Angel of Smoky Hollow

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.”