Finding Home: Book One: Love and Treachery

by KatharineC

The first installment in a MacGyver Finale.

Finding Home

A MacGyver Story for Sam, Molly, and Harry

Prologue

"Tell us the story again, please?"

"But you've heard the story a million times."

"I don't care."

"Neither do I."

Sigh.

Giggle.

"You might as well, they'll never give you any peace."

"You know it is kind of a birthday tradition."

"Okay, well, it all started with Sam."

Chapter One

Sometimes you wake up in the morning and know exactly how the next twenty four hours of your life are going to play out. Other times, well, life slides you a blind pass. Sam was my blind pass. Three months ago we were strangers. Now, well, I was a Dad, and Sam was MY kid. My nineteen year old son. It was something I certainly never expected. All of a sudden, things I thought were important just didn't matter so much anymore - like saving the world. I'd spent most of my adult life working to right a lot of wrongs for a lot of people. Now, when I looked at Sam, I just wanted to right his world. I wanted him to have a home - a real home, like I had when I was a kid - not a bachelor pad in the marina district.

When I was a kid, we lived in town in a nice old Victorian that became a bed and breakfast after my mother sold it to move into a smaller place. I was one of the town boys, wandering the streets, fields, and woods with my friends, making minor, small town mischief, chasing local girls, and working part time at the local hardware store. All in all, I grew up ensconced in small town values. Sam didn't.

That's why Sam and I stood outside my grandfather Harry's old farm house in Crow Wing County, Minnesota, staring at the peeling paint and rotting porch. My grandfather, Harry Jackson willed the place to me when he died, along with some other things – but that's a different story. At the time, I considered selling the place, but I never got around to it. I guess something deep inside of me knew I might need it one day. Now I hoped the old house would cultivate the roots that were never allowed to grow under Sam's feet.

I never dreamed the move would change my life more than Sam's.

As Mac studied the house, his thoughts drifted back through the last few months. They were the best months of his life. Riding across country on the bikes, getting to know Sam - his son, sleeping under the stars, long talks about things that matter and things that didn't matter. Son, the word still sounded strange to him. He had a son. But two weeks ago, sitting on the overlook on Table Rock Mountain down in North Carolina, staring out across the Blue Ridge Escarpment, he'd realized they couldn't wander forever. Sam never had a real home, not even when his mother was alive. The boy was dragged from place to place in search of the perfect photo story - his mother Kate's livelihood, then taken in by friends when Kate was killed. Mac, still an unknown factor to Sam, was remembered only from a small photo in Kate's locket. The contrast to Mac's childhood of small town support was extreme. Mac wanted the stability he'd known as a child for Sam. That was when Mac remembered the farm house.

Mac looked over at Sam and grinned, then strolled up the walk. Old red peonies peeked out through a choke of tall weeds in flower beds on either side of the walk. Harry didn't have much time, or inclination, to fix the place up before he died. The porch was in sad repair. One of the pillars that supported the roof was broken, so the porch roof sagged. Some of the porch boards were warped. Sharp, rusty nails stuck up from the wood. Paint peeled on the once white clapboard siding. Leaves and small branches littered the porch floor, a testament to past storms. At the steps, Mac carefully tested each board for soundness. He shoved aside wind swept debris from the front door with his boot while he pulled out the house key. The lock was rusty, and it took a few jiggles before the bolt retracted and the door opened into a narrow foyer, rooms going left and right down the hall.

Near the entrance, a huge old grandfather clock stood silent sentry. Many years ago, when Mac was a kid, it used to chime the hours with amazing accuracy. He remembered his grandfather's nightly routine. Bank the fire, set and wind the clock, put out the lights - then to bed. Mac rubbed heavy dust from the clock face, smearing it worse. "I always loved this old clock. I can't believe its still here," Mac said, his voice barely above a whisper. He turned right through a large double opening into the parlor - - the "company room". A dirty and worn old sofa sat under a picture window, flanked by ancient oak end tables. Heavy, rotting brocade curtains covered the large picture window. An ornate mantle with carved legs surrounded a large fireplace across the room on the long wall. Cobwebs filled the corners, a mouse scurried into a small hole in the wall. Sam moved to his side.

"It's a good house, solid," Mac said as he rested his arm across Sam's shoulder. "All it needs is a little spit and polish."

Sam, hands on his hips, studied the large parlor. "It's a lot of house. Sure you want to do this?"

Mac took a deep breath. "Sure, its a lot of house now, but it won't be in a few years. When you get out of college, I hope you'll get married and bring my grandchildren to visit. Often."

Sam wandered to the picture window and pulled back the curtain. The rod broke loose and the whole thing fell with a clatter. He scrambled to catch it, gave up and let it fall. He put his hands on the window sill and looked out at the over grown front yard. "Dad, I'm not so sure about college. It's expensive, and I'm doing okay without it. Besides, you're gonna need help fixing this place up."

Mac sighed. "Sam, we've already been over this. You have to go to college." He stepped over to Sam and laid his hand on his son's shoulder. "I can't give you much - not your mother, not your childhood, not a father growing up, but I can give you an education. He paused for a moment then said, "It's what your mother would want. It's what I want. I hoped it would be what you want."

Sam looked over his shoulder at his father. "It is but... It's so much money, and neither of us have worked in months." Sam added.

"I've always lived pretty simple, just banked most of what I earned, Sam. I think I can afford it. 'Course, you'll have to keep selling those picture of yours for spending money. But I can cover the major expenses," Mac answered.

Sam looked back out the window.

"Let me do this for you, Sam," Mac added.

Sam leaned on his arms, his head down. A slow smile grew on his young face. He nodded, then looked back at Mac. "Your not going to be one of those room-Mom's are you? Always hanging around?"

Mac laughed. "Not so long as you behave yourself." He slapped Sam on the back. "Why don't you start cleaning up in here and in the kitchen. I'll go into town and get us some electricity and something to eat. There's a pantry off the kitchen. It's a good place to look for a broom."

Two hours later, and a hefty electricity deposit poorer, Mac turned his motor cycle onto the gravel parking lot of the Crow County Food Co-op and Natural Foods Store, kicking up a spray of dust. The co-op was housed in an old building that used to be a full service gas station. When he was a kid, he remembered that they gave you a free drinking glass with every fill up. His grandmother had an entire set. Now, the cinder block building was painted bright white. The big front store window was sparkling clean in spite of the dust thrown up when anyone drove onto the front gravel parking lot. Someone had added a covered front porch, complete with western style railings painted deep green. Planters made from old train cross ties, full of a wild mixture of brightly colored flowers, sat where the old pumps once stood. The sign that hung above the big double doors, now flung open to the fresh morning air, was hand-painted in red and green with an ornate edging of flowers, vines and vegetables. Big comfortable rocking chairs, complete with cushions sewn from bright floral fabric waited on either side of the door. Two pickup trucks, one red and one black sat parked out front. A young woman in her early twenties tried to heave a heavy box of supplies into the bed of the red truck. Mac jogged over and lifted the box into the truck bed, then bounced up the steps onto the co-op porch.

