Angel of Smoky Hollow (10 page)

He reached for her and drew her to her feet, folding her into his arms. “Do you have a special male friend, Angel?”

She shook her head, her eyes unable to look away. Her heart raced. Her fingers grabbed hold of his shirt, feeling the warmth from his chest, the heat from his eyes. “People who are happy here have someone special in their lives. They are building family. Connecting with neighbors and finding
satisfaction in the work they do and the leisure activities they choose.”

She swallowed, feeling inept and unsure.

“Have you ever had a special male friend?” he asked softly, resting his forehead on hers. All she could see was Kirk's dark eyes, gazing deeply into hers. Slowly she shook her head, moving both of them. She felt surrounded by heat, rising desire, wishing he'd stop talking and kiss her. It was scary and thrilling. For this moment, she did feel on the edge of a precipice. Would his kiss send her soaring, or have her fall flat on her face?

So slowly she thought she'd never stand it, he lifted his face then leaned closer, giving her time to pull away if that was what she wanted. Then he closed his eyes and kissed her.

Angelica closed her eyes and savored every aspect of the kiss, from the warm lips moving against hers, to the hard body cradling her, to the sensations that blotted out everything else but the two of them.

The sensations were pure delight. She felt she was soaring. His lips moved again, teasing responses she didn't know she could give. When he deepened the kiss, she clung, excitement swirling through her. She had never felt this mixture of exquisite delight and yearning desire for more. She pressed closer, wishing she could become part of Kirk, meld the two of them until they were one. Reveling in the kiss, hoping it would never end, she gave herself up to the moment.

When his mouth left hers to trail kisses across her cheeks, her arms moved to encircle his neck. She could feel the hard muscles of his chest against her breasts. She could feel the long length of him bent to accommodate her shorter stature. Mostly she felt the trailing fire and ice his hands brought, pressing her closer, closer.

He kissed her mouth again and again, kisses that inflamed her. The temperature rose several degrees as the heat they generated could have warmed a winter's day.

A moment later he rested his forehead against hers again. Slowly she opened her eyes, almost drowning in the deep chocolate brown of his. Her heart raced, her skin tingled, her soul soared.

“You are one dangerous woman,” he said softly.

Her knees were weak, her body lethargic. All she wanted to do was kiss him again and again. See where that might lead—as if she didn't know.

“Go home, Angel. Go to Webb Francis's house tonight and back to New York tomorrow. This is not your place.”

I
F HE'D DUMPED
a bucket of cold water over her he couldn't have shocked her more. After kisses like that, he wanted her to leave?

She pulled away and walked across to the door, trying to get control of her emotions. Disappointment and frustration warred with anger and pride. She couldn't think. If she had a talent for words, she'd come up with some snappy reply that would put him in the same anguish she felt. Nothing came to mind, only the echo of his words. Go home. This is not your place.

Go away from me, he might as well have shouted the words. She thought she might be falling in love with this complex mysterious man and he wanted her gone. How could she have read the signs so wrong?

At the door she finally had enough courage to turn and glare at him. “I'm here until after the festival. I won't burden you with my presence again. But I'm not leaving until I'm good and ready. So deal with it.”

Once clear of the door, she ran across the lawn, hoping she wouldn't stumble and fall on her face in the darkness. She ran up the steps and into the house, shutting the door just before tears welled in her eyes. She would not cry over the man. She hardly knew him. She'd met him such a short time ago. Never mind the feelings he engendered in her. He'd made his point very clear.

 

Way to go, Devon, Kirk thought as he watched her leave. But it was that or succumb to the siren call she gave without even knowing it. He'd thought he'd fallen in love once, lost the woman to a way of life he didn't want. In retrospect, he wondered how much he had loved Alice. Had it been companionship, friendship that had moved beyond high school? If he'd really loved her above all else, he'd have moved to Atlanta. If he'd offered her all she needed, she'd have insisted they stay together.

He knew better than to take up with a woman who came from a different world. He liked living in Smoky Hollow. He liked his work, liked helping out, liked being with friends he'd known his entire life. Traveling when the mood struck, working on construction when needed, being near his crusty grandfather all made his life the way he wanted it.

Clenching his fists, he looked around the studio. Would he ever see it again without picturing her sitting so still watching him in fascination as he carved? Without remembering the intoxication of her kisses, the feminine feel of her body, the fire that had swept through him with her pressed against him? God, he didn't want to have feelings for Angelica. She'd leave—just like every other woman in his life. The men in his family just weren't enough to keep women with them. His mother had wanted more. Alice had wanted more. How soon before Angelica knew he wasn't enough for her and wanted more? Better to make a clean cut now than drag out the hope for her to stay when he knew that would be impossible.

