“I came to see you. Hear you.”
“Could you—hear me, I mean?” She never expected to see him again—especially not in Paris, France!
“Most of it, I think. Watching you was enough.”
She stared at him, her heart racing. “I didn’t know you were coming to Paris.”
“I didn’t know myself until I bought my ticket. I went to New York to see you. But you weren’t there.”
“I’ve been on tour for several weeks.”
“So I found out.” He stepped closer and pulled an envelope from his inside pocket. “I brought you pictures of the sculpture. I told you I’d let you see it. Always keep my word. This seemed the best way.”
For a moment she almost cried. He had come only to show her the finished art work? Trying desperately to gather her wits, she stared at the envelope. He held it out and she took it, almost snatching it away when she saw her fingers were trembling.
Opening it, she withdrew a half dozen photos. One was of the complete work, still on the floor of his studio. It looked amazing. She’d known it would. She looked at the next, a close-up of the trees, another a close-up of the cliff. The next—the woman on the edge. She stared at it for a long moment—it reflected yearning and hope with a hint of trepidation. How had he managed that with chisel and hammer? It was amazing.
She wanted to tell him so, but was afraid her voice wouldn’t work. Her throat ached with tears. She’d longed to see him for weeks. Almost as if in answer to prayer he showed up and it was only to fulfill a promise to show her the carving.
“It’s beautiful,” she finally whispered, blinking to hold back tears.
“Almost as beautiful as its inspiration, eh?” he said slowly, stepping closer.
She looked up at that, tilting her head back to better see him as he drew near with each step.
“The thing is, Angelica, I got to thinking.” He stopped for a moment, licked his lips and took a breath. “Ever since I can remember, Devon men can’t keep their women. You know about my granddad and father. And me with Alice. I thought maybe there was something lacking in me.”
“Nothing’s lacking in you,” she exclaimed involuntarily, hurt that he even thought such a thing.
“Maybe, maybe not. I’ve been a bit inflexible. Thought I knew exactly what I wanted. Only—seems like some things are worth bending for.”
She frowned, not knowing where he was going.
“Like maybe spending my life outside of Smoky Hollow.”
“But you love it there. You’re an integral part of the community. What would your grandfather do if you left? Your neighbors?” Was he serious?
“I expect they’ll muddle along,” he said, laughing softly and shaking his head. “I’m not the lynchpin of Smoky Hollow, and I do have a right to life on my terms.” He was close enough now he could reach out to brush back a tendril of hair, his fingers skimming her cheek.
She swallowed hard, holding her breath for fear of giving herself away. The commotion in the rest of the backstage area faded as she could only see Kirk. Was this how he focused when trying to hear? Did the rest of the world vanish?
“Am I enough, Angelica?”
“For what?” she asked, her knees threatening to give way. Her heart pounded, blossoming with hope.
“For you to share a life with?”
She blinked, tears giving way.
“Oh, honey, don’t cry. Please!” He wiped the tears with his thumb. “Would you marry me? Think about it before you answer. I’ll go wherever you wish. We don’t have to live in Smoky Hollow. I can carve wood anywhere there’s space enough and light. I love you, Angelica. I never thought I’d fall in love like this. I know our family doesn’t have a good track record with women, but I’ll love you until the day I die and do my best to make you the happiest woman on the earth. But I can’t go on without you. When you left, you took the sunshine with you. I thought a couple of times… I mean, I hoped some of your reactions meant… Anyway, think about it, if you would.”
She shook her head.
“Okay, just a thought.” He looked around, as if noticing the others in the space. No one seemed to be paying them particular attention.
“No, no! I can’t believe you think I need to spend a moment of consideration. I wanted you to ask me before I left. But you didn’t.”
He looked back at that. “You wanted me to ask? I almost did—at least to have you stay a little longer, let us explore this feeling. Only I was never sure you felt the same way. You’re a bit naive and I thought you were just experimenting. Only with me it went deeper. I love you like I’ve never loved anyone.”
Her smile lit his world. “I love you, Kirk. I think I have since we splashed in the creek together. I never had anyone to have fun with before.”
“And I never knew.” Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her with all the pent up desire he’d had to deal with since August.
A few minutes later he pulled back. Both were breathing hard. Several musicians clapped and Angelica smiled up at him in confusion.
“Are you done here?” he asked.