Wood bins on the porch, fully stocked with produce, were tagged "locally grown, no pesticides". He lifted a tomato and looked for something to put it in, but saw no bags, so he put it back. He strolled past a rocker then into the building. The co-op was not fancy inside, but was well kept. The homey scent of cinnamon and fresh baked bread filled the air. The floor was concrete, but carefully painted a deep, rich mahogany color coated with a protective poly layer. It was so clean it gleamed. Three ceiling fans kept the air moving. Homemade wood shelves, painted the same dark green as the front railing, ran perpendicular to the front wall. They were stocked with "all-natural and/or pesticide-free" kitchen staples, natural cleaners, toiletries and other household supplies. Jars of honey, homemade jams, pickles and sauces took up the entire left wall. Neat, hand printed signs listed prices below the items. Full member, associate member and non-member prices were listed for each item. Overlapping strips of heavy, clear plastic sheeting covered the entrance to the right where doors once separated the garage from the retail room during the building's gas station days. Above the sheeting, a sign announced that it was the "Cold Room", and promised fresh eggs, fresh milk, cold fruits and vegetables.

An elderly man stood near the honey, reading labels. With her back to Mac, a short, thin, but very curvy woman, stacked jars on a shelf to his right. The sales counter, made of rustic old boards and curious tree trunk supports, carefully sanded and stained dark mahogany to match the floor, stood in front of the back wall. Behind the counter were more green shelves full of covered bins of flours, rice, dried beans, dried fruits, and spices, among other things. A peanut butter grinder sat on one end of the counter. On the other end, an old-fashioned mechanical cash register sat in front of a dainty, and equally old-fashioned elderly woman. Homemade baked goods flanked her on the counter. She smiled at Mac. "Mornin'," she called out. "What can I do for you?"

"Morning," Mac answered as he walked to the counter. "The manager of the Food Rite in town sent me here. They thought you could help me out." He leaned on the counter and gave the elderly woman his best little boy grin. "I just moved to town and need to stock up my kitchen, but I can't carry much on my motorcycle. The folks at the Food Rite won't deliver. The manager sent me here - said you might could help me?"

"Well, we don't deliver often, but if the price is right we might can work something out." The woman answered. "Where do you live?"

"About four or five miles west of here, on Taylor Road. Old farmhouse on the left with a windmill in the yard," he answered.

"Harry Jackson place?"

"Yea, you know it?" Mac answered.

"I do, but I didn't know it sold."

"It didn't. I inherited it."

The woman cocked her head, and narrowed her eyes. "You Ellen's boy?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answered.

"Well, I'll be," she answered. " I remember you now from Harry's funeral. That old farm of his has been empty for some time. It's going to need a lot of work to make it livable again."

Mac laughed. "You bet. Can you deliver out there?"

The woman glanced across the room. Mac followed her eyes and saw that the young woman who had been stacking jars now watched them, hands on her hips. She appeared to be in her early thirties, but she wore it well. Wisps of dark brown hair escaped from a thick, waist length braid that draped across her shoulder and down her left breast. Her skin was as fine and smooth as alabaster. She wore no makeup. Truth be told, she needed none. Her eyes, he noted, were as clear and warm a blue as the morning sky.

She glanced at him, then at the elderly woman, then back at Mac, and said , "Cash up front for every thing you buy and for the delivery. Ten dollars for my time and the gas. And, you have to load, then unload the truck," she stated. Her voice was soft and slightly throaty, a sexy southern drawl. Mac smiled and thought about the Beach Boys song – how 'Southern girls keep their boyfriends warm at night.'

"Done," he answered.

"You'll find some boxes on the side porch," she continued. "Pack up what you need and pay up. My truck is the dark green one out back. You'll find a hand truck on the porch. Any cold stuff you get, you can leave in a box in the cooler. I'll load it when I'm ready to leave. Delivery will be about six tonight, after we have shut down for the day.

Chapter Two

Four hours later, I looked like some survivor from a horror movie. The electricity company did their thing about an hour ago and thankfully, nothing shorted out when the power kicked on. Our luck ran out a few minutes later when Sam turned on the kitchen faucet and nothing happened. The well once supplied good, fresh, cold water - as much as Harry needed. But, here I was, taking apart and rebuilding the old well pump. I was covered in black grease and slime. Sweat poured down into my eyes and plastered my hair to my head. I'd taken my shirt off to protect it. Good thing too because the pump squirted green bilge all over my chest when I pried open the housing. One knuckle was crusted in blood from being slammed against the well shaft. I stank worse than the sludge plastered to the pump. Oh, I could go into town and buy a new pump but, despite what I told Sam, money WAS a factor. And fixing up Harry's old house wasn't going to be cheap. It needed a lot more work than I originally estimated. The tin roof was rusting, the fridge didn't work, and now - no water or toilets. I had just started back to work on the pump when I heard a vehicle coming up the dirt driveway.

Mac uncurled his legs and pushed himself up from the ground where he'd been working on the pump. He glanced at his watch. It was six-fifteen, the food delivery was right on time. He sat down the pump and grabbed a rag on which to wipe his greasy blackened hands, then headed for the front yard. The old green Ford pickup pulled up and stopped in front of the porch steps.

As he rounded the corner of the house, he noticed a tiny face peering out from the passenger side of the truck. The little girl was maybe two. Curly blond hair framed her angelic baby face. At his approach, the child looked at him. Her mouth opened wide and she screamed in fright. The driver's door slammed shut and the stock girl from the co-op jogged around to the child's side. The woman was dressed in worn jeans that hugged her curves like a glove. Under an unbuttoned white man's dress shirt, she wore a gray tee shirt silk screened with the logo from the Crow Wing County co-op. Her thick, dark braid hung almost to her waist. She opened the door and unbuckled the little girl from her car seat. Mac stood still and watched as the woman snuggled the screaming child in her arms, and cooed softly. The woman looked up at Mac, her head cocked to the side, her lips pursed.

"I don't normally have that effect on children," he explained. "They usually love me."

The woman nodded. "I'll bet. But then, I doubt that you usually look like the 'wild man of Borneo'.

Mac grinned, wiping his hands on a rag. "Little Rascals - my favorite episode. Yum, Yum, eat 'em up."

The woman grinned back, then turned her attention back to the wailing child. Coddled, the child sniffed, then tucked her head into the nape of the woman's neck.

