Bluebells on the Hill Read online

  Quickly Amanda donned a pair of shorts and a brief top. Taking a blanket from the bed, she stretched out on her deck her legs and arms exposed to the sun. She knew better than to stay out too long; the air was thinner at this elevation, affording less protection from the sun's rays. Gradually she relaxed, letting her thoughts drift, fully at ease in the heat of the day. Conscious of the time, she turned over, then dozed for a little while.

  The hum of the pick-up truck brought her awake as it raced up the drive. She opened sleepy eyes and watched through the railing posts as it passed. No stopping at her place this time.

  Aware of the warmth of her skin, Amanda rose and went inside. She had not deliberately stayed outside until he returned. But she couldn’t help wonder where he’d gone. Did he stop by the real estate office? Learn more about Cora’s disposition of the house? She'd love to have been there when he found out.

  Two days later Amanda decided she was ready to explore her new environs. Dressed in the inevitable jeans and cotton top, she walked down her track to the main drive. Left to the highway? Or right to see where Mac lived? Her heart sped up a little at the thought of confronting her neighbor again. Maybe another day. She'd opt for the highway now. She had no place to go and all day to do so. Walking would be good exercise.

  It was pleasant walking along the gravel drive, the air clean, scented with pine and cedar. The heat of the previous two days not in evidence yet. It was a wonderful change from city pollution. She pushed the tinted glasses up on her nose again; they had a tendency to slide down.

  A hat. That's what she needed. Maybe she could walk to town one day this week and get one. It’d shelter her from the hot sun, as well as provide relief from the glare.

  Reaching the highway, she turned right, away from town, and ambled along the shoulder of the road, exploring as she walked. The road lay in the sun, with dappled shade in long splotches as the trees sheltered it here and there. The day was warm, but not hot. Now and then Amanda heard a rustle in the undergrowth. She’d stop quickly, peering in the direction of the sound, trying to see what it was. The only animals she saw, however, were the gray squirrels chattering in the trees. She looked in vain for a deer. How complete the walk would be if she could sight one.

  A slight dip in the highway and Amanda came to a bridge spanning a large creek. Water tumbled over rocks and rushed around large bleached boulders as it scurried on its way to the sea. She stopped to watch. Its melody was pleasant, soothing. The rapids and eddies mesmerizing. Why was the sound of water so peaceful? For many long minutes she stood and gazed in delight, lost in thought.

  Rousing herself at last, Amanda left the road to follow the stream upward for a short distance. She suspected it might even be the one that crossed her property and, if it were, she could follow it home. It was easy to walk along the bank; the ground was not particularly steep, nor overgrown, the gurgle and splashes of the tumbling water a wonderful background sound as she moved deeper into the forest. The words and melody of a new song began forming in her head. When she reached home, she'd try them out with her guitar. Repeating the phrases over and over, she wished she had brought pen and paper. Still, by repeating it enough, she wouldn't forget. An entire verse fell into place. She tried humming a little of the melody: it would work. It sounded good.

  Softly she sang the words to the tune, over and over. That would have to do until she could put it down permanently on paper.

  As if awakening from a dream, she stopped suddenly and took stock of where she was. She had wandered a long distance from the highway. Directly before her was another bridge, a wooden one this time. It looked old and somehow not substantial enough to bear any weight. She climbed up from the stream bank to stand on the planking. The road leading to it was graveled, not paved.

  Oh, oh, she thought. From behind her came the roar of a familiar engine.

  Resignedly she stood her ground as the old, gray pick-up rounded the bend, slowing to a stop at the bridge's edge.

  'You're trespassing,' came a voice she knew.

  Walking up to the window on the driver's side, she replied, 'I know. I was following the stream up from the highway. No harm done.'

  The green eyes studied her. His jaw had not relaxed. Amanda's spirits sank.

  'I didn't bother anything,' she said quietly.

  'Never said you did,' was the reply. 'Get in and I'll take you up to the house. I have something to talk to you about.'

