Challengers Volunteer
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Joined: 15 Jul 2008
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Country: SC - USA
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Season: season 1
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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 ripples of white gold on the water. He turned off the car, then looked at her, beautiful and cool in the moonlight.
“Did I ever tell you about C.O.D. Curves?” he asked her.
“No, Mac. What are C.O.D. Curves?” she asked.
“Well... A C.O.D. Curve,” he explained. “Is a quick left turn on the road. If a guy times it just right, the object of his affection, seated where you are now, slides right into his arm. C.O.D. Stands for 'come over darling'.” He winked and wriggled his index finger at her. “Come over darling,” he whispered.
She laughed and slid across the seat into his waiting arms. He kissed her deeply, then stroked her face. “Commitment,” he cooed. Mac looked into her cool blue eyes. “Will you stay here with me, Maria? Will you marry me?”
Maria tucked her head under his chin. “Oh Mac,” she whispered. His heart thudded in his chest as he waited for the answer.
She finally lifted her head and looked into his face. Moonlight reflected off her straight blond hair. “Mac. I want to be with you, but I'm not ready to leave my life in LA. I have my work, and my grandfather to see to, as well as his toy store. I can't abandon him.” She stroked his face. “Please. Come back with me. Come home, Mac. We can make a home in the Hills – away from the panic of the city if you like.” She slipped her hand onto his chest, and started to slide it down. “A place for all of us,” she whispered as she touched his belt. She kissed his neck, and opened the clasp of his belt. “You, me, Grandfather – and Sam,” she cooed as she unzipped his pants. Mac took a slow deep breath then buried his lips into the crook of her neck when her hand found its target. Unbidden, a vision of Beth, so cute in her coveralls and pink flip-flops, flashed through his mind.
Back home, Jack Dalton padded up the stairs, then down the hall to Sam's room. He quietly knocked on the young man's door. A few seconds later, Sam opened up.
“Hey, pal,” Jack whispered. Inside, he closed the door as quietly as possible.
“What's up?” Sam asked.
“Shh,” Jack whispered, his finger to his lips. “Mac could be home any minute.”
“What's with all the cloak and dagger?” Sam asked.
Jack grabbed Sam's arm and steered him away from the door. “I was talking to the Widow Reardon – you know, while you were washing dishes,” he added.
“I remember,” Sam scowled. He picked up the camera he was cleaning and sat on his bed.
“Anyway,” Jack continued. “We need to talk... you and me, a Mano a Mano”
Chapter Eighteen
I once had a dream that I was walking a tight rope. I knew that, sooner or later, I would fall off. The entire course of my life would be based on which side of the rope I fell – each leading to different paths.
That night, Mac tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Finally, at four in the morning, he gave up and went downstairs to put on his kettle.
As the water heated, he stared out of the kitchen window into the dark where he'd planned on putting his garden in the spring. He shook his head. “What do I know about gardening anyway,” he muttered.
He fixed his tea, then walked into his den. Harry's old desk, scrubbed and polished, was piled high with the books and employee guides from the community college. He switched on the desk lamp and sat in the old rolling chair. He opened the elementary physics book and tried to read, but the simple concepts of vectors bored him and he slammed the book closed.
He was engaged – just what he wanted. Maria wore his mother's ring. So, why did he feel the onset of impending doom?
He reached for his tea, missed and knocked the mug to the floor. The tea soaked into the new carpet. He got towels and squatted, trying to blot up the liquid as best as he could. Sam joined him.
Mac looked at Sam as the young man helped to blot the carpet. “What are you doing up?” Mac asked softly.
“I heard you down here,” Sam answered. The boy sat back on his heels. “Are you okay, Dad?” he asked.
Mac tossed the soaked towels into the trash bin by the desk. He didn't answer Sam for a long time, instead stared at the stain. What could he say to Sam? The young man worked so hard to help him with the house, now they were going to abandon it. He felt Sam's eyes watching him, and forced a smile on his face. “I'm fine, just nervous. Maria and I are getting married.”
“Oh. Congratulations,” Sam answered. “When's the wedding?”
“After the first of the year. I can't back out of the teaching post for this semester,” Mac answered. He stood and picked up the waste basket of towels, then reached down with his free hand and ruffled Sam's hair. “It'll be great – we'll get a place in the hills above L.A. - big enough for all of us.”
“This place is big enough,” Sam answered as he stood. He followed Mac into the kitchen.
Mac explained as he rinsed the towels in the sink. “Maria doesn't want to leave her job, and her grandfather is getting on in years.”
Sam hauled himself up and sat on the counter. “I guess that's okay, if that's what you want,” he told Mac. “But I thought you wanted to fix up this place?” he asked.
