Chapter Eight
If he’d dumped a bucket of cold water over her he couldn’t have shocked her more. After kisses like that, he wanted her to leave?
She pulled away and walked across to the door, trying to get control of her emotions.
Disappointment and frustration warred with anger and pride.
She couldn’t think. If she had a talent for words, she’d come up with some snappy reply that would put him in the same anguish she felt.
Nothing came to mind, only the echo of his words. Go home. This is not your place.
Go away from me, he might as well have shouted the words. She thought she might be falling in love with this complex mysterious man and he wanted her gone. How could she have read the signs so wrong?
At the door she finally had enough courage to turn and glare at him.
“I’m here until after the festival. I won’t burden you with my presence again. But I’m not leaving until I’m good and ready. So deal with it.”
Once clear of the door, she ran across the lawn, hoping she wouldn’t stumble and fall on her face in the darkness.
She ran up the steps and into the cottage, shutting the door just before tears welled in her eyes.
She refused to cry over the man. She hardly knew him.
She’d met him a short time ago. Never mind the feelings he engendered in her. He’d made his point very clear.
Way to go, Devon, Kirk thought as he watched her leave.
But it was being proactive or succumb to the siren call she gave without even knowing it. He’d thought he’d fallen in love once, lost the woman to a way of life he didn’t want.
In retrospect, he wondered how much he’d loved Alice. Had it been companionship, friendship that had moved beyond high school? If he’d really loved her above all else, he’d have moved to Atlanta. If he’d offered her all she needed, she’d have insisted they stay together.
He knew better than to take up with a woman who came from a different world.
He liked living in Smoky Hollow. He liked his work, liked helping out, liked being with friends he’d known his entire life.
Traveling when the mood struck, working on construction when needed, being near his crusty grandfather all made his life the way he wanted it.
Clenching his fists, he looked around the studio.
Would he ever see it again without picturing her sitting so still watching him in fascination as he carved?
Without remembering the intoxication of her kisses, the feminine feel of her body, the fire that had swept through him with her pressed against him?
He didn’t want to have feelings for Angelica.
She’d leave—just like every other woman in his life.
The men in his family just weren’t enough to keep women with them.
His mother had wanted more. Alice had wanted more.
How soon before Angelica knew he wasn’t enough for her and wanted more?
Better to make a clean cut now than drag out the hope for her to stay when he knew that would be impossible.
He hoped he hadn’t wrecked his future peace of mind by giving in to temptation and kissing her until he scarcely remembered his own name.
He took a deep breath, still smelling the fragrance of her unique scent.
He closed his eyes, still feeling the imprint of her soft curves against his harder frame.
Hearing the catch in her breathing when she discovered the passion that he suspected she’d never tapped before.
She was some innocent young woman who should be wined and dined by men of her own background. Taken to restaurants and the theater in New York, not some country fair and music festival.
Snapping open his eyes, he moved to the carving. The sooner he set to forgetting Angelica Cannon, the better he’d be.
He’d been cruel to protect himself. She was dabbling in a way of life vastly different from her own.
She was not contemplating a move to Smoky Hollow, she’d said over and over she was returning to New York at the end of August. He had less than a month to get through.
A month to ignore the next-door neighbor and concentrate on the sculpture.
The sculpture of her.
No matter how he tried to pretend it was anyone else, he’d admitted the truth. This was her. When he carved the face, it would be Angel’s. When he thought about the symbolism, it’d be of her life, her summer in Kentucky.
Could he capture the yearning for something new mixed with the fate of returning to the familiar? Could he make the impossible decision clear on a face that would be scarcely four inch high?
Could he, and not wish for a different outcome every second he worked on it?
Disgusted with his own thoughts, he turned off the light and closed the door. He’d get something to eat and then get to bed at a halfway reasonable hour.
If she stayed away, this infatuation would fade within days.
He’d start tomorrow by visiting Webb Francis before he was discharged, and then spending the rest of the day in Bryceville. Time apart would be best. It was less than four weeks.
The next morning Kirk rose early and went to see his grandfather before heading to Bryceville. Visiting hours at the hospital didn’t start until ten, so he might as well see what he could help out with at the farm before going to see Webb Francis.
