Bluebells on the Hill

by Barbara McMahon

  Gently, in hopes of easing the situation, Amanda teased him. 'Sorry, Mac, compliments won't get you anywhere. This place is mine and will remain so.' She was pleased to see him relax a little.

  'Can't blame a man for trying,' he said. 'I'm off now. John-Michael and I will see you later, then.'

  'Come about six. You can both help me with salad and garlic bread.'

  'I'll bring some wine. It'll round off the meal.'

  'Good, I look forward to it. What's that?'

  An engine could be heard, gravel spinning on the driveway. Moving to the window, Amanda gave a brief exclamation of surprise then, with a lightened heart, dashed out to greet the new arrival, scarcely aware that Mac had followed her out on the deck.

  'Dave, oh, Dave!' She flew to meet the bearded man climbing off the big Harley motorcycle. Swept off her feet by his embrace, she was spun round and round. He gave her a big kiss, setting her down, loosening his hold on her, but keeping his hands locked behind her back, hers around his neck.

  'Hello, Mandy girl. Glad to see me?' he said, with a sweet smile. His hair was the same rich brown as his beard, worn long, brushing his shoulders, kept from his eyes with an old bandana tied like a sweatband. His shirt was faded, partially covered by an old, worn, leather waistcoat. Faded jeans and scruffy boots completed his attire.

  'I sure am. What are you doing here? How did you find me? Oh, it is good to see you. I've missed you. Vacations are fun, but I have missed you all! How is everybody?' She smiled in complete happiness, giving him a hug.

  'What do I answer first? I've come to bring you your blasted banjo, and to see what you are up to.' He looked up and swept his eyes around. 'Oh, oh. Who's the dude on the porch? Is he mad at you or me?'

  Amanda turned to find Mac's glaring at her. Gingerly she disengaged herself from Dave's embrace, a sinking in the pit of her stomach. Just when she thought she was getting somewhere with her neighbor, he had to see this. No telling what conclusions he was jumping to.

  She glanced quickly at Dave and winced just a little. If she ever wanted to convince Mac they were hippies, now was the time. Dave had patches on his denims, old western shirt, and a stained bandana. He looked totally disreputable. No matter that he was a wealthy member of her troupe, responsible and respected in the music industry, or that he was from a good family in Colorado. Mac would think the worst. She turned back. So much for her incognito summer. She'd have to explain.

  Mac descended the steps and moved to his truck, his face set with stern disapproval.

  'Mac,' she called bravely. 'I'd like you to meet Dave. This is a neighbor of mine, Dave, Mac Mackenzie. He just gave me a lift to town.' She trailed off as Mac disdainfully regarded the two of them briefly before climbing into his truck.

  She moved quickly to the window. 'Please, Mac, won't you stay? I can explain.'

  'I think not. You'll understand why we won't join you for dinner, too. Though I'm sure you'll not miss our company tonight with your visitor.'

  'But the spaghetti...'

  'So long, Miss Smith.' He slammed the truck into gear and jerked back.

  'What's all that about?' Dave asked, joining her as the gray pick-up made the turn up the driveway.

  She sighed and turned, linking her arm with his. "Nothing. Just an impossible man ... that I wish I knew better.'

  She smiled at Dave. 'Tell me about Evie and everything. Did you really come to bring the banjo or to check up on me? And from where? You didn't drive all the way from L.A. on that bike?'

  'No, of course not. It's Marc's. I picked it up at his place in San Francisco. That's far enough. It took almost three hours to get here. And, yes, I came to check up on you, and I brought the banjo, and messages from the gang. How's the vacation? Looks like it is doing you good. You look terrific.'

  'It is. Oh, Dave, come and see my house,' she invited proudly. 'It's going to be nice, I think, though there's loads to do yet. But I'm in no hurry. I like the planning and dreaming. And I've written a couple of songs, as I told you on the phone. I want your opinion, of course. But I think they’re good. I may write a dozen before the summer is over. Come on in. This is my living room.'

  Amanda proudly showed off her place, ending her tour in the kitchen. Chatting with Dave while she put away the groceries, anxious for the messages he relayed from the others in the band, and his wife, Evie. They discussed their forthcoming trip to Nashville, plans to meet in San Francisco to fly east together.

