Angel of Smoky Hollow (2 page)

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 wait
ing 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.

A
NGELICA 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.