Bluebells on the Hill (8 page)

'Did his wife not want custody of her son?'
Amanda asked. These days it was becoming more and more common for
the father to gain custody of his children when families separated,
but not twelve years ago.

'No. Being a mother wasn't what Liza wanted.
I think that was the major factor in her leaving. She'd had enough.
Mac thought differently, but who's to say. But I digress. It's this
year's festival I must work on. Will you play and sing for us?'

'I might be able to,' Amanda replied, still
reluctant to commit herself. 'May I let you know?'

'Yes, I suppose so. I do hope you will. It’d
be such a relief to have that part taken care of. I was hoping to
have your answer today, but as soon as you let me know will have to
do. John-Michael says you have a good voice and Mac said you
excelled in playing the guitar. I'm sure you could find songs to
sing, maybe a dozen or so? It would not be too arduous and would be
such a help.'

Amanda smiled. 'We'll see.'

'I'll be satisfied with that,' Elizabeth
Burke said.

A shadow fell in the doorway. 'Satisfied with
what?' a deep voice asked.

Amanda looked up to find green eyes
glittering down on her.

'Hello, Mac,' Elizabeth said, turning in her
chair to see her nephew standing in the open doorway.

'I didn't hear your truck,' Amanda commented.
'Did you walk down?'

He shook his head slowly, and entered. 'No, I
was going up the drive and saw Elizabeth's car. Wondered what she
was doing here.'

'Well, after you and John-Michael told me how
well Mandy sings and plays the guitar, it occurred to me she might
be able to help out for the festival. Since the Renaldis can't
come, I was asking Mandy to sing as the main entertainment,'
Elizabeth explained.

Amanda watched Mac as Elizabeth explained.
Oddly, she felt a little piqued that he didn't draw a connection
between her name and the fact that she sang. So much for her fame
preceding her.

Mac glanced derisively at
Amanda. 'Could you put on a show for the whole town?' he asked.
'Plan it out and carry it through?' His look raked her,
layabout hippie ne'er-do-well
echoing in the air.

The last three words brought a determined
lift to Amanda's chin. 'Of course I could.' She paused a moment.
Don't let him provoke you, she cautioned herself. More calmly, she
continued, 'I have done a performance or two before. I play with a
few others, actually. Cousins, you see. We have a small band and
... and play for people.' She finished lamely. It was true. She
played with her back-up band sometimes, usually just for fun now,
rarely any more at a performance. But when they’d started, she had
played lead guitar.

'A band?' Elizabeth's face lit up.
'Wonderful! Could they come and play too? Oh, Mac, that would be
grand entertainment, don't you think?'

'I think that's your concern, Elizabeth. I
don't hold much with the festival,' he replied

'It wasn't the festival's fault Liza ran
off,' she snapped back. 'Doug Rosefeld was in and out all the time
to see Cora. Liza was taken with his charm and carefree attitude
towards life. You were always so serious. It was just unlucky they
went off together at the festival.'

Mac's lips tightened, but he made no
reply.

'How's John-Michael?' Amanda tactfully
changed the subject.

'Wasting his time fooling with that guitar,'
he said, turning his displeasure back on her.

'He might become good at it,' Amanda offered,
not intimidated by his attitude.

'So what? So he can drop out of life and play
all day like some damned hippie?'

'Doug was not a hippie,' Elizabeth said. 'He
was an actor. He lives a rather Bohemian existence, granted. But,
please, Mac, not a hippie.'

Amanda widened her eyes. Was that the basis
of Mac's animosity towards her? Her lifestyle, or what he knew of
it, reminded him of the man his wife had run off with? Interesting
insight.

'John-Michael might become a musician. That's
a respectable field,” she said. Just because a person lived a
different lifestyle did not make them a hippie.

'Maybe, but it's not much of a moneymaking
field, or one that offers stability or job growth. I don't know
anyone that makes a decent living at it, do you?'

'Yes, I do,' Mandy replied instantly. 'I know
several people who make a very good living from it.' Me for one,
she wanted to say.

Mac looked skeptical. 'I just hope it is a
passing fad and John-Michael will lose interest before long.'

