Challengers Volunteer
Posts: 16
Joined: 14 Jul 2008
Gender: Female
Country: SC - USA
SAK owned: the original
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Season: season 1
Episode:
Vehicle: Jeep
Jacket: Brown bomber
House: Observatory
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Inside, Mac dosed on the floor, Molly curled in his arms. She tiptoed in. As she moved his arm to take the baby, he woke. “Hi,” he whispered.
“Hi. How did it go?” she whispered back.
Mac stroked the sleeping child's hair. “I think I'm in love.” He sat up. “I wish I had Sam when he was little like this.”
Beth smiled. “I know.” She sat on the floor beside them. “When she was born, I wished she would always stay a baby. But, I've loved watching her grow. Each day brings new and exciting changes and adventures. I can't wait to see her when she's Sam's age – all grown up, ready to face the world.”
He walked them out and watched as Beth gently secured the still sleeping Molly into her car seat in the truck. “I'll get the Toyota to you in the morning,” he told her when she was finished.
He watched them until they went in their house, then sat down on the steps to enjoy the cool night air. There was so much that he missed with Sam. Diapers. Little league. The first crush. The sex talk. He leaned against the pillar. Maybe, maybe Maria... he shook his head. Wasn't he too old to start changing diapers?
He pondered the long days ahead. Sam wasn't a child. Would he be sitting here alone on the porch for the rest of his life – counting the days until Sam's next visit? Maria could change that.
Two hours later, Sam looked out the screen door. His father still sat on the porch, his head leaning on the repaired pillar, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He started to go out, but Mac looked so pensive – like he wanted to be alone. Sam padded back upstairs to bed. Two hours after that, after a trip to the bathroom, he checked on Mac again. He still sat on the porch looking up at the stars. Sam shook his head and went back to bed.
Chapter Eight
I've spent most of my adult life doing things for other people so it was humbling to have someone do as much for me as the good folks of Crow Wing County did one day. But, it felt to good to throw myself on the mercy of others for a change.
At dawn, Mac woke with a start – something wasn't right. He heard a car door slam. He grabbed his pants, and hobbled to the window trying to put them on as he went. Outside, Beth's pickup sat in the drive, the bed fully loaded with boxes, tools, and ladders. She struggled to lift a large plastic tub from the truck bed.
He tugged on a t-shirt and scampered downstairs. He reached Beth just as she pulled a sewing machine case from the truck. “What is all this?” he asked as he took the machine from her hand.
“Well,” Beth answered. “In a few hours, the fabric in these tubs will be curtains and other things. The ladders and tools,” she glanced at Mac. “You know what the ladders and tools are for.”
She grinned, then reached up and tried to smooth down his bed head. “Sorry, I woke you, but I have to set up.” She pointed to a small table and a folding chair in the truck bed. “Would you?” she asked.
Mac grabbed the sewing machine and the table. Beth got her air pot and a covered basket out of the truck cab. He grinned as she walked up the porch steps in front of him wearing an old pair of coveralls. A red bandanna was tucked into her back pocket. Her long dark hair was plaited, then wrapped into a wide bun. Loose wisps of hair caressed her slender neck. To his surprise, the edge of a tattoo peaked out from the low neck of a man's sleeveless white t-shirt. He wondered what the rest of the tattoo looked like.
Inside, she pointed to the big picture window. “You can put that table up by the window, if you will,” she instructed as she walked on toward the dining room.
Mac set up the table and walked back out the the truck to get another load. When he finished bringing in the tubs, Beth held out a cup of coffee and a muffin for him.
“Blueberry and banana – my specialty,” she said as he took the muffin.
“Are you trying to fatten me up?” he asked. “Cinnamon rolls, muffins...” He sipped the coffee – strong and hot. “And you're trying to turn me into a coffee addict,” he added.
“Well,” she cooed. “We all need our addictions.” She went back to the kitchen. Mac bit into his muffin. As the blend of blueberries, banana, and vanilla, with just a hint of wheat germ, slid over his taste buds, he closed his eyes. It was, without a doubt, the best muffin he'd ever tasted.
Beth returned with her own coffee. She sat it on the table, then lifted up the sewing machine. Mac watched her set up the sewing machine while he ate. When she seemed to be satisfied with the arrangement, she turned back to Mac.
“Folks'll be getting here in about thirty minutes. If you're going to do something about that hair, you should hurry.
He ruffled his hand through his hair and grimaced. “That bad, huh?”
She nodded, then twirled two fingers into the hair that drifted nearly to his shoulder. “You should let me even it out. The mullet is dead,” she told him.
The brush of her fingers against his neck sent electric bolts shooting down his legs. Startled, he took a step back. “Yeah, well...” he stammered. “I'll think about it.” He took another step back. “I'll just go wake Sam and get a quick shower.” He could feel her blue eyes as he climbed the stairs.
Thirty minutes later, showered, shampooed, and shaved – dressed in his rattiest jeans, he went back downstairs. Voices drifted from the parlor.
Inside the room, Sam sat on the floor munching a muffin, a cup of coffee on the floor beside him. Two strange women flanked Beth. They studied her notepad. Beth introduced them.
“This is Emily Poteat,” she told him as she nodded at the woman on her right. Emily wore black spandex pedal pushers and a skin tight red print halter top cut so low little was left to the imagination. A pudgy stomach roll spanned the narrow distance between the pants and the top.
She hugged him, slightly wiggling her breasts against his chest. Mac glanced at Beth as he looked over Emily's head, her arms still locked around him. Beth smirked, then blushed.
“I'm so glad to meet you Mac. I've heard so much about you,” Emily gushed.
“And this,” Beth said when Emily let go of Mac. She touched the arm of the other woman. “This is Julia Ballew.”
Julia was a natural blond from the looks of it. She wore a white woman's tee tucked into pleated khaki pants. She seemed familiar. He cocked his head.
Julia picked up on his confusion. “Fourth of July picnic, our sophomore year in high school, We made out under the bleachers,” she explained.
The memory rolled over him, fresh and sweet. It was cool for July. They sat on a blanket, fondled and made out until his head swam. “Julia Wright?”
She nodded and hugged him. She was still slim and inviting in his arms.
“Ballew,” he mused. “You married Fred?”
She nodded. “We've got four kids, two dogs, a mortgage, and a lot of good years behind us. Many more ahead, I hope,” she added.
Beth interrupted. “Emily and Julia are two of the best seamstresses around. Emily owns an alteration shop in town, and Julia sews all of the clothes for herself and her kids. Today, they're going to help me sew for you.”
“You betcha,” Emily chimed in. She batted her over made up eyes. “I guess you will owe us,” she cooed.
“Nonsense,” Julia chimed in. “When Beth explained about your special lady, both of us jumped at the chance to help.”
Mac gushed his thanks.
