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.
“Is he getting better?” his grandfather asked.
“Appears to be, though he looks like death warmed over. 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. A woman from New York.”
“What’s she doing here?”
“Came to learn some folk songs from Webb Francis.”
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.”
“She 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.”