The front screen door slammed and Sam came out, covered in dust.

"I'm MacGyver," Mac introduced himself. He pointed at Sam. "My son, Sam."

"Beth. Beth Reardon," the woman answered. "This is my daughter Molly. Molly, can you say hello?" The girl peeked out, then slammed her eyes shut and snuggled closer to her mother. Beth smiled at the child, then kissed her forehead. Her smile was that gentle sort of Mona Lisa smile that Mac rarely saw except between a mother and her child. Beth cut her blue eyes up at him, blushed, and looked back down. Mac melted. He didn't hear Sam say something about the groceries. Beth looked at Mac. "You have to unload them, remember?" she reminded him.

Mac shook himself. "Yeah, right. Sam? Help me out?"

Beth and Molly watched as the men unloaded the boxes and stacked them on the porch. When they were done, Mac turned back to them. "I really appreciate this."

"You're going to need a truck, or four wheel drive around here," Beth answered. "Those bikes might be fun, but they won't be any good hauling hay or groceries. And, come winter, you'll freeze."

"Yeah, I know. But first we need to make this place livable," he answered.

"Mary - the cashier at the co-op - said you inherited this place from Harry?"

Mac nodded. "He was my grandfather. You knew him?"

"Of course I knew Harry, he was my closest neighbor. He used to bring us trout from the stream. Do you plan to farm? Or are you one of those yuppies who commute out to the country place on weekends?" Beth asked.

"No, I plan on living here full time, but farming - well, I haven't thought that far yet," he answered.

Beth nodded and patted Molly's leg. "Well, I guess I need to get home. It was nice to meet you Mr. MacGyver, Sam."

"Just MacGyver. Mac works. Hey, thanks again for the delivery," Mac said. "And, I'm sorry I scared Molly."

Beth smiled again, then turned to buckle the child back into the car seat. The child settled, she closed the door and turned back to Mac. "You know, I may be crazy for doing this, but, well... since you're Harry's kinfolk... It looks like you two men could use a good home cooked meal. Why don't you clean up and come on over to our house for dinner? It's nothing fancy, pork chops and potatoes. I might have enough dried apples left for a pie."

"Yes," Sam interjected before Mac could answer. "I'm no cook, and he's not much better - all tofu and alfalfa sprouts. I could really use a sugar fix."

"Hey!" Mac answered as he gently gave Sam a playful push backward. "Alfalfa sprouts are good for you. Love 'em."

"For you maybe," Sam answered. "I need fat and sugar and lots of carbohydrates."

Beth laughed. "Alfalfa sprouts are good for you - full of vitamin C, and good for your appetite."

Mac smirked at Sam and said, "She works at a health food store." Sam rolled his eyes.

"A food co-op," Beth corrected. She smiled and added, "An all natural food co-op." She moved around the truck to the driver's side.

Mac glanced down at his grubby hands. "Yeah, um, about the cleaning up part. We have a bit of a problem," Mac said. "No pump, so no water."

Beth pursed her lips to keep from laughing, but didn't turn around. "My house is there." She pointed to the large yellow farm house across the road. "Out back, by my barn, you'll find a shower. No hot water, but lots of pressure. You're welcome to use it." She turned half way around. "There's a toilet out there as well, but then, you have a perfectly good outhouse." She climbed into the truck, still smiling and turned over the engine. "Seven thirty, food goes on the table," she yelled over the engine noise.

"Outhouse?" Sam asked as he looked at his father.

"Outhouse," Mac answered. "That small building out back."

Sam grimaced. "Yeah, I know what an outhouse is, Mac. Especially that one. I tried to use it while you were out gallivanting around the town." He shook his head. "There's spiders in there. And the remains of several generations of mice. I hate to think what has been living in the hole! No way I'm putting my sweet, young butt over that! I'm heading for the Reardon's shower and porcelain."

An hour later, Mac towel dried his hair while Sam, sat on a bench outside the neighbor's barn and pulled on his socks. Thanks to Beth Reardon's cold shower, they were both clean and freshly shaved. Mac wore his sky blue silk shirt and a pair of dark chinos. Sam, a pair of jeans and a "Motley Crew" t-shirt. Across the yard, beside a huge white, gazebo covered with gingerbread molding, sat a large picnic table. A vase of summer flowers sat in the center of the table on a white doily.

Mac turned to watch Beth and an elderly woman carry out plates of food to the picnic table while Molly galloped in front of them. When her hands were free, Beth scooped up her child and gave her a big kiss before setting her back on the ground. An ancient black lab limped nearby, then expectantly eyed the table. Beth petted the dog, then looked up at Mac and smiled, then returned to the house.

He ran a quick brush through his hair and strolled to the picnic table, Sam in tow. As they neared, Molly cut her blue eyes at him, frowned, then ducked behind the elderly woman, holding tight to the woman's shirt. Sam sat down and snuggled the old gray muzzled lab.

The elderly woman held out her hand to Mac. "I'm Ginny Putnam, Beth's mother," she said. "You like sweet tea or unsweet tea?" She pronounced "sweettea" as one word, a sure sign of her Southern roots.

"Mac," he answered taking her hand. "That's Sam," he added indicating his son. "And I'll take it unsweetened, but please, let me get it."

"Nonsense," Mrs. Putnam answered as she picked up a glass. "The dog's name is Maynard-dog," she explained as she dropped ice cubes into the glasses. "You want sweet or unsweet, Sam?" she asked. Sam gave his choice and she poured glasses of iced chamomile tea from large earthen pitchers, then handed the glasses to the men.

Molly, hiding behind her grandmother, peeked out at Mac again. He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a quarter. He kneeled in front of the child and pretended to pull the quarter from her ear. The child's eyes grew wide. He handed her the quarter as Beth, her hands full of more plates of food passed them. Molly giggled.

Beth sat the food on the table and turned to Mac. "I see you have managed to buy my daughter's affection," she said. She deftly slipped the quarter from Molly's fingers, and replaced it with a biscuit, just as the coin headed for the child's mouth. "Too small," she added wagging the quarter in front of his face. "Choking hazard."

Chagrined, Mac answered. "I needed to do something. My greatest fear in life is being that crazy old man that frightens children. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, I think we're ready to eat."

"Where's Mr. Reardon?" Mac asked her, looking back at the house. Neither Beth or Mrs. Putnam had mentioned Molly's father.

"Where's Mrs. MacGyver?" Beth answered, her voice just above a whisper.

"Touche'," Mac whispered back.

She motioned for Mac and Sam to sit on the bench on the far side of the table, then she helped her mother step over the bench on her side and take a seat. Beth pulled Molly onto her lap. When everyone was settled, she bowed her head. Mrs. Putnam said grace.

