Bluebells on the Hill (10 page)

'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. She 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.

'Not as much as I'd like,' John-Michael
replied, strumming a little. 'My old man's been on my case the last
couple of days. "Do this, do that. Is such-and- such taken care
of?" Jeez, it's enough to drive me crazy. He's dead set against the
guitar, too. He didn't seem to mind so much when I started, but now
it's "You'll never make a living with that. If you'd spend as much
time on your school work as you do on that damn fool guitar, you'd
do better." Gosh, Mandy, school's not even in session!'

She smiled. 'Did you tell him that?'

'Yes. He blew up.' John-Michael stared off
into space as if reliving the incident. He shifted in his chair and
looked at Amanda. 'I don't care, though. It's not hurting anyone if
I learn to play.' John-Michael shrugged. 'He doesn't like me much
anyway.'

'Oh, John-Michael, I'm sure that is not
true.' Amanda was quick to respond. She couldn’t bear that
John-Michael felt that way. 'Sometimes parents and teenagers don't
get along so well for a time, but it's not for lack of love, just
want of a little understanding. I know you have heard of the
generation gap. Some of it’s actually based on fact. Different
generations look at things differently. It is a function of the
time in which you do your growing up.'

'I don't know. He's been especially awful the
last couple of days.'

Amanda suspected the incident at the creek
had something to do with intensifying Mac's anti-guitar stance. Mac
had asked her to refrain from leading John-Michael on with foolish
dreams, but had not forbidden lessons. Why be so down on the boy at
home? She watched the pleasure on John-Michael's face as he
struggled to master the music. He liked it. It wasn't hurting
anyone, and she would continue the lessons unless specifically
requested to desist by Mac. Or if John-Michael changed his
mind.

'It sounds good,' Amanda said a few minutes
later. 'Ready for some more chords? Get these mastered and we'll
start picking and developing a good repertoire of songs you can
play anywhere.'

'Good. I'll like that. Were you playing when
I got here?' he asked, eying the papers on the table.

'Not exactly. Jotting down some music. I
write a little,' she replied modestly.

'No kidding? How do you think up the
tunes?'

She shrugged. 'I just hear them in my head
and write what I hear. Do you want to write?'

'Naw. I just want to play for fun. Dad's all
worried I'll run off and try to make it big as a singer.' He shook
his head again.

'You don't want to try?'

'No, I want to be a rancher like Dad. I don't
know if I can, though. He gets annoyed with me so much. I try to do
what he wants, but all I seem to do lately is annoy him. I don't
know why. But the music business would be too hard, I think. Too
much competition, cut-throat dealings. A lot of traveling.'

'It has its rewards,' she said gently. 'But I
think you're wise to stick to something you know you’ll like and
can be good at doing.'

'I guess. Okay, show me the new chords.'

Amanda enjoyed the time she spent with
John-Michael, in spite of her initial disappointment. He was
bright, pleasant and enthusiastic. Eager to learn all she could
teach him, he was attentive and quick to pick up on all the
pointers she gave. They tried several different songs, Amanda
playing along slowly with John-Michael. They sang together loudly
and with a lot of gusto until John-Michael stopped during one song,
watching and listening to Amanda as she finished.

‘
You’re good,' he said when she paused,
still strumming her guitar.

Abruptly she stopped. Had he made any
connection? She wanted to remain plain Mandy Smith. She forced a
smile, laying down the instrument. 'Thanks. I got the banjo. Want
to see it?' Not waiting for a reply, she jumped up and went inside
to get it. Of all the people to guard against, the one person in
Timber she knew listened to her recordings, had her songs in his
home. She had better watch herself or she’d for sure blow her
cover.

As she grabbed her banjo,
she wondered if the knowledge of who she was would affect the
friendship she and John-Michael were building. Maybe she was making
too much of this identity business. Still, it was hard to break old
ideas. For the last few years, the only people she really felt
comfortable with, felt were her true friends, were the ones she’d
known before she had made it big. Before
Amanda
became a nationally known
name.

Still wary, she'd hold off on any revelations
for a while.

John-Michael was still practicing the new
chords when she went back to the deck. He glanced up and smiled
uncertainly, watching her closely as she sat down.

'You want to try it?' she offered.

'No, maybe later. Play something.'

'Sure--how about Oh, Susannah?'

'Good.'

As Amanda played the familiar tune,
John-Michael's face brightened. He softly slapped his hand against
his knee in time with the music. From that favorite to others,
Amanda played one after the other. Humming along, but not singing.
Finally, after a medley of Stephen Foster songs, she lay back in
her chair, flexing her fingers.

'Whew, I haven't done that much in an long
time.'

'You’re great! How long have you been
playing? You ought to try it professionally.'

She smiled. 'I've been playing since I was a
kid, younger than you. My cousins and I were always trying to outdo
each other. These strings can hurt after a while. You want to
try?'

'Yes, though just to fool around with.'
John-Michael took the banjo and tried out a few tentative strokes,
trying the chords, different strumming rhythms. Looking up to
Amanda, he said, 'You're right, my fingers hurt already. When I get
better, I want to expand to this, too. I like guitar better,
though.'

'Me, too. Want some lemonade?'

'I've got to be going. Thank you for the
lesson.' He stood up, a tall, lanky boy. Before many years, he'd
fill out and become a man in similar stature to his father. Amanda
felt a small pang. Would she know him then? She rose with him and
walked him to the top of the steps.

'It's a lovely horse,' she admired.

'Yeah, thanks. He's the one I ride the most.
I like him too. He's only seven. Born on the ranch. I've raised and
trained him myself.'

'Looks as if you've done a good job. Do you
raise anything besides horses? Any cattle?'

Amanda was rather surprised they had a
working ranch. The majority of the land she had seen was so wooded
she didn't think it would provide enough pasture for horses. Still,
she remembered the rolling, grassy hill falling away from Mac's
hilltop home. Maybe there were hidden acres of open pasture that
she hadn’t seen.

'No, we raise horses, except for the few head
of cattle for our own use. We provide the horses mainly to rodeos
and mounted police.'