Angel of Smoky Hollow. Barbara McMahon

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.