Angel of Smoky Hollow (3 page)

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.

I
T 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.