“For tonight.” She smiled at the musicians and looked back at Kirk. Had she just dreamed this? If so, she wanted to never awaken.
“Then let’s go for a late supper and talk. Explanations and plans. We’ve got a lifetime ahead of us to deal with.”
She laughed. “I’m on.”
They found a small bistro, ordered a light supper and talked the night away. He explained his fear he couldn’t offer her enough. She explained her hurt when he seemed to be so standoffish. They laughed as they remembered different incidents—from different viewpoints. Both agreed it had been a fantastic summer. One they could repeat for decades to come—knowing now they would spend those decades together.
“Let’s get married in Paris,” he said as they waited for the taxi that would take them to their hotels.
“Now?” She looked up, stunned, then grinned. “Why not?”
“It’ll mean no big wedding and reception,” he warned.
“You’re the one with all the friends, if you don’t care, I don’t. I think it’s a brilliant idea. Could we really?”
“We’ll find out. So I take it the answer is yes? You never said,” he said as a taxi swerved in toward the curb.
“Yes! I love you, Kirk Devon, and I always will. We can break the pattern of your family and be the first to live until we’re old and gray and still loving each other.”
He kissed her while the taxi driver patiently waited. It was Paris, after all.
EPILOGUE
Spring
THE FINAL CURTAIN DROPPED and the musicians were able to leave their positions. Angelica carried her violin against her chest and hurried backstage. Her parents had come to hear the final symphony for the season and, of course, Kirk was waiting for her. She went to her station backstage and was just placing it in its case when Kirk strode over, followed by her parents. He looked amazing in his tuxedo. Even better than he had in Paris last fall. Looking only at her, he walked straight through, others moving out of his way as if by magic. Her heart rate increased, and the smile that lit her face was involuntary. She couldn’t help it, each time she saw him she fell in love all over again.
“Fantastic, Angel,” he said, sweeping her into a hug and kissing her.
“Your best ever,” her mother said, coming up and bustling around. “You were born to play music.”
“Maybe,” Angelica said. Privately she thought she was born to be Mrs. Kirk Devon, but she wasn’t sure her mother wanted to hear that.
“You sure you won’t come to Boston for a few days?” her father asked.
“No. Our plans are made. We’re stopping in Atlanta to check on the gallery there and take stock of any statues unsold, then heading for home.”
Her mother sniffed delicately. “Home is here, Smoky Hollow is your vacation retreat.”
Kirk stiffened and Angelica poked him gently. “Home is wherever we are, actually,” sh
e said. “But for the next few months, we’ll be there.”
Her mother gave Kirk a look that Angelica knew privately amused him. He’d won the most amazing prize, so he often said. He didn’t care if her mother figuratively threw darts his way every time she saw him. She hadn’t fully reconciled to the idea of her daughter married to a man who whittled for a living.
It was too early to prove to Kirk that their marriage would last forever. The past seven months had been fantastic. Dividing their time between New York for her engagements, and Smoky Hollow for down time, had proved the perfect solution. Even Kirk admitted he found inspiration in New York and they had bought a loft flat that would allow him all the light and space he needed to work. Now he had two studios and she had two homes.
Gradually the din eased as musicians left. They were having a late supper with her parents, then early in the morning heading south.
It was time to begin practicing for the music festival in Kentucky. Angelica had picked up quite a repertoire of mountain songs. She loved her weekends in Smoky Hollow, playing with Webb Francis and the children. Sam was getting better and better. Teresa Ann had her own violin now and could practice at home. But she still liked to practice with Angelica when she was in town.
Angelica couldn’t wait to see them. And Hiram. He’d written in his last letter he had a brand new song to practice so they could perform together at the festival in August.
And tonight, after her parents left, she had some special news to share with her husband. She wondered if she should pull back from concerts and concentrate on building her family. Time enough to discuss that once he learned her news. She smiled up at Kirk as they walked out of the concert hall. Her breakaway summer had brought her happiness beyond her dreams. And there was no end in sight!
ISBN: 978-1-4268-8812-0
ANGEL OF SMOKY HOLLOW
First North American Publication 2011
Copyright © 2010 by Barbara McMahon
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
For questions and comments about the quality of this book please contact us at [email protected].
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
www.eHarlequin.com
Angel of Smoky Hollow Page 17