Free Angel of Smoky Hollow by Barbara McMahon

glanced behind her through the double doors. No sign of Kirk. She was acting like a school girl with a crush, hoping to catch a glimpse of a special guy. Raising her chin slightly, she headed back to the media room. She had better things to do than moon over some sexy man who was only showing her around because of a promise to his friend.
    Two hours later, while changing one CD for another, Angelica heard Kirk’s voice in the main room of the library. She took a breath, held it, trying to quell instantly clamoring nerves. Would he come back here? Was he looking for her? She strained to hear what he and Mary Margaret were saying.
    She heard his footsteps. He stepped into the doorway and she looked up, immediately aware of every inch of the man. His wide shoulders leaned casually against one side of the door frame. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at her, his dark eyes focused solely on her.
    â€œFinished?” he asked, taking note of her replacing a CD in its case.
    â€œI’ve been listening for a couple of hours. I’m not finished. It’s fascinating. I love the rhythm of the songs. And the words are funny sometimes.”
    â€œTake a break. We’ll go for lunch.”
    â€œI’m working with Sam this afternoon around three,” she said, longing to ditch the library and go wherever he asked. What about her vow to resist temptation?
    â€œWe’ll be back by then. I picked up lunch from the store. Bella makes a great picnic basket.”
    â€œAre we taking your motorcycle?” she asked.
    â€œNope, walking. Come on. Best time of day.” He turned.
    So sure of her, she thought, following along. She had to admit to being intrigued.
    As soon as they left the library, Kirk picked up a basket sitting near the door. He nodded toward the left and they walked a short distance, then he turned and began following a well-worn path that led into the shady area of the woods that grew up right next to the town.
    It became cooler once sheltered from the sun. Dappled spots of sunshine moved as the leaves responded to the light breeze. It was hushed in the woods, only the sound of their footsteps and birds singing in the distance. A few puddles were visible from yesterday’s storm, but the ground underfoot was packed and dry.
    Angelica was enchanted. She followed, not talking. Sometimes she watched Kirk as he took long strides and seemed to be part of the nature they invaded. He was comfortable in this environment. She watched the path, lifted her gaze to the leafy roof over their heads, took a breath of the fragrant air. The trilling of the birds could almost be set to music, she thought, hurrying to keep up with him.
    The path was well defined. She wouldn’t get lost even if he went ahead. She wondered about the early settlers to this area. If the trees had always grown so close together, so thick, it was a wonder anyone had carved out a place in Kentucky.
    When she heard the gurgling of a brook, she searched ahead of them. It had to be close, and it sounded lovely. Two minutes later they stepped into a wide clearing where a rock-strewn brook roughly cut the space in half. The water splashed against and over the small stones and rocks, twisting almost back on itself once, and then headed straight down into the trees.
    â€œThis is magical,” she said, taking in the pretty clearing. Sunshine kissed the grass beneath the opening in the trees.The water gave a tireless melody. The bird song topped it off. “Can you hear the water?”
    â€œWhen I’m this close I can. I remember as a kid hearing it long before I reached the opening.”
    â€œWhy aren’t trees growing here?”
    He put down the basket, opened it and brought out a red-and-white checked tablecloth. Shaking it out to spread on the ground, he said, “No one knows. But as long as I’ve been coming here it’s been open like this. Almost as if there’s something in the soil toxic