Angel of Smoky Hollow. Barbara McMahon

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.”

      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 СКАЧАТЬ