During the next hour, Mac stood in the yard in shock. Forty or more people buzzed in and around the house like ants. Beth, like a drill Sargent, cheerfully organized crews and barked orders.
Four men carried Mac's big kitchen table outside and sat it in the driveway. A flock of women descended and produced enough platters and bowls of food to feed a hundred people. There were several kinds of German potato salad, deviled eggs, roast pork and beef, baked chicken, apple cole slaw and a host of assorted “hot dishes” kept warm over cups of Sterno. Mrs. Shockley even made a brief appearance, Molly in tow, to deliver a large platter of Southern fried chicken. Rows of cakes, pies and cupcakes edged one side of the table. Two round, five gallon coolers, labeled 'water' and 'lemonade' respectively, flanked the far side of the big table. Paper drinking cups, napkins, plates and plastic silverware sat near the drinks.
Underneath the table, Mac spotted a medium sized cooler labeled “MAC” in big letters. He pulled it out. Inside was a jar holding freshly sliced peaches, a tub of vanilla yogurt, and a raw veggie sandwich packed into whole wheat pita bread ,frosted with a healthy portion of alfalfa sprouts. A wide-mouth water bottle held iced herbal tea. He smiled and whispered, “Beth.”
Sam yelled his name and Mac closed the cooler, then slid it back under the table. He looked at Sam who waved, a hammer in his hand. “Beth says we have to finish the porch – NOW,” he shouted. Mac sprinted up the steps. As he took the hammer, Sam whispered to him. “We better do what she says. She scares me,” Sam added. “She makes me feel like I'm in the army.”
Mac grinned. “Be glad it's Beth, not my old NCO.”
“I don't know,” Sam muttered. “She's pretty scary for a short woman.”
As two delivery trucks, one from the hardware, the other from the lumber yard lumbered up the drive and went around back, Mac shook his head.
People worked and munched all day. Mac and Sam finished the new porch railings at about six, just as the paint scraping crew shooed them out of the way. Behind the scrapers, a painting crew moved into position.
Mac strolled back into his newly mown lawn. Teenage girls mulched the now weed-free flower beds. His peonies, free of the weeds poked up proudly. One of the girls told Mac that 'Ms. Beth' gave them tulips to plant amid the peonies. The shrubs that bordered the front porch were carefully pruned into shape.
He looked up at the house. A phalanx of ladders lined the front and one side of the house, which was almost completely covered in a fresh coat of white paint. Crisp white valence curtains framed the big picture window in the parlor. Upstairs, he saw Beth through his bedroom window. She stretched to hang more white curtains in his bedroom.. She looked down at him and smiled. He grinned back and mouthed “Thank you.” Her smile broadened, then she blushed and looked away. She moved from the window and Emily took her place. Mac ducked and scooted out of her field of view.
Around the back of the house, boards placed on cement blocks held buckets of paint. The delivery trucks were gone. A painter's cloth protected the now dry back steps. Mac climbed the steps into the mudroom. It sparkled with a fresh coat of white paint. The cement floor, also painted, was a bland, but serviceable industrial gray. He froze in the doorway to the kitchen. If he didn't know better, it could be a different kitchen. The black and white ceramic floor tile gleamed with freshly scrubbed grout, and new sealer. The cabinets stood open to dry. Inside and out, they gleamed white. The butcher block counter had been sanded as smooth as marble. A sign taped to the counter said, “DO NOT PUT ANYTHING ON THIS COUNTER, PLEASE.” Beautiful curved swag curtains, made from crisp white linen framed the window. Three inches of Brattenburg lace edged the curtain, a teal ribbon covered the seams. New cut glass knobs sparkled on the cabinet doors and drawers.
On the long wall opposite the counter, a handmade oak picture frame held a charcoal drawing of Mac and Sam. Mac smiled. In the picture, he and Sam stood back to back, each of them had their arms crossed across their chest. Sam looked up and out of the picture. Mac looked back over his shoulder toward Sam. The effect was stunning. Sam, the son, looked to the future. Mac, the father, looked back to the son. He leaned forward to study the tiny signature in the lower right corner – B. Reardon, 8/92. With all she did, Mac wondered ,when did she possibly have time to do the drawing. He didn't know a lot about art, but he did know that the sketch was good – very good.
In the dining room, a woman scraped dried paint from the window panes. He tried to remember her name, but could only remember that she made the chocolate cake.
He nodded, “Hey, thanks for doing all of this.”
“Why it's my pleasure,” she answered with smile.
“Where's Beth?” he asked.
She shook her head. “She was in here a few minutes ago, but I don't know where she went,” the woman answered.
He wandered into the parlor. It was also as clean and fresh as the kitchen, although the floor was littered with threads and scraps of white cloth. Julia Ballew leaned over a sheet of white cloth on the cutting board, a tape measure stretched between her hands. She glanced at him, then looked back at her work. “Dining room curtain,” she explained. Nearby, Emily guided folds of white cloth under the needle of a sewing machine. Carrie Pickler, who he remembered from high school, threaded another machine. Two other women hand sewed near the fireplace, talking in quiet voices.
He meandered past, nodding at the women as he walked.
Every room downstairs had been painted, and sported new curtains, just like the one in the kitchen .
The downstairs bath, was unrecognizable. The old plastic wall board had been stripped away, replaced by new white wood bead board. The orange shag carpet was gone, revealing the oak flooring below. It needed refinishing, but it was spotlessly clean. An oak toilet seat replaced the cracked plastic one, and the sink and counter had been bleached. A new white shower curtain surrounded the claw foot tub. Folds of ruffled and laced white cloth curtains concealed the plastic.
He strolled down the hall to the old family room. Here, Beth's vision of country white Victorian theme changed drastically. Beth's volunteers had scrubbed the original old knotty pine paneling to reveal its deep golden glow. New dark teal wall-to-wall carpeting covered the old linoleum. Instead of the simple white swag curtains, heavy floral brocade draperies framed the bay window. The same fabric covered the cushion of the window seat. Complimentary throw pillows were placed on the window cushions. The pillow colors pulled the glow of the paneling and the blue of the carpet together.
Another of Beth's pictures hung on the long wall. This was a watercolor painting of Mac's house during a summer storm. The rich teal blue of the storm clouds, the deep green of the swaying tall grass, and the gold of a setting sun peaking beneath the clouds, reflected the room's colors. In front of the house, an old man struggled against the wind, long strides carrying him out of the storm and toward the house – Harry.
Mac smiled. This room was all male – reminiscent of the smoking lounge in a men's club. He heard a soft cough behind him. Beth stood in the doorway. She was slightly flushed, her bun askew. The legs of her dirty coveralls were rolled up to reveal shapely calves. She was barefoot.
He shook his head and held his hands out in supplication. “I can't believe it,” he stammered.
She grinned and looked around the room. “Sometimes men need a room just for men.”
