Angel of Smoky Hollow Read Free Page A

seeing her, she can come back after you get well. Need anything?”
    Webb Francis coughed again. “Naw, I’m good. It’ll be good to see you, Kirk. Don’t know about some stranger.”
    â€œTake it easy. I’ll handle things.”
    â€œYou always do. Good thing for me and your granddad you came home when you did.”
    Kirk stared out the window at the bank of trees. Good and bad. If he had not returned, he could believe Alice was waiting for him. Still—his grandfather needed him. He’d seen the sights he’d wanted to see. It had been time to return home.
    â€œSee you tomorrow,” he said and slowly hung up the phone.
    Action kept memories at bay. He rose and went to the studio behind his house. He could get in some serious work this afternoon. And evening. And maybe think a bit more about the stranger who looked sad and lost and a bit scared. She presented a puzzle. Strangers didn’t come to Smoky Hollow often. Faded jeans and cotton top could be clothes of anyone. But her porcelain complexion and wide, tired blue eyes spoke of something different. Who had such creamy white skin these days? Her blond hair had been pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, sleek and shiny. What would it look like loose in a bank of waves framing her face?
    He shook his head. He didn’t need interest rising at this juncture. He knew enough to know whatever her story, she wouldn’t be long in Smoky Hollow. And he’d had enough trouble with women in the past. Something had always been missing. He didn’t think about it any more. He liked his life just the way it was now. No complications, no drama.
    And a tad lonely.
    He pushed away the thought when he entered the structure a short distance behind his house. He’d built both buildings himself, using the knowledge and skill he’d picked up from many construction projects over the years. From the outside, both the house and shed merely looked like log cabins. Inside he had utilized the finer aspects of carpentry that enabled the house to be comfortable and stylish. The studio was a different matter. With strongly insulated walls, it was cool in summer, warm in winter, and totally utilitarian.
    Standing in the doorway, he flipped on the switch. The daylight fixtures bathed the entire space in plenty of light. The tall windows added natural daylight. In the center of the building stood the sculptured piece of wood he was currentlyworking. Five feet tall, it was not quite life-size. A mother with a baby in her arms and a child clinging to her knee, the semi-abstract rendition gave the illusion of motherhood everywhere without details to features and age.
    The carving part was finished. He walked around it, studying it from every angle. Next was the final stage—sanding until it was as smooth as glass. Then applying the stain that would bring out the natural luster of the wood. Bring the statue to life. He reached for the first sandpaper and began long even strokes down the length of the back.
    Caught up in his work, he didn’t realize the passage of time until he felt the pangs of hunger. Glancing at his watch, he realized it was after midnight. He hadn’t eaten since lunch. Time to take a break. He placed the staining cloth in an airtight container, put the used sandpaper in the trash.
    Studying the figure once more, he was pleased. The deep stain had highlighted the grain of the wood. The smooth finish was pleasing to touch. He knew Bianca would snap it up for her gallery. He’d take photos tomorrow to send to her. Once they agreed on price, he’d load it up and deliver. She was always asking for more work. But he did the pieces as the mood struck.
    It was cooler than expected when he stepped outside. He walked the familiar path from his studio to home with out light. He knew every inch of his property—and most of the surrounding properties as well. Another way to keep the memories at bay,