Angel of Smoky Hollow (4 page)

“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.”

“Of course. Come back to the media center. They're readily available. I'll show you the lot and then you choose and play whichever ones you want. Take some home if you like. The DVDs are clearly labeled, too.”

Angelica dutifully followed. The room in the back was bright and airy with an expanse of windows across the back
wall. Several new computers lined a side wall, none in use at the moment. There was a large-screen TV with audio-video equipment beside it, a DVD player, a VCR, and several other items she didn't know. Two CD players with headphones were on a table by themselves. Across the middle of the room was a chest-high double row of shelves housing CDs. How did such a small town get such a state-of-the-art media room in their library?

As if she'd asked the question aloud, Mary Margaret smiled at her and said, “Kirk gave us all this, isn't it grand? I have one of the best media rooms in the state, thanks to his donations. Makes some of my colleagues in other towns envious, I can tell you. Come here and I'll explain the system.” She led Angelica to the shelves and explained how the music CDs were sorted.

Once she was sure Angelica understood how to operate the equipment, she left her on her own. Angelica picked out a CD that had Webb Francis's name on it. The earphones were excellent. How had Kirk managed to sponsor all this? Construction must pay more than she thought.

In no time she was enjoying the music. From one fastpaced song, to a very slow ballad, to music that sounded like someone could dance a jig to it, the recording played tunes so foreign to her ear she couldn't believe it had existed all this time and she'd only touched a bit of it in her one class at the conservatory. By the end of the CD, she could hear more and more people from the town joining in. It sounded as if Webb Francis had just recorded a jam session that grew and grew and then burned it on a CD. Soon the background changed again. Now it sounded as if they were playing for an audience. Casual, informal, with clapping at the end of each song. She heard people calling requests. It was as far from a symphony hall as anything could be.

As was the music. The fast songs were upbeat and fun. The
ballads tragic and sad. The wide range had her interested as she hadn't been in a long time.

“I have to run out to do a couple of errands,” Mary Margaret said from the door to the media room.

Angelica pulled off the headphones. “I'll be ready to go in a minute.”

“No, no, dear, you stay as long as you want. If you leave before I return, just make sure the door shuts behind you. It's windy outside. Wouldn't be surprised if we have some rain. Finding what you want?”

“I am, even more than what I expected,” Angelica said with a smile.

She resumed listening, jotting notes of songs she wanted to hear more of. And wondering who could identify the songs where they didn't announce them before they began to play. From the enthusiastic response to many, they were familiar favorites.

 

Kirk knocked on the door at Webb Francis's house. He waited, scanning the trees that were already swaying in the strong breeze pushing in a storm. Angelica didn't answer. He tried again. No one home. Where would she have gone? To the library, he bet.

Sometimes the thunderstorms knocked out power. When he realized a storm was brewing, he thought he better show her where candles were and how to use the generator if she needed the water pump.

Now he thought he'd better find her in case it began to rain before she came home. He didn't really want to be walking around in a thunderstorm, nor should she. He drove the truck for the short distance to town.

When he stepped up on the porch of the library, even he could hear the trees rustling in the growing wind. He felt the strong breeze across his face. The dark clouds from the west seemed to build above him as he detected a hint of a rain in
the air. He bet Angelica had no idea how quickly storms could brew in the mountains.

Stepping inside, he saw the main room of the library was empty. The lights were on in the media room, so he headed back there. The sudden drumming on the roof signaled the arrival of the rain. It sounded like a gully washer.

Angelica looked up when he stepped in the room. “What're you doing here?” she asked.

The rumble of thunder answered her.

“Stopped by the house to let you know about candles. The storms around here can knock out power for hours or even days at a time. Now it's pouring,” he said. “You'll need a ride home.” He walked to the bank of windows and looked out. Already a torrential downpour began making mud. The rain came so hard it bounced on the ground. The noise on the metal roof sounded like drums.

Angelica came to stand beside him, staring in dismay at the rain.

“If we go out in that, we'll be soaked within seconds.”

“I brought my truck. We'll make a run for it,” he offered.

“The librarian went out on errands. She said to close up if I left before she returned.”

A white bolt of lightning lit the sky, the crash of thunder almost immediate. Angelica jumped and bumped against Kirk. He reached out to steady her at the same time the power went out. Only the dim light from outside illuminated the room. With the dark clouds overhead the day was as dark as twilight.

“My guess is she'll stay where she is until the storm passes,” he said.

“Shouldn't we stay here?”

“It could last for a while. Now that the power's out, what will you do?”

He was right. With no power, she couldn't listen to the CDs on the fancy machines. Might as well go back home.

