Bluebells on the Hill (12 page)

'No hurry,' he said, concentrating on the
road.

Amanda remained silent as they negotiated the
turns down the highway to Timber. A new driver did not need
distracting passengers, so she turned her attention to the scenery,
familiar now, as it flashed by.

Joining John-Michael at the truck after her
shopping was finished, Amanda asked if she had time enough to make
a call.

'Sure. Don't you have a phone at home?'

'No, and when I get back, I plan to remedy
that. The phone company said they could install one by then.' It
was another minor inconvenience of living up here.

'Get back? Mandy, you're not leaving?' He
looked at her with a frown. “You just moved here.”

'I’m just making a short trip. That's why I
need to make the phone call today, to confirm travel arrangements.
There's a phone at the bus depot.'

'Yes, I know. One in Chad's too, near the
restrooms.' John-Michael started the truck, pulling carefully out
on to the main street.

'How long will you be gone?' he asked.

'Only a week or so. John-Michael, would you
be able to give me a lift to the bus depot when I leave?'

'I'd be glad to, Mandy. Just let me know
when.'

'You sure it’d be all right with your
father?'

'I don't see why he'd mind. I'll wait for you
here.' He stopped the truck near the phone.

Amanda was relieved to talk with Evie, Dave's
wife, rather than her cousin. Evie didn’t keep her on the phone
long, only verified travel plans and noted when Amanda would be
joining the group. They were meeting in San Francisco, flying from
there to Nashville.

'I'm all set,' Amanda announced, rejoining
John-Michael. 'Thanks for waiting.'

'No problem,” he said. They began the
homeward journey. 'When do you go?'

'Next Tuesday. Will that be a convenient
day?'

'Sure.'

'I'll be back Thursday week, if I can get a
lift back too.'

'Sure. Call me from the bus stop and I’ll
come get you. Do you have our phone number?’

She shook her head.

‘
I’ll give it to you when we reach your
place,” John-Michael said.

John-Michael did not talk the remainder of
the trip back. Amanda watched the pines and madrones pass in a
steady stream as they climbed towards her cabin, a feeling of
gladness, of well-being and happiness expanding within her. She
loved this area. The tall, fragrant trees, the low-lying mountain
misery, the curvy, hilly, narrow roads. A feeling of solitude and
nature that replenished her soul. How glad she was she had stopped
here, had found a small niche in Timber.

'I'll help you carry in your bags,'
John-Michael said as he stopped the engine.

'Thank you, sir.' She smiled at him, struck
again by his resemblance to his father. Deja vu. A tall man helping
her unload her groceries. That time marred by the unexpected and
unexplained arrival of her cousin; by Mac's uncompromising view of
the circumstances. Oddly, he’d not believed her explanation that
Dave was her cousin. Did he still believe the worst of that visit?
Amanda wished she’d explained more fully, wished the opportunity to
do so would come.

'John-Michael, would you and your father care
to join me for dinner tonight? I have spaghetti and owe your Dad a
spaghetti dinner. We’d planned to have one when my cousin showed
up. Your father declined to stay after that. I have plenty for all
of us.'

'Gee, I don't know. We hardly ever go out,
except to Aunt Elizabeth's. I'll ask him, Mandy. But I don't
know.'

'Well, if he can't come, maybe you could,'
she suggested. 'I'd like to have you for dinner even if he doesn’t
show up.'

'I'd like it too, I love spaghetti,' he
replied enthusiastically. 'What time?'

'Six-ish. Bring your guitar and we'll
play.'

'Great! I'll see you then.'

Promptly at six, Amanda heard the truck turn
into the track. She’d changed into clean brushed denim jeans and a
soft blue top which threw her blue eyes into prominence. She
considered leaving her hair loose, but decided against it, too
fearful of looking like the cover of her last CD would jog
John-Michael’s memory. Opening the door, she felt a flush of
happiness as she saw Mac climbing from the driver's seat. He had
come. Behind him, John-Michael followed, carrying his guitar.

'Hello,' she called gaily, a warm smile of
welcome on her face.

'Hello.' Mac's face was grave, but Amanda
wasn’t fooled. She knew he rarely smiled. John-Michael look
happy.

