another moment, she took the helmet, put it on. Then, following his instructions, she climbed on to 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. But it brought her slam up against his back. She felt every muscle as he moved and pushed the bike back from the store. 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. She was so aware of his strong body, 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 was rock solid. His stomach muscles were like iron. His back muscular and hard. Once she caught a breath again, she risked opening her eyes. She rested against his back, head turned sideways. Slowly 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 quite a 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 would give her.
Today was too awesome to have to consider the future. It was enough to take delight in this moment.
After being plastered to Kirk’s solid back for the better part of thirty minutes, Angelica was reluctant to move when they reached the hospital.
He sat for a second after he stopped and then said, “It’s safe to let go now.”
Burning with embarrassment, she snatched her hands back and awkwardly got off the motorcycle unassisted, almost falling on her face. His arm caught her around the waist while she was still trying to get her legs to move. Heart aflutter, knees wobbly, she pulled back and took off the helmet. She slicked her hands over her hair; it still felt in place. Tied back as it was, it didn’t get mussed often. Though she’d never worn a helmet before.
He took both helmets and placed them on the handlebars. Then headed for the hospital entry.
“Are they safe here?” she asked, glancing back at the motorcycle in the parking lot.
“Sure.” He shrugged. “If someone needs them more than I do, let him take them. I can buy others.”
She’d never thought about that aspect of theft. “What if they just want to resell for money?”
“As I said, if they need it more than I do, okay by me.”
She followed, trying to understand his thought process. Where she lived everyone was out to get ahead, to be the brightest and best, to make more money, to protect what they’d acquired. Now this man seemed totally unconcerned about the safety of his equipment.
Entering the hospital, Kirk guided her to the elevator and they rose to the third floor. Angelica kept her face forward, denying herself the opportunity to gaze at Kirk Devon. She hoped he had no idea of how edgy she felt around him—so aware of herself as a woman and him as a man.
Maybe Webb Francis would be well soon enough to help her out. If not, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. Having made the break, she did not want to return home without having accomplished her goal. But she hadn’t a clue what she could do in Smoky Hollow waiting for him to recover.
There seemed to be a lot of bustle in the corridor leading to Webb Francis’s room, with doctors jotting notes on charts, nurses checking on patients. Kirk walked confidently along and knocked perfunctorily on the partially opened door.
Entering right behind him, Angelica saw the older man propped up in bed with an oxygen cannula in his nose. His white hair was brushed back from his face. He looked pale and wan to her eyes. He smiled when he saw Kirk, then looked pleasantly curious when he saw her.
“Brought her, I see,” Webb Francis said.
Kirk offered his hand and gripped the sick man’s briefly, then turned to look at Angelica. “Angelica Cannon, meet Webb Francis Muldoon.”
“Hello, Mr. Muldoon. I’m sorry to learn you’re ill. Professor Simmons suggested I come to see you.” She pulled out the letter the professor had written on her behalf. “This explains things, I hope.”
Webb Francis took the letter. He read it through then looked at Angelica. “Miss Cannon, I’m honored you’d come to learn from me. Seems like I could learn from you.”
“Please, call me Angelica. I’ve had a rather narrow focus lately. I want a change. My favorite class at the Conservatory was folk music. I’d love to hear it firsthand and put some effort into learning the music, maybe writing it for future generations.” The memory of her parents’ horrified rejection of her suggestion she follow up with more folk music classes back in her student days flickered. She pushed it away. She was old enough to be in charge of her own life and the direction she wanted it to go.
“Ah, a good project, though a lot of the writing down has already been done. Bet we could come up with a few songs not yet saved for posterity, eh, Kirk?”
Kirk shrugged. “If you say so. Seems like the same ones are played over and over—favorites of course. What’s the latest from your doctor?” He looked intently at Webb Francis.
While the man responded, Angelica watched the interaction. Kirk had the habit of focusing entirely on the person speaking. He didn’t let any distractions enter in. She
