She greeted them both and then turned to look down the road. She hadn’t a clue in which direction Kirk would come from. Probably not from the B&B as he had walked back toward the store when he left yesterday. She hoped he’d meant it when he offered her a ride. She hadn’t a clue how to get to Bryceville on her own.
“Nice day,” one of the men said.
“Beautiful,” she agreed.
Then took a moment to really appreciate the morning. It was already warm, but not as hot as it had been yesterday. The tall trees were widespread, shading a good portion of the store and parking lot. She could hear birds trilling in the branches. She tried to remember the last time she’d noticed birds singing in the morning.
She rarely opened the windows in her high-rise apartment. And when she did, it was traffic noise she heard, not birds. Her parents’ home in Boston had huge elm trees in the yard, yet she couldn’t remember ever listening to birds.
How odd. Was she normally oblivious to what was going on around her?
A low rumble sounded to her left and she looked that way. In only a moment a motorcycle roared into view, stopping when it reached the porch. The throaty purr of the engine filled the morning air. Taking off his helmet, the driver grinned at her.
“Ready to go to Bryceville?” Kirk asked.
She stared at him and at the big black-and-chrome motorcycle, fear and fascination warring.
“On that?” she almost squeaked.
She’d never ridden a motorcycle in her life. What if it crashed? She flexed her fingers. What if she spilled onto the pavement and damaged her hands?
“I have an extra helmet,” he said, unstrapping it from the back and holding it out to her.
Angelica stared at it for a moment. She looked into his eyes which seemed to challenge her. The seconds ticked by. No one spoke. Only the trilling of the birds filled the silence. Almost fatalistically she stepped off the porch.
She had deliberately come here. She’d wanted something different and found it—in spades.
Hesitating another moment, she took the helmet, put it on. Then, following his instructions, she climbed behind on the powerful motorcycle. Once seated, she felt the vibration beneath her, the warmth of the man in front of her.
“Hold on,” he said, putting his own helmet back on.
When she hesitated, he reached back and brought both her arms around his waist, slapping one hand over the other. It was impersonal and expeditious.
That move brought her slam up against his back. She felt every muscle as he pushed the bike back from the porch. She didn’t view it as impersonal, this was very personal. Her body against his, her arms around his hard stomach. She couldn’t breathe. Her blood pounded through her veins.
He gave the two old men a wave. In seconds they were flying down the narrow country road.
Angelica caught her breath in fear, closed her eyes and tightened her grip on the one solid thing in her world right now, Kirk Devon. His entire body seemed rock solid. His stomach muscles were like iron. His back muscular and hard. Once shecaught a breath again, she risked opening her eyes. She slowly rested against his back, head turned sideways. She lifted her head and peered over his shoulder. Trees whipped by. The black pavement seemed to unfold like a ribbon before them, curving and twisting, opening up straight ahead for long stretches before diving back into the thickness of the trees.
Gradually the fear morphed into elation. She felt as if they teetered on the brink of disaster, yet Kirk seemed to know exactly what he was doing. If this was his normal mode of transportation, he was an expert.
She couldn’t ease back on her desperate hold, but she could breathe again. And slowly begin to relish the wind racing across her skin, seeping into the helmet. She wondered what it would be like to fly along without the safety helmet.
Fear faded. He hadn’t crashed, no reason to think he would with her onboard.
Conversation was impossible. Which was a good thing. She couldn’t think of a single topic of conversation that might interest him.
She could hardly ask out of the blue if he were married. She shouldn’t be so aware of another woman’s husband. Her curiosity spiked. Had he always lived in Smoky Hollow? What did he do for a living? He hadn’t been working yesterday. And obviously wasn’t working this morning. Did he have rotating days or something? Was this his weekend? Or was he visiting like she was?
No, he’d known those men on the porch. Known Sally Ann. So what was a guy as dynamic as he was doing in sleepy Smoky Hollow, Kentucky?
Maybe he was unemployed. Lot of that going around.
She could consider herself unemployed. Her last contract had ended and she had yet to sign the new one waiting for her at her agent’s office. She had enough in savings to live quitea while before she needed to find another position. Inevitably, she’d return to New York. What else could she do besides play the violin?
She hoped by then, however, that she’d know herself better and be able to withstand the pressure placed on her by others. This was her first vacation ever. She’d gone right to the symphony from the conservatory. Toured Europe when the New York season ended.
She needed this break, and hopefully the new direction it’d give her.
