CHAPTER SEVEN
Shopping was becoming a minor irritation. As Amanda prepared another list of things she wanted, she pondered on how she was going to get to town and, more importantly, how she'd get back with the groceries she was picking up. She'd have to give serious thought to obtaining some type of vehicle for transportation. She could not depend on the constant largess of others for her transportation needs. The lack of taxi service made having a car almost a necessity here. She'd look into it further when she returned from Nashville. Dave would give her some advice, she was sure. In the meantime, she frowned, she still had to get to town today.
A horn sounded in the front. Amanda crossed to the window to peer out. Mac's big gray truck was in her yard, John-Michael at the wheel. He blew the horn again.
Amanda opened her door. 'Hi,' she called. 'What are you up to?'
'Hi. Dad's let me take the truck into town to get a few supplies. Want anything?'
'I sure do. In fact, I could use a lift. Is that okay?'
'Sure, come on.'
'I didn't know you drove,' Amanda said a few minutes later as she climbed in and John-Michael carefully negotiated the turn from the driveway to the highway. She was surprised he was old enough, but she wasn't particularly good at judging people's ages.
'Just got my license a couple of months ago,' he said proudly. 'Dad doesn't let me go too often myself yet, but he's too busy today and we need some antiseptic ointment for one of the horses. He got a bad scratch on something and Dad wants to make sure he’s attended quickly.'
'Well, you're a lifesaver for me. I need a few groceries,' Amanda replied, settling back in the seat. 'Are you in a hurry? I won't be long.'
'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 befo
re 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.
When the truck turned into the drive, she was ready. Casting a fond glance in farewell, she closed and locked the door.
'Hi, Mandy. This all?' John-Michael joined her on the deck, motioning to her lone suitcase.
'Good morning, John-Michael. Yes, that's it. I'm only going for a few days.'
'I'll miss you.'
'Thank you, but you’ll have your guitar to practice, and work on the ranch. I'll be back soon and we can keep on with lessons, if you like.'
'Yes, I'd like. I'm glad you bought Cora's place.' He jerked the truck into gear and backed out.
They pulled out on to the highway just a short distance ahead of the bus traveling from Reno with the San Francisco destination emblazoned above the windscreen. John-Michael drew up in front of the depot just ahead of it.
'Do you have your ticket?' he asked, getting out to get the suitcase.
&n
bsp; 'No. I'll zip in and get it. Can you ask the bus to wait for me?'
'Sure, better hurry.'
Amanda dashed to the window, greeted the old man working at the bus depot and purchased her ticket. Her goodbye to John-Michael was, by necessity, hurried as the bus had only a short stop in Timber.
'I'll meet you,' John-Michael said. ‘Just call me as soon as you get in. I’ll be here in no time.’
'Wonderful. Thanks. I'll be back Thursday a week.'
'On the bus from San Francisco?'
'Yes, gets in just before noon, I think. Goodbye, John-Michael, thanks for bringing me in.' Amanda gave him a quick hug and then turned to climb aboard. She sat by a window and waved.
In less than four hours the big bus was turning into its large, bustling, downtown San Francisco depot. Amanda waited for her luggage, then pushed through the crowd to the taxi stand on the street.
Phew, city life had certainly become more hectic since she was last here. She stood on the pavement, waiting for a cab to pull into the designated spot, watching the busy city moving around her. She shivered a little; San Francisco's famous fog was already coming in and the temperature was dropping quickly. In only a short time it would be cold, and she was not dressed for it.
'St Francis, please,' she said to the cab driver as she climbed into one that pulled into the taxi lane. She sank back against the seat, suitcase beside her, and watched out of the window at the crowded streets alive with cars, motorcycles, electric buses and bicycles. The pavements were full of people: wide-eyed tourists; stoic elderly Chinese women, weighed down by their packages; preoccupied businessmen in three- piece suits rushing to a meeting.
Grateful for the short distance between the depot and the landmark hotel on Union Square, Amanda soon reached her destination. Paying the driver, she glanced across Powell Street to Union Square, a small patch of green in a gray and cream forest of high-rises and tall towers. The few, neatly spaced trees were small and scrawny in the polluted city air. The rest of the view from the old hotel was of concrete and glass. Amanda sighed, homesick already for raw forest land, few people and endless blue sky.
Bluebells on the Hill Page 9