watching the road. Catching a glimpse of her movement, he flicked a look her way.
“How far is it from town?” she repeated, louder. The motor wasn’t that loud. Was he preoccupied?
“How far? How about here?” He pulled into a graveled driveway. Twenty feet in front of her sat a charming little cottage. White with bright blue trim, it looked like a doll’s house. The front yard consisted of a lawn in need of mowing, one rosebush bent over with blossoms and lots of shade trees. It was a spacious lot. The only neighbor she could see was the log cabin to the right.
“Easy walk to town,” she said.
“Get settled in and I’ll take you around and introduce you. Then you’re on your own.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she said stiffly. It sounded like he wanted no more to do with her than she wanted with him. But as a favor to his friend he would follow through. She could relieve him of that obligation. She’d do fine on her own.
“Webb Francis asked me to.” He got out and slung her backpack over one shoulder. She jumped out and retrieved her violin case before he could reach it. Taking one of the bags of groceries, she stepped to the front door and waited. Kirk came a minute later carrying two more bags.
“Open it, it’s not locked.”
Angelica blinked. She tried the door. It wasn’t locked. “Amazing.” She stepped into a comfortable living room. Through the opening in the back wall she glimpsed the kitchen.
“Come on, through here,” he said, passing her and heading straight to the kitchen.
She liked the spaciousness of what she saw. From the outside the cottage looked tiny. But it was easily three times the size of her apartment. She put her bag of groceries on the old farmhouse-style table and looked around. Kirk headed back to the truck for the last of the groceries. The appliances weren’t new, but looked well kept. The window in the back gave a view of more woods, the thick green foliage shading the backyard. She pushed it open and let the warm air in. The house smelled a bit musty. She didn’t mind the heat, savoring the different scents that were so unfamiliar.
He dropped the bag on the table. “Guest bedrooms are off the hall to the right when you entered. Bath farther along. Might need sheets which are probably in the hall linen closet. Webb Francis’s room is in the back. Need anything else?”
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
“Want to go to town today or wait until the morning?” he asked, his dark eyes gazing into hers. His entire body seemed focused on her.
“Tomorrow’s fine. I’ll settle in this afternoon.” She wanted to look away, but those dark eyes held. What was Kirk thinking as he gazed at her? She never could figure out how other people thought. She held her breath until he nodded and turned.
He glanced around. “If you need anything, holler. I’m next door.”
“Next door?” she repeated. He had the log house she’d seen when they arrived.
“Problem with that?” He looked back.
She shook her head quickly. The last thing she wanted was for Kirk Devon to have a clue how badly he affected her equilibrium. “I’ll be fine.”
“Tomorrow at ten then.”

Angelica followed him to the door and watched as he backed the truck out of the driveway and in only seconds pulled into the one by the log house she could see through the trees. He parked the car on the far side. Behind was another building. Was that his garage? It was hard to see through the thick growth of trees and shrubs. There was so much green!
Sighing softly, she returned to the kitchen to put the food away. Then she wandered around the cottage, checking each room. She ended up in the small room Webb Francis had told her about. It was lined with shelves that seemed to hold an inordinate amount of sheet music. There were harmonicas in cases on one shelf, two violins, a banjo and a mountain dulcimer. Two music stands stood in the corner, two folding chairs leaned against one wall. She ran her fingertips over the strings of the dulcimer. She’d only heard one played once.
She leafed through some of the sheet music. She recognized a couple of songs from the class at the conservatory. For the first time in a long while she felt some excitement about playing.

It was growing dark when Angelica put her violin down. She hadn’t practiced like that in a long time. Feeling lighter and happy for the first time in months, she went to prepare her dinner. It was after nine. She’d eat, go to bed and be up in the morning in time to go with Kirk to meet people Webb Francis thought could help her.