“The pictures,” he added. “Your mother said you were an artist, but I had no idea you were this good.” She blushed at the praise. “You should show your work in LA, or New York.”
“What makes you think I don't?” she answered. She stepped into the room. “I have three watercolors in the Carmichael Gallery in L.A., and four in the Forbes Galleries in Greenwich Village.
But whether or not they are successful there is unimportant. Everything I have and need is right here in Crow Wing County.” She moved beside him to look at the picture. “My inspiration is here, so is my family.” She looked up at him. Her deep blue eyes, like the depths of the ocean invited him to swim. “And my friends are here.”
He took a step closer to her, then an image of Maria flashed through his brain, and he looked away. How could he be so attracted to Beth, when he planned to make Maria a permanent part of his life? He loved Maria. “How much do I owe you for this painting and the charcoal in the kitchen?” He asked.
“The charcoal is just a sketch, it has no value except to you or Sam. But this one,” she added looking at the watercolor. “I never had the heart to sell it, although I've had offers. I painted it just after Steve died – it got me through a lot of sleepless nights. When I found the fabric for your drapes, free, I knew it was providence. The colors matched the painting perfectly. ” She looked back up at Mac. “The watercolor belongs here, in this room, in your Grandfather's house.” She smiled. “Call it a permanent loan.”
“Geeze, I owe you,” he answered. “What you've done here,” he continued. “Getting all of these people – the work, the curtains, the yard out front... How did you do it?”
“All of these people are your neighbors, Angus. They loved Harry, and they want to love you and Sam.” She touched his hand. “This is small town America, the proverbial salt of the earth. Of course,” she added. “You owe them, but not in money. All they want is your love in return. But if you watch and listen, you'll find ways to repay them in kind.”
“But,” she added as she grabbed his hand. “You haven't seen the best part!” She dragged him down the hall and up the stairs. Outside the master bedroom she told him to close his eyes, then she led him through the door. With her hands on his shoulders, she positioned him to her satisfaction. “Open your eyes,” she whispered from behind him.
Mac's jaw dropped. Beth whispered, “Maria's room.”
Where Harry's old broken down maple double bed once stood was a huge canopied, king-sized four poster bed. The crisp white duvet that covered it was piled high with a riot of floral print and white lace throw pillows.
On either side of the bed, small bookshelves held matching lamps. Centered above the bed was a watercolor still life – local wildflowers standing in and strewn around a Mason jar vase.
“You bought a bed? I only gave you five hundred dollars!” Mac gasped.
She giggled. “Of course not, silly. Bill Strange and I made it out of scrap plywood. Look.” She lifted up the white dust ruffle. Beneath it was a simple plywood platform, sanded and stained in mahogany. The gently curved head and foot boards were also plywood. The canopy was actually an open box attached to the ceiling. Inexpensive curtain rods supported the canopy curtain from inside the box. Four four-by-four boards stood at the corners creating the bed posts. “I did trade a portrait for the new mattress and box springs,” she explained.”“You still need rugs and to refinish the chest-of-drawers,” she added.
Mac studied the rest of the room. A padded plywood bench stained to match the bed sat below the windows. “It's beautiful,” Mac whispered. He was stunned. The room looked like something out of a Victorian woman's magazine.
“Sam gets your bed when it gets here. I put Harry's old bed in the back room that he used for a store room. You can sleep there while she's here, if you can scrounge a mattress and springs. Unless, of course, you get lucky,” she added with a roll of her eyes.
He raised his eyebrows, surprised at her hint at sex. “A man would have to be dead to not get lucky in this room,” he answered.
“Ah then, my job is done,” Beth answered. She took his hand. “Let me show you the rest of the house, then you and Sam have to get ready for the party tonight.”
Mac frowned. “What party?”
“The party you are throwing tonight,” she answered over her shoulder as she pulled him into the hall.”
“I'm throwing a party?”
Chapter Nine
Parties and I don't usually mix. I don't drink or smoke and most parties seem to have too much of both. That was certainly true of the party I threw that night.
Mac stood under the shower and let the hot water flow over his sore muscles. Mrs. Shockley and the older ladies of Mission Methodist Church were still downstairs cleaning up the lunch dishes, and setting up for the party. Everyone else went home to clean up, but they, along with their families were coming back at eight. He shut down the water and stepped out of the tub and wiggled his toes in the soft bath mat Beth put in the upstairs bathroom. The room glowed bright white, scrubbed clean as only a woman seemed to able to do. He slipped into his robe, then carefully cleaned up his mess.
He chose to wear a white cotton oxford and a clean pair of jeans. Finally dressed he went downstairs. The place was empty. Outside, the big table was was spread with an embroidered table cloth. Snack foods, carefully covered with net plate covers covered the cloth. He saw car lights in the distance, heading his way. Two pick-ups, each holding three men pulled up in front his house. He recognized all of them from the “house-fixing'” earlier. One was a carpenter, one worked at the John Deere dealership, the occupations of the others escaped him. They gave him a wave, then went straight to work. From the backs of the trucks, they pulled out guitars, fiddles, a drum set, and several horns of various types. Two of the men pulled a keg, then a large plastic trash can out of one of the truck beds.
Sam stepped up beside him. “A band?”
“Looks like it,” Mac answered.
“And a keg. Man, these people know how to party,” Sam added.
The men set the trash can near the end of the walk, away from the porch, filled it half-way with ice, then popped the keg on top. They packed more ice around the sides of the keg, then tapped it. As they worked to get the flow just right, more cars pulled up and lined the drive. Women stacked more food and sodas on the table as they arrived.
Within thirty minutes the yard was full of people. The band cranked out an odd assortment of Benny Goodman, old German folksongs and polkas, and soft rock as people danced in the yard.
Mac stared at the potted geranium basket in his hands as Julie chirped in front of him. The seasons almost over so it won't last long, but it will look nice on the porch when your fiancé' gets here,” she explained.
He raised his eyebrows at the word “fiancé'”. He and Maria were going to talk about commitment. Did that mean marriage? He wasn't sure.
Emily fluttered to his side. She took the geranium from him and handed it back to Julia. “Jules, you don't mind putting this somewhere do you? I haven't seen Mac dance yet!” She grabbed his now free hand and pulled him to the square of yard that served as a dance floor. Like a teenager, she wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her cheek against his chest as they danced. The band played “Rambling Rose.” He looked across his yard as they danced. There must be a hundred people here, he realized – all types of people, all colors, all ages.
Sam danced nearby with a pretty little red head in a short, short denim skirt, a fitted western shirt and cowgirl boots. The look in Sam's eyes was one of pure bliss.
Mac scanned the crowd for Beth, but didn't see her. He hadn't seen her at all since she left about seven. He asked Emily. “Is Beth here, yet?”
“Haven't seen her,” Emily answered. “But I'm not surprised. Beth doesn't party much. When she does, its just to schmooze up support for her co-op, plus she's got that baby to take care of,” she added.
