He took a step closer and Angelica wanted to step back. He was tall, at least several inches over six feet. Next to her own five and a half feet height, he seemed to tower over her. But it wasn’t only that. Tapered waist and hips, long legs and those broad shoulders made him look as if he could carry the weight of the world easily on those shoulders. Strong and masculinein an earthy way she wasn’t used to. She was fascinated, and overwhelmed. Her senses roiled.
“I prefer to explain that to Mr. Muldoon,” she said stiffly.
The bus door clanged shut and the old bus belched a puff of black smoke as it pulled away and groaned down the street.
Angelica watched it go, then looked back at the man in front of her. His eyes were still intent, studying her every expression.
“Looks like your transportation’s gone and left you here. Webb Francis is in hospital at Bryceville. He has pneumonia.”
“He’s sick?”
Professor Simmons had assured her she’d be welcomed by Webb Francis. No one had counted on his illness. Least of all her.
“Friend of yours?” Kirk Devon asked still studying her.
“He’s a friend of—a friend.”
She closed her mouth without saying another word. She dare not trust anyone. She wasn’t giving out who she was or why she was there until she’d spoken to Webb Francis to see if this was where she belonged. She gazed after the bus. Where was Bryceville? Would the bus have taken her there?
“Got a place to stay?” Kirk asked.
She shook her head slowly. She’d thought Webb Francis would help her by recommending a place to stay. She knew Professor Simmons had written a letter for his old friend explaining everything. It was in her backpack, to be given once she met Mr. Muldoon. Looking around she squared her shoulders. She’d traveled in Europe, called Manhattan home, surely she could handle one small town in Kentucky.
“Any hotels around?”
She’d have seen one as they’d approached, watching as she had the foreign scenery as the bus drove in from Lexington. No skyscrapers here. But maybe there’d be a small boutique hotel on a side street.
“There’s a B&B in town. Sally Ann’s place.She probably has room. You can stay there tonight, decide what to do tomorrow. Don’t reckon Webb Francis will be home before a week. And not then unless folks rally around. He’ll need care. You staying long?”
He stepped closer, almost crowding her. Reaching for her violin case, he offered to take it. She snatched it out of his reach, stepped back and swung slightly around so the case was almost behind her.
“I can manage. Just point me in the right direction.”
His dark eyes watched for a moment. The air was charged with tension, then he gave a lopsided smile and relaxed.
It was harder for Angelica to adjust to the change. The smile caused crazy feelings. He was probably a harmless guy trying to help. But she didn’t feel reassured.
He was big and strong and too sexy for her own good. She couldn’t get beyond that attraction. His dark hair almost shimmered with streaks of blue, it was so black. When he smiled, she felt a catch in her heart. He could probably charm the birds from the tree with a single smile.
She was not a bird. She had to remember she had a goal and falling prey to the first good-looking man she saw was so not in her plans.
Reseating her backpack on her shoulders, she glared at him. No one touched the valuable violin but her.
“I’ll take your backpack, then,” he said, lifting it from her shoulders before she knew it. “Can’t let a lady carry all those heavy things,” he drawled as he turned and gestured for her to proceed in the direction to the left.
The sidewalk ended fifty feet beyond the store. The road narrowed, feeling closed in with the trees that flanked it on both sides. With the sun overhead, there was little shade to ease theheat reflecting from the asphalt. If she’d had any idea of how hot it was in Kentucky in summer, she’d have—done what?
This was her only bolt hole and she was grateful for it. She’d have to deal with the heat. She hoped the walk to the B&B wasn’t long, or she’d be a melted puddle in the road. Glancing at her companion, she was annoyed he didn’t seem to notice the heat at all.
If his pace was any indication, it didn’t bother him at all. She was growing winded.
“You didn’t tell me your name,” he commented after a few yards.
“Angelica Cannon.”
She felt sure no one around here had ever heard of her. It was as if she’d stepped into a time warp, looking around at the lack of amenities and action. Circa 1900, she thought. She felt curiously free knowing people here would only learn what she chose to share about her life. She could be totally anonymous if she wanted.
“Sally Ann runs a B&B, you said?” she asked.