  Why not? She walked around to get into the truck. It might be interesting to see where the dreaded Mac lived. She smiled at her fancy. Dreaded Mac indeed. He was only a bad-tempered, cross old man. Well, she corrected herself, not so old either, maybe thirty-five or so.

  She slammed the door and they started. The bridge creaked ominously to Amanda's ear, but Mac seemed unconcerned. Once safely across, she looked eagerly about her as the drive continued through the forest, climbing gently.

  'You on something?' he asked.

  'What?' She swung her gaze to him.

  'Meth users and drug addicts wear sunglasses all the time to protect their eyes from the sun.'

  'Well, I'm not on anything!' she snapped. 'Millions of people also wear sunglasses just to cut the sun's glare.'

  'Yes.' He did not sound convinced.

  Amanda gave him a hard look. Gone was the tranquility, the exhilaration she had felt on her walk, the delight with the new song. Oh, drat the man, he was irritating!

  The truck ground up a final, steep rise, coming to rest on the plateau before a large house.

  Amanda sat spellbound. The house was rambling, with lots of glass. There was no question why: the view was breathtaking. The land fell away on the far side of the house, to open up the vista for endless miles. Tree-covered mountain after tree-covered mountain rose in the distance, a bluish haze blurring their outlines, blurring, but by no means obliterating. In the far distance, lofty snow-capped peaks raised their heads, gleaming brightly against deep blue sky. Amanda was breathless with the beauty of it.

  To the right, some distance from the house, were stables and corrals. Horses raised their heads to look at the truck. But she didn’t notice, she was fascinated by the setting of the house.

  'Come on in, I'll get you a drink or something.' Mac got out and waited in front of the truck for her to join him.

  Amanda reluctantly opened her door. She would much rather just drink in this view. It was fantastic! She had heard the Sierra Nevada range was considered one of the loveliest mountain ranges in the world. Vistas like this one would certainly reinforce that opinion.

  Meekly she followed Mac into his house, vaguely aware of music as they approached the door. Opening it, Mac muttered something and strode in ahead of her.

  It was the first time outside of a rehearsal hall or review session that Amanda had heard herself sing on a record. She cocked her head, smiling, listening. It wasn't bad.

  'Shut that thing off!' Mac roared, slapping his hand on one of the doors leading from the main room.

  Almost immediately, the sound diminished. Diminished, but was not extinguished.

  Amanda looked at Mac with surprise. Was it the song he disliked, or music in general? Maybe just the volume. It had been loud.

  Mac continued to the back of the room, pausing to glance back at Amanda still by the front door.

  'You can move, you know. What do you want to drink?'

  She bristled at his comment. Graciousness obviously was not one of his traits. 'Coke,' she replied.

  When he left the room, she exhaled a sigh of relief. Why was she so uptight in his presence? Granted, he rubbed her the wrong way, but that was no reason to let him get to her. Get hold of yourself, girl, she admonished.

  Refusing to let his remark rankle, she moved slowly into the living room. It was casually furnished, with good quality, rugged pieces. The upholstery on some of the furniture was bold and distinctive, vibrant blues and golds contrasting with the dark, natural wood. It was pleasant and inviting. Amanda thought someone o
ther than the disapproving owner must have decorated it.

  She was drawn to the window on the left wall. It was large, wide, overlooking the view she had seen from the truck. Amanda stood in awe. The distant mountains rose to the sky, acres and acres of trees blanketed the nearer ones. From this vantage point, she realized the land did not drop off abruptly on the far side of the house, but rather gradually descended until it again met the forest. Two fenced fields with horses dozing in the afternoon sun encompassed most of the grassy area stretched out behind the house. To the far right, she could glimpse the barn.

  She heard the firm stride of his step as Mac returned. Turning from the window, she moved to the sofa quickly sitting, watching him warily as he entered the room.

  He had a Coke can and glass in one hand, a beer in the other. Seeing her, he raised an eyebrow.

  'We're inside now, no sun.' He looked pointedly at her glasses.

  Raising her hand, Amanda pushed them firmly up on her nose, not tempted by his taunt. The door on the opposite wall opened and a tall, lanky teenager emerged. Faint strains from another of her recent records wafted out.