  Finally Amanda played the new songs for him. He listened without comment, without expression. Only when she had finished the last notes of the second song did he speak enthusiastically.

  'They’re good, sweetheart! That first one should go to the top. They’re like some of your earlier ones -- Sing the Mountain Down for instance-- yet different enough not to be repetitions of other songs. I think they'll do great. If vacations do this for you, take two or three a year.'

  'I'm so glad you liked it, cousin. I thought they were pretty good, but I can't always tell. I knew you'd tell me true.'

  ' Of course I will. We don't want any clunkers. Got any more songs?'

  'In my head. I'll have another before Nashville probably.' She put the guitar aside. 'Okay. You've given me the messages from everyone else, now tell me how you and Evie are doing. How's the baby? Everything okay?'

  Evie was Dave's wife, pregnant with their first child. Amanda and Dave, first cousins, had been best friends since childhood. He’d been with her the entire time she’d been singing; making arrangements, leading the band, protecting his cousin.

  Evie had been a devoted fan who had asked for an autograph when they had played in Dallas a couple of years ago. She began dating Dave, then married him. Amanda was fond of her and pleased for Dave in his happiness. The expected child was looked forward to eagerly by the whole troupe. Amanda hoped the arrival of the baby might cause Dave to want to travel less, as she herself was ready to settle a little bit. Fewer weeks on the road would suit her fine. Especially since she had her own place now to care for, to work on.

  They talked fast and furiously, catching up on all the news as if they had been parted months, instead of weeks. Making plans for the autumn tour, future concerts.

  Amanda cooked the spaghetti, with only a small pang of regret that Mac and John-Michael would not be there to share it with her. She and Dave ate; but there was no wine.

  Dave stayed the night, slept on the narrow bed in the second bedroom. His view was different from Mandy's, so he duly admired the scene from her bedroom window the next morning before leaving early for his return journey. He smiled indulgently at his cousin's enthusiasm for the bluebells on the hill. A flower was a flower to him.

  'I'm so glad you came,' Amanda said, hugging him goodbye. 'I'll see you in a couple of weeks in San Francisco.'

  'Right. Take care of yourself. Hey, Mandy.' He tilted her chin up gently. 'Don't go falling for that bad-tempered neighbor of yours, you hear?'

  She flushed a little. 'I'm not.'

  He frowned. 'Not convincing. If you do, I'll talk to him. He'd better do you right.'

  'Yes, Papa,' she replied saucily.

  He smacked her bottom. 'You behave.' A quick kiss, a wave and with a roar the motorcycle came to life and off he spun. Amanda waved goodbye until he was out of sight. She was so very fond of her cousin Dave.

  She felt a little lost when he first left, pottering around for a while, nothing holding her attention. Finally, she grabbed her pan and headed for the creek. The great gold discovery just might be today! How Dave had laughed last night when she told him of her panning activity. She didn't care. She found it relaxing and she loved it.

  Soon, lost in the concentration of panning, she swirled the water, flushing out the sand and grit, the gurgling of the stream a pleasant melody, blocking out cares and worries. Its soothing rhythm was soporific to her. She lost track of time.

  A shadow on the water caused her to look up. Startled, she found herself gazing into the glittering eyes of Mac Ma
ckenzie. Nearby, tethered to a tree, was the lovely bay gelding he rode. She was surprised; she had not heard their approach.

  'Good morning,' she said, standing. Oh, her knees were stiff, her back sore.

  'What are you doing?'

  'Panning for gold.' What did it look like, she wondered.

  'Is that how you plan to make your living here?'

  'No.'

  He waited a moment, but when she added nothing to that, he spoke again. 'Did your friend leave?'

  'Yes.' Should she try to explain now that Dave was her cousin?

  'This morning?' Mac ground out as if goaded.

  'Yes, this morning. We missed you last night,' she taunted, 'the spaghetti was delicious.'

  'Dessert, too, I imagine.'