When they arrived at Webb Francis's place, Kirk parked right next to the front porch, passenger side closest. Angelica dashed to the porch, getting wet. She shook her head when she was sheltered and watched as Kirk raced up, taking the three steps in one leap.

“Wet!” he said. “Come on, I'll show you where the candles are and a flashlight.” He led the way into the kitchen, reached into the cupboard over the refrigerator and pulled down a handful of candles and a huge flashlight. He pulled matches from a drawer and lined them all up on the counter in front of a window.

“You'll have some daylight until evening. Then it'll really get dark.”

“Thank you.” She tried to remember the last time they'd lost power in New York. She didn't think they ever had since she lived there.

“What do you do for dinner?” she asked.

“I have a gas range, cook on that.” He glanced at Webb Francis's electric stove. “You're welcome to come over for dinner.”

She hesitated. She had to eat.

“If the power isn't back on I'll come over later.”

She escorted him to the porch. The rain seemed to be coming down in sheets, blowing in under the overhang on the side as the wind drove it.

“Call if you need anything.” He stood so close he was crowding her against the porch railing, invading her space. She could smell the hint of aftershave even so late in the day. Her heart began drumming as if her body recognized his. Which was dumb, she'd barely touched the man. Yet something primal seemed to shimmer between them.

He was so close she could feel his breath on her face. She looked up and saw the intensity in his eyes.

“If I need anything, which I doubt, I'll call.” She wanted to
reach out and touch him. Her fingers actually yearned to feel those hard arms, the power of his muscles beneath them.

He held his position for a moment longer and she wondered if he could read her mind. When he stepped back and turned as if to leave, she almost grabbed the railing so her wobbly knees wouldn't give way. A whirlwind couldn't shake her any more than being close to Kirk did.

She drew in a deep breath. Something was moving in the road. Frowning, she peered out into the rain.

“Is someone walking in this downpour?” she asked.

Kirk paused at the edge of the porch and looked. He lifted his hand in a short wave.

A moment later a young boy ran across the yard and up to the porch. “Is Webb Francis back?” he asked.

He carried an umbrella, but it had not kept him dry in the blowing rain. His jeans were wet, his hair was tousled. He looked to be about eight years old.

“No, he's in hospital in Bryceville,” Kirk said, stooping down to face the boy at eye level. Angelica wondered if that helped him hear.

The boy's face dropped. “He's giving me fiddle lessons. I haven't had one all week. And I need to practice so I can be in the festival.” The sad look on his face touched Angelica.

Kirk looked up at her.

“You're in luck, Sam, this lady plays the fiddle. She can teach you until Webb Francis gets home.”

“I
CAN'T TEACH HIM HOW TO PLAY
!” Angelica protested. She had never taught anyone how to play anything.

“Make sure he know the basics, let him practice. Webb Francis will be home in a few days. He'll probably manage sitting in a chair while Sam plays. How hard can it be?”

“I don't know anything about children,” she countered, looking at the little boy. He was so small she wondered how he'd hold a violin. Then she thought about when she'd been his age—maybe even younger. She had been so thrilled to learn to play—back in the day when all things were fantastic and the reality of constant practice had not dimmed her enthusiasm. She had been able to make music. The echo of that thrill seemed dim in all that had transpired over the decades since.

“Sam Tanner, meet Angelica Cannon. She plays the fiddle and can help you along until Webb Francis comes home.” Kirk made the announcement as if she'd agreed.

“Hi,” the boy said with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. “Can you teach me?”

“Make me out to be the bad guy if I say no,” she muttered.

“Say again?” Kirk said standing and watching her with amusement in his gaze. He knew what he'd done. How could she disappoint a child?

“Never mind. I guess we could give it a try.” She didn't
sound very enthusiastic, because she had no clue what to do or where to begin.

“Thanks, lady. I have to use Webb Francis's fiddle, I don't have one of my own. But he lets me.”

“Maybe Angelica could let you try hers,” Kirk said.

“No way. That instrument is worth thousands. If Webb Francis said the boy could use one of his, then he needs to use that one.”

“His name is Sam.”

“Sam,” Angelica repeated offering a smile to the child. She was so not used to being around children. Her life had been devoted to the violin since she was six.

“Come on inside, then, and we'll see. You coming?” she asked Kirk when Sam began walking to the front door.

“Naw, I've got things to do. Besides, I can't hear enough to really enjoy the music.”

She almost laughed. How much enjoyment would there be with a beginning child? Then the reality of what he said hit. It made her sad to think he couldn't enjoy all the sounds of the world. She was a little burned out, but she could never imagine life without music.

“If the power's off still at dinner, come and eat with me.” He said goodbye to Sam and admonished him to be good, then dashed back to the truck and backed out of the short driveway.

Once inside, doubts assailed. She truly didn't know how to teach.