They ate like pigs. Beth made homemade biscuits – Southern style. There was also fresh steamed green beans, squash cooked with onions, boiled potatoes, and a huge stack of thick, baked pork chops. There were sliced tomatoes, wedges of cool, sweet onions, jars of pickles, honey, molasses, and three kinds of jam – not to mention a deep dish dried apple custard pie.

As they ate, Mac quizzed Beth on the changes to Mission City. Beth, in turn, asked him about their plans for the house.

When the dinner was over, Mac helped Beth carry the dirty dishes into the kitchen. As she filled the sink with hot water and soap, he scraped food scraps into her compost pail, setting aside meat scraps for Maynard-dog at her instruction.

As he stacked the plates for her, he brought up "the question" again, but this time more diplomatically. "Sam's mother and I were never married." he told her. "She died when he was nine. I didn't even know he existed until a few months ago."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, slowly exhaled. "I'm sorry Sam had to go through that. It's hard on a child to lose a parent."

"So, where's Molly's dad?" Mac persisted.

Beth looked out the kitchen window at the gazebo where Sam playfully chased Molly while Maynard-dog barked at their heels. A cardinal landed on the bird feeder outside the window and scraped seed off onto the ground, then flew away with a sunflower seed in his beak. "Desert Storm," she answered quietly. "The first wave. Steve's plane went down over Kuwait." She brushed wisps of hair away from her face with her wrist, trying to keep the soapy water out of her eyes. "Molly was born a month later."

Mac laid a hand on her shoulder and she jumped back, startled. He pulled his hand away. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

She nodded., then pointed at the dish she just washed. "You dry."

"We bought this place six years ago. It was our dream," she explained. "When he got out... We planned to make it self-sustaining. Live off the land. Reduce our carbon footprint and all of that." She glanced over at Mac. "Why are you out here?"

Mac shrugged his shoulders and picked up a drying towel. "Sam never had a real home, with family," Mac said. "I want to give him that. Home, hearth... A place to go to when things go wrong," he added.

Beth nodded and bluntly asked him, "What is your given name?"

His jaw dropped at the unexpected question. "Uh," he stammered. "Most people call me Mac."

"But what is your name?" she persisted.

He sighed and looked around the room, then smiled sheepishly. "It isn't pretty."

Beth locked her blue eyes to his brown. "If you want to give Sam roots, you need to face up to your own. Your parents gave you a name that meant something to them, I'm sure. It is part and parcel of who you are. Yet you throw away what they gave you?"

Mac cocked his head. His brown eyes bored back into hers daring her to react. "Angus. It's Angus - no middle name, just Angus MacGyver."

Beth laughed. He could tell she was trying not to. She even bit her lip, but couldn't stifle the cackle that erupted. She bent over double laughing, then laughed even harder when she looked up into his face. "Oh, I'm sorry. It's not the name. The name is a good name. It's the look on your face - like a defiant child caught doing something naughty!" She reached out and steadied herself by placing her hand on his arm. Her gentle touch sent chills up his spine. He reached into the sink and scooped up a finger full of soap suds and plopped it on her nose. Her eyes were crossed as she looked at the cloud of suds between her eyes. Slowly, she nodded. "Uh-huh," she cooed. "Tell me, who is the adult in your family? You, or Sam?"

"Sam," Mac answered without missing a beat. "Shall we finish the dishes?"

Chapter Three

People don't realize just how much we have in this modern world of ours until they have to do without. The last two days, Sam and I did just that, do without. We lived like pioneers. We boiled drinking water from the creek on the property, used the outhouse – after some appropriate housekeeping. No telephone, no TV, and of course, no air conditioning. Now I can do with out a lot of things, but August in Minnesota can be brutal. That summer was especially hot. The air was dead still and it hadn't rained since we'd been here. Even with all the windows open, I sweated like a pig while I worked. Because mice invaded all of the upholstered furniture requiring pickup from the local landfill, we didn't have beds, just pallets on the floor - camping inside. At night, the sounds of the mice rustling around us kept us awake. I needed to get a cat.

Mac grinned with satisfaction as he watched the water flow cleanly down the kitchen drain, finally. The pump was working, at least for now and he'd drained, then sterilized the well. In a day, or two, when the well had a chance to fill completely and settle, he planned to take a sample to the county Ag department and have the water tested - just to be sure it was safe. At least they could shower and use the toilets. His grin widened as he thought about the way Sam bitched the last two days about going to the ramshackle outhouse. Mac put the new heating element in the water heater just this morning, so they now had hot water.

He stretched. Things were coming along nicely. He rode into Mission City early that morning and bought a new fridge from Sears. It was due to arrive today; after two they told him, and the phone company was due out sometime in the afternoon as well. While he was in town, he called his old friend Pete Thornton who promised to get a moving crew to his place as soon as possible. With luck, his furniture, and his truck, would arrive in a week or so. A bed would feel good after sleeping on thermarests on the parlor floor; they'd not cleaned the bedrooms yet.

With food, water, shelter, refrigeration and sanitation taken care of, he could turn his thoughts to remodeling the house. He looked around the huge kitchen. A realtor would call it a "country" kitchen - huge. An enormously heavy rectangular cherry table, and eight ladder back chairs sat in he center. It reminded him of the Walton's table. Room enough for John Boy and the gang. Boxes of food from the co-op covered its scarred surface.

A stained and scarred butcher block counter ran the length of the exterior wall, deep stainless double sinks in the center - cabinets above and below the counter bisected by a large window over the sinks. They were white, at least sometime in the past, he supposed. Now they were a dusty, yellowish sort of color from age and kitchen grease. The fridge and stove stood on the right wall. Two out of four of the burners worked, the oven element half worked. He sighed. After buying all new elements for the stove, it would probably be cheaper to buy a new range.

He filled a pail with water and sloshed in a healthy portion of vinegar, grabbed a scrub brush and started to scrub the interior of the cabinets, now stripped of their crumbling old shelf paper.

He heard the front door squeak and a thump from the parlor. "Sam?" he called. "Is that you?" Sam rode into Minneapolis early that morning to pick up applications and to talk to the financial aide people, he shouldn't be back until late. Mac wiped his hands on a towel and strolled into the parlor. Mrs. Putnam, Beth's mother stood in the foyer looking chagrined.

"I knocked, but no one answered," she stuttered. "I was afraid you couldn't hear me."

Mac waved his hand and smiled. "You're right, I didn't hear you. Please, my door is always open to you. Come in." He looked around the dirty, spartan room and added, "Such as it is."