Mac leaned on the counter beside his son. “I'll go back to the Phoenix Foundation. That will bring in enough money to hire someone to fix it up for us. We can come out for vacations,” he added.
Sam nodded. “Yeah, vacations.”
“If you transfer to UCLA or Berkley, you'll be close. And money won't be a problem,” Mac added.
Sam sighed. “Yeah, whatever,” he muttered. He jumped off the counter and headed for the door.
Mac caught his arm as he passed. “What's wrong, Sam?”
Sam stared into the dark dining room for a moment before he looked back at Mac. “What's wrong with YOU, Dad?” he countered, an edge to his voice.
“What do you mean?” Mac asked.
“When we first got here, you were happy – really happy. You had plans, you found a way to make a living. Then Maria called. Ever since then, you've been spiraling down. Do you think I haven't noticed that you don't sleep at night? What's wrong with you, Dad? Is it this place? Is it Maria? Is it me? Or is it you?” he spat out. Sam shook his head and placed his hand on Mac's shoulder. “You said you'd been, and I quote, 'shot, stabbed, thrown off buildings, blown up and beat up enough for a lifetime,” Sam barked. “Now you plan to go right back to it because of a tight piece of ass in a mini skirt,” he finished.
Mac stared at his son for a moment, letting Sam's anger sink in. “I'm forty two years old, Sam. If I let Maria go, I may never find someone else. If I let her go...” he answered.
“She'll end up dead like my mother?” Sam asked bitterly. He shook his head. “I don't think that's true, Dad,” his tone softer. “What you feel for Maria is the same as you feel for everyone you've ever rescued – responsibility, not love. I have a feeling that if you let Maria go, you WILL find your heart's desire, and I also think you know it, but you're afraid.” Sam waved his hand. “The great MacGyver, a coward, afraid of...”
Mac shook his head. “No,” he interrupted his son.
Sam continued. “Everything you want is right here, you just have to wait for it Dad. But you've let Maria blind you. Pull off your blinders. Maria's got you so sexually charged you can't see beyond your dick.”
Mac slapped him.
Sam stared at him in defiance, no reaction to the slap except the tightening of his jaw. Finally, he shook his head. “I love you, Dad. But, I'm out of here in two weeks when the semester starts. I won't follow you to L.A. Because I won't watch you die a fast death in a foreign country, or a slow one in a loveless marriage. Do what you want. I'm going to bed.”
Chapter Nineteen
Mac stared into the dark dining room long after Sam left, unable to think, unable to relax. Then he stared at Beth's drawing of Sam and him until his eyes began to droop near dawn. Finally exhausted, he curled up on the living room sofa. He'd only been there a few minutes when the phone rang.
“Mr. MacGyver?” a strange female voice answered his hello.
“Yes?” he answered.
“Mr. MacGyver, my name is Angela Simmons. I am the managing director of the CEC.”
Mac sat up straight and glanced at his wife, reading in her big easy chair under the bay window. “Is Harry okay?” he asked. His wife looked up at him, then stood, her book forgotten.
“Mr. MacGyver, there is a problem. Harry's bus is unaccounted for. Now I'm sure there is no cause for concern, but...”
Mac jumped to his feet. “What do you mean the bus is 'unaccounted for'?
“As I was saying, Sir. I'm sure there is nothing to worry about – they probably just had engine trouble.”
“Engine trouble? Engine trouble? Harry's bus was due in four hours ago – but you don't know where he and – what – the twenty others on the bus are?” He winced at the look on his wife's face. “Where is the last place that you DO know they were?” he quipped.
“Well, the FBI is trying to find that out now. This is just a courtesy call. I'm calling all of the families of those on the bus,” the woman answered.
Mac turned his back on his wife. “Why is the FBI involved if you don't think there is cause for alarm?”
“I really don't have anything else I can tell you at this point, Mr. MacGyver. Except, that we will keep you appraised of the situation,” the woman answered.
“You bet you will,” Mac answered just as the line went dead. He heard dial tone and turned back to his wife. He dropped the phone and caught her as her knees buckled under her.
“I'll find him,” Mac whispered in her ear. He held her tight. She was the love of his life – his soul mate. She tucked her head against his chest. “We don't know that anything is wrong, yet,” he tried to comfort her, but he knew her panic matched his own. He pushed her up and stroked her cheek. “I'll find him,” he said again.
He grabbed the phone, reset the receiver, then dialed. “The Phoenix Foundation. Do you know your party's extension?” a cheery voice answered.
“I need to speak to the Director of Operations. It's an emergency. Tell her its MacGyver,” he told the switchboard operator. She put him on hold. He tapped the receiver impatiently as he waited.