Sam seemed to know exactly what to do, however. He stowed his umbrella in a stand near the front door and walked confidently into the music room. He picked up one of the violins and turned to her, his eyes shining.

“Show me what you already know,” she said.

He spent a few minutes playing the strings. It sounded in good tune which surprised her. The damp humid air had to have some effect on the instrument. He tightened one string,
tried again and then smiled. The next thing she knew he was playing an unfamiliar song, slowly and hesitantly, but she could recognize a definite melody.

When he was finished, he lowered his arms and looked hopeful.

“What was that song?” she asked, sitting in a nearby chair.

“‘Granny Does Your Dog Bite.' It's the one I want to play in the festival. Webb Francis was helping me learn it. It's supposed to go fast.”

“Do you have music?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No, Webb Francis says the real artiste plays by knowing how it's suppose to sound. Do you think I can be a real artiste one day? I can practice every day if you're here.”

Angelica was enchanted with the child's determination. She wasn't sure how the song should sound, but if he was happy with it, she'd go along with that.

“Yes, I think you'll do great at the music festival.” She studied the little boy for a moment, then jumped up. “I'll get my violin and we'll have a session together, how's that?”

“Violin?” he asked.

“My fiddle,” she said, giving in. When in Kentucky… Hurrying to her room, she retrieved the old instrument and almost laughed aloud. What would her parents think if they knew she wanted to play American folk music on the priceless heirloom?

 

Kirk stoked the fire and sat back. It was growing dark. The brunt of the storm had passed by several hours ago, but the steady rain lingered. Power was still out. Probably would be until morning. The air had grown cooler. He'd made a small fire in the fireplace. Suitable for cooking hot dogs and marshmallows. A couple of times during the afternoon, he'd glanced over at the house next door. He had not seen Sam leave. Nor
had he seen any activity over there. What was Angelica doing to while away the afternoon?

He was about to go over to make sure she was okay when he heard a knock on the door. Opening it a moment later he saw his neighbor. Droplets of rain shone on her hair. She wore a sweatshirt that was already damp on the shoulders.

“You should have a hammer by the door, I almost broke my hand banging,” she grumbled as she stared up at him.

“Most friends just come in and let me know they're here.”

“I'm not a friend. I don't know the mores of this area. In New York, one most definitely knocks first.” And waits while the other person unlocked several locks.

He nodded. “Come for dinner?” He stepped back and gestured her in.

She looked around the living room, her eyes widening in surprise. Kirk knew she expected rustic to go with the exterior of the log home, but the inside was comfortable and quite modern. The old sofa was long enough he could lie down if watching TV, or wanting a nap. The comfy chairs were sturdy enough for any of his wild friends, and the colors were ones Alice had talked about before she walked out. He knew enough to use them to make his home comfortable and he no longer thought about her every time he walked into the room.

“This is lovely,” Angelica said.

“About ready for dinner. Come on through to the kitchen. We'll use the fire for our meal, but you can help carry things out. Want to take off your wet sweatshirt?”

She nodded, and he hung it over the back of a chair. It should dry before long, it wasn't that wet.

She dutifully followed him into the kitchen, exclaiming in delight when she saw it. It was less than five years old and he'd spared no expense when building. He wanted something that would last.

“Beautiful. Do you cook all the time?” she asked, turning around to see everything.

“I cook my own meals, is that all the time?”

“Gourmet cooking?” She brushed her fingertips across the edge of the stainless steel gas range.

“Hardly. Hamburgers, hot dogs, steaks, pretty limited repertoire.” Probably seemed boring to someone from New York.

He pulled hot dogs and buns and condiments from the refrigerator and piled them on the counter. Angelica picked up some and carried them into the living room. In only a few moments all the things they needed for dinner were on the small table near the fire.

He pulled out two sticks he'd cut from a willow earlier and handed her one.

She stared at it. “What is this for?”

“Thread on your hot dog like this,” he said, taking one and poking the stick in lengthwise. “Then we hold it over the fire to cook.”

“You're kidding.” She watched a moment then with an air of determination followed suit and soon had her own hot dog cooking over the flames.

“When they're done, we'll pull them off in the bun, top with condiments and have a feast,” he said, suiting actions to words.

Munching on the hot dog a few minutes later, Kirk watched Angelica eat. She was dainty, testing each mouthful as if uncertain.

“Don't like hot dogs?”

“Don't eat them much,” she said, taking another bite. She nodded. “These are good.”

Kirk couldn't remember having someone over to camp out while the power was gone. Usually he would either eat alone, or head out to the café which had a generator for situations like this.

“This is fun,” she said with a hint of surprise.

“Tell me how the lesson went.”