  'Turn that thing off, can't you?' Mac growled out.

  The boy looked at him and smiled cheekily.

  'Yeah, but when it's finished. Who's this?' He turned to Amanda. He was tall and very thin, with reddish hair and pale blue eyes. Amanda judged him to be near sixteen years of age, but couldn't be sure. She was not particularly good at guessing ages.

  'I'm Mandy Smith.' She stood and held out her hand. Would he recognize her from the CD cover?

  'Probably made up,' he replied, winking at her, grasping her hand in a firm handshake.

  'Is that what you think?' Amanda was surprised. Good heavens, he was as bad as Mac!

  'Not me,' he protested laughing.

  Amanda spun to Mac. 'Is that what you think, then?' When he made no reply, she continued, 'At least I gave you a name. I don't know yours.'

  'You do, you said it the other day at Cora's.'

  'Mac, that's all, and I guessed that. Don't you have another? A first, or last?'

  'Oh boy, that's good! So much for teaching me manners, Dad,' the boy jeered.

  Dad! This was certainly a day for surprises. Amanda looked from one to the other. Father and son. They didn't look it, except for maybe height. Mac was much more substantial, more rugged. The boy's features, while still youthfully immature, were more finely drawn. She wondered how old Mac was, she would have to revise her estimate. He didn't look older than thirty-five, yet to be the father of this boy ...

  'My apologies, Miss Smith. I'm John Mackenzie This is my son, John-Michael,' Mac replied in an angry voice. Turning to his son, he continued, 'Did you get the stable mucked out like I asked?'

  'Yeah, it's done. I'm going to get a Coke. Don't let my old man bully you, Miss Smith.' He smiled at her, swung wide when passing his father, headed to the kitchen.

  Mac put the drinks on the table before the sofa. 'Want a glass?'

  'No, the can is fine. Do you have any other children, Mr Mackenzie?'

  He smiled sardonically. 'Mac'll do. I have no intention of calling you Miss Smith for the short time we'll know each other.'

  She took a long drink of the Coke, letting the provocative remark slide. What did he want? Why was she here? She glanced at him again, glad for the sunglasses sheltering her a little from him. His presence was overpowering. She needed all the defenses she could muster.

  Mac removed his hat, tossing it on a table near the door, running the fingers of his right hand through the flattened copper-colored waves. Amanda felt an involuntary stirring of interest. He was devastatingly attractive. She hadn’t noticed his hair before because of his hat. What a striking combination with his tanned skin and green eyes. Did the man realize it? Was he aware of the sheer animal magnetism he radiated?

  Amanda didn’t like him, but couldn't help herself wondering what it would be like to be kissed by him, to be held in his arms . .. Stop it! She took a long sip of Coke, forcing her eyes away, forcing her thoughts elsewhere.

  He sat in a chair near the sofa, motioning her to resume her seat. Gingerly, she sat on the edge, conscious of the rising tension in the room.

  'I won't beat about the bush. I want your property. I thought Cora had let you rent it to torment me, but on checking with Martin and verifying it in the county records in San Andreas, I find the property now belongs to you. I want it. How much?'

  Amanda took another sip. 'It's not for sale,' she said quietly.

  John-Michael entered the room with the loose- jointed gait peculiar to teenagers the world over. He paused, looking at his father, then Amanda.

  'Did I interrupt something?'

  'No.' Amanda took a final sip, putting her can down. 'Your father wanted to talk about buying my land. It's not available, so end of conversation.' To Mac she said, 'Thanks for the drink. See you.'

  She rose and smiled at John-Michael. 'I love your taste in music,' she said with secret delight. She was chancing recognition but she couldn't resist.

  Mac also rose, but no smile crossed his face. 'Is that your final word? Not for sale?'

  She nodded.

  'I think you should reconsider.' Was it a veiled threat?

  'You have such a way with words, Mr. Mackenzie. Is that a threat?'

  'No, just advice.'

  'I'll keep it in mind. I'm going now. Thanks again for the Coke.'