An automated voice picked up. “I'm sorry, the Director of Operations is out of the office at this time. If you will leave your name, number, and a brief message at the tone, she will return your call. However, if you are calling about the status of a research grant...” Mac slammed the phone down on the recording, then redialed.
“The Phoenix Foundation. Do you know your party's extension?” the cherry voice answered again.
“Listen,” Mac answered. “I just called to speak to the Director of Ops and you connected me to voice mail. I have to speak to the director immediately. Please tell her MacGyver is on the phone.”
“Just a moment, Sir,” cheery voice answered. She put him on hold. Bland muzak filled his ear.
“Hello, this is Susan Ray, assistant to the director. How may I help you?” a woman answered at last.
Mac sighed, exasperated. “Susan, my name is MacGyver – I need to speak with the DO – now.”
“Mr. MacGyver, may I ask the nature of your call?”
“I believe there's been a kidnapping and that it may concern a man named Murdoc. Now please connect me to the DO.”
“Sir, we are a research and development corporation. Kidnappings are handled by the FBI. I'm happy to give your their number.”
“I don't want their number. I want to speak to the DO, she knows me and WILL take my call,” Mac quipped.
“I'm sorry, Sir. I know you are upset, but we cannot help you here,” she answered. “Now, that number is 800-55...” Mac slammed down the phone.
He dialed another number. “Gas up the plane.” he told Jack. “We leave as soon as I get there. I'll explain when I see you.” He hung up and turned around. His wife stood behind him. Her eyes were dry, her jaw set.
“Pack for me,” he told her. “One backpack with two changes of clothes – one work clothes, the other dress casual.” He checked his wallet and counted his cash. “And I need all of the cash you have.” She bolted up the stairs; he ran to the shed. He grabbed a roll of duct tape and a small roll of picture wire.”What else? What else?” he muttered as he rummaged through his work room. He found a cigarette lighter that he used for his acetylene torch, and a handful of paper clips. He shoved everything into the deep pockets of his cargo pants, followed by tweezers, a few rubber bands. A ball point pen went into his shirt pocket. He ran back into the house.
His wife handed him his backpack and a wad of bills. “It's only fifty dollars – grocery money. I gave the rest to Harry,” she told him. Then she added, “And here's my American Express.”
“With what I had, that gives me a hundred and fifteen dollars and my Mastercard – it'll have to do,” he answered. He shouldered the backpack then pulled her into his arms. “I'll find him,” he whispered in her ear. “I swear, I'll find him.” She looked up at him and he kissed her. He kissed her hard and deep – enough of a kiss to last until he saw her again. No, not enough, but it would have to do. He turned and ran down the steps to his truck.
“I'll find him,” he mumbled. “I'll find...”
“Mac, Mac!” Someone shook him. He was in a fog, fought to get clear. “Mac. You're having a nightmare,” Maria's voice floated to him.
He opened his eyes. The dream was so real that it took him a moment to get his bearings. Where was the easy chair under the window? Where was the big bay window? Why was the door in the wrong place? The summer sun streamed through the big picture window. In another moment, he realized that he was curled up on the parlor sofa at Harry's house. Maria kneeled on the floor in front of him. Her hand lay on his chest; his mother's ring winked on her finger. “It's just a nightmare, Mac. Every thing's okay,” she whispered.
He reached for the phone by the sofa. It wasn't there. No, that was in the dream. He didn't have a phone by the sofa. He looked at Maria, kneeling in front of him. “Maria,” he whispered, then he uncurled and stood. “I have to make a call.” In the kitchen, he dialed, his hands still shaking from the nightmare. Pete answered on the third ring.
“Pete,” Mac answered. “Are you still D.O. at the Phoenix Foundation?” he asked.
“Of course I am, Mac. Have you heard different?” Pete chuckled.
Mac sighed. “No, I... I don't know I just had a dream that was like, you know, real... Forget it, sorry to bother you.” He started the hang up, changed his mind. “No wait, Pete,” he added hoping his friend hadn't hung up. “What do you know about an organization called the CEC?”
“Well, there's the China Electronics Corporation, Cope Environmental Center, the Center for Exception Children, and the California Energy Commission to name a few. Which one did you have in mind?” Pete answered.
Mac sighed. He couldn't imagine Harry having anything to do with any of those organizations. He shook his head. “Never mind. It was just a dream.” He hung and looked at Maria standing by the door. “It was so real. Like I was there. Really there,” he told her.