The song ended and Mac managed to pry Emily's arms from around his neck. He led her over to the table where anther man quickly swirled her back to the dance floor.
Several people surrounded him and forced him to spill as much of his life story as he dared. Someone shoved a paper cup full of beer into his hand.
Now Mac managed a glass of champagne, or even wine when it was absolutely necessary, but beer was another thing. A shudder ran down his spine as he looked at the foamy beverage in the cup. Beer, he knew, didn't taste good, gave a person bad breath, and flatulence – not to mention destroyed reason. He extricated himself as politely as he could from the group, beer in hand and slipped across the driveway out of the glow of the torches. As he poured the beer on the ground, a flutter of movement advanced up his drive – a woman. Her skirt swirled in the moonlight as she walked. He watched her approach until her face was illuminated by a bamboo tiki torch. It was Beth.
She wore a sleeveless midi length yellow print sun dress, cut in what he remembered was called a 'princess' style, but the skirt was much fuller. It swirled seductively around her calves as she walked.
Buttons ran the length of the dress from the hem to the low scooped neck of the bodice. Her dark brown hair, hanging loose for the first time since he met her, hung to her waist. It sucked in the light of the torch and radiated a deep golden halo that took his breath away. She'd tucked it behind her ears. One long thick tress lay over here left shoulder and caressed her breast. Behind her right ear, she'd tucked a summer daisy. A sudden vision of those dark mahogany tresses tumbling around him like a blanket made him suck in his breath deeper.
She smiled when he stepped into the driveway, into the light beside her.
“Why Angus,” she whispered. “You should be attending to your guests,” she cooed, exaggerating her South Carolina drawl. He leaned toward her, “And you, Madame, shouldn't be out walking alone in the moonlight,” he gently chided.
Tom Finley, the city treasurer, swooped down on them. He politely shouldered Mac out of the way to take Beth's arm. “Now Mac, you're taken. Let us single men have a crack,” Finley told him ,as he led Beth away. They dissolved into the crowd leaving Mac standing alone under the glow of the torch.
Another hour passed before he saw her again for more than just a glimpse in the crowd. She was at the table talking with Joe Dill, the Mission City mayor and several other town dignitaries, including Tom Finley. She looked like a caged rabbit.
At his approach, Finley called out. “Hey MacGyver. What do you think? Should our girl here run for county council?”
Beth blushed and looked at her feet. She tucked a loose strand of hair back in place behind her ear.
“Well,” Mac answered. “I think Ms. Reardon can accomplish anything she decides to do. But right now, I hope she'll decide to dance with me.” He held out his hand to her. She smiled and slipped her small hand into his.
“Thank you,” she whispered as they moved a safe distance from the men.
“County council, huh?” Mac asked as he led her toward the dance floor.
She blushed again. “Mayor Dill thinks he can push a female council person around. That's the only reason he wants me to run,” she answered. “And Tom, well... since his divorce he's tried to lay claim to me.”
Mac pulled her into his arms. “Is he succeeding?” He asked as an unwelcome wave of jealousy swept over him.
Beth sighed. “I went out with him once – back in the spring. Angus, it was a disaster. I just wanted to spend a nice evening with someone other than my mother and my daughter. I'm not ready for...” She paused, then looked up into his eyes. “I still miss Steve.”
“Tom wanted more than a dinner companion?” Mac asked quietly as he swirled her into the dance.
She nodded. “Much more. He seemed to think that because I was a widow I wanted...” she left the rest of the sentence unsaid.
Mac nodded in understanding. The song ended. Before they were able to work their way from the dance floor, the band broke into a homey rendition of “Mona Lisa.” Mac swept her back into his arms and into the dance.
The party dwindled down to just a handful of people around midnight. As swift and easily as they set up the party, the group broke it down. The table was swept clean and carried back inside. Drunks were loaded into pickup beds along with the torches, instruments, bags of garbage and the empty keg.
Mac and Beth were left standing alone on the porch in the glow of the porch light. “I wonder where Sam is?” Mac mused.
“He drove Maggie Jenkins home an hour ago,” Beth answered.
“Is that the giggly redhead in the short skirt?” Mac asked.
Beth nodded. “That 'giggly redhead' is a math major at the University. She'll probably end up graduating magna cum laude.” She looked up at him. “It's late, and time for me to go. Thank you for the dance... and the company.”
She took a step away; Mac caught her arm. “You are not walking home alone in the dark,” he stated, expecting no opposition.
“But its just...” she started to say before he put his finger to her lips.
“No buts. I'll walk you home,” he answered.
“Then who is going to walk YOU home,” Beth asked with a smile.
He grinned. “I think I can take care of myself.”
“How are you getting along with Sam?” she asked as they walked, down the drive, under a full summer moon.
Mac shrugged. “There are some things I wish I could talk to him about. Important things – like drinking. But, he's been on his own so long...” He sighed. “He's only nineteen, but he's seen more hard life than most men have at twice his age. I worry about him,” he answered. “But I don't know what right I have to butt into his life.”
“You have the right. You are his father, not his friend,” Beth answered. She stopped and looked at him. “Those years are ahead of Molly and me – sex, drugs, alcohol.” She looked up at the stars and sighed. “I don't know anymore than you do about how to handle those issues.” She started walking again and he moved with her. “Steve drank. Sometimes too much, but not often. At Wright-Patterson, he and some of the other pilots would get together and drink and play cards every week. But it wasn't a problem with him.”
“Tell me about him,” he asked.
“Oh Angus, he was so good to me. Our place, it was MY dream, not his, but he did everything he could to make it come true for me.” She whispered, Mac barely caught her words. “I wanted lots of babies – some of our own, and some adopted – you know, kids who needed us. But it didn't happen.” She looked at him. “And there were reasons... reasons why we couldn't adopt.” Shaking her head she added, “Everything started to spin out of control. Infertility is hard. Very hard. Especially for Steve. He was such a man's man. Knowing that...” she blushed. “Knowing that he was the reason I wasn't getting pregnant was difficult for him to deal with. Both of us gave up hope – in life, in each other. ”
“Then I finally got pregnant...” She smiled. “Steve was so excited.” She looked at Mac. “Molly gave it all back to us.”
“But he never got to see her,” he stated gently.
“No,” she answered as a tear, reflected in the moonlight, rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away.
“You miss him,” Mac answered.
Beth nodded her head. “Oh yes. I miss him. I miss his muddy boots at the door. I miss the way he used to laugh, the way he... I miss. I miss pillow talk.” She shook her head again.
“Have you thought about remarrying?” he asked.
“Oh, I thought about it. Last year I went into a big – funk, I guess you would call it. Living out here alone with my mother and an infant...” She laughed. “I couldn't find a purpose to my life. It took a while until I finally realized that I really didn't want to marry just for the sake of remarrying. I don't need a man in my life. I had a grand romance, Angus. Enough to last a lifetime. If I marry again, it will only be because of a new and great love, not need.”