  Amanda moved determinedly to the door. So much for the MacKenzies. She knew he wanted the land, now he knew it was no more available to him than it had been under Cora.

  'Goodbye, Miss Smith,' John-Michael called.

  'Bye.'

  Amanda was a hundred yards down the drive before she realized she hadn’t met Mrs. Mackenzie. Nor, come to that, even heard her mentioned. Was she away? Or was there no Mrs. Mackenzie? She shrugged. What did it matter? She would probably not see much of her new neighbors.

  She paused once again to let her eyes take in the beautiful view, a quick glance at the modern house, before setting off for home, drawing peace and strength from the serenity of the land she was passing through. Soon the words to the song crowded her mind again. Amanda quickened her step. She wanted to write them down before they faded away.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Amanda strummed the chord again; again. Now from the beginning. She played the melody more confidently this time, sang the new words softly, under her breath. No, this part still wasn't quite right. Still didn't flow as well as the rest. She tried another string, another chord. She could hear it in her head, why couldn't she get it right on the guitar? It was frustrating.

  'Hello.'

  Amanda looked up from her concentration to see a horse and rider on the main drive. John-Michael Mackenzie, mounted on a large chestnut horse.

  'Hi, come on over,' she invited, putting the guitar aside. She pushed her glasses on her nose, turned the paper over and watched as John-Michael rode up, dismounted and tied his horse to a post of the railing.

  'I didn't know if you'd be home or not,' he said, joining her on the deck. He was already over six feet tall. Amanda wondered if, when he had filled out, he would approach his father's size.

  'Especially to a Mackenzie,' he added with a grin.

  'Why not to a Mackenzie? I only know two of them and one I think I could like.' Amanda smiled. 'Have a seat.'

  'You play the guitar?' he asked, picking it up and strumming a few times.

  'Yes, do you?'

  'No, I don't play any instrument. I'd like to, though. I can sing a little. Is it hard to learn?'

  'No, it's not. I could start you off, if you like. Much of it’s self-taught, if you stick with it, practice every day. Do you have a guitar?'

  'I could pick one up in town. When can we begin?' He strummed again, then looked up eagerly.

  'Now.' Amanda rose, came around and stood behind him, positioning his hands, placing his fingers in the correct position on the strings.

  'These three
fingers on these three strings, thus,' she pressed the fingers, 'are the C chord. Now strum.' John-Michael did so several times, nodding his head.

  'Now,' she rearranged the fingers, 'try that; it's G.'

  He did, his face lighting up with pleasure. 'I can hear the difference. I'm playing!' He continued to play C and G, alternating back and forth, strumming fast, now slowly, a look of pure happiness on his face.

  Amanda sat back and watched him, remembering when she’d first learned, the excitement she’d felt, the joy of actually making music. She still experienced some of that each time she played and sang. Love of music was not something one outgrew.

  He stopped and looked up, sheepishly shaking his left hand. 'It's a bit of a strain.'

  'Yes, but only until you’re used to it.'

  John-Michael handed the guitar to her. 'Play something for me, please.'

  Amanda hesitated. She was serious in her desire to spend some time away from the crowds and people who knew her as a popular country singer. Yet she had no wish to deny John-Michael's simple request. What could she sing that would not give her away? Dozens of songs filled her head, most of which she had recorded at one time or another.

  She began strumming, then singing. Her husky voice swelling and carrying ... 'Go tell it on the mountains ...'

  John-Michael watched her fingers as she moved through the song, the different strings she pressed as the chords changed. When Amanda finished, she launched into a fast paced melody with fingers racing. It was a difficult piece, ideal for limbering up fingers. She knew she was showing off, but couldn't resist. It wasn't often she had such an appreciative audience of one.

  'Bravo!' John-Michael exclaimed, applauding, when she finished.

  'Not bad,' a nearby voice drawled.

  The couple on the deck turned to see Mac quietly sitting on a large bay beside the other horse. Engrossed in Amanda's song and music, neither had noticed him ride up.

  'Not too bad at all. You ought to try to get a job somewhere,' Mac said, his eyes holding hers.