Mrs. Putnam was a petite woman, like Beth. Her salt and pepper hair was cut short and "poofed" in that traditional small town beauty shop style Mac remembered his own grandmother wearing. She was approaching eighty he suspected, but she still maintained a shapely and well put together appearance. Her makeup was fresh and subtle. She wore a pink print 'June Cleaver' dress and sensible pumps. She carried a basket covered with a kitchen towel.

Mrs. Putnam looked around the room. "I always loved this room," she said.

"Thanks," Mac answered. He looked around trying to see the dingy room through her eyes. It looked even dingier.

Mrs. Putnam held the basket in her hand out to Mac. "Beth made these this morning. But the recipe was larger than she expected. We thought you and Sam might like some." She pulled back the towel to reveal a large stack of homemade cinnamon rolls, complete with sugar frosting.

"Wow, that's great, thanks," Mac answered taking the basket.

"Will you show me around the house?" She asked.

"Of course." He took the basket and crooked it on his arm. As they toured the house, Mrs. Putnam politely pointed out the good qualities of the rooms, never mentioning the run down condition. They ended up in the kitchen. Mac filled a stainless tea kettle, one of his few luxury purchases in the last few days, and put it on the aging electric stove to heat. As he worked, Mrs. Putnam studied the kitchen.

"You should have Beth over here. She has a talent for making a house a home. I've never seen anyone who could take so little and make so much of it. I don't know where she got the knack. I always had to hire out to get things done right." She ran her fingers along the butcher block counter. "She can show you how to refinish this counter, she did ours and its beautiful. Well, you saw it, you know." She looked up at Mac. "Steve was like that, too. A couple of regular do-it-your-selfers."

Mac leaned against the stove and crossed his arms. "Tell me about Beth... and Steve."

"Well, they met in college. When she brought him home the first time to meet us I thought it would never work out between them. Beth always tended toward the unconventional. She's an artist, you know. Steve was gung-ho Air Force. He was in the ROTC." She shook her head. "You should have heard them argue about the military." She laughed. "Not angry argue, but more like debating." She continued. "When they graduated, Beth went to Paris to study for a year and Steve was commissioned into the Air Force. I thought that was the end of it, but," she sighed. "It wasn't. He was stationed in West Berlin, and they somehow managed to get together from time to time."

Mac filled two cups with water and dropped in tea bags while he listened.

"When the year was up and Beth came home, she told me that they were going to get married when he returned. He was gone for three years." She took the cup that Mac offered. "When they finally did get married, they moved into a tiny house outside Wright-Patterson Air Force base - not on base, Beth didn't fit in with the rest of the Air Force wives. Every penny they made went into savings to buy a really nice home place - somewhere they could rear children. But the children didn't come. Beth moved on out here when they bought this place, to start fixing it up. Steve moved onto base, and came out here every chance he got. They loved each other with a passion unlike I've ever seen." She shook her head. "But, infertility does things to a marriage. Beth wouldn't let on, but I think things were strained."

"When she finally got pregnant," she smiled. "Well, you never saw two happier people. They were like newlyweds again. Steve took an extended leave and they threw themselves into getting the house ready for the baby. Then he got called up for Desert Storm." She sipped her tea while Mac munched on a cinnamon roll. "She was alone out here, except for old Harry across the road, when the Air Force chaplain showed up at her door," she continued. "The chaplain told her that Steve was ferrying supplies to the front lines when he was shot down. The plane was incinerated." She sighed and looked out the window.

Mac narrowed his eyes. "I completely forgot. Harry was supposed to come for a visit, but he canceled because his neighbor died. That must have been Steve."

She nodded. "Harry's the one that called me that night." She looked up at Mac. "Your grandfather took care of everything – arranging the memorial service, getting the military paper work filled out." She sighed and shook her head. "Beth still mourns for Steve."

So when did you come here to live?"

"Well, there was still a pretty hefty mortgage on their farm. Sixty acres with a big home and outbuildings doesn't come cheap. Beth didn't know how she was going to make the payments. I still lived in South Carolina, then - Dacusville, north west of Greenville. My Chuckdied of a myocardial infarction two years before, so I sold our farm and invested the money in her mortgage. Then I moved out here to help with the baby. It seemed like the right thing to do. My two boys are well off - they share a successful law firm down in Charleston. Besides, a girl is the one to take care of her aging parents. I figure she will earn what I gave her in a few years."

Mac nodded. "You did the right thing, I think. I'm sure you are a comfort to each other."

Mrs. Putnam sipped her tea. "We were strapped for cash for a while, then Beth started the Co-op and that gives her a modest income, and her art work sells well, not to mention what we make from the farm, and Steve's military allotments. We get by quite nicely now. We are even rebuilding our savings - for Molly's education".

"Beth started the co-op?" Mac asked surprised. "I thought she just worked there to get the better prices."

"Oh no, that co-op is her other baby," Mrs. Putnam answered. "She fixed it up all by herself. Made those shelves and the front porch herself out of materials she bartered for with portraits of people's kids and dogs. Now, it's the social gathering place around here. When you've been here longer, you'll see. She sponsors classes, art shows, craft fairs, even outdoor movies - you name it. More than that, its been good for the small farmer around here. It's easier and cheaper for truck farmers to sell their produce to her than to get it into the supermarkets. But she had to get the agriculture department to host a lot of classes for them on growing without pesticides before she would take their produce. That's where she is now, inspecting a local farm and testing for chemicals. You know," she added. "You really should join. The prices are much better if you put in time working there."

"Sweat equity?" Mac asked.

"That and the yearly membership fee for a full membership. Associate members can either pay the fee or work, which ever is better for them."

"And she gets a cut of the membership fee?" Mac asked.

"That, a ridiculously small salary, and what she takes in on commission sales. You saw the local canned goods at the shop. Those come from housewives all over the county that want to bring in a little extra money. Beth runs a mail order business for the co-op and sells the canned goods all over the country. She can hardly keep up with the demand. Her own wild blackberry jam is especially popular," she added. "She just bought a computer and is working on getting one of those Internet sites running, but I don't think people will buy things over a computer."

"Beth is an enterprising woman," Mac commented.

"Beth is amazing," she answered. She took another sip of the tea. "What about you? What do you do for a living?"

"Well," he started, paused, sipped his own tea. "I sort of fix things."

"Like toasters?" she asked.

"Yeah, toasters, well pumps, water heaters," he answered. "But I'm unemployed right now. I have some savings, but I need to keep that for Sam's college, so I guess I'll have to find some kind of work."

She nodded, then sat down her cup. "I best be getting home. Beth and Molly will be coming home for lunch pretty soon."

Mac touched her on the arm. "I'm really glad you came by. Please, come anytime."

She smiled. "I'm glad, too. You're a nice man."

He walked her to the door and noticed no car. "How did you get here?" he asked.