Getting ready for bed a little later, she glanced out the bedroom window toward Kirk’s house. It was dark. But the building behind was lighted. What was he doing in the garage this late at night? Tinkering with his car? She stared at the building for a long time, lost in thought about her reluctant neighbor and the wild fantasies she was weaving in her imagination. He’d probably laugh himself silly if he knew. She sighed softly and turned away. She was here to get rejuvenated, not fall for some man who lived hundreds of miles from New York City.

CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS EARLY when Kirk kick-started his bike and headed for his grandfather’s place. He checked on the old man two or three times a week. Pops rarely came to town any more—preferring his own company on the farm to mingling with others. No one cared. He had the disposition of a surly bear.
But he was the one who raised Kirk and he had a deep abiding affection for the old man.
When he pulled into the yard a short time later, the old hound barked and ran to greet him. Soon Pops came out of the back.
“You here for breakfast?” he asked gruffly.
“If there’s any going, I am,” Kirk said. He took off his helmet and propped up the motorcycle. Glancing around he saw a farm still going strong. He hoped he had the energy and determination when he was in his seventies that his grandfather did.
“How’re you doing for eggs?” Kirk asked as he drew closer. There were no hugs. They didn’t even shake hands. But Kirk felt the love for the old man as an integral part of himself.
“Sent some over to Bella yesterday. Plenty laying now. Come on in. Coffee’s on and you can cook the biscuits.”
The two prepared their breakfast as they had many mornings when Kirk was growing up. His mother had abandoned them when he’d been about two. He really had no memory of her. His grandmother had long ago left the grouchy old man. After his father’s death, it had been Kirk and Pops.
“Saw Webb Francis yesterday,” Kirk said after he put the biscuits in the oven to cook. “Getting better?”
“Appears to be, though he looks like hell. Says he’ll be home soon, but I don’t think so.”
“You keeping an eye on his place?”
His grandfather might not be the most personable of men, but he had a strong sense of duty he’d instilled in Kirk.
“I am. He’s got someone staying there a few days. Woman from New York.”
“What’s she doing here?”
“Came to jot down some of our songs—for posterity.”
“Only posterity folks need to know are the kin of those here today. And they’ll pass them along.” He looked at his grandson sharply. “Pretty, that woman?”
“Too thin. Has tired eyes. Seems to switch from being all haughty to scared of her own shadow and back again.”
“Won’t stay long.”
“They never do, do they?” Kirk said, thinking about his family’s history with women.
“Best thing I can say of my marriage was your father. His best was you.”
Kirk nodded. He didn’t have a marriage to boast of. Would he ever find someone to make a family with? He’d once thought he and Alice would marry. But she upped and went off to Atlanta and found a rich attorney. Once he’d had his fill of seeing the world, he’d wanted to settle in Smoky Hollow. How different life would have been with a few changes along the way.
“You should marry, have some kids. I wouldn’t mind having a great-grandchild,” Pops said gruffly.
Kirk was surprised to hear him say that. “Thought you believe men are better off without women.”
“Can’t make a baby alone,” Pops said.
For a second, Kirk thought of the pretty woman from New York. It had been a while since anyone had caught his attention. She appeared too uptight to want children was his instant assessment. But for a moment, he wondered what it would be like to kiss her, to see her eyes blaze with awareness and desire. Was she cool as her coloring, or could she flare into passion with the right man?
Stupid thought, as if he could ever be the right man. Alice had been from Smoky Hollow and had moved away as soon as she was able. No city slicker would hang around beyond the summer. And he wasn’t interested in moving to New York.
“Have to make do with me,” he said.
His grandfather shrugged. “Works for me.”
After eating a hearty breakfast, he helped his grandfather with chores. The man wasn’t slowing down much, but he was in his seventies. Maybe Kirk should suggest he get some help, hire a man to work alongside him.
Farming wasn’t for Kirk. He didn’t mind helping out from time to time, but he and Pops had settled a long time ago that Kirk wasn’t going to take on the family farm. He liked building and carving. Lately the building side had slowed, giving him more time for the carving. Still, Pops was his only living relative, except for his mother who had long ago vanished from his life.