He hoped he had not wrecked his future peace of mind by giving in to temptation and kissing her until he scarcely remembered his own name. He took a deep breath, still smelling the fragrance of her unique scent. He closed his eyes, still feeling the imprint of her soft curves against his harder frame. Hearing the catch in her breathing when she discovered the passion that he suspected she'd never tapped before.

She was some innocent young woman who should be wined
and dined by men of her own background. Taken to restaurants and the theater in New York, not some country fair and music festival.

Snapping open his eyes, he moved to the carving. The sooner he set to forgetting Angelica Cannon, the better he'd be.

He'd been cruel to protect himself. She was dabbling in a way of life vastly different from her own. She was not contemplating a move to Smoky Hollow, she had said over and over she was returning to her life at the end of August. He only had a month to get through. A month to ignore the next-door neighbor and concentrate on the sculpture.

Of her. No matter how he tried to pretend it was anything else, he'd admitted the truth earlier. This was her. When he carved the face, it would be Angel's. When he thought about the symbolism, it would be of her life, her summer in Kentucky. Could he capture the yearning for something new mixed with the fate of returning to the familiar? Could he make the impossible decision clear on a face that would be scarcely an inch high?

Could he, and not wish for a different outcome every second he worked on it?

Disgusted with his own thoughts, he turned off the light and closed the door. He'd get something to eat and then get to bed at a halfway reasonable hour. If she stayed away, this infatuation would fade within days. He'd start tomorrow by visiting Webb Francis before he was discharged, and then spending the rest of the day in Bryceville. Time apart would be best. It was only another four weeks.

 

Kirk got up early and went to see his grandfather before heading to Bryceville. Visiting hours at the hospital didn't start until ten, so he might as well see what he could do at the farm before going to see Webb Francis.

It was barely dawn when he pulled into the farmyard.
Lights were on in the kitchen, and he knew he'd be in time for breakfast. Beat eating alone this morning.

“Didn't expect to see you,” his grandfather said when he entered.

“I'm going to Bryceville later, thought I'd swing by here and see what you needed before I left.”

“Seeing Webb Francis?”

“He's supposed to be discharged tomorrow. Wanted to catch him before he goes to Betsy's.”

Once breakfast was on the table Hiram looked at Kirk. “Where's that New York gal this morning?”

“Home, I guess.”

“Seemed a nice enough woman.”

Kirk nodded. He'd come here to escape thoughts of Angelica, he didn't want a discussion with his grandfather about her.

“Heard her play?”

“No. But according to Webb Francis, she must be good. Told you she's working with a couple of kids from town. Sam plans to play in the festival. Angelica does, too.”

“Ummm.”

“Want to go this year?” Kirk knew his grandfather didn't attend the music festivals and hadn't in two decades, no matter how much Webb Francis and others pressed him to attend.

“Might.”

Kirk looked at him. “Say again?”

“I said I might go. Why look so surprised, I used to go all the time.”

“True. You going to sing?”

“Nope. Just might go to hear that gal play the fiddle. If she's so good, might be worth hearing. Listen to her play sometime and tell me.”

“Ask her to play for you,” Kirk said. His plan was to avoid Angelica as much as he could. He did not want to get deeper involved. Even though, for a split second, he welcomed the
suggestion as a way to see her again. Not for himself, but for his grandfather.

“She's staying next door to you, be neighborly and go listen to her play.”

Coming to breakfast had been a mistake. Now he either had to sound like an idiot with his reasons for not wanting to listen to her play, or go and be caught up in that fascinated attraction.

“Gonna replace the back fence around the hog pen soon. Some of the boards are getting too splintered to hold up. Don't want them fool hogs out roaming the countryside,” Hiram said.

Kirk nodded, glad the topic of conversation changed. “I'll give you a hand. When were you thinking?”

“Next week? Maybe.”

“Want me to pick up the wood?”

The two of them discussed the project and once breakfast was over went out to the fence to determine what to replace and how long it might take.

It was midafternoon by the time Kirk drove into his driveway. He'd had a good visit with Webb Francis and done some shopping in Bryceville. He'd also run by the lumber yard and ordered the wood to repair the fence. He'd pick it up next week in his truck.

Once again he noticed the ragged lawn in front of Webb Francis's house. His own could use a cutting as well. It was hot, but not that hot. He changed into old clothes, drank a couple of glasses of water and then went to mow his and his neighbor's lawn.

Having mowed his lawn a couple of weeks ago, it was easy enough to get it taken care of. Webb Francis's was another matter. The tall grass took more effort to mow. After the first dozen or so passes across the width of the lawn, he grew hotter with each step. Some of the yard was in shade, but most was in full sun this time of day. He stripped off his shirt and tossed
it onto a bush, pushing the old power mower back and forth. At this rate, it would be dark before he finished. He should have tackled it earlier.