  She looked puzzled. They hadn’t had dessert; Dave didn't especially like ice cream. As she looked at Mac, a small flicker of fear ran through her when he stepped on the rocks, advancing deliberately towards her, carelessly disregarding the water splashing on his boots. Coming right up to her. Crowding her on her rock.

  'Sorry I missed it last night. I'll have my share now.' He reached out and caught her arms, pulling her ruthlessly up against him, finding her mouth with his, kissing her , his lips forcing hers against her teeth. A punishing display of male physical strength.

  After only a moment of shocked paralysis, Amanda struggled to pull free, pushing against him, twisting, kicking, but to no avail. His fingers bit hard into her arms, his head forcing hers back until she thought her neck would break. Finally, eons later, he released her.

  'I should have come last night,' he said provocatively, anger evident on his face.

  'In a pig's eye,' she spat, jerking away from him. The movement caught her off balance and, with an involuntary shriek, she fell backwards into the creek. The icy water knocked the breath from her. While the water wasn’t deep, it was sufficient to cushion her from the sharp rocks and to soak her thoroughly with the icy liquid swirling and splashing around her. She sat up, shaking water from the eyes.

  'Next time be more generous with your favors,' Mac said.

  'No favors,' she gritted, sitting in the cold water as it raced around her. 'Dave's my cousin.'

  'And I'm your Uncle Fred,' he retorted.

  Amanda looked up in surprise, a small gurgle of laughter escaping as she struggled to stand against the stream's pull. 'I don't have an Uncle Fred.'

  'Maybe you should. Here.' Mac held out a strong hand, helping her back on to the flat rock. Water streamed from her.

  'Mac,' she said sweetly, opening her eyes wide and coming closer. Her shirt and shorts dripped water, droplets glistening on her arms and legs.

  'Next time you kiss someone, use a little more gentleness,' she said in a sultry tone as she moved up to him, offering her lips, swaying towards him with a come-hither look.

  He took her gently, lowering his lips against hers again. Amanda moved quickly into his arms, encircling his neck with her wet hands, pressing herself against the length of him, feeling him shrink back from her dripping clothes. She pressed closer. Let him share the icy water. She was freezing!

  As his lips moved persuasively against hers, she forgot the revenge she had tried. Forgot all else save the feel of his mouth against hers, moving gently now. Now exciting. His lips warm and firm, moving against hers. She gave herself up to the enjoyment of the embrace.

  'You're a brat,' Mac said against her lips after a long moment.

  'Mm.' She did not want to loosen contact.

  ‘I'm all wet.'

  Another gurgle of laughter bubbled up, escaped. She was thrust unceremoniously back, still laughing. Mac's shirt and jeans were both wet where she had pressed against him. She laughed at the sight, pleased to see he was as soaked as she was—at least in spots. Next time, maybe he wouldn't be so quick to think he could get away with anything.

  His eyes narrowed dangerously, taking in her pleased expression. He glanced arrogantly down the length of her, at the damp cloth molding her figure like a second skin, raising his eyes to meet hers.

  'On second thoughts, maybe I should forget about taking this property and take you instead.' He drew a finger insolently along the neckline of her shirt, trailing it down to the V of her breasts.

  Angrily she knocked his hand away.

  'You arrogant swine.'

  'Oh, I don't know,' he said easily. 'You felt pretty compliant a minute ago.'

  Amanda's eyes raked him as they stood there, taking in the casual, arrogant stance of the man, the outline of her own body still visible in the damp of his shirt.

  'See? Visible evidence,' he mocked as her eyes traced the damp spots.

  'You ... You arrogant .. .' she sputtered for words, 'cowboy pig!'

  He roared with laughter at her effort, infuriating Amanda.

  In an instant, almost without thought, she stooped, swept up a load of water in her pan and threw it full in his face, soaking him with the icy spray.

  'Maybe that'll wash the thought from your mind,' she said from between clenched teeth.

  The ominous, angry look in his eye made her step back, eying the stream bed for a means of escape, or a weapon. A rock?

  'I wouldn't pick one up, if I were you, unless you were sure you would use it,' he threatened, aware of her intent.