'Red wine.' Mac offered a bottle ‘to Amanda.
'I remember I was to supply that.'

So he’d remembered their other dinner
arrangement. Did he also regret their plans had not materialized
that evening?

'Can we help you do anything?' John-Michael
asked, following Amanda into the kitchen.

'Sure, want to spread the garlic butter on
the sourdough bread? Once we heat it we’ll be ready to eat.'

A pot of spaghetti sauce bubbled lazily on a
back burner, the tantalizing aroma rising made her mouth water.
Once all of them were in the kitchen, the room seemed to shrink.
She was conscious of Mac’s every move. Maybe she should suggest
they wait on the deck.

Mac took off his hat and placed it on an
empty, out of the way spot on the counter. His burnished copper
hair shone in the later afternoon light, thick and wavy, almost
curled where it grew a little longer on his neck. His tan was a
dramatic contrast. Amanda knew she was staring, blushed when his
eyes met, held hers. He was so very attractive. It was with a real
effort that she forced her gaze away, forced herself to remember
her other guest, and get John-Michael started on the bread.

'I was surprised Dad came,' John-Michael
confessed in a low voice. 'I asked him when I got home and he said
yes right away.'

'Well, I'm glad you both could come. I'm not
much of a cook, don't do a lot of it, not worth it for one person.
But I can make spaghetti.'

'How do you manage if you don't cook? I
thought all women cooked,' John-Michael said.

Mac spoke up, the low voice of his son
carrying, 'I thought so, too. You can't? And you invite innocent
people over to eat?' Was that a small twinkle in his eye? Amanda
felt as if she were again confronting a stranger, not the neighbor
she had known for the last few weeks.

'I can manage this dinner,' she replied, 'but
in Los Angeles I eat out a lot, or with friends,' she said
vaguely.

'Is that where you lived before you came
here?' John-Michael asked, handing her the loaf, wrapped in foil,
ready for the oven.

'Yes.'

'Why did you leave?'

'Aside from the aspect of buying this place
simply to annoy me," Mac put in smoothly, crossing his arms and
leaning against the sink. A man with every evidence of enjoying
himself.

She threw him a saucy look, her eyes
sparkling, 'That was just an added stroke of luck. I had no idea
when I bought this property that annoying you would be a part of
it.'

'Speaking of which, I have a proposition to
make to you about this place.'

'Oh, no.' Amanda looked at him, her lips
tightening. Surely he wasn't going to ask her to leave yet again?
She opened her mouth to tell him she did not plan to sell, but he
raised his hand, continuing.

'Hear me out. I want to buy an option on this
place. If and when you ever do sell it, you’ll agree to give me
first crack at it. At the fair market value, of course. That way,
even if you're eighty-three before you’re ready to leave, I will
know I can have the property back eventually.'

She smiled at that.

He did, too, briefly. 'I know, if you wait
until you are eighty-three, I'd be a hundred-and-three, and
probably not here any more, but you know what I mean.'

She nodded. 'I doubt you are that much older
than I am, Mac. You look to be much younger than almost fifty,' she
said drily.

He was startled. 'I'm thirty-eight, how old
are you?'

'Twenty-eight.'

'My compliments, you carry your years well.'
He inclined his head, narrowing his eyes as he studied her.

'Thank you.'

She paused, thinking. From her point of view,
she saw no reason not to take him up on his offer, though if she
continued on the way she had been going, she'd live in Timber the
rest of her life. Of course, she'd travel as part of her job, as
long as the popularity lasted. But she would always be able to come
home between concert tours and recording treks. If she could
further develop her writing skills, eventually she would reduce
personal appearances and concentrate on writing. Maybe. Or maybe
she'd never want to miss out on the exhilaration a live performance
generated.

‘
I don't see any harm in an option.
Though I warn you, I have no plans to sell. I think I've found a
home and I plan to keep it.'

'But just in case.'

'Just in case.' She offered her hand, shook
on the deal. 'So it's a truce, then?'

'Looks like it,' he replied.

'I'll pour the wine and we can drink to it.
John-Michael, hand me a couple of glasses, will you. The small
ones. Sorry I don't have wine goblets.'

