“I thought New Yorkers walked everywhere,” he said, ignoring the first part of the comment.
“I usually take cabs.”
“Lazy,” he teased.
She flared up, then caught the gleam in his eye and relaxed a fraction, giving a rueful smile.
“Maybe a bit. But I don’t want to be walking down a busy street with my violin. It could get damaged.”
“You don’t take it everywhere.”
She nodded. “Pretty much.”
“So are you famous or something?”
She shook her head.
“Why would you think that?”
“Webb Francis seemed impressed—said he could learn something from you and he’s the best fiddle player around.”
“Violin,” she murmured.
“Say again?”
She stopped and faced him straight on. “Violin,” she said loud and clear.
“I’m deaf in one ear, have a hearing loss in the other,” he said.
Her eyes widened.
“I didn’t know. Sorry.”
She was almost yelling.
He leaned closer, taking in that light floral scent, and the heat of her.
“I can hear normal tones for the most part if I’m facing the person talking. Don’t yell.”
Her eyes gazed into his and he felt a tightening in his gut. The blue was flawless, like the deep summer blue of the skies over Kentucky. She didn’t look away and he felt as if she was drawing him in closer, until he could almost brush his lips across hers, taste the sweetness he knew he’d find, discover if passion lurked beneath the cool exterior.
She blinked and stepped back.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“First to the library. Mary Margaret McBride has video tapes of other music festivals and CDs. Get to know her and you canwatch and listen to them to see who you want to talk to. Then if I can find them, I’ll introduce you to Dottie and Paul, two of the members in the group Webb Francis plays with. We’ll run into Gina one of these days. She’s coordinating the festival—doing it all now that Webb Francis is out of commission.”
The day was growing warm, but Angelica didn’t notice as much as she had the previous day. Kirk’s stride was longer than hers so she had to walk briskly to keep up. She hadn’t really thought he was deaf—or partly deaf—when she’d shown her annoyance by stopping in the street.
How had it happened? Had he been born deaf? Maybe that explained the intense way he focused on people when they spoke—to better understand what they were saying. Did he read lips?
She searched her mind for what little she knew about deafness. Sometimes people could hear certain ranges of sound. With his remaining hearing, did he have full range or limited? She didn’t feel she knew him well enough to ask, but she was curious.
She couldn’t imagine not hearing. Listening to music, hearing the birds chirping, talking with friends—how much she’d miss if she were deaf.
“Do you work?” she asked as they turned a corner. Ten feet ahead was the start of a sidewalk. They had arrived in the town proper.
“Sure.”