“Might go over to Bryceville later this week, check in on Webb Francis,” Pops said later when Kirk was getting ready to leave to meet Angelica.
“He’d like that. Tell him I’m introducing his friend around.”
Pops looked at Kirk. “Bring her by here one day.”
Kirk shook his head. “You come to town. You haven’t been in weeks. Do you good.”
“I’m busy.”
Kirk laughed. “Take it easy, Pops. I’ll come by in a day or two.”
He drove the short distance to home and left the bike while he walked to his next-door neighbor’s home.
Knocking on the front door, he was surprised to see Angelica open it instantly, almost as if she’d been standing behind it waiting for him. A check of his watch showed it wasn’t quite ten, so he wasn’t late. She stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind her. He caught a whiff of some light floral scent, blending with that of grass and the roses running riot in Webb Francis’s yard.
Her hair was sleek and glowing in the sunlight. Tied back he couldn’t get a good estimate of if it was wavy or not. But that honey color was delicious. Her eyes were staring at him as he caught her gaze.
“What?”
“Are we going? Or are we just standing here for the rest of the morning.”
He started to agree with standing and staring at her. She was pretty as a spring morning. And totally off limits if her attitude was anything to go by.
“We’re going. Got everything you need?”
She lifted her tote a few inches, then turned and stepped off the porch.
Walking beside her he registered the state of the lawn. He’d have to get over and cut the grass before they had to get a harvester in.
She said something. He looked at her. “Say again?”
“What?”
“What you said, can you repeat it?”
“I asked how long it’s going to take to get to wherever we are going and why aren’t we driving?”
“I thought New Yorkers walked everywhere,” he said, ignoring the first part of the comment.
“I usually take cabs.”
“Lazy,” he teased.
She flared up, then caught the gleam in his eye and relaxed a fraction, giving a rueful smile. “Maybe a bit. But I don’t want to be walking down a busy street with my violin. It could get damaged.”
“You don’t take it everywhere.”
She nodded. “Pretty much.”
“So are you famous or something?”
She shook her head. “Why would you think that?”
“Webb Francis seemed impressed—said he could learn something from you and he’s the best fiddle player around.”
“Violin,” she murmured.
“Say again?”
She stopped and faced him straight on. “Violin,” she said loud and clear.
“I’m deaf in one ear, have a hearing loss in the other,” he said.
Her eyes widened. “I didn’t know. Sorry.” She was almost yelling.
He leaned closer, taking in that light floral scent, and the heat of her. “I can hear normal tones for the most part if I’m facing the person talking. Don’t yell.”
Her eyes gazed into his and he felt a tightening in his gut. The blue was flawless, like the deep summer blue of the skies over Kentucky. She didn’t look away and he felt as if she was drawing him in closer, until he could almost brush his lips across hers, taste the sweetness he knew he’d find, discover if passion lurked beneath the cool exterior.
She blinked and stepped back.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“First to the library. Mary Margaret McBride has video tapes of other music festivals and CDs. Get to know her and you can watch and listen to them to see who you want to talk to. Then if I can find them, I’ll introduce you to Dottie and Paul, two of the members in the group Webb Francis plays with. We’ll run into Gina one of these days. She’s coordinating the festival—doing it all now that Webb Francis is out of commission.”
The day was growing warm, but Angelica didn’t notice as much as she had the previous day. Kirk’s stride was longer than hers so she had to walk briskly to keep up. She hadn’t really thought he was deaf—or partly deaf—when she’d shown her annoyance by stopping in the street. How had it happened? Had he been born deaf? Maybe that explained the intense way he focused on people when they spoke—to better understand what they were saying. Did he read lips?
She searched her mind for what little she knew about deafness. Sometimes people could hear certain ranges of sound. With his remaining hearing, did he have full range or limited? She didn’t feel she knew him well enough to ask, but she was curious. She couldn’t imagine not hearing. Listening to music, hearing the birds chirping, talking with friends—how much she’d miss if she were deaf.