'It probably won't hurt him,' Elizabeth said,
rising gracefully from the old chair. 'I must be going. It's been a
pleasure meeting you, Mandy. I do hope you’ll sing in our festival
and persuade your friends in the band to join us. Let me know.'

'I will let you know soon, Mrs. Burke.'
Amanda rose to escort her guest to the door. Mac remained standing
solidly where he was.

'Bye, Aunt Elizabeth,' he said as she
passed.

'Goodbye, dear boy. Give my regards to
John-Michael.'

Amanda waved her off from the deck, before
reluctantly returning to the cabin. Mac had remained where she’d
left him.

'Did you want something?' she asked rather
ungraciously, as he made no move to depart.

He looked rather pointedly at her shorts,
displaying her long shapely legs, just beginning to show a tan. He
started to say something, then paused, meeting the defiant stare in
Amanda's eyes.

'I just wanted to make my views clear as
regards John-Michael and his guitar. I don't mind if he learns.
It’ll give him something to do. I will object, however, if it
starts interfering with his work.'

'Work? I thought he was in school.'

'For the summer he's helping me. He'll be
back in school in the fall.'

'What do you do, Mac? I know you own half the
mountain and want it all, but what is your occupation? What is
John-Michael doing to help?'

'I'm a rancher. I raise horses. He's helping
out.'

'Horses? What for?' It was a long way from
Kentucky and race horses.

'Rodeo horses, stock ponies, mounted police
units.' He shrugged it off.

'Mackenzie Horse Ranch, MHR! I've seen your
brands on rodeo horses.' A smile of recognition lit her face. 'You
have quite a reputation in the rodeo circuit; good stock, fair
treatment.'

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her
closely. 'How do you know so much about it?'

'I'm a Colorado girl. Been to many a rodeo
there, and here in California, too.' She cocked her head.

'You've been around for quite a while, or was
it your Dad's first?'

'Dad's first; and I hope to leave it to my
son. If he doesn't get lost in foolish dreams of being a singing
star.'

'And that's why you're here. To make sure he
doesn't,' she guessed. There were worse ways to make a living.

'Yes. I've said I don't mind his learning,
just don't fill his head with dreams and empty visions of
impossible things.' He glanced around contemptuously.

Amanda felt her temper rise. How dare he
sneer at her home. Were material things the only measure of a
person's worth? This place suited her. When she got around to it,
she’d fix it up and make it a lovely home. One he'd not be able to
fault. In the meantime, if she could stand it as it was, who was he
to judge?

She wasn’t responsible for his son. How could
she help what his son thought, what he envisioned. Mac Mackenzie
had some nerve coming here, giving her orders on things he didn't
even know about. She'd fill John-Michael's head with dreams if she
wanted to.

Instantly she felt ashamed. The man was only
asking her co-operation in dealing with his son, in the way he
thought best for the boy. He was probably desperate to enlist her
co-operation. Her temper cooled.

‘
I think you’ve made your point. I'll
keep it in mind,' she said.

'Then there is no need to stay longer.' He
nodded and moved towards the door.

'Mac.'

He turned, raised an eyebrow.

'Could I bum a lift into town in a day or
so?' She hated to ask, but she wanted to see if Dave had sent the
banjo and pick it up when it came in. She could walk again, but it
was a long way and carrying a banjo that distance would be awkward.
If he were going into town anyway, perhaps he wouldn't mind giving
her a ride.

'I'll be going on Thursday, late
morning.'

She tilted her head. 'Thank you, I'll be
ready when you are.'

'See you then.' He left.

Amanda stood still, listening to his steps on
the wooden deck, then the stairs, then the gravel. The door to the
truck slammed shut and he drove away.

She moved to sink down on her cushions, still
bemused by the events of the afternoon. Was Elizabeth Burke serious
about having her sing at the festival on Labor Day? They were
certainly casual about things in Timber. No audition, no firm
contract, no percentages.

