A/N: This is a test run for a story idea I have. If you guys like, let me know and I will continue it. I will post a Chapter 2 soon regardless to get the MacManus Brothers on the scene. Btw, any readers 'across the pond'..no offense intended with the Boston Tea Party reference. Just a light hearted joke or two. Amelia's a smartass. And Irish folks, I'm not Irish. I'm doin' what I can. Please be patient and gentle. *winces*

Disclaimer: I own nofin'!

"Childhood living is easy to do
the things that you wanted, I bought them for you
Graceless lady you know who I am
You know I can't let you slide through my hands"

Chapter 1 : Wild Horses

"Ya know, I really don't like this much." I groaned into the cellphone next to my ear. This has bad written all over it. My father laughed and I just rubbed my eyes.

"It'll be fiiiine! You're going ta' love Boston. It's historical and...big." His slight Irish accent came out. I pulled myself out of the kitchen chair as my mother gave me a look of sympathy. She mouthed 'be nice'. If only she knew how much I was biting my tongue.

"You're forgettin that I have a life here with...the farm and...stuff." I ignored the looks from my mom as I continued on. "And if ya want me to be around history, there's civil war trails all over the place! And if that's not far enough back, I'll dump some tea bags in the creek and curse the British!" I smiled at my wise crack, earning a chuckle from my dad too.

"I know you like your small town, but honey...you never get out. Your mother says you stay inside your room all day reading or your riding Shamrock around te farm. Oh, and don't forget all the time spent with your Pa at the range..."

I sighed, turning and pointing at my mother who was sipping her coffee. 'Traitor!' I mouthed. She set her cup on the rustic kitchen counter and held her hands up in surrender. My dads voice drew me back though.

"Amelia, you know it won't be that bad. Your mother is got her book tour coming up and you can't be by yourself. It's only for a year. Then you can go back to being Annie Oakley okay?" His voice sounded sad, now I've done it. For the love of the Irish!

"Okay...but I wanna be home schooled there, too. Boston's not my cup of tea...ha tea! What a pun." I sat back down in the old wooden chair and gave up. Dad sounded content as he let out a breath.

"I miss you, sweetheart. I need to spend time with my little lass. I want'a show you around and expose you to my side of the world. There's more ta your heritage than your Mother's side. Gun totin' crazy hillbillies they are. No offense against your Pa, of course." He let out a nervous laughter and I had to grin.

"I know, I know! Gonna have to embrace the spuds and four leaf clovers. Can't bring shame upon my clan Doyle!" I listened to my Dad chuckle and shot a look over to my mother. She was shamelessly rolling her eyes and finishing off her coffee.

"Alrigh' Amelia, I gotta get ready for work tomorrow. Got a ton'a papers to grade and a pop quiz to put together. I'll call tomorrow evening to work out all tha little details with your Ma. I love you."

"I love you too Dad. Talk to you later."

When I ended the call I looked out of one of the large bay windows in the dining room. The rolling hills of our farm land seemed to contrast the tall overshadowing West Virginian mountains. My heart hurt just thinking about leaving. This was home. The idea of being surrounded by concrete and tall glass buildings made me want to cry. During my inner turmoil, my mother had came to sit down across from me.

She was a beautiful woman, honestly. Not just because she's my mom. She was tall and lean. Her round face was soft, as were her features. She had dark brown eyes which could be mistaken for black most days. Her lips were pouty by her gene pool and her skin was olive in tone. Annette Jackson, once known as Annette Doyle. She'd naturally went back to her father's name after her and my Dad divorced. Not bad for a woman of 39.

I on the other hand, got the pleasure of being an odd accomplishment. I'm short, get it from my Dad's side. I have my Mom's skin tone and my father's reddish brown hair. It's mostly brown except when I'm in the sunlight, then you can see the Irish pride creeping out. My eyes were a conundrum. Was born with eyes that were brown around the iris, but faded out to pale blue. Grandpa always joked and said I looked like I have old woman's eyes. I was average build, some muscles from working on the farm. But for the life of me I can't get below a size 10 in jeans.

From the stories I've been told, my Dad's side has curvier women. All child bearing hips and modest chests. 'Built like a brick shit house' he liked to say. Mom told me I was lucky to not inherit the stick figure. Either way, I really don't care. Now my father, Carrin Doyle, is only a few inches taller than I. He's 44 and a professor of Sociology at some private school in Boston. His Ma and Da had come to the United States when he was 15. I never met them, they'd died way before I was even a thought. But Dad did go back to the mother land at least twice a year to visit our extended family...I'd always found a reason to not go.

"I'm sure this will be good for you." My mother's voice brought me back to the present. I sighed and shrugged, looking out at the barn.

"Maybe, reckon I really don't have much of a choice. You gotta work and promote your book. I just don't know what I am going to do without all this." She knew my meaning. This farm was where I called home. I love my Dad, but I love this land too. And my horse. The old quarter horse was my best friend. A year without riding just might drive me to death. Mom must have picked up on my inner dialogue.

"It ain't going to kill you. You need to see your Dad. He misses you. AND.." She threw up her dainty arms and her 2X sweat shirt flopped around her. "You need to see life outside of mountains and shoveling horse shit." The brazen country girl came out in her then. Mom's dark eyes held something in them that I knew I couldn't argue against.

"And yet you always come back here. Why's that?" I wrinkled my nose at her and she gave me a soft smile.

"This is home. It's not goin' anywhere, it's a sanctuary." Her eyes followed mine out to the fields. "I went off to college after school and I spread my wings. Hung up my boots for a bit. After a while, you miss the air and you just gravitate back. Nobody ever really leaves this place. But, you need to find your feet. You're almost grown and you can't hide here forever."

I sighed and crossed my arms over my chest, stretching out my legs as she stood and kissed my forehead. I silently surrendered to my logic. They are right. I'll be back before I know it. Just a year. A shiver went through me then. Boston. All attitude and roughly cut. How was I going to survive this?

It was almost the end of summer and soon my 18th birthday would find me in strange territory. I'd made plans to go into town and buy a cigar and smoke it ruefully in the old Chevy that had 'Farm Use' spray painted across either side. I chewed the inside of my bottom lip and decided I had to just suck it up. I'll be okay. Worst case scenario, I'll throw a hissy fit and come back home. I would be of age in a few months. As if my body knew what I needed, I went over to the back door and slipped into my boots. my jeans weren't tucked in or pulled over, just crumpled up above the tops of the leather. The cool evening summer air felt refreshing as it hit my bare arms and I walked down to the barn. This is stuff I wouldn't be able to do in Boston. Can go outside in boots, old torn up jeans and a muscle shirt. It's too windy and I'll stick out like a sore thumb. Then i snorted to myself. Over my dead body would I end up being one of those coffee house girls who read poetry and sipped their mocha latte.

Shamrock must have sensed my nerves because he whinnied and rose his head as I approached. I smiled and reached out, feeling his nose bump it in affection. This horse got me. I picked up his brush and opened his stall, leading him out. He stood tall, cantering around until coming to a stop. His reddish brown coat was soft and his black hair shined. Methodically I ran the brush over his mane and down onto his shoulders. A tear began working it's way out of my eyes before I cleared my throat.

"Gonna miss you boy. Promise me you'll behave and leave that mare over at the Smith's alone?" I smiled through the tears for him. He side stepped and bumped me again. I nodded and stroked his face. "I know, I know...don't go tryin' to kiss any Blarney stones or get myself lost. I promise."

**The Sundays - Wild Horses**