It was barely dawn when he pulled into the farmyard. Lights were on in the kitchen, and he knew he’d be in time for breakfast. Beat eating alone this morning.
“I didn’t expect to see you,” his grandfather said when he entered.
“I’m going to Bryceville later. So I thought I’d swing by here and see what you needed before I left.”
“Seeing Webb Francis?”
“He’s supposed to be discharged tomorrow. I wanted to catch him before he goes to Betsy’s.”
Once breakfast was on the table Hiram looked at Kirk.
“Where’s that New York gal this morning?”
“Home, I guess.”
“She seemed a nice enough woman.”
Kirk nodded. He’d come here to escape thoughts of Angelica, he didn’t want a discussion with his grandfather about her.
“Have you heard her play?”
“No. But according to Webb Francis, she must be good. I told you she’s working with a couple of kids from town. Sam plans to play in the festival. Angelica does, too.”
“Ummm.”
“Do you want to go this year?”
Kirk knew his grandfather didn’t attend the music festivals and hadn’t in two decades, no matter how much Webb Francis and others pressed him to attend.
“Might.”
Kirk looked at him.
“Say again?”
“I said I might go. Why look so surprised, I used to go all the time.”
“True. Are you going to sing?”
“Nope. But I might go to hear that gal play. If she’s so good, it might be worth hearing. Listen to her play sometime and tell me.”
“Ask her to play for you,” Kirk said.
His plan was to avoid Angelica as much as possible. He didn’t want to get deeper involved.
Even though, for a split second, he welcomed the suggestion as a way to see her again. Not for himself, but for his grandfather.
“She’s staying next door to you, be neighborly and go listen to her play.”
Coming to breakfast had been a mistake. Now he either had to sound like an idiot with his reasons for not wanting to listen to her play, or go and be caught up in that fascinated attraction.
“I’m going to replace the back fence around the hog pen soon. Some of the boards are getting too splintered to hold up. Don’t want them fool hogs out roaming the countryside,” Hiram said.
Kirk nodded, glad the topic of conversation changed.
“I’ll give you a hand. When were you thinking?”
“Next week? Maybe.”
“Want me to pick up the wood?”
The two of them discussed the project and once breakfast was over went out to the fence to determine what to replace and how long it might take.
It was midafternoon by the time Kirk drove into his driveway. He’d had a good visit with Webb Francis and done some shopping in Bryceville. He’d also run by the lumber yard and ordered the wood to repair the fence. He’d pick it up next week.
Once again he noticed the ragged lawn in front of Webb Francis’s house. His own could use a cutting as well. It was hot, but not that hot.
He changed into old clothes, drank a couple of glasses of water and then went to mow his and his neighbor’s lawn.
Having mowed his lawn a couple of weeks ago, it was easy enough to get it taken care of.
Webb Francis’s was another matter. The tall grass took more effort to mow.
He made a dozen or so passes across the width of the lawn and grew hotter with each step.
Some of the yard was in shade, but most was in full sun this time of day.
He stripped off his shirt and tossed it onto a bush, pushing the old power mower back and forth. At this rate, it’d be dark before he finished. He should have tackled it earlier.
Sam and Teresa Ann came onto the porch, followed by Angelica. Kirk caught sight of them and waved, not pausing in his task.
The kids each had a glass in hand watching him as they drank.
He could use a glass of iced tea right about now.
But didn’t want to stop work to go make some.
One-third down, another two-thirds to go.
If he didn’t finish now, he’d have to plan on it tomorrow.
Cutting grass wasn’t his favorite activity. Might as well finish now.
He made two more passes then was startled to see Angelica walking to him a large glass of amber liquid in hand.
“If that’s iced tea, I’ll—”
He stopped suddenly remembering what kissing her caused. He reached for the glass. Heavenly. He drank it all without stopping.
“Hot work,” she said.
At least that’s what he thought she said. It was harder to hear over the roar of the lawn mower.
“Do you want more?” she asked.
“Please. Appreciate it.”
He watched her walk back to the house, speak to the children, and then go inside. Minutes later she was walking across the lawn. He’d done another half swath. She handed him the glass when he stopped.