“It’s still revolving around music,” he commented.
His idea of seeing the world had been to actually travel—in Europe, in the U.S. and Canada. He’d worked construction once he got out of the army, wherever a job was going to earn enough money to keep traveling. Now he made an occasional trip to visit a gallery in a major city when selling a sculpture. But he liked home best.
“It’s all I know. At least I’m branching out.”
“What did your parents say to that?” he asked, curious about people who could put so much pressure on a child.
She stared at the fire for a long moment, then slowly said, “They don’t know.”
“Don’t know what?”
“Where I am, what I’m doing. I’m twenty-eight years old, for heaven’s sake, I don’t need my parents’ approval to do anything.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I can make my own choices. And this is my choice, to learn more about folk music.”
“Angel, no one’s arguing with you here.”
She flicked him another look.
“You’re right. But this is the first time I’ve done anything like this. I’m shoring up my defenses,” she said with a wry grin.
“Your defenses seem fine.”
He reached out and took her hand. She started a moment, then relaxed. He traced the tips of her fingers.
“Do you have these insured?”
Angelica giggled. “No.”
Giving in to impulse, Kirk brought her fingertips to his lips and kissed her lightly, then let go, watching as a spark flickered across her face and a blush rose in her cheeks.
Stretched out in front of the fire, he felt warm and replete. The steady drone of the rain on the roof was a pleasant background. He had better keep his distance from Angelica Cannon. Her hands had been warm and soft. Smaller than his, dainty. She intrigued him. And there was that attraction that wouldn’t let go.
He was too wise in the ways of women to get hooked. She’d stay a few weeks and then be gone. Might even be a shorter visit once she realized how little there was to do in Smoky Hollow compared to New York City.
“Have you always lived here in Smoky Hollow?” she asked, mimicking him, stretching out her feet toward the fire, leaning against the sofa front.
Keeping herself busy asking him questions took her mind off the memory of his lips brushing against her fingertips.
“Did a stint in the army.” He tapped his left ear. “That’s how I lost hearing in this ear, mortar fire. Don’t hear that much from the right either.”
She wrinkled her nose.
“I can’t imagine not hearing.”
“I got used to it. When my tour of duty was over, I set out to see America.”
“And did you?”
“Oh, yeah.”
He told her about starting in New York and doing all the sights tourists did. Gradually he moved north, west, south, taking his time and going places he’d always heard about and wanted to see. Picking up construction work was easy. Working with locals helped him really know people who lived in a community. One summer he’d swung through parts of British Columbia and Alberta, dropping down to Montana and continuing his travels.
Angelica listened to Kirk and envy rose sharply within. He’d done so much in just a few years. She’d done so little. The places came alive when he told her of his exploits. Was it the tradition of the hills of Kentucky or was he a gifted storyteller? She laughed at his story of the shock of cold water when he went swimming in a lake in Yosemite. Caught her breath when he described the grandeur of the Grand Canyon. Wistfully wished she could have seen whales off the coast of British Columbia.
From time to time Kirk tossed another log on the fire, then resumed his place next to her and continued talking when she prompted with another question. Angelica knew she could listen to him all night. His deep voice resonated within her, his slow drawl had her relaxing and enjoying the evening. She had nothing else to do. It was wonderful.