She nodded, still chewing. Then she swallowed and smiled. “He's really good. And I think I learned more than he did. Practice will have him ready for the festival. I followed him, let the music take hold and was able to play along. Just what I came down here for. I didn't know my first foray would be with a little boy. We played Granny Does Your Dog Bite, know it?”

“Of course.” He moved back and leaned against the front of the sofa, stretching his feet out. “That was nice of you, New York, to help him.”

She finished her hot dog, put down the plate and scooted back to sit beside him. It was too warm to sit very close to the fire. The rain had cooled things down, but not that much.

“I liked it. Which surprised me. I'm an only child and have never been much around children.”

“Except when you were one,” he said.

“Not much then—except in school. I had to practice in the afternoons.”

“Why?”

“I was a child prodigy and my parents wanted me to make the most of my talent.”

“So what was that like?”

Angelica began telling him a bit about growing up in Boston. The more Kirk heard, the more he thought of deprivation and lack. She didn't appear to have had the kind of childhood he'd enjoyed—roaming around, exploring things, hanging out with his friends. Even getting into trouble with some wild hijinks.

Instead, she painted a picture of a little girl and later a teenager who did little but study academics and the violin. She mentioned different recitals and programs she played in. Maybe if he knew more, he'd be impressed, but mostly he felt the lack.

“Doesn't that wear on you? When did you go to the beach with friends, shop at the mall, explore historic Boston?”

“No time.” She shrugged, then flicked him a quick glance before looking back at the fire. “That's why I'm here. I want to see what else is out in the real world.”

“It's still revolving around music,” he commented. His idea of seeing the world had been to actually travel—in Europe, in the U.S. and Canada. He'd worked construction once he got out of the army, wherever a job was going to earn enough money to keep traveling. Now he made an occasional trip to visit a gallery in a major city when selling a sculpture. But he liked home best.

“It's all I know. At least I'm branching out.”

“What did your parents say to that?” he asked, curious about people who could put so much pressure on a child.

She stared at the fire for a long moment, then slowly said, “They don't know.”

“Don't know what?”

“Where I am, what I'm doing. I'm twenty-four years old, for heaven's sake, I don't need my parents' approval to do anything.”

“No, you don't.”

“I can make my own choices. And this is my choice, to learn more about this kind of music.”

“Angel, no one's arguing with you here.”

She flicked him another look. “You're right. But this is the first time I've done anything like this. I'm shoring up my defenses,” she said with a wry grin.

“Your defenses seem fine.” He reached out and took her hand. She started a moment, then relaxed. He traced the tips of her fingers. “Do you have these insured?”

Angelica giggled. “No.”

Giving in to impulse, Kirk brought her fingertips to his lips and kissed her lightly, then let go, watching as a spark flickered across her face and a blush rose in her cheeks.

Stretched out in front of the fire, he felt warm and replete. The steady drone of the rain on the roof was a pleasant background. He had better keep his distance from Angelica Cannon. Her hands had been warm and soft. Smaller than his, dainty. She intrigued him. And there was that attraction that wouldn't let go.

But he was too wise in the ways of women to get hooked. She'd stay a few weeks and then be gone. Might even be a shorter visit once she realized how little there was to do in Smoky Hollow compared to New York City.

“Have you always lived here in Smoky Hollow?” she asked, mimicking him, stretching out her feet toward the fire, leaning against the sofa front. Keeping herself busy asking him questions took her mind off the memory of his lips brushing against her fingertips.

“Did a stint in the army.” He tapped his left ear. “That's how I lost hearing in this ear, mortar fire. Don't hear that much from the right either.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I can't imagine not hearing.”

“I got used to it. When my tour of duty was over, I set out to see America.”

“And did you?”

“Oh, yeah.” He told her about starting in New York and doing all the sights tourists did. Gradually he moved north, west, south, taking his time and going places he'd always heard about and wanted to see. Picking up construction work was easy. Working with locals helped him really know people who lived in a community. One summer he'd swung through parts of British Columbia and Alberta, dropping down to Montana and continuing his travels.

 

Angelica listened to Kirk and envy rose sharply within. He'd done so much in just a few years. She'd done so little. The places came alive when he told her of his exploits. Was it the tradition of the hills of Kentucky or was he just a gifted
storyteller? She laughed at his story of the shock of cold water when he went swimming in Yosemite. Caught her breath when he described the grandeur of the Grand Canyon. Wistfully wished she could have seen whales off the coast of British Columbia.

From time to time Kirk tossed another log on the fire, then resumed his place next to her and continued talking when she prompted with another question. Angelica knew she could listen to him all night. His deep voice resonated within her, his slow drawl had her relaxing and enjoying the evening. She had nothing else to do. It was wonderful.