"I walked," she answered.

"All that way? It must be a half of a mile," he asked.

"Walking helps me keep my slim, girlish figure," she answered with a grin.

Chapter Four

Maria Romburg hurried to the lobby floor elevator and pushed the button. While she waited for it to descend to her level, she checked her watch, then pushed the button again. When the Chairman of the Executive Board of Directors for the Phoenix Foundation demanded her in his office, it was not a good thing to keep him waiting. Her last mission was a downright failure. She feared her job was on the line. The door opened and she bolted into the lift. At the upper most floor accessed by the public elevator, she got off and entered the Chairman's private elevator. As it, rose to the penthouse floor, she checked her appearance in her compact mirror. Dark circles under her eyes, tell tale signs of her latest ordeal, were still apparent, even with a heavier layer than usual of foundation.

The door opened to the huge reception area of the penthouse suite. In front of her, the Chairman's secretary sat at a large oak desk. The woman looked up at the sound of the automatic doors. "Ah, Miss Romburg, the Chairman is expecting you." She rose and led Maria to a set of double oak doors. The secretary knocked, then opened the doors. "Miss Romburg is here, Sir," she stated, then waved Maria through the doors.

The Chairman stood by a large plate glass window that overlooked the elaborate landscaping of the building's front lawn stories below. He turned and smiled. "Thank you, Mrs. Hanover. You may bring in the coffee when you are ready," he answered. Chairman Allen Corbett was reasonably young to be so high placed in an organization such as the Phoenix Foundation. He was just over fifty, and newly placed in his job. His brown hair, without gray, was cut in a military style buzz-cut. He was an imposing figure at well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a rectangular build. He wore a traditional dark gray wool suit with a red "power" tie.

"Good Morning, Maria, please come in," he said. "I hope you had a chance to rest. Have a seat," he added. He motioned toward a comfortable looking seating arrangement to Maria's right. Two wingback chairs, covered in expensive gold and turquoise brocade, flanked a small round mahogany table. On the table sat two china cups with saucers, a silver milk pitcher and matching sugar bowl with silver tongs. A manila envelope lay toward the back of the table.

"I thought we might have coffee before we begin your debriefing – to break the ice since we have never officially met," Corbett offered. He waited until Maria sat, then took the other easy chair.

"Thank you," Maria answered in a weak voice.

The secretary came in carrying a silver coffee carafe. "Thank you, Mrs. Hanover, we can handle it from here," he said as she set the carafe on a doily on the table. Corbett poured coffee into the cups. "Do you take cream and sugar, Maria?" he asked as he lifted a sugar cube with the tongs and held it over her cup.

"Just cream, thank you," Maria answered. She was glad that he poured the coffee because her hands were shaking. She never heard of the Chairman conducting debriefings before. That was usually the job of Pete Thornton, the Director of Operations.

Corbett dropped the sugar cube into his cup, then added cream to Maria's coffee. With a trembling hand, she stirred her coffee, then took a polite sip before returning the cup to its saucer.

"You may be interested to know that, unfortunately, P.C. Farias is now safely in Thailand," Corbett began.

Maria chewed her lip. Here it comes, she thought. Farias was the mastermind behind the political corruption of the administration of Brazilian President Fernando Collar de Mello, and the prime looter of Brazil's treasury. Farias' greed contributed to the destabilization of the Brazilian economy that showed no signs of improving any time soon. More than fifty nine million dollars of Brazil's economic assets went directly into Farias' overseas accounts. In addition to corruption, it was also known that he was a womanizer. Maria's job was to use her beauty, as well as her history with the Stasi in East Germany, to get close to Farias. Once established within his circle, she was to find the account numbers for the overseas accounts so the money could be returned to the Brazilian treasury. In addition, she was supposed to find proof of Farias' corruption.

For nearly a year she tolerated his boorish attempts to bed her, in an effort to gain his confidence. It didn't work. She never found the account numbers, nor did she provide incontrovertible proof of his crimes. Moreover, her life was jeopardized when she was caught in his office unattended with no logical reason for being there. She just managed to escape from a Brazilian prison, then cross the rugged border into Venezuela with nothing but the clothes on her back. After traversing Venezuela any way she could, she finally caught a ride to Mexico on an air freighter. She arrived back in Los Angeles only yesterday morning. She was bruised, sun burned, and humiliated.

"Sir, I am so very sorry about the assignment. Farias' inner circle was much harder to crack than I thought it would be," she explained. "I was so close," she shook her head and dropped her eyes to stare at her hands.

"I see," he answered simply.

Silence built around them. Maria could not think of what else to say, but Corbett seemed to be waiting for more from her. She pursed her lips, then took a deep calming breath. After she blew it out, she answered. "If you had a chance to read my report, then you know that I did bring back some valuable intel that the new administration can use to indict Farias and ex-President Collor."

"Yes, I have sent that information on. The Brazilian people have had enough of corruption and poverty. I only hope what little you did manage to uncover is enough. But that wasn't the mission, was it, Maria?" he answered.

Maria looked back down at her hands. Her nails were chipped, her knuckles scarred; testaments to her trials. She heard the rattle of his cup as he sat it back into the saucer.

"I want you to go home and rest for a few days, Maria. You are clearly exhausted. But in two days time I want you back to work. I have a new assignment for you – one that, I think, will be much more to your liking. And," he added, "It does not require international travel, nor does it promise any life or death situations." He picked up the manila folder and removed an eight by ten piece of paper. He handed it to her. It was a photograph. "I want this man working for the Phoenix Foundation. I think you are just the person to recruit him to our organization."

Maria stared at the familiar face in the photograph, the smiling brown eyes, the shaggy, too long, wind swept light brown hair. She looked over at Mr. Corbett. "I don't understand," she answered barely over a whisper.

Corbett tapped the photograph in her hand. "This man is invaluable to our organization. He was our most efficient and effective operative in covert situations. I have several missions on my desk, as we speak, for which he is most aptly suited. However, he refuses to sign a new contract." He cupped Maria's chin in his hand. "That is where you come in."

Maria pulled her chin back and took a deep breath. She shook her head.

"Oh yes," Corbett responded. "MacGyver has a soft spot for you. You can talk him into coming back."

Maria shook her head again. "I checked in with Pete Thornton when I got back. He told me that Mac was gone, and he said that nothing could or should convince Mac to return. He's turned a new page in his life. No. If Pete could not convince him to stay, then no one can."

"You can, Maria."

Maria shook her head again. "No."