“What about you. Why aren't you married?” she asked.
Mac winced, then sighed. “I had my chances, but I...” he sighed again. “I don't know. There was always another mountain to climb, a fire to put out, something to fix.” He took her arm and steered her down the drive. “I wish I'd done it differently. I mean, I had my chances, but... If I had married Sam's mother...”
They walked in silence for a few steps. “If you had married Sam's mother, neither of you would be what you are today,” she answered.
He nodded. “Maria. With Maria coming... It's a big step.”
“Sam told me you haven't seen her in nearly a year. She must be very special for your feelings to be so strong after all this time. How did you meet?” she asked.
“Her grandfather owned a toy store near where I lived. We were friends. He asked me to find her and bring her to America,” he answered. “Even though the Wall was down, he was afraid to go himself. Besides, he was too old.”
“So you found her, and fell in love,” she answered.
“I got her a job where I worked. We saw each other almost everyday we were in town. The last time I saw her was right before she went on assignment to Brazil. We talked about making a commitment then.”
“You've never told me what you and Maria do, for a living,” she asked.
Mac grimaced. “Well, I sort of fix things – all over the world.”
“Like corporate machinery? Or is true what Harry told me – that you are an international spy.”
Mac's jaw dropped. “I... I...” He was speechless that Harry would have told her so much about him.
“Do you kill people, Angus?” she bluntly asked him.
He grabbed her arm. “NO, No,” he shook his head. “I try everything that I can do to prevent...” but looking at her face, he realized that she knew now, beyond a doubt that he had. Her eyes were wide, frightened. “No, Beth. I'm one of the good guys. Please, believe me.”
She relaxed, stroked his cheek. “I believe you,” she whispered.
On her front porch, he took her key and unlocked her door. As she took the key from his fingers, he thought about kissing her, but she slipped inside with a quick goodnight. He was left standing alone under the glow of the porch light.
As he walked back down her drive, the porch light winked out and he turned back to look at her house. It was much larger than his, three stories with a porch that completely wrapped the house. A widow's walk surrounded the smaller top floor with huge French doors that opened onto the narrow walk.
A movement downstairs caught his eye. Curtains that covered the big bay window in the living room fluttered, then stilled. He wondered if she'd been watching him. He took a few steps back to her house hoping... Damn, he didn't know what he hoped. Then the doors upstairs opened and he stopped. Beth stepped out onto the widow's walk. Her hair, fanned by the slight breeze caressed her shoulders and breasts. She leaned on the balcony railing and looked out across the yard toward him. He couldn't see her eyes, but he felt them. A warm caress, just the wind, swept across his face. He envisioned her fingers instead. Strong, work worn fingers, stroking his face, then his neck. He took a deep breath and wished he met her before she met her Steve. Now, he knew, the years would pass, and with it her youth. She would bury her mother, send her daughter out into the world, and spend the rest of her days mourning her lost love.
Chapter Ten
I don't need much to get by; a little food, a place to lay my head at night; and my friends. With Sam to worry about, however, I need to add a college fund to my list of needs. He could take care of himself – he'd proven that, but I wanted to take that load from him – at least for a while. That meant I had to make a living.
Wednesday morning, Mac staked out his new business signs. One on the highway that led into Mission City, as well as on the reverse side to catch people going to or coming from town - one at his driveway. They read, “MacGyver's Repair, then his telephone number. Thursday morning, he drove to the Crow Wing County Community College and talked to the Human Resources director. He was lucky. One of their faculty members had a heart attack and had been forced to take a leave of absence. As of September first, he would be on the teaching staff – Introductory Physics on Tuesday and Thursday nights, seven to ten, and then again on Mondays and Wednesdays from six until nine. He drove home with a stack of books, faculty guides, and employment papers. It was a perfect arrangement. The home repair shop would be open during the day, while he earned a salary at night.
Friday, Sam's acceptance letter came from the University of Minnesota. They were both on their way to new adventures. Beth came and went as she found the time to refinish the kitchen counter, and a few other small jobs. Mac's new cat, Penelope, diligently reduced the mouse population, with a little help from a few humane traps. Friday, the moving van arrived, the Nomad in tow. Behind it someone drove Mac's truck.
Mac stood on the porch and watched the small convoy containing his possessions roll up the drive. He walked down the steps to talk to the moving men, but was diverted by a familiar “whoop” from the truck.
Jack Dalton opened the driver's door and stepped out.
“Hey Mac,” Jack shouted. “Nice place you got here.”
Mac grinned. “Jack what are you doing here?”
“Pete told me you weren't coming back – I didn't believe it.” Jack slammed the car door closed. “Besides, someone had to watch over your stuff,” he added as he and Mac met and clasped hands. Jack leaned closer. “You owe me a hundred bucks for gas.”
Mac grinned wider – same old Jack.
Jack pointed to the main road, “I saw your signs. You really are putting down roots, aren't ya, pal?” Mac nodded as the moving men walked up.
Sam stepped out of the house. Jack took one look at the young man. “You must be Sam,” Jack yelped as he bounded up the steps. He extended his hand. “Jack Dalton, professional pilot, adventurer, entrepreneur, and magician extraordinary,” he introduced himself as he pumped Sam's hand.. Finally, he pulled Sam into a great bear hug. He released Sam, held him at arm's length and studied his face, then turned back to Mac. “There's no doubt about it, Mac. He's the fruit of your loins.”
“Hey guys,” Jack yelled at the moving men. “Everything goes in here.”
Two hours later, the moving van rolled away. The furniture, what little Mac owned, was at least in the correct rooms, if not in the right position. Boxes littered the parlor floor. Jack napped on the window seat in the family room, and Sam unwrapped dishes in the kitchen. Everything is in place now, Mac thought. He had work. He had furniture, and, thanks to Beth, the house was livable.
Penelope curled around his legs. He lifted her up and absently scratched her ears. The cat once belonged to an elderly woman who passed away three weeks ago. Her son took the cat in, but didn't really want her., so he put up a sign at the Co-Op - “Old cat – free – good mouser, gentle with people.” Beth delivered her to Mac tucked in a cardboard box, admonishing him to keep the cat inside for two weeks until she realized the place was her new home. At night, the old cat curled up at Sam's head until the mice came out to forage. Then, she went to work.
“I can call Maria now,” Mac cooed to the cat. He called Maria every few days, excitedly filling her in on the progress on the house. It was time to bring her out. He let the cat jump to the floor, then went upstairs to make the call.
In his room, Mac sat at the window bench and dialed Maria's number on the portable phone. There was no answer, so he tried the Phoenix Foundation. Mrs. Green, the office secretary, put him on hold. While he waited, he stared across his yard and field toward Beth's beyond.
“Mac?” Maria finally answered.
