Angel of Smoky Hollow. Barbara McMahon

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СКАЧАТЬ how dashing away in the night showed good sense, she wasn’t sure. She hadn’t been a prisoner. She should have stayed and shown the logic of her choices. Only, she still couldn’t envision herself standing up against her parents. They had done so much for her. They only wanted the very best. How ungrateful she’d be to rail against everything. And it wasn’t as if she was turning her back on her life. For the most part she enjoyed music. It was only lately—she needed a break. She was flat-out burned out.

      But try as she might, they never listened to her. Always pushing, always saying they knew what was best for her. She was almost twenty-five years old. Surely she had to know what was best for her by now. Coming here without confirming her would-be host was available didn’t show such good sense—even she had to admit that. But she had, and now she’d make the most of whatever chance she had. It was only temporary. Worst case, she could relax for a few days and then make new plans.

      Through the trees she caught a glimpse of a large white clapboard structure. As they rounded a slight bend in the road, Angelica saw the house straight-on. A bit shabby in appearance, nevertheless it was impressive, with a wide porch, dormer windows flanked by green shutters and an immaculate green lawn. Flowering bushes encircled the base of the house. A colorful flower plot in the center of the lawn surrounded an old oak tree whose shade was just starting to touch the wide front porch of the house. Rocking chairs and benches lined up in a row.

      Did every building in Smoky Hollow have a porch? She’d heard Southerners were a laid-back group of people. Had to be the heat. She’d like to lie down until the temperature dropped about twenty degrees. Maybe sitting in the shade was the next best thing.

      Kirk stepped on the porch and banged on a screen door. The wooden door to the house stood open wide and a moment later a woman bustled down the hall that stretched out from the door, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

      “Kirk, gracious, good to see you. Is there something wrong?”

      “Hey Sally Ann. I brought you a paying guest.”

      “I declare.” She opened the screen door and stepped out, looking at Angelica with curiosity. “Was I expecting you?” she asked, tilting her head slightly and smiling. She tucked the dish towel in the top of her apron.

      Angelica shook her head. “Mr. Devon said you take guests. I came to see Webb Francis Muldoon and learned he’s not here.”

      “No, poor man, sick as can be in Bryceville. Mae went over this morning to see him. Evelyn and Paul will be going tomorrow. When are you going back, Kirk?”

      “Might take this young lady to see him tomorrow if that’s what she wants,” he said, flicking a glance at Angelica.

      Angelica studied him for a moment. Her common sense told her to stay away from this man. She could forget her own name if she wasn’t careful. Yet if he offered transportation she would not have to spend another moment on the local bus. That would be well worth some time with Kirk Devon.

      With her expected ally gone, she needed to reassess everything. How long would Webb Francis be sick? What was she to do in the meantime?

      “I’d pay for the ride to Bryceville,” she said looking straight at Kirk.

      His face pulled into a frown. “Not if I’m going that way anyway. I’ll leave around ten. Meet me at the store.” He turned and gave Sally Ann a wide smile. “You take care of this one. She’s not used to Kentucky.”

      He handed Angelica the backpack.

      Angelica couldn’t argue the point, but she wondered how obvious she appeared. She felt like a stranger on a different planet. She was used to glass and concrete, canyons shadowed by tall buildings. The breeze blowing from the Hudson. Or freezing winters fighting slush and traffic and time.

      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 СКАЧАТЬ