Corbet reached down and wrapped her trembling hand in his own large hands. "Must I remind you that you owe the Phoenix Foundation a serious monetary debt? Who do you think paid for getting you to America in the first place? It certainly wasn't MacGyver, or your father. Consider what will happen if this organization was forced to call in that debt. Could you and your grandfather survive financially? And what happens to you when you are no longer employed here? You were a member of Stasi, Maria. And, you carried your covert operations with that organization onto American soil. Your last missions for us have not been extremely successful. Do you really think that the United States government will tolerate your staying in this country if you are not under the protection of the Phoenix Foundation? And, knowing that your grandfather has lived under your influence since your immigration, will the government tolerate him staying in America?" He slowly shook his head. Then he smiled. "You realize, of course, that your success will lead to a substantial bonus."

"What happens if Mac won't come back?" Maria whispered.

Corbett tilted his head and sighed. "Maria, you underestimate your power. You are a beautiful and intelligent woman, with many, many skills as well as the tools of this organization to back you up. I do not believe you will fail to bring MacGyver back into the fold. But if you do?" He shrugged his shoulders then shook his head again. "I don't know. I just don't know."

Maria pursed her lips, then slowly nodded.

"That's my girl," Corbett answered. He again picked up the manila folder and handed it to her. "Here is the latest intel on MacGyver, as well as his son." When she took the folder, he laid his hand on her shoulder. "One more thing. As usual, not a word of this mission goes out of this room. You answer directly to me, or Mrs. Hanover if I am not available. Also any requests for supplies or expenses are not to be filed with the usual paperwork, but are to go through Mrs. Hanover. She will give you all of the contact information." Maria raised her eyebrows. Corbett leaned back in his chair. "There are people in this organization, and I think you know who I mean, who are close personal friends of MacGyver. Where he is concerned, they think with their hearts rather than with their brains. If they knew about Project MacGyver, they would object on moral grounds. Maria, I have the utmost respect for those people, but I have to think of all the good MacGyver can do for so many people around the world. I can't let emotion dictate reason. I know that you care a great deal about MacGyver, that is why I am assigning this mission to you. But I think you can respect just how much we need him; how much you need him on your side."

Maria slowly nodded. She knew she was being blackmailed, but was powerless to stop it.

Chapter Five

When I was working for Pete, making a living was always easy. But, it almost always required travel as well. And travel was the one thing I didn't want to do anymore – at least not until Sam was more settled, and the house was in better condition. On top of that, having a son, someone that depends on me to be around for a long time, meant doing something for a living that didn't require hazard insurance.

Later that evening, Mac sat on the front porch and looked out over the yard, and the old kitchen garden spot beyond. Sam wasn't home yet. Without him, the place felt dismally lonesome. The road that ran past their drive was barely visible. Beth's house rose majestically on a hill in the distance across the road. It was twilight, and her front porch light came on. He smiled at the traditional country signal. If the light was on, company was welcome. He could just make out her porch swing.

He sipped a paper cup full of ice water. Sam will be pleased, he thought. The new fridge has an ice maker. As night advanced, he got up and wandered back inside. He smiled as he looked down the foyer. The wood floor was scrubbed clean, along with the grandfather clock. All of the cobwebs were gone. He wandered into the parlor - Sam's project. The picture window sparkled, the floor was spotless, although it needed refinishing. A paper cup filled with summer flowers sat on the mantle, Mac's recent addition. In the kitchen, the man hours he spent scrubbing it down showed. The food was put away in the cabinets. The new fridge hummed by the door; the new wall phone hung beside it. More flowers sat on the big table.

He picked up the notepad and pen that he bought at the co-op that first day and sat down. It was time to make some decisions. He needed an income. As he saw it, he had several choices. One, he could call Pete and ask for another assignment. Two, he could get a regular nine to five job. Three, he could take a lesson from Beth Reardon and make his own way. If he let Pete set him up a job, the money would be good, really good, but he'd be away from home, unable to work on the place. If he took a nine to five job, well, that just didn't seem an option, not for him anyway. Mrs. Putnam gave him an idea when she suggested that he fixed toasters. Mission City was fifteen miles away; Brainerd, twenty. While he'd seen auto shops, general stores, and tractor repair shops in the farm country around, he hadn't seen any general "fix-it" shops. Harry's old tool shed, attached to the barn, would make a good customer service area. The barn offered enough space to work on what ever was too big to fix in the tool shed. Then there was the local community college. Maybe they'd take him on as a part-time instructor in something. There were lots of things he could teach, and he had the degrees to back up his application. He jotted down his ideas.

He glanced at his watch, nine-fifteen. He hoped Sam rolled in soon. Mac smiled and shook his head. "Worried Dad, who would've thought?" he muttered to himself. He thought about the days to come. He'd be alone like this all the time once Sam started school. It was a dismal thought. He was used to having the kid around. He shook his head. So this is what it feels like to have an empty nest. "Three months ago I didn't even know I had a nest," he muttered again.

The phone rang. Mac jumped then checked his watch. Like any parent when his child is away from home, a raw fear that something happened to Sam ran through him as he answered.

"Hello?" She answered in that soft German accent he loved.

"Maria?" He instantly recognized her voice.

"Mac," she answered. "Oh, Mac, I thought I'd never find you again."

"Maria, where are you?" he asked. She'd been on assignment in Brazil when he and Sam left L.A. Since then, whenever he asked Pete for information about her, all he was told was that her assignment was long term.

"I'm home, finally. But you aren't," she answered.

Mac smiled. "Pete wouldn't tell me where you were, or give me contact information. It's good to hear your voice. Maria, a lot has happened since you left."

"I know. I went to your home as soon as I got in, but you weren't there. Then Pete told me about Sam. He told me that he is very special, and very much your son." she answered. "I want to meet him. Oh, Mac, are you coming home soon?"

Mac sighed. Her cool crisp voice, with its soft German accent brought back a flood of memories.

He hesitated before he answered. A lot of words were left unsaid between he and Maria. He wasn't sure how many of those should remain unsaid. "Maria..." he paused. "I'm not coming back. I want to make a home for Sam - a real home - here where I grew up. It's so clean here, wholesome. So... so different from the crime and dirt in L.A. Sam saw too much of what's bad in life. I want him to know what's good." He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

"I understand. You owe part of yourself to Sam. I would think less of you if felt any different," she answered. "Oh Mac, Brazil didn't go well, and I need a friend's shoulder. I need your shoulder. My life is so empty here without you. Do you remember when we talked about making a commitment before I left? I'd still like to have that conversation."

So she was thinking about those unsaid words as well. Because of her assignment, they had no contact the entire time she was gone. Since then, he put all of his emotional cards in one basket – the Sam basket. Am I still ready for that commitment, he wondered?

"Mac?" she asked.

He struggled for the right words. He wanted desperately to see her, but the situations with Sam and the house were fragile and needed more resolution before he took time off.