“Hey,” he chirped.
“Hey yourself,” she answered brightly.
They chatted a meandering conversation about their respective lives for a few minutes before Mac broached the subject. A tentative date was set for Maria's visit, depending on flight schedules. Then they aimlessly chatted about nothing in particular for a few more minutes. She sounded happy, excited, and comfortably familiar. Mac's heart flip-flopped in anticipation. He hung up with a smile on his face. Maria was the girl for him. His attraction to Beth was just a product of loneliness for a woman's company.
Chapter Eleven
Mac stood in the waiting room of the Mission City Municipal airport. The sky taxi from Grand Rapids with Maria aboard was due any minute. He made all of the arrangements. All she needed to do was pick up her ticket and get on the plane. It was a little over a week since his furniture arrived – more than three weeks since Sam and he took up residence in Harry's old farm. He had a quiet evening planned. Sam left that morning to go the university to talk to the financial aid officer again, and to find a place to live. His application was approved too late for a dorm room. Jack promised to stay at a hotel in town.
A beautiful trout that he'd pulled from the creek marinated in the fridge. Beth gave him a quick and simple recipe. A new porch swing hung on the porch for cuddling.
He checked his watch, glanced at the schedule board, then looked back out as the sky taxi descended – headed for runway number one. He sniffed the bouquet of roses he bought at the airport florist, and headed for the gangplank door.
Maria melted into his arms, then favored him with a long, deep kiss. “Are those for me?” she cooed after she broke off the kiss, her voice husky.
Still reeling from the kiss, Mac held the flowers out to her. She was beautiful. Her blond hair, pulled back in a pert ponytail that accentuated her high cheek bones and icy blue eyes. She wore a casual summer suit – every inch the picture of a cosmopolitan career woman. He couldn't quit looking at her, couldn't think of words to say, so he embraced her again. Finally, he whispered in her ear, “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” she whispered back. She returned his embrace. Everything was perfect he thought – so why, when he closed his eyes and nuzzled her hair, did he envision long dark brown tresses flowing across his bare chest?
In spite of his good intentions to woo Maria with good food, spirited conversation and a twilight cuddle on the front porch, their clothes started flying as soon as they reached Mac's front door.
Their progress through the house could be determined by the path of clothes. Mac's shirt lay where Maria dropped it just inside his front door, along side her hair bow. At the foot of the steps, Maria's blazer lay in a heap beside their shoes. Several steps higher, Mac's belt snaked on the steps, followed by Maria's stockings and panties. Her skirt spanned the top step, followed by Mac's socks..
Her shirt and bra lay in a puddle outside his door, next to Mac's trousers.
Four hours later, fully sated, napped and bathed, Mac studied Beth's trout recipe while Maria chopped vegetables for a salad. The recipe was simple and elegant, a lot like Beth, Mac mused. A little white wine, sautéed onions and yogurt as a dill sauce base. He put the trout in the oven then tossed fresh green beans in a skillet with olive oil, minced garlic and oregano.
Maria finished making the salad and asked, “Do you have dressing for the salad?”
“In a Mason jar on the top shelf. Beth's homemade ranch. You will love it.,” he answered over his shoulder.
Maria opened the fridge. “The same Beth who gave you the trout recipe?”
“Uh huh,” he answered, distracted.
“And the green beans, and the garlic and fresh oregano?”
Mac heard the edge in her voice. He turned around. Her back was to him. She studied the sketch of Sam and him. “Is her last name Reardon?”
Mac took the green beans off the burner. They would get greasy, but Maria's tone concerned him. He walked over to her and nuzzled her neck as he slipped his arms around her waist.
“She's my closest neighbor, and she's been very good to Sam and me. Nothing more,” he told her.
She nodded, still looking at the charcoal sketch. “This is Sam?”
“Yes, it is,” he whispered, trying to distract her with a well placed tongue to her lobe.
She turned in his arms, and slipped her arms around his neck. “Why did you just take off with him?”
“I don't know,” he answered. “All I thought about at the time was Sam – who he was, all the things that he went though.” He brushed a wayward strand of golden hair from her cheek. “I failed Sam.” He let her go, then went back to the stove. He returned the green beans to the hot burner and moved them around with a spatula. He felt her lean against his back, her cheek on his shoulder. “I missed his entire childhood, Maria.”
“You aren't to blame for not being there, Mac,” she consoled him. “His mother, what was her name, Kate?” He nodded. “Kate kept him from you.”
Mac transferred the beans onto a plate and shut down the burner, then checked on the roasting trout before he turned back to Maria. “I should never have let her go in the first place. That's my fault.”
He sighed. “We were both so young – just out of college. She wanted to go one way, I wanted to go another way...” he sighed. “I was too selfish. I should have followed her, gone with her, supported her dreams.”
“She could have gone with you, Mac. She could have supported your dreams,” Maria answered
.
Mac shook his head. She didn't understand. “No, you see, that's just it. I really didn't have a dream. I bummed around for, what, twelve years, trying my hand at what ever struck my fancy, before I met Pete. But Maria, Kate had a dream. I failed her, and I failed Sam.”
“No, Mac. She deliberately kept you out of Sam's life. Don't carry that burden,” she whispered as she wrapped her arms around his waist.
After dinner, which turned out perfect thanks to Beth's recipes and garden fresh vegetables, he showed Maria the joys of a porch swing. They sat in the dark as she sipped a glass of cooking wine, while he drank fresh cold green tea. She nestled her head on his shoulder,. Finally, he took her drink – sat it, with his tea, on the porch.
“So,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her. “Commitment.” She looked up at him.
“Maria,” he added. “Things have changed. I'm not the same man I was four months ago. I've got Sam, and I don't want to lose him again.” He struggled to make her understand his need to make a real home for his son, to be the mentor that Harry was to him. “Several years ago, I thought about quitting the Phoenix Foundation. I even had Pete write me a letter of resignation. But I changed my mind when I realized that all of those people I helped make me... well real. They validated me, gave me a sense of purpose. But now... with Sam... I want...” he couldn't find the right words. “I want to be there for Sam when I'm old, like Harry was for me.” He smiled. “There are times in my life that I just couldn't have gone on without him. Sam has the right to have me around a long, long time – here – where he can always find me when he needs a shoulder, or to talk things over.”
He looked into her cool blue eyes. “But I don't want to be here alone. I want you with me.”
“Sam, Sam. Mac – all I hear is what Sam needs,” Maria answered. “You are like a flagellate Monk, Mac. It is penitence that drives you, not true desire to run a fix-it shop in the middle of nowhere. You can make a good life for Sam anywhere, even on a houseboat in the Marina district. Your friends, your colleagues , your work are all in LA,” she answered. “So are mine.”