Chapter Twenty
The next few months were hectic, humbling, and full of small, everyday surprises. My job at the community college started off with a bang, literally – a small experiment to get my students' attention. With a lot of advice from both my old physics professor, and the instructional coach at the local school district, I managed to get through my first semester teaching without completely falling on my face. I fell in love with everyone of my students – the bright ones, and the not so bright. Its a great thrill to see the look on students' faces when they finally understand a difficult concept. There is an old adage that says 'those who can, do; those who can't teach'. I discovered that's wrong. I loved it. Being in a physics lab again also gave me a chance to brush up my own skills, and even do a little experimenting.
Sam was doing well at Minnesota U as well. He lived in a small walk-up apartment with two other students, but, despite his threat, came home almost every weekend – if he didn't have a date. We didn't talk much about Maria. But we had plenty of other things to talk about.
The fix-it shop started slow, but steadily increased in business until I stayed pretty busy during the day. As Christmas approached, I had a steady stream of people coming by with problems with their holiday light setups.
Jack found an old house trailer and moved it out back; it's electricity and water provided by an extension cord and a garden hose from my house. Three months ago, he went back to L.A. and flew out his plane. We cleaned up a stretch of pasture for a landing strip. “Fly-By-Night” did more business in Minnesota as a sky taxi than it ever did in California. I asked him to stay and watch over the place after I moved back to LA. He liked the idea of living in that big, old farmhouse rent free and agreed.
Maria called every few days and sent letters. Lots of letters. Each one filled with some wedding decision I had to make – tuxedos, flowers, the cake... It was mind boggling. I never knew getting married took so much effort.
I also worked at the co-op once a week, keeping the machinery running for Beth – like her old cash register, or the compressor for the cold room. She didn't come around on those days.
The best days, except of course for those when Sam was around, were when Beth dropped Molly off to stay with me. It was my suggestion. The idea was to give Molly a male role model. Beth agreed. So, on Fridays and Wednesdays, Beth dropped the kid off at eight in the morning and picked her up at four in the afternoon. I fixed a safe play area for her in the shop where I could supervisor her. But most of the time she sat on my lap while I fixed things. She loved to play with the tiny plastic hammer I got her, and plastic nails. She also had an uncanny ability to take apart things I'd just put together. Kids and I always got along. Their emotions are so raw, so close to the surface, not hidden by a carefully crafted facade. I never expected to fall in love, but I did. It also forced home the things I'd missed while Sam grew up.
Beth was so busy that I rarely saw her any more. She was either inspecting farms, working at the co-op, giving lectures on natural gardening, or working in her studio which I discovered was the top room of her house. You know, the one with the widow's walk. Twice, she flew out to New York for gallery shows. Early in December, she went to California for two weeks. I convinced myself that I didn't miss her when she was gone, but I did. I asked her and her family to dinner a few times with Jack, Sam and me, but at the last minute, something always happened and only Molly and Mrs. Schockley came. After a while, I got the hint. Or course, when Sam was home, he always ate at her house at least once. I think he had a huge crush on her.
Beth did bring her tractor over and show me how to plow, then plant a fall garden. I wouldn't be there for the spring planting, but at least I could eat fresh fall greens, peas and onions. It was my first garden, and pretty scrawny, but with her help I stumbled through it.
I also started spending my Saturday nights at the Mission City Youth Center. I don't care what size town a kid grows up in. There are always teen issues. Even in Mission City we saw our share of drugs, alcohol, teen pregnancy and defiant behavior. I'd been there as a kid, and I had a teen of my own. It was only natural that I give some of my time at the center.
Bob Townsend, coach of the local junior hockey team asked me to help him out. Between two jobs, the Youth Center, and working on Harry's place, I didn't have the time, but I did have dinner with him and his family often to discuss game strategies.
I knew that, if I played my cards right, I'd never have to eat at home. Someone always invited me for dinner. But most of my free nights, I preferred to hang with Jack when he was around. But, slowly and surely, I was becoming a part of Crow Wing County. The thought of leaving it behind and returning to LA with its crime and pollution was tough. But Maria was in California, so that is where I was going.
Christmas came. I made most of the presents I gave out. For Jack, I rebuilt the instrument panel in his plane, but I also got him one of those radio-controlled cars to unwrap under the tree. Sam got a new computer that I put together out of parts I scrounged, and some clothes, of course. (He needed them.) I put together a train set for Molly. I mounted it to a large plywood table, and modeled her house and the outbuildings in the center. Little people represented her family - even Maynard-dog. I set it up in an out of the way corner of Beth's barn late Christmas eve, playing Santa Claus. For Mrs. Schockley, I made new window boxes for the front windows – the old ones had started to rot. I found some old sheet metal at the dump. After cleaning it and sanding off the old paint, I made large floor tins for all of Beth's different flours. I guess you can tell that I still suffered from insomnia. Maria was the only one I didn't make something for. Instead, I had the local jeweler make a diamond pendant and earrings for her to match my mother's ring.