"Maria. I... I can't come back to L.A. right now. But I want to see you – a lot."

"Oh Mac, I am so glad to hear you say that. I was afraid that I had lost you forever. "

The loneliness that he felt earlier in the evening swept back through him. Maria. He took a deep breath. "Then say you'll fly out here for a visit. There's an airport in Mission City, not too far from here. I can pick you up," he answered..

"Yes, oh yes. When?"

Mac glanced around the shabby room, thought of the rotting mattresses, the broken front porch. "I have a little work to do on the house, its pretty rough."

"I don't care about that Mac. I just want to be with you. I need to be with you. I need to feel your arms around me. "

"OK, look. Give me a couple of weeks to at least get rid of the mice," he answered laughing. The thought of her soft hands caressing him sent shivers up his spine.

"I'm not afraid of mice," she answered. He laughed. There was very little of which Maria was afraid.

"Mac? There isn't someone else is there? Because I thought we had something special," she asked.

Mac twirled the cord in his hands. An image of Beth – sweet, gentle Beth - still mourning her lost pilot flashed through his mind. "No, there's no one else. I can't wait to see you."

"You don't know how happy I am to hear that," she answered. "I have to go now. I've only been home two days, and have so much to take care of."

"I'm sure – I remember those long term assignments." he answered.

"Goodbye Mac, sleep well and dream of me," she cooed. The line went dead on the other end of the phone. He tapped the receiver in his palm for a few seconds before returning it to the cradle. Full of renewed energy, he grabbed the broom and dust pan and sprinted upstairs to the master bedroom.

Sam showed up at 11:49 that night, a six pack of beer stuffed in his backpack along with a stack of paper from the University. Mac was scrubbing the walls in the master bedroom upstairs. Sam popped a beer and leaned on the door jam. "Decided to move up here?" he asked.

"Company's coming," Mac answered. "You know that stuff'll stunt your growth," he added pointing at the beer. "Besides, you're not legal."

"Hey, no father-son lectures tonight. I've had a long ride, and I'm beat. Who's coming?"

Mac let the matter drop, for now. There would be a better time to fight this battle, he thought, so he answered Sam's question. "Maria Romburg. A friend." He grinned. "A special friend."

"Oh," Sam answered. "Real special?"

"Maybe," Mac answered.

Chapter Six

I have a habit of never really looking at my home until I visualize it through the eyes of a woman. In the broad light of day, I looked around trying to see things the way Maria would see them. I wanted everything to be perfect, but the place was so far from perfect it was laughable. I wish that I could have waited until the place was in better shape for Maria, but the deed was done.

It was time to call in a pro – Beth, according to her mother. Mrs. Putnam told me that no one could make a house a home better than Beth, so I begged her to come over one evening after Molly went to bed – nearly a week after Sam and I moved in. She showed up after dinner with a writing pad, tape measure, and a thermos of coffee.

Beth looked at Mac over the top of bright pink reading glasses. "Tell me what you want, Mac," she asked him.

Mac scratched his head, then showed her into the kitchen. He poured two mugs of coffee from her air pot, then handed her one. "Cream and sugar?" he offered. She shook her head no. Mac rarely drank coffee, tea was his caffeine of choice. When he took a sip, the unaccustomed rich, dark flavor of Beth's strong brew bit his tongue slightly. The second sip was as smooth as wine. He nodded, "It's good."

Beth smiled. "Of course its good. It is my one luxury. I order it from Seattle – a company called Starbucks. But then, you're from the big city, you've probably heard of it."

He offered her a seat at the table, then took one himself across from her. "I have a visitor coming as soon as I can clean this place up some – a special visitor." He took a deep breath, then another sip of coffee. Beth waited patiently. "Maria and I, well, we had something special once. We talked about about making a life together," he added as his sat down his cup.

"I see," Beth answered. "What about Sam?"

He grinned. "She's excited to meet him. But, if his application is approved, Sam will start school in the Fall semester, Spring at the latest. He'll only be around during holidays or on some weekends. I'm looking at an empty nest," He looked into her blue eyes, then chewed his lip. "It would be good to share that with someone."

Beth blushed and looked at her hands. A wide grin spread across her face. She glanced back up at Mac, then giggled. "What is it?" he asked.

She waved her hand, "You don't want to know."

"Yeah, I do," he answered.

She wiped her hand across her face, as if to wipe off the smile, was unsuccessful, then nodded. "Well, I thought," she blushed again. "I thought Sam wasn't really your son, but your special friend."

Mac's jaw dropped. Beth broke into a full laugh. He was shocked. "ME? Me and SAM?" He didn't ever remember being accused of being gay.

Beth looked embarrassed, but continued to Neille. "What did you expect? All of Mission City is buzzing with the news of the return of MacGyver. But instead of contacting any of your old friends, you hide out here all alone with a VERY handsome young man. A young man that you have not even taken into to town for a burger."

Mac sat back in his chair. "People are talking about us?"

Beth shrugged. "You are how old? Over forty according to Neil at the hardware. You've never been married. Then suddenly you show up with a barely legal, cute young thing?"

Mac shook his head, then ran his fingers through his hair. "Well I'll be damned." He Neilled. "Maria will put any of that talk to rest. She's drop dead gorgeous."

"Tell me about her." Beth answered.

He talked about Maria for about thirty minutes with Beth occasionally interrupting him to ask a question. Finally, Beth stopped him. "Enough. I think I get the picture." She opened her legal pad and uncapped her pen. "What I'm hearing is that you need this place to look good enough to entice her to stay."

"Yeah, that's about it," he answered.

"Okay," she started. "You've done a pretty good job scrubbing down the interior. Paint is the next step. You say your furniture is coming?"

Mac thought about his possessions. Everything he owned fit into a two room houseboat. "I never needed much – just a place to eat, to sleep, and to fiddle with things, so there isn't much."

"Fiddle?" she asked.

"Yeah, electronics, gadgets, Popular Science sort of stuff," he answered.

She nodded. "Traditional bachelor pad type of furniture?"

He shoved his empty coffee cup to the side. "Yeah."

Beth scribbled on the notepad. "The best thing you can do is to make her feel safe and comfortable here. That means the mice have to go." She looked up at him. "Now, lets take a walk through."

Mac nodded, and led her through the house. Downstairs featured the front parlor that opened to the dining room. Between the kitchen and dining room was a narrow butler's pantry. At the back of the kitchen was an added mud room/storage room. Across from the kitchen was a family room. Across the hall from the parlor was a small keeping room, behind the curved staircase. Down the hall, between the keeping room and the family room was a large bath.

Upstairs, another small keeping room backed the curved staircase. Across the hall was the master bedroom with an attached sitting room behind it. The bath was off the hall