Mac got up and walked over to the porch railing and stared across the moonlit field. The light in the upstairs window was on, but the rest of the house was dark. “Mac,” Maria added as she stepped to his side. “You don't need this farm to make a home for Sam. Granted, the houseboat is probably too small, but you can get a nice condo downtown. Sam can go to UCLA or Berkley. Think of the advantages – a better school, cultural opportunities. And your work, Mac. You can ask them to give you fewer overseas assignments.” She snuggled closer. “We can get a place together.”
Beth's front porch light winked on. She came out, a book in her hand. She curled up on her porch swing to read. Mac watched her as he thought about Kate Molloy. He didn't follow Kate and he lost her. He didn't follow Karen, and he lost her, too. He knew that if he didn't follow Maria, he would lose her as well. He thought about Beth's painting that hung in his den – the old man struggling alone in the storm. Would he be that old man, alone, struggling in the storm – his child a thousand miles away, living his life without him?
Beth was content out here in the middle of nowhere. Could he find that kind of contentment here alone? But she had her mother, and many more years ahead with her daughter still at home. He, on the other hand was alone – Sam would be gone in a few weeks, except for holidays and some weekends.
Chapter Twelve
Now I usually sleep pretty good, but my mind wouldn't shut down that night. While Maria softly snored, I got up and tiptoed to the kitchen and made a cup of tea. She'd made a valid point. I could make as good a life for Sam in Los Angeles as in Mission City. I carried my tea to the porch and sat on the steps in the cool night air.
So, I asked myself – why was I in Minnesota trying to fix up a run down farm? My life was full in LA. And, was it fair to ask Maria to move out here? She had family in LA – her grandfather who, like all of us, wasn't getting any younger.
Everything told me I should go back, but I knew, for some reason I had yet to discover, I wasn't ready to leave.
Mac woke up and reached for Maria, but she was gone. He glanced at the clock – ten o'clock, much later than he usually slept. But then, he'd sat on the porch until the first streaks of dawn. His head pounded from lack of sleep. He dragged himself out of bed, dressed and went in search of Maria.
As he descended the stairs, he heard soft female voices outside on the porch. He peeked out the front door window to see Maria sitting on the top step sipping a cup of tea. Beth sat one step lower. Molly played with a stacking toy at Beth's feet. He grimaced and leaned his forehead against the door. It was never a good thing when the women in his life got together. But then, Beth was just a friend, he reminded himself. He padded to the kitchen on bare feet. The water in the kettle still steamed, so he fixed a cup of tea and strolled out to the porch.
“Mornin',” he mumbled.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Maria answered brightly. She patted the step beside her – an invitation to sit. “Beth and I have been having a wonderful chat.”
Mac wisely did not ask what the chat was about. Beth smiled up at him – that enigmatic Mona Lisa smile of hers. “What are you doing here?” he asked, sorry that he sounded so blunt.
“Remember when I told you there were ways to repay people for helping you? Without using money?” she answered.
He nodded.
“You can start with me,” she answered. Mac raised his eyebrows. “My truck won't start,” she explained. “I have some errands to run, and Mom took the Toyota into Grand Rapids for the weekend.”
“What's wrong with it?” he mumbled, then sipped his tea, his eyes closed to block the morning light.
“It won't start,” she added emphatically.
“Hmm. Well, what does it do?” Mac prodded.
He opened his eyes at her sigh just in time to see her roll her eyes. “Well, it does NOT START!” she answered.
Mac dug fingers through his hair. “Does it turn over?”
Beth chewed her lip, then glanced at Maria before answering. She turned her soft blue eyes on him, her eyebrows raised. “Ummm. I don't know what you mean,” she whispered.
Mac looked at a now smiling Maria, then back at Beth. “Let me get this straight. You started and run a successful business, can build a canopy bed out of scrap wood, can cajole forty people into painting a stranger's house, and can refinish cabinets. You sew, cook like a gourmet chef, paint like a master, and can throw a party without being there. But... you can't tell me if your truck's engine turns over?”
Beth stared at him with wide-eyed innocence. “That's about the size of it,” she answered. “I'm not very mechanical,” she added.
Mac shook his head, then closed his eyes. He laid back and rested his aching head against the hard wood of the porch floor. Of all the questions he hated asking, the one about to come out of his mouth was the worst, but he couldn't stop. “Beth, what sound does it make when you try to start it?”
“Well, it sort of goes erm... erm?” she answered.
He grinned. “You sound like Molly playing with a toy dinosaur.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out his keys and dangled them over his chest without opening his eyes. “Take the Nomad. I'll go look at your truck.” The keys were zipped from his fingers, and he heard footsteps walking away. He reached out for Maria beside him. She was gone. Mac sat up and looked down the driveway. Maria and Beth both strolled away. “Hey, Maria, where are you going?” he called out.
Maria called back, “With Beth!”
“Have a nice day, Mac,” Beth yelled back at him.
He laid back down on the porch and groaned.
Chapter Thirteen
Mac wiped the engine grease from his hands, then climbed into the cab of Beth's truck. The engine turned over, backfired, then caught as he pumped the gas. He smiled. Her truck was old enough to still have a timing belt, but it had broken. He made a stop-gap one out of an old tire he found in her barn, but knew it wouldn't hold for long. He slipped the truck into gear, hoping he could make it to the auto parts store in town before it gave way. The drive would also give him an opportunity to listen for any other engine problems.
At the main road, Sam, on his bike turned onto their street. Mac blew the horn and waved, but kept on going. In town, he saw the Nomad parked at a small re-sale shop, but didn't stop. As he passed North's Cafe', he saw his truck that Jack was using. He turned around and pulled into the cafe' parking lot.
Inside, he smiled as Jack enthralled a cute waitress with some over exaggerated adventure. In Jack's version of the story, he noticed, his and Jack's roles were reversed. Mac called out a greeting, and plopped down on the bar stool next to Jack. “Old home week, me bucko!” Jack yelped as he slapped Mac on the back. “What are you doing away from the 'luv' nest,” Jack asked.
Mac motioned to the waitress for a cup of coffee. “I had to fix Beth's truck,” he answered.
“Who's Beth?” Jack asked, one eyebrow raised.
“The widow across the street from my house,” Mac answered. He figured it wouldn't hurt for Jack to think in terms of OLD widow, not beautiful, smart, and gentle widow for a while. The ruse worked.
“Ah... widow,” Jack grimaced. “And where my I ask is the fair Maria?”
“With the widow,” Mac answered.
“So, what's the plan, Mac? Can I come home now?” Jack asked.
Mac grinned at Jack's reference to HIS house as Jack's home. “Aren't you enjoying the bed and breakfast?” he asked.
“They got me sleeping in your old bedroom, Mac. Talk about flashbacks!” Jack answered.
Mac laughed. The home he lived in as a child was now a bed and breakfast on Main Street. His mother sold it when she moved into a more modest house after he left home.