Maria wanted to spend Christmas with her father; Sam and I wanted to spend our Christmas on the farm, so I didn't see her then. Instead my family and Beth's all got together Christmas eve at her house. Beth and Mrs. Schockley cooked a huge feast – you know, the usual Christmas fair; a ham, lots of preserved vegetables, and more sweets than even Sam and Molly could eat. Mrs. Schockley gave me a really great sweater she made. Sam got a matching one. Jack got a box full of cookies, fudge, homemade mints and various chocolate covered goodies. Beth gave me huge box of jams and jellies she'd made, a book on gardening in Minnesota, and a watercolor painting of Sam playing with Molly.
All in all, it was a great Christmas, but the move loomed over my head. Luckily, I didn't really have much to pack up – just my clothes and some personal items like pictures and my computer. The furniture would stay in the house. Maria already had us a place lined up, with furniture. It was a small place, near the Phoenix Foundation, two bedrooms. We didn't need anything larger, yet. Sam swore he would never go there and Grandfather Romburg wanted to stay in his apartment over the toy store as long as he was able. I was to stay there alone until Maria moved in after the wedding.
I had to admit to myself, that, although I was more relaxed than I could ever remember being, I did miss the excitement of LA, and of my work. Don't get me wrong, repairing things for my neighbors, gardening, and fixing the house were satisfying. Those menial jobs gave me plenty of time to think. And I absolutely loved teaching. When I got back to LA, I thought I might get a California teaching certificate and teach underprivileged kids. But, Maria was right. I needed more excitement in my life than Crow Wing County offered. Or so I thought.
Chapter Twenty One
Mac waited for his baggage to roll down the conveyor at LAX. He grinned remembering when he rode a similar conveyor with Penny Parker. He wondered how she was doing – thought about calling her when he got to the apartment. He checked his pocket and made sure he still had the apartment address. He needed to take a taxi because Maria was out of town on assignment, and he Pete couldn't drive anymore because of his eye problems.
His bag finally rolled up, and he grabbed it. Outside, taxis waited for fares. He gave a driver the address, and sat back to watch the noon rush and to listen to the sounds of traffic and construction. He thought about the wedding. It was only a week away. Maria booked a room at the Beverly Wilshire for the ceremony, and the honeymoon suite for after. It was fancier than he wanted, but at least she'd agreed to a small reception at the Phoenix Foundation instead of a big one at the hotel. Pete and Nikki were the hosts.
The taxi pulled up to one of those high-rise apartment buildings, and Mac winced. The last thing he wanted after the fresh air and sunshine of Minnesota was to be cooped up in an apartment with no outside access. But it was only for a little while, until they could buy something better. He lugged his bag onto the elevator. The apartment was on the fourth floor. Maria sent him the key two weeks ago, so he fished it out of his pocket.
Inside, the furnace blasted hot air. It took his breath away. Harry's old house was never warm, and he'd become accustomed to the cold. He found the thermostat, turned off the heat, then checked out the apartment. His things were shipped last week and waited in boxes on the living room floor. A narrow balcony fronted the living room. A bar separated the living room from the small U-shaped kitchen. There were two bedrooms. The smaller one was empty, but in the master there was a standard double bed, with the usual matching side tables, a dresser, and a desk. There were two bathrooms, one off the master and one in the hall.
There was no sign that Maria had done any decorating. The only art work in the place was still wrapped up with his stuff – the watercolor of Sam and Molly that Beth painted.
He shucked out his jacket and shoes and stretched out on the bed, couldn't sleep, checked the time – only 2:30 pm. Since a nap was clearly not going to happen, he changed into jeans and the sweater Mrs. Schockley knitted. There was still time to go see Pete before he left from work. Maybe Pete would let him buy dinner for the two of them.
Mac no longer had a pass card for the Phoenix Foundation and the receptionist was new, so he waited in the lobby while the receptionist called up stairs. He expected to be just be buzzed up, was surprised and delighted when Nikki Carpenter, looking gorgeous in a pinstriped, form fitting Armani suit and stacked heels rolled out of the elevator.
“Mac,” she called, her arms open wide. “Oh God, I've missed you.”
He grinned, “Hey, the feeling's mutual.” He gave her a big hug and swung her off her feet in a wide arc.
“I knew you couldn't stay away,” she told him as she ushered him onto the elevator. “Pete's got everything ready upstairs: your ID, contract, and something special,” she grinned.
“Oh yeah?”
“Oh yeah. You're gonna love it.”