Sam and Teresa Ann came onto the porch, followed by Angelica. Kirk caught sight of them and waved, not pausing in his task.

The kids each had a glass in hand watching him as they drank. He could use a glass of iced tea right about now. But didn't want to stop work to go make some. One-third down, another two-thirds to go. If he didn't finish now, he'd have to plan on it tomorrow. Cutting grass wasn't his favorite activity. Might as well finish now.

He made two more passes then was startled to see Angelica walking to him a large glass of amber liquid in hand.

“If that's iced tea, I'll—” He stopped suddenly remembering what kissing her caused. He reached for the glass. Heavenly. He drank it all without stopping.

“Hot work,” she said.

At least that's what he thought she said. It was harder to hear over the roar of the lawn mower.

“Want more?” she asked.

“Please. Appreciate it.”

He watched her walk back to the house, speak to the children, and then go inside. Minutes later she was walking across the lawn. He'd done another half swath. She handed him the glass when he stopped.

“I probably should be doing that, I'm staying in Webb Francis's house,” she said, eyeing the lawn mower with some trepidation.

“Have a shot,” he said, stepping back. He didn't know if he wanted to drink the tea or pour it over his body. Being near her wasn't cooling him down.

She met his eyes and nodded. “Okay. Just push it?”

He nodded. “Never mowed a lawn before?”

She shook her head as she gripped the handle and pushed.
For a second nothing happened, then with a bit more pressure, the lawn mower began to move, spitting out the cut grass as she tried to follow the edge of his last cut. When clumps of tall grass appeared between her path and his, he knew she found it tougher than anticipated. It would have been easier if the grass was shorter to start with. Sipping the tea, he watched her, grinning at the effort—and the missed spots.

 

Angelica pushed harder. This was not as easy as Kirk made it seem. Finally reaching the edge, she struggled to turn it back. Viewing what she'd cut, she was dismayed to see spots where the machine had not gone straight. There were patches looking like a Mohawk along the edge between Kirk's cut and her own. Determined to do better, she pushed again, getting the machine going. It wasn't as hard to keep it going as to start. Still when she reached him, she was burning up with heat—not all attributed to the effort to push the lawn mower.

He handed her the glass and took over without a word. Stepping to one side, she watched him. The muscles of his sixpack contracted when he pushed. Sculpted, they testified to the strength of the man. Working in construction and carving huge pieces of wood required strength. She was fascinated. Wishing she could touch him, she blinked and looked at the house. The two children were watching. She smiled and walked to the porch. He'd made it abundantly clear he wanted nothing to do with her. She needed to remember that!

“You didn't do so good, Miss Cannon,” Sam said. She could depend on that child for total honesty.

“It was my first time. I think cutting grass requires practice, like playing the fiddle, don't you?”

“I guess.”

“My daddy says cutting grass is man's work. Then Mama takes him tea just like you did, Miss Cannon,” Teresa Ann said. “Only they end up kissing and all.”

“Ew, gross,” Sam said.

Angelica looked back at Kirk. She wouldn't have minded a kiss for her effort. Or one to reward him for his work. But after yesterday, she was firmly squelching any thoughts in that direction. It was too bad her body didn't listen to her mind. Her fingers tingled with the desire to touch him. Her mouth yearned for the feel of his. Her heart raced, and not from the effort to propel that machine.

“Thank you for the milk.” Teresa Ann handed Angelica her empty glass. “Tomorrow I won't be here for practice, we're going to the fair. But I could come on Saturday.”

“If you want. I'll be here.”

“Me, too. I want to make sure I'm ready for the festival,” Sam said.

“Okay, then, Saturday it is.” She watched them run off, wondering how they found the energy in this heat. She took the glasses inside and put them in the sink. Giving in to temptation, she went back to the screen door to watch Kirk. She didn't think he could see her. She hoped he couldn't. How pathetic to be caught staring at the most virile man she knew when he'd told her to go home. He was so not feeling the same attraction she was.

When he finally finished, she realized she'd been watching for almost a half hour. Stepping away, she went to rinse out the glasses and then go to the music room. It took two seconds to tidy it up after the children's lesson. Picking up her violin, she began her own practice. She wanted to play this song for the festival and it was trickier than originally thought.

She was on her second pass when she caught movement from the corner of her eye. Stopping, she looked at the doorway. Kirk stood there watching her.

“I knocked, but you couldn't hear me, I guess,” he said.

“What can I do for you?” She tried to keep her eyes firmly on his and not gaze at the tantalizing expanse of tanned chest
that showed off his pecs so well. He held his shirt in one hand. His jeans were riding low, which made her gulp and become desperate not to let her glance waver from his dark eyes.