Chapter One
Angelica Cannon stepped off the bus into another world. Dragging her heavy backpack down the steps, she made sure she did not let the precious violin case hit anything. The air was thick with heat and humidity, sultry and hot. The trees that lined the street offered scant shade with the sun directly overhead, but gave some illusion of cool, dashed by the reflecting heat from the asphalt.
Running away wasn’t as easy as she’d thought when she stuffed things into her backpack and left without telling a soul where she was headed. Withdrawing a hefty sum from her bank account, before buying a bus ticket south, she was officially off the grid. She’d pay cash for everything and defy anyone to find her before she was ready.
She didn’t expect to be stepping into another world. Maybe—just maybe—she’d bit off more than she could chew.
Three pairs of eyes watched her disembark from the old bus. Two men had to be close to eighty, their scant gray hair covering little of their heads, their overalls looking as if they’d been made during the Great Depression. They sat on rocking chairs, but were still, as if watching people get off the bus was too important to miss by rocking back and forth.
The third set of eyes latched onto hers and for a moment she caught her breath, unable to step away from the bus, unable to breathe. The man leaned casually against one of the posts holding the roof above the wide porch. His stance was decidedly male.
Dark and dangerous, his eyes reflected that image perfectly. His black hair was wavy and longer than the men she normally associated with. He could be the grandson of the other two, as he couldn’t be much over thirty. Buff and brawny—she almostswallowed her tongue as she stared at him, consumed by the spark in his eyes, the way he let his gaze move slowly over her then snap back to hold her eyes in that compelling stare.
Her heart sped up. Her sophisticated veneer shattered. She’d never felt such an instant raw sensual attraction before. It was as if every cell in her body became attuned to his. And she hadn’t a clue who he was.
She took a breath and, conscious of someone waiting behind her, stepped away from the bus—toward the trio on the porch of the rough-hewn building that served as bus station, general store and gas station. And a place for old men to watch the world go by. A place for a man to mesmerize with his stare.
Wide shoulders, muscular arms and chest, nothing was hidden by the skintight navy T-shirt he wore. Faded jeans over motorcycle boots covered long legs. His face was all angles and planes, tanned a dark teak.
She’d never seen anything as gorgeous in her life. The fluttering feelings inside kicked up a notch and she wished she could check makeup, hair and clothes. And find something scintillating to say that would impress him with her wit and sophistication.
Clothes—darn. She looked down at her outfit. The two of them almost matched. She wore a cotton top and faded jeans. So unlike her normal attire. In fact, she’d bet her mother didn’t even know she owned a pair of jeans.
Not that she was going to think about her mother! The great escape included thoughts about her parents, her job, and where she was going in the future.
“You miss your stop, sugar?” the man asked as she approached the porch.
Attuned to musical pitch and tone, Angelica almost swooned with the deep baritone voice and sweet Southern drawl. Talk some more, she almost said. Instead, she replied,
“Is this Smoky Hollow, Kentucky?”
“Last I heard,” he acknowledged.
“Pretty thing,” one of the older men said, as if she weren’t standing six feet in front of him.
“Why’s she here? Kin of anyone we know?” the other asked.
“Just fixing to ask that myself.”
The fascinating man stepped off the porch in a casual and utterly masculine manner that had Angelica wondering if her hormones had spiked in some weird way since crossing the state line. She wanted to step up and flirt.
Flirt? She had never done so in her life. Where was that thought coming from?
“Can I help you?” he asked. “I’m Kirk Devon and I know almost everybody around here. Who’re you here to see?”
She blinked. Hisheahdidn’t quite sound likeheredid at home.
“I’m looking for Webb Francis Muldoon,” she said.
He tilted his head slightly, his eyes intent on her face.
“Webb Francis isn’t here,” he said.
She swallowed. Great, she left home and fled fifteen hundred miles and the man she was running to wasn’t even around. A second of uncertainty surfaced. Then she took a breath, needing more information. She wasn’t going to be stopped at the first setback. She had yearned for this for too long.
“When will he be back?” she asked.
“Don’t rightly know. Might be a few days. Maybe longer. What do you want with Webb Francis?”