“Do you work?” she asked as they turned a corner. Ten feet ahead was the start of a sidewalk. They had arrived in the town proper.
“Sure.”
“You haven’t for the last three days.”
“Neither have you,” he replied.
“Are you on vacation, too?”
“Is this your vacation?”
She bit her lip and studied the buildings and storefronts as they walked by. “Sort of.” She was not going to explain. She wasn’t sure she could. The drudgery of constant practice and rehearsals, the limited social outlets, the pressure from her parents to achieve more and more had finally reached the point where she wasn’t sure about anything any more. Music had once enchanted her. Now it was a chore. Her escape was an attempt to find the joy in music again. Try something else. Find herself. She could not envision herself playing the violin to the exclusion of everything else for the next fifty years. Should she try another instrument? Think about another career? She was too tired to do any of that.
The town consisted of two main streets, intersected by cross streets for five blocks. The predominant vehicles parked at the curb were dusty pickup trucks. Except for a couple of men talking in front of the bank, and a woman farther down the block gazing into one of the windows, the place seemed deserted. She really had arrived at another world.
“Where are all the people?” she asked.
“Mostly at work, I expect.”
She glanced at him again. “What do you do for a living?”
“Construction. A little whittling. Whatever comes along. Library’s right here.” He held open one of the double doors leading into a single story framed building. The sign hanging from the overhanging roof simply said Library.
It was blessedly cool inside. Angelica’s spirits rose.
A round woman with a merry smile looked up from the front desk. “Good morning,” she sang out.
Angelica smiled involuntarily. The woman’s happiness was almost contagious.
“Mary Margaret, I’d like you to meet Angelica Cannon. She’s staying at Webb Francis’s while he’s in hospital. She plays the fiddle and wants to study some of the music played around here.”
“Welcome to Smoky Hollow. How’s Webb Francis doing?” she asked, looking first at Angelica and then Kirk.
“Mending. Angelica is from New York. Plays some.”
“I heard you have tapes of some of the music gatherings here. I’d like to listen to them some time,” Angelica expanded.
“We’ve got a fine media room, with a DVD player and CD players. Plus a VCR for old recordings. Or you can check them out and take them home with you. I know Webb Francis has a player.”
“I’m just visiting.”
“Well, with Webb Francis and Kirk vouching for you, I reckon you can get a temporary library card. Want to look now?”
“We’ll stop back by on the way home. Pick her out a couple if you would, Mary Margaret. She wants to hear mountain music.”
Mary Margaret laughed. “Well, she came to the right place for that. Come on in any time. I’m here most days.”
Angelica agreed and turned to follow Kirk when he headed out.
“No regular hours?” she asked once the door closed behind them.
“She’s here most of the time. If she’s not, folks just go in and help themselves, leaving her a note on which books they borrowed.”
Angelica didn’t use the public library much in New York, but she couldn’t imagine it operating the same way.
Kirk turned down one of the side streets and walked swiftly.
“Are we in a hurry?” she asked, catching her breath as she tried to keep up.
He stopped and looked at her. “Want to show you around like Webb Francis asked. Then you’re on your own.”
“I can manage now. I’ll talk with the librarian and get her recommendations. You’re off the hook.”
He looked up at the canopy of trees overhead, then down the road. “Not yet. I said I’d take you around and I will.”
“I absolve you of all obligations. Face it, it’s a chore and I don’t want to be a burden.”
“I said I’d do it.”
She didn’t move when he stepped forward. Turning, he waited.
“I can start at the library. Listen to the CDs. Talk to Mary Margaret and find out more about the festival, where to find music, what to look for. I don’t need a guide. For heaven’s sake, I’ve toured Europe.”
Not that that meant much. She had visited London, Paris and Moscow and never saw much except between the hotel and concert hall. She had never visited her own nation’s capital, much less seen more of the USA.