The elevator door opened and Mac felt a whole lot more at home than he did in “his” new apartment. Nothing much had changed in the nearly nine months he'd been away. Pete stood by his office door, cane in hand, that broad familiar smile on his face. When Mac reached him, he swept Mac into a huge bear hug that threatened to squeeze out all of the air in his lungs. One lone tear did escape from Mac. He never realized just how much he missed his old friend.
“Ah Mac, its good to have you home,” Pete whispered in his ear. He slipped his beefy arm around Mac's slender one and let Mac lead him into his office. Nikki followed close behind.
“I can't believe you're actually getting married,” Pete said. He laughed. “You should have heard the moans of agony from all the single women in the Foundation when Maria showed off her ring.”
“Yeah, well, a guy can't stay single forever.” Mac answered.
Pete found his chair, and offered one to Mac. He pulled a large manila envelop from his top desk drawer and pushed it across the desktop to MacGyver. “Your contract is in here,” he told Mac. “If you get that signed, we can get your pay started. With all the money Maria's spending for the wedding, you're gonna need it,” he added with a laugh.
Mac opened the envelope. It was the standard two year contract, the same as before – a slightly better salary, no hazard pay, the insurance plan – due to the nature of his job description was superb. Mac's preferred bonuses, in lieu of hazard pay, were also included.
“How's Sam? And Jack?” Pete asked as Mac signed. He passed the contract back to Pete.
“They're both good. Really good. Sam made all A's for the term, and Jack's sky taxi business is booming,” Mac explained. Pete slid the contract into his desk drawer.
“Nikki has everything ready for you and Maria's reception,” Pete told him.
Nikki, leaning on the back of Mac's chair added, “Just the folks here, like you wanted, and those few special people you put on your list – Penny Parker, Mama Lorraine and the rest. Oh, and Sam asked that I invite your neighbors , the Reardons, but I got a polite decline from Ms. Reardon a few days ago. She said she wished you well, but her finances didn't permit the trip.”
Mac nodded. He didn't know that Sam invited Beth. Nor did she tell him. He looked at Pete. “So, what do we do now?”
Pete answered. “Well, first you get married and have a honeymoon. Then we'll see what's up.”
“When is Maria due back?” Mac asked.
“I just got confirmation that her mission was successful. She should be back within forty eight hours,” was the answer.
“So, how's the apartment?” Pete asked.
“Dreary,” Mac answered with a grimace.
“Yeah, I know, I saw it.” Pete answered. “But you won't be there long. You want to buy a place in the mountains, Maria said?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
Pete grinned up at Nikki. It was that special grin that told him Pete had something up his sleeve.
“What's up, Pete. Nikki said you had something special for me?”
Pete grinned. “Since you brought it up. Yeah, I do.” He stood and felt his way around the desk. Mac stood and took Pete's arm.
Nikki led the way into the elevator, and all the way down to the labs in the secure basement below ground. She led them down the hall, past the bioengineering labs to the old computer room at the end of the hall. Mac pulled up short when he saw the engraved sign on the door. “MacGyver.”
“Pete?” he asked.
Pete rested his hand on Mac's shoulder. “I spent a whole lot hours talking to Sam a couple of months ago. He told me your were having a hard time with moving back, so he and I, with a little help from some of your friends fixed this place up for you.” Pete swiped his pass card in the lock and pushed open the door to reveal a large room.
Three walls were covered in a painted mural. The west wall was the view from his houseboat overlooking the harbor, including the windows – as if he was sitting inside. The north wall was covered in framed pictures of everyone he loved, all hung over a painted sky mural. A large picture of Harry and Mac together hung on one side of the door, a picture of Sam on the other side. Smaller pictures of Pete, Jack, Penny, Maria, Mama Lorraine, Nikki , Lisa, Kate... – even Beth, Mrs. Schockley and Molly - covered the rest of the space. The east wall was the view from his front porch swing in Minnesota – the field, the road, Beth's house on the hill, including his porch railings. On the north wall, directly across the room from the door, metal industrial shelving, stacked to the ceiling with chemical glassware, gadgets, parts and tools, and an entire case of duct tape, wrapped around two doors – one to a closet, the other to a bathroom. A fire safe chemical locker was embedded into the shelves. In the center of the room two large work tables with cabinets beneath, were bolted to the floor, – one wet, the other dry, a double fumes hood hung from the ceiling over the work tables. A desk with a sophisticated computer set up backed up against the dry worktable. Against the 'Minnesota' wall, was a twin bed beside a small night table, complete with lamp, and clock radio.
“Your office,” Pete said.
Mac stared in disbelief. “My office?”
“You always said you needed a place to work on things,” Pete told him. “I knew you wouldn't be happy in that downtown apartment unless you had a retreat of your own.”
“I... I'm speechless.”