Jack's short attention span quickly shifted back to the cute waitress. Mac sipped his coffee. Long ago, he'd learned to tune out most of Jack's chatter. Finally he pushed his half empty cup away. It wasn't nearly as good as Beth's. She'd spoiled him.
“I'm heading over to Speedy's garage. Sam is already home. If you want, you can go and hang out with him,” he told Jack as he unwound his long legs from under the counter.
“Hey, great! Jack chirped. “Say hi to Speedy for me.”
Chapter Fifteen
Mac shook his head as he pulled into his driveway two hours later. It looked like a used car lot. Harry's Nomad sat nearest the porch steps, Sam's bike along side. His own truck took up the rear. He maneuvered Beth's truck in along side his .. He scratched his chin and debated whether or not he wanted to go inside Not only were Sam and Jack inside, but also Beth, Maria and Molly, by the sound of the laughter coming through the screen door.
Beth appeared at the door. She stepped outside as Mac started up the steps. He held her keys out to her. “I put on a new timing belt and adjusted the timing. I also changed your oil and checked all of the fluids,” he told her “It wouldn't hurt to have Speedy steam clean the engine so I can check it over better,” he added. Her fingers brushed his as she took the keys, and that, now familiar, bolt of electricity sparked up his spine.
“How much do I owe you?” Beth asked.
“Are you kidding me? After all you've done for me?” he answered softly.
She blushed. “Thank you, Angus,” she whispered.
He smiled. His name, on her lips, sounded right. His feet moved without his brain kicking in. He took one step closer to her, but she, in tandem, took one step back. He advanced one step closer, forcing her to back up against the house. She glanced over her shoulder at the house. “Maria is lovely,” she whispered as he leaned toward her.
Mac's eyes widened. For a moment, looking into the depths of Beth's blue eyes, he forgot about Maria. He stepped back. He looked away and whispered, “Thank you.”
“I... I got a rug for your bedroom,” she stammered, her back pressed to the exterior wall. Mac nodded and took another step back. She chewed her lip, then added, “I'll get Molly. I need to get home.”
Mac watched as she slipped inside, then Maria took her place at the door. She smiled and stepped out and into his arms. “I missed you,” she cooed before she ran her tongue across his lips. He let her draw him into a deep passionate kiss. The door squeaked and he broke the kiss. Beth, Molly in her arms, her eyes downcast slipped by them. He stopped her with a touch on her arm, then leaned forward and planted a kiss on Molly's forehead. The child giggled and latched her pudgy arms around his neck. Mac lifted her from her mother's arms and tossed her gently into the air. She giggled in delight. He tucked her under one arm, like a football, and jogged down the steps.
Mac retrieved Molly's car seat from the Nomad and secured it into Beth's truck, Molly clinging playfully to his pant leg, riding his foot. Beth strapped the child in, then went around to the driver's side where he held the door open for her. She slipped her key into the ignition without looking at him as he closed her door, then took a deep breath. Mac saw a look of despair cross her face. “What's wrong?” he asked. He leaned his elbows on the truck window sill, bending down to her level.
She opened her mouth, as if to say something, then closed it again. She shook her head.
“What is it? Did Maria say something that upset you?” he asked again.
She shook her head. “Oh, no, of course not. I... Bye, and thanks again,” she answered as she started the engine.
“What's wrong, Beth?” Mac prodded again. She started straight ahead. “Beth?” he cajoled more forcefully.
She shook her head again. “Nothing, I have a small problem at the store that I need to work out, that's all.” She turned the ignition key, then looked at him. “Sam and Jack can come for dinner tonight if you want some more alone time with Maria,” she added. “Tell Sam I'll make him something fattening.” She threw the truck into reverse. Mac watched as she rumbled down the gravel drive, then he glanced back at the house. Maria, standing on the porch, watched him. She smiled that sweet sexy smile of hers.
Chapter Sixteen
In the guest room, Mac carefully dressed in his black silk shirt, dark blue tie National Wildlife Federation tie, and tan trousers. It was his last evening with Maria. Her flight left tomorrow at noon. Maria dressed in the master.
They had reservations at a new restaurant in town that Beth told him about – all candle light and atmosphere – and natural foods as a bonus. He also planned a nice ride in the country – a tour of his old haunts.
Mac stared at himself in the mirror. What he planned to ask of Maria tonight frightened him. He studied his face in the worn mirror. He wasn't getting any younger, that was for sure. He'd let Kate go, and Debra, and Karen. He couldn't let Maria go, too. He straightened his tie for the third time, then smoothed his cowlick. Satisfied that he looked as good as he could, he slipped on his sport coat and walked down the hall to the Maria's room. Halfway there, he snapped his fingers and turned back. He picked up the old leather ring box on his dresser and opened it. The diamond setting in the ring wasn't large – but it was the best that James MacGyver could afford to buy Ellen Jackson. He tucked the ring in his sport coat pocket, and left his room.
Maria opened the door almost immediately at his knock. He sucked in a deep breath then grinned. She was beautiful. She wore a form fitting and very short little black dress. A strand of pearls adorned her neck, pearl earrings on her lobes. Her shoes were spiked high heel pumps. She wore a wide black ribbon headband. The overall effect, with her pale blond hair was stunning.
“Wow,” he gushed – and he meant it. Maria ran her hand down the lapel of his sport coat.
“Wow, yourself,” she cooed.
“Are you ready?” he asked. “I know I am,” he added as he leaned toward her.
She laughed softly. “Our reservations?”
“Mmmm,” he moaned as he took in the swell of her breasts above the low neck of her dress. “We can hit McDonald's later.” She laughed and steered him to the stairs. Downstairs, everything was quiet. Sam and Jack were not there. They'd accepted Beth's invitation to dinner.
Mac helped Maria into her seat in the Nomad. Across the street, Jack and Beth stood in the gazebo. Molly played with Maynard-dog in the yard nearby.
Suddenly, Jack pulled Beth into his arms and planted his lips firmly against hers. He dipped her, shielding her from Mac's gaze. Mac took a deep breath. He didn't realize that his fists clinched. He didn't care that Jack kissed Beth, he told himself. He just didn't want Jack to hurt her. She was naive and vulnerable. He shook his head as he climbed into the seat beside Maria. Beth was a big girl, he told himself. She can take care of herself. He didn't see when Beth slapped Jack. Nor did he see Jack's watch his reaction to the kiss.
Chapter Seventeen
Mac smiled at the quizzical expression on Maria's face as he pulled off the main road. Dinner was wonderful. The drive through Mission City was a full scale walk down memory lane, but now... now for something special, he thought.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
He winked at her. “A special place,” he answered. Earlier in the day, on the way back from working on Beth's truck, he scoped the place out. He'd worried that the old 'lover's lane' by the lake was gone, but, to his delight, it hadn't changed since his high school days. Better still, it was deserted. He slipped his car into a nook facing the lake. The full moon reflected romantic r
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