John-Michael got the designated glasses from
the cupboard.

'To our new truce,' Amanda said when Mac had
poured their win.

“
To the future,” he returned. They
touched the rims of the glasses and then each took a
sip.

Dinner was quickly ready and on the small
table in the dining area. The spaghetti sauce was thick and rich,
drawing approval and praise from both males. The garlic bread was
crispy on the outside, soft and moist and garlicky on the inside.
The fresh vegetable salad a sampler of vegetables in season.

Once the first hunger pangs had been
satisfied, conversation again resumed. Topics discussed were
general and non-controversial. Except when John-Michael again asked
Amanda what she did for a living. She answered vaguely, and changed
the subject. Mac watched her thoughtfully, but did not follow up on
it. Amanda noticed his forbearance and wanted to clear up any
misunderstandings, but not yet. Mac still thought she was a hippie,
putting her vague answers down to lack of a job. She wished now
she’d thought longer about letting him have that opinion, had not
been so childish as to try to score a point by not correcting him
when he jumped to his erroneous conclusion. Would he understand her
desire for privacy, understand why she went to such lengths to
maintain it, why she was taking a long break from her work in the
first place?

She was conscious throughout the meal of
Mac's brooding gaze on her. Not only when she changed the topic of
conversation from her career, from any job, but constantly. His
eyes followed her throughout the evening. She licked her lips,
tension rising as the meal progressed; as she tried to ignore his
constant surveillance, tried to concentrate on what John-Michael
was discussing. To no avail. Amanda wanted to scream with
self-consciousness. Did she have sauce smeared on her chin? Why was
he so intense?

Dinner finally over, she quickly suggested
they adjourned to the deck for dessert. Twilight would soon fall,
its faint light a shelter from Mac's constant gaze. Amanda darted a
quick glance at him again, her stomach flipping over as she clashed
head on with his eyes. Mesmerized by the brilliant regard, she was
entrapped, unable to tear her gaze away until Mac's eyes dropped to
her mouth, as if reminding her of their exchange by the creek, the
kisses--

'After dessert, we can play for Dad. I'll
show what I've learned,' John-Michael said innocently.

Amanda looked at him questioningly, then
smiled. Oh to be younger and unaware of the atmosphere, the tension
in the air. She was the only one affected. No, a quick glance
proved that, by the tight clenching of his jaw, Mac wasn't as
unconcerned as he would like to appear. Amanda suddenly felt
better.

When the evening was finally over and the
Mackenzie on their way home, Amanda couldn't determine if she was
glad they’d come, or happy the ordeal was over. She would have to
take herself in hand when around Mac Mackenzie. He still didn't
approve wholeheartedly of her and she wasn't sure their new truce
would prove to be the turning point in their relationship.
Especially if he still considered her an unemployed free spirit.
For a man who obviously worked as hard as he did, she could
understand a bit of his view point.

If the opportunity arose, she'd confide in
Mac. The reason she wanted him to know the truth, of all the people
in Timber, she refused to dwell on. She knew she could depend upon
him not to tell anyone if she asked him to keep her identity
confidential. If she could, she wanted to make sure the
misunderstandings and falseness of her position were clarified.

***

Tuesday morning Amanda rose early. She
whisked through the house in a quick clean and tidy campaign. She
would be gone for almost two weeks and didn’t want to leave her
place messy. She glowed with pride as she worked. Her place. What a
nice sound to it. As she polished the chrome on the sink, she
reflected on the circumstances leading to her acquisition of her
new home. That had been a most fortuitous day for her. To find a
place immediately and be able to buy it and move in within such a
short time was nothing short of miraculous. She had found the peace
and relaxation she was seeking--and a new hobby. Panning for gold.
She was again amused, remembering her cousin's reaction when he
found out about it. Well, it would be something she could regale
the band members with. Maybe they'd be amused too.

Shortly before John-Michael was due, she went
to her bedroom window for the last look at her hill. The flowers
would be past their prime soon, fading by the time she returned.
Drinking in her fill, she gazed at the stately trees, the drying
grass and undergrowth, just beginning to turn golden in the summer
sun. She sighed and moved away. How silly, she was only going to be
away for a week or so.