Primitive, that’s what she thought when she thought of Appalachia. A land where people kept to old ways and poverty had a stronghold. She hadn’t realized how pretty it was. Or how much she’d like the people she’d meet. They were genuine and honest, and friendly as could be.
“Come on, I don’t have all day,” he said, reaching out to take her arm.
She felt the touch like a live wire and jerked away. Feeling stupid with her reaction, she tried to cover it.
“It’s hot just like you said. I hadn’t expected it to be this warm.” What startled her was her own reaction. Taking a deep breath she tried to quell her roiling senses. She’d been touched before. She had had her share of crushes while growing up. She was a grown woman, not to be flustered by an impersonal touch, no matter how dynamic the man was. She would not start believing he was special. He was her reluctant guide to getting acquainted with Smoky Hollow, nothing more. Yet he continued to stare at her, as if waiting for more words. Heat washed through her at the intensity. She wanted to forget about the music, sit down with him and learn all she could about Kirk Devon.
She had to stop thinking like that! It was her own convoluted thought process had her confused. She wasn’t looking for complications—but simplicity. She wanted to study a different kind of music, see if she could recover her passion for playing. Or discover something else that would bring joy to her life. Not get hot and bothered watching a sexy Kentucky man who could barely stand to be around her.
Stalemate. They stared at each other, neither moving.
She didn’t know why she found him so appealing. He wore jeans, worn and faded after years of wear. His blue chambray shirt was opened at the throat with its sleeves rolled back. He looked totally different from the successful businessmen she was used to. He probably didn’t even own a suit. He was in his element, she was the fish out of water, yet something attracted her. The awareness of him grew each time they were together. She wanted to touch that throat, feel the heat of his skin against hers. Hear him laugh, learn what he liked and disliked.
“Coming or not?” he finally asked.
“I guess. But you don’t have to go out of your way to introduce me around. I can manage.”
“Be easier in a small town to have someone vouch for you.”
“Networking.” She nodded.
He laughed. “Big city girl.” He turned and walked away. After a moment, Angelica hurried to catch up.
The sooner she got this over, the sooner she’d be on her own.
It was after lunch when Kirk walked with Angelica back to the cottage. She’d met a half dozen people, including Dottie Ferguson and Paul Cantwell who played with Webb Francis. Each person she met had been friendly and happy to talk with her about the songs she wanted to learn and write down. She had collected phone numbers and jotted down names and addresses and a sketchy map so she could find her way around Smoky Hollow. It was not a large town by any means.
Kirk was hard to figure out, she mused as he stopped in the road in front of her house. He’d done his duty, actually gone beyond in her opinion, giving her lunch at the local diner. Now he was free of any obligation. She should be relieved. She felt almost cut adrift.
He reached out and took the small spiral bound notebook she still carried in her hand and wrote his phone number down. “You’re right next door, but it is easier to call sometimes. Let me know if you need anything.”
“I can manage.”
His intense gaze was something she wished she could get used to. She was not accustomed to people focusing so intensely on her and it caused a chain reaction inside that threatened her equilibrium. His gaze dropped to her mouth. She wasn’t talking.
Was he thinking what she suddenly thought about? Kisses, long and drugging and fantastic.
She groaned softly and looked away before she did something beyond foolish.
“Thank you.” Hurrying toward the cottage she resisted the urge to look behind her, to watch as he walked away. Once inside, she leaned against the front door, refusing to look though every cell in her body clamored to do just that.
Pushing away, she went into the kitchen. She’d have something cold to drink then decide what to do next.
Resisting temptation proved too much. She looked out the side window of the kitchen. She saw nothing but the house next door. He either had already gone inside, or had gone somewhere else.

Soon thereafter Angelica retraced her steps to the library. Mary Margaret sat with a large pile of books in front of her, jotting notes on the tablet she had. She looked up and smiled when Angelica entered.
“Come to hear those CDs?” she asked.
“If now is a good time.”

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