“Play that fiddle you carry around, huh?”
“It’s a violin. A very old and valuable one,” she said with some asperity. A fiddle indeed.
“Same thing,” Webb Francis said. “I’ve got some sheet music in the little room off the living room. Find you some music so you can play at the festival,” he suggested.
She nodded, annoyed Kirk seemed amused at her defense of her violin.
Obviously once away from the music world she was used to, she shouldn’t expect the same reverence she received in New York.
That’s what she wanted, more anonymity and less pressure. She couldn’t have it both ways.
In only a few moments, Kirk suggested they leave. Angelica could see Webb Francis was growing tired. Would he truly be up to returning home in a few days? She hoped so, but doubts began to grow.
As they walked out of the hospital, several people greeted Kirk—mostly women, Angelica noticed. Not that she blamed them. He looked even better today than when she’d first met him. The jeans were newer and fit like a glove. The shirt with the sleeves rolled back wasn’t as fitted as the T-shirt had been, but still showed off the perfect physique. His dark eyes seemed to notice everything, and the smile he gave when greeting people sent her heat index spiking.
“Need anything here before we return to Smoky Hollow?” he asked when they approached the motorcycle.
“How would I carry it if I did?” she asked.
“We’d manage.”
He was looking at her with the same intensity. Those dark eyes seem to see right down into her soul.
She felt light-headed. Looking at the motorcycle, she drew in a breath.
“I’ll wait until I get to Smoky Hollow. If I’m really going to stay in Webb Francis’s house, I’ll need some food and things. The store there sells everything I’d need, right?”
“Pretty much. We’ll stop for lunch before heading home. All right with you?”
She nodded, interested in what she would see of Bryceville. A larger town than Smoky Hollow, it was nothing like New York. But few places were.
By the time they reached Smoky Hollow in the mid afternoon, Angelica’s head was swimming with new impressions and ideas. She had not, however, learned much about her guide.
He’d driven through Bryceville pointing out landmarks. They’d eaten at a little café on a side street where everyone seemed to know Kirk and were friendly and welcoming when introduced to her.
The ride back had been hot, the heat couldn’t be outrun and she was feeling limp when they stopped in front of the store.
“Stock up on what you need. I’ll be back and we’ll get your things from Sally Ann’s, then I’ll take you to Webb Francis’s place,” he said when she got off the bike.
Handing him her helmet, she eyed the bike. “On that?”
“I have a truck.”
She wondered why they hadn’t taken the truck into Bryceville. But she merely nodded.
“Thank you, I appreciate that. This is such a small town, once I’m settled, I’m sure I can walk everywhere.”
“Pretty much.”
He pushed back, then took off.
The two permanent fixtures on the porch asked her how she’d liked Bryceville.
“Very nice,” she replied as she passed to enter the store.
She’d heard people in small towns knew everybody’s business. What a novelty that was. She didn’t know all the neighbors in her apartment floor and she’d lived there three years.
Stepping inside, Angelica was immediately fascinated by the old building. The wooden floors beneath her feet were worn, as if from a hundred years of shoppers. The shelves were not as tall as in most supermarkets, but from the assortment of merchandise, she realized the store carried all she’d need—just not in the vast quantities of larger establishments.