Amanda shook her head. This was not a
professional show. It was a gathering of neighbors. Would they
really want her there? Yet, why not? She was a neighbor, now. If it
was for the community hospital, she'd be glad to donate her time.
She'd talk to Dave and get his feedback. Maybe they'd do it. It
would be a nice gesture for her new town. And maybe...

Maybe nothing. She’d discuss with Dave and
forget Mac. Hadn’t his aunt said he didn’t attend. She guessed she
wouldn’t either if a life changing event had happened at the same
festival.

Which it would again this year if she and her
entire band showed up. Wouldn’t that surprise the neighbors?

CHAPTER FIVE

The next day Amanda spent in typical vacation
fashion, lazing around, sunbathing, reading one of her new books,
and panning for gold. Her skin was getting a nice tan, the color
even and golden. Her hair was turning lighter, too, with almost
white streaks through it from the sun. She was looking and feeling
much more relaxed, a regular schedule of sleeping and eating
erasing the strains of traveling and performing.

Amanda was also writing. She finished the
first song, the one she had started on her walk by the stream. A
few refining touches were needed yet, but she'd wait until she was
with the full band to try that and get feedback from the others in
the group. It would be easier with all of the instruments available
to duplicate more closely the sound she could hear in her mind. The
lyrics and melody were good, and would probably stand without much
change.

She had begun another song, a couple more
ideas buzzed around in her head. Pleased she was again finding
composing possible, she wrote phrases and music in bits and pieces.
Soon she'd put it together, see how they went together.

It was a joy to write. Many of her biggest
hits had been her own songs. She knew best how to write for
herself. Trying the different melodies, searching for just the
right word or phrase was challenging, something put aside in the
relentless schedule of recordings and concert tours of recent
years. She was pleased at the way the songs had come to her, how
she could put them on paper so fast. As she relaxed, more would
come, she knew it.

While not seriously planning to strike it
rich, Amanda continued to pan for gold each day. It was a soothing,
restful occupation, one that permitted time for thinking or
dreaming. She'd take her pan and a small glass vial and spend hours
washing endless buckets of sand from the water. There were already
several bits and flakes in the vial. She thought they might be
gold, but would have to have it checked by someone more
knowledgeable than she was. Time enough for that at the end of the
summer. For now, she was content to think it was gold; and to
continue her search.

The water ran cold but, if she often went
during the hottest part of the day, it was refreshing to splash on
herself as she toiled in the sun, sloshing, twirling, and swirling
the sand and gravel from the creek bed in her black pan. Peering
closely as the heavy sediment settled to the bottom. Were there
more gold flakes this time? No matter, maybe in the next pan.

On Thursday morning Amanda was ready to go to
town before ten. Not knowing precisely when Mac meant to go, she
was ready and waiting on her deck so as not to keep him waiting. No
need to aggravate the man. He was already quick with disapproval.
She wished she hadn't had to ask for his assistance, but it beat
walking. Surely he wouldn't feel she was imposing if he were going
down to town anyway? If he did, she knew he would have no
hesitation in telling her unequivocally.

The drone of the truck became audible,
gradually growing in volume, until the truck drove into view.
Turning into her track, Mac stopped near the deck.

Amanda hurried down and climbed in.

'Hi.' She smiled.

He nodded. 'Morning.' They were off.

The post office did not have any packages for
Mandy Smith in general delivery, nor any other mail. She was
disappointed as she turned and slowly walked back out. Had Dave not
yet sent it? Had the mail been delayed? Or had he sent it to the
wrong town? Surely he had heard her correctly on the phone.

Still having quite a bit of time before Mac
was returning, Amanda walked through the town to the only phone she
was sure of. She smiled at passers by, murmuring greetings to those
that spoke to her. Feeling more and more a part of Timber, she was
pleased no one appeared stand-offish. In time, she would learn
names and faces and really belong.

Reaching the phone booth, she dialed the
familiar number. It rang and rang; no one answered. Impatiently,
Amanda tapped her finger against the receiver, but still the phone
rang on. Hanging up in frustration, she started back towards the
truck. What a wasted trip all around.

'Get all you wanted?' Mac was waiting,
standing by the front of the truck, his hat tipped forward on his
forehead.