“You should have seen what it took to get this place together in time. If it hadn't been for Beth, we never would have made it,” Nikki added.
Mac turned around to look at Nikki. “Beth? Beth Reardon?”
“We had photos to work from that Sam took, but when we tried to get them painted, they just never worked out right. So, Sam suggested that we bring in Beth. We flew her out here...”
“In early December,” Mac finished. “She told me she had a gallery opening.”
Nikki shrugged. “She lied,” she answered with a smile.
He wandered into the room and over to the Minnesota wall. He searched the far right lower corner and there it was, “B. Reardon, 11/92.” He looked up at her widow's walk. The doors to her studio stood open, the curtains blowing in the breeze. A summer storm threatened on the horizon. A tiny figure stood in the door, curly blond hair, a toy hammer in her tiny hand. Behind her stood Beth, one hand on her daughter's shoulder, the other brushing her long dark hair out of her face.
Sam's words echoed in his ears. “What you feel for Maria is the same as you feel for everyone you've ever rescued – responsibility, not love. Everything you want is right here, Dad. You just have to wait for it.”
Nikki and Pete left Mac alone to explore his 'office.' He sat down on the twin bed and stared around him. Within minutes his head drooped. He curled up on the bed, pulled a brightly colored homemade quilt over himself and slept. The pictures of Sam, Beth, Molly, and all of his friends guarded him as he slept.
Chapter Twenty-Two
He woke with Pete standing over him, shaking his shoulder. “Mac, are you going to sleep for the rest of your life?” Pete asked as Mac rubbed his eyes.
Mac ruffled his hand through his hair and sat up, swiped his hands across his face. “What time is it?”
“Better to ask what day it is.”
“Huh?” Mac looked at Pete surprised.
“I tried to wake you last night for that dinner you promised me, but you were dead to the world. You were still asleep when I checked on you this morning when I got to work. You've slept almost twenty hours, Mac.”
“Your kidding.”
“Nope. Must have been some rough flight,” Pete added.
Mac shoved his hand through his hair again, then glanced at the clock. “I haven't been sleeping well. I guess it caught up with me.”
“Obviously,” Pete answered. “You slept through your ringing phone, too,” he added.
Mac glanced at the phone on his desk. Could he have really slept that heavy?
Pete grinned. “Maria called. She wants you to pick her up at LAX at two. That gives you just enough time to get home and cleaned up. You're a mess.”
Mac nodded. “Two, got it. Thanks, Pete.”
“Your welcome.”
He made it to the airport just in time to watch Maria walk up the concourse toward him. What could he say to her?
Gee Maria, sorry, but I can't marry you. I'm in love with a woman who is still in love with her dead husband, he shook his head. Well that would never work.
Maria reached him and molded her body against him. This time there was no chemistry, just a deep longing to wrap his hands in three feet of dark hair – to feel Beth's work hardened hands on his skin.
In the taxi, Maria leaned against him – cooed about their wedding night to come. He took her to the apartment. His things were still unpacked on the living room floor. He told her they had to talk.
Two hours later, he carried the last of his things from the apartment into his new office. He sat the box in a corner, then fished the ring box out of his pocket. He opened, studied his mother's ring, then snapped the box shut. Maria tried to give him the necklace and earrings he gave her for Christmas, but her asked her to keep them. They were a gift. The phone rang. It was an old friend – a former professor actually – Atticus. He needed the help of the Phoenix Foundation, particularly Mac's help.
Chapter Twenty-three
I clung to a small metal support in an old London sewer system. I'd been on the run , trying to solve my friend's murder. My socks were soaked with God knows what after running through the sewer from three men with guns, with my shoes in my hands. Exhausted, I rested my head on my hand while the bad guys disappeared down the tunnel away from me.
I wanted to feel fresh Minnesota air, eat green beans off the vine, and sip strong coffee from an air pot. I wanted to hold Sam, to see what Jack did to Harry's house the last two years.
I wanted to hear Beth's giggle, to see her blush, to finally feel her arms around me. I wanted to hold Molly in my arms. That was when I knew that, beyond a shadow of doubt, when I solved Paul's murder – I was going home. Not to Los Angeles with its smog, and crime, but to Minnesota – back to teaching, to my shop out back, to the Youth Center. I wanted to feel clean again. I wanted to be loved as much as I loved. If Beth wouldn't have me, then being near her would be enough. Sam would be enough. It was time to quit one life and get on with the next.