  'I'd be sure,' she lied. Holding the pan before her as if warding off a sword, she glanced quickly around. 'I believe you’re on my property, Mr Mackenzie. Would you be kind enough to leave.' Sarcastic words which she hoped would veil her own uncertainty.

  Amanda did not run into individuals like this in the entertainment field. An occasional drunk trying to be too amorous; an over-enthusiastic fan; but something Amanda could deal with. Here she was decidedly at a disadvantage.

  He held her eyes as he answered. 'Point taken, Miss Smith. Though I would mention to you that people up here are more polite. It’s usually perfectly acceptable to cross someone's land, as long as no harm is done.'

  No harm done! Amanda wondered when she could fully assess all the damage.

  He turned and easily negotiated the stream bed, leisurely moving to his horse. Amanda pointedly ignored him, gathering her things to head for home to dry off. What gall! Just because she had had a male guest for dinner last night, and a cousin to boot, did not give Mac any right to her favors, as he said. Arrogant beast!

  She stormed home as he rode in the opposite direction, but Amanda couldn't erase the memory of Mac's embrace as easily as she should have. Taking a hot shower to warm up, she found herself dwelling on the second kiss, the sweetness of his lips against hers, of his arms holding her close. Her heart skipped a beat. What had started as revenge for his first savage assault, had turned out to be something she had wished would go on and on. Would the opportunity ever arise again? Did she want it to?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Amanda did not pan for gold for the next two days. She stayed close to her house, as if the walls themselves would hide her and protect her against further onslaughts from the opposition. More than once, however, she found herself lost in a daydream involving herself and Mac, ending with another kiss. They were harmless fantasies, she told herself, a purely physical reaction, and dreaming about them would get them out of her system. Probably.

  Music resounded from her fingers as she picked out complex melodies for the guitar. New words and tunes crowded her mind and she set them down for further work. She was glad for the time to lose herself in her music, for the time devoted strictly to the discipline and the challenge. The pages of words and notes grew as she experimented with different phrases, different melodies, keeping the ones she liked, throwing aside anything that didn't sound as good on the second day.

  She was relaxed, content to enjoy her lazy days, the quiet, slow pace of life, only vaguely conscious of a nagging feeling of something missing.

  The afternoon was warm and still when Amanda tipped back in her chair and reached for her guitar again. Idly she picked out the tune echoing in her head. Sh
e ought to write it down. It could be another big hit. But she hesitated. It was not clearly defined, yet, she told herself. And if the words were what she felt, she was not ready for the world to know it. She wasn't sure she knew it. Besides, as often as she had heard the words in her head the last few days, and played it, she doubted she'd ever forget. She'd wait a while before writing it down. No rush. It was too frail to stand up alone, too precious to be exposed to the critical attention of another listener.

  Soon, maybe. For now, it was only for her.

  'La la la-la-la, Um, mmm,' she hummed, putting words to the melody. Playing it over and over, never tiring of the repetition, pausing only a moment before beginning yet again.

  During one of the pauses, the soft clop clop of a horse's walk penetrated her absorption. From the sound of it, Mac was riding this way. She smiled with anticipation, sat a little straighter in her chair. Briefly she wished she had brushed her hair. It look better flowing than tied back. Too late now.

  How to play this meeting? Icy indignation? Cool unconcern, or tepid friendship? One thing, Amanda did not believe she could pretend nothing had happened. As if that the kisses at the creek had never been.

  She was surprised at the disappointment that flooded through her when John-Michael rode into view. It was not Mac after all, but his son, riding his sleek chestnut. His legs dangled down, a guitar slung across his back. With a small sigh, Amanda forced her face into a smile and waved. No reason to take her disappointment out on John-Michael.

  'Hi,' he called as he approached. 'Got time for a lesson?'

  'Sure do.' Bless his heart, he asked for little, and took such great delight in the lessons she gave.

  He slid off the horse, tethered it to the bottom post of the stair railing, and climbed the steps.

  'Your horse? I've seen it before,' Amanda asked, nodding to the chestnut nibbling at the grass near the cabin.

  'One of ours. Dad raises horses, you know, so we always have them around.' He drew one of the chairs closer to Amanda.

  'Been practicing much?' she asked as he settled in.