“It was my first time. I think cutting grass requires practice, like playing the fiddle, don’t you?”
“I guess.”
“My daddy says cutting grass is man’s work. Then Mama takes him iced tea just like you did, Miss Cannon,” Teresa Ann said. “Only they end up kissing and all.”
“Ew, gross,” Sam said.
Angelica looked back at Kirk. She wouldn’t have minded a kiss for her effort. Or one to reward him for his work.
But after yesterday, she was firmly squelching any thoughts in that direction. It was too bad her body didn’t listen to her mind. Her fingers tingled with the desire to touch him. Her mouth yearned for the feel of his. Her heart raced, and not from the effort to propel that machine.
“Thank you for the limonade.”
Teresa Ann handed Angelica her empty glass.
“Tomorrow I won’t be here for practice, we’re going to the fair. But I could come on Saturday.”
“If you want. I’ll be here.”
“Me, too. I want to make sure I’m ready for the festival,” Sam said.
“Okay, then, Saturday it is.”
She watched them run off, wondering how they found the energy in this heat. She took the glasses inside and put them in the sink. Giving in to temptation, she went back to the screen door to watch Kirk. She didn’t think he could see her. She hoped he couldn’t.
How pathetic to be caught staring at the most virile man she knew when he’d told her to go home. He was so not feeling the same attraction she was.
When he finally finished, she realized she’d been watching for almost an hour. Stepping away, she went to rinse out the glasses and then went to the music room. It took two seconds to tidy it up after the children’s lesson. Picking up her violin, she began her own practice. She wanted to play this song for the festival and it was trickier than originally thought.
She was on her second pass when she caught movement from the corner of her eye. Stopping, she looked at the doorway. Kirk stood there watching her.
“I knocked, but you couldn’t hear me, I guess,” he said.
“What can I do for you?”
She tried to keep her eyes firmly on his and not drop her gaze to the tantalizing expanse of tanned chest that showed off his pecs so well. He held his shirt in one hand. His jeans were riding low, which made her gulp and become desperate not to let her glance waver from his dark eyes.
“I heard you playing, wanted to hear more. Orange Blossom Special, isn’t it?”
She nodded.
“Hard piece to play, so I’ve heard.”
“You’ve heard right. I’m determined, however,” she said.
“Sounds good. I’ll let my granddad know.”
“Why would he care?”
“He’s planning to come to the festival this year. First time in two decades. He wants to hear you play. He said if Webb Francis thought you were good, maybe you are.”
She laughed. “So he wants to verify that himself?”
“I reckon he does.”
“I still want to go back to his farm and hear him sing that song. I found the music and have been practicing that one as well.”
“I expect he’ll be pleased to hear that.”