Two weeks later, Mac stood on the side walk on Fifth Avenue in New York City, in the heart of Greenwich Village. He compared the gallery name and address on the art show brochure in his hand with the art gallery in front of him. The billboard out front described the show inside as “Slices of Americana – Modern American Art from Fifty States.” Slick doormen in military style dress flanked the double doors. He stepped through the doors, then pushed himself through the milling crowd . Chic New York art critics, jewel dripping dowagers, and tourists dressed in their Sunday best intermingled with extravagantly dressed artists and New York's off beat avant-garde. A waiter in a cut-away offered him a glass of champagne from a silver tray. Mac waved him off.
Across the gallery, a woman with waist length, mahogany colored hair, her back to him, stood surrounded by a phalanx of handsome men. She wore a sleek red, floor length dress that hugged her curves like a glove. One shoulder was bare and exposed a climbing rose tattoo, with leaves that stretched almost to her neck. She turned to the side and exposed a slit up the side of the dress that reached almost to parts that he didn't want anyone else to see. The tall man beside his laid her hand on her bare shoulder. She lowered her eyes and blushed, then giggled. Mac chewed his lip. Fear welled up in him. Fear that he was too late.
He shouldered his way through the gallery, excusing himself as he went. Before he reached her, she turned another half turn toward him. Her deep blue eyes met his. She smiled that Mona Lisa smile, her lips parted and she silently mouthed his name, “Angus.”
She was the one he didn't rescue. The one who could stand on her own two feet. She was the one. He smiled.
“And then you got married right, Dad?” his daughter asked.
Mac looked at his daughter. She was beautiful. Her hair had darkened to a deep, rich gold like her birth father's, but she had her mother's beautiful blue eyes. At seventeen, she was almost ready to leave the nest. God, how he hated the thought.
“Of course not, Molly. She made me court her for six months.” He winked at his wife – his Beth.
“You can't let a man know when he sweeps you off your feet, Miss Molly MacGyver. You've got to keep him guessing for a while,” Beth added as she snuggled closer to her husband on the sofa.
“You kept him guessing alright,” Sam added. “As I remember, you made him beg!” he added laughing.
Mac looked around the room . The parlor bore little resemblance to the room where he and Sam slept on the floor so many years ago, amid the mice and the dust. Mac smiled. Harry would be happy to know that his great grandson and his family called the old place home, with Mac and his family just across the road.
Martha Schockley, now ninety-one years old, dosed in an easy chair. Molly sat on the floor at her grandmother's feet.
Sam, oh Sam, his Sam, home at last from his last assignment for CNN, sat in another padded chair beside the fireplace and jingled a set of plastic keys in front his tiny daughter, Katie. She giggled and reached out pudgy baby fingers.
Maggie, Sam's wife bustled around the room collecting dirty dishes.
Beth, his beautiful Beth, sat with her head on his shoulder. Her hair was still long, thanks to his pleas whenever she threatened to cut it. Most of the time now, she wore it in that old fashioned style called a 'Gibson Girl'. It was streaked with gray, but still sent chills down his spine when it swiped across his bare chest.
His half-eaten birthday cake sat on a doily on his father's old steamer trunk – Mac's Christmas gift to Sam and his wife Maggie.
Jack Dalton, his best friend – no more like a brother, sat with his wife, Mim on the settee across the room. They lived with their son, Pete. in a modest brick ranch next door to Sam. His old landing strip, rarely used now, abutted against a hangar between Sam's back pasture and Jack's property. Despite the years, despite Jack's graying hair, despite his success as a charter pilot, he was still Jack through and through.
Mac looked around again. “Where's Harry?” he asked.
Jack looked around. “Where's Pete?”
Beth sat up. “They were here just a minute ago,” she answered looking around.
Mac knitted his brows at Jack when a plane's engine, the unmistakable sound of a twin engine prop roared to life outside. “Uh, Jack. I thought the engine was frozen up on that old plane,” Mac asked as he untangled his long legs from his wife's.
“It is,” Jack answered. He cocked his ear and listened. “Or rather it was,” he added. He stood.
Mac and Jack, Sam at their heels bolted to the back door. Just as they ran down the back steps, Jack's old plane, “Fly By Night” still lettered on the side, rolled out of the hangar.
Mac took a deep breath and yelled. “HARRY!” He dashed across the field toward the runway.
Jack, running at his side yelled, “PETE!”
They reached the landing strip as the small plane caught wind and rose, lumbering into the air.
Fourteen year old Harry MacGyver didn't hear. He was too busy trying to adjust the faltering gas line. Fourteen year old Pete Dalton didn't hear, he was too busy trying to avoid slamming into the side of Uncle Sam's barn. “They'll kill us if we hit the barn,” Pete said with a grin.
“They'll kill us even if we don't hit the barn,” Harry yelled over the engine noise, his head tucked beneath the instrument panel. “Fly Pete, fly. We might as well make the most of it before I leave for nerd camp,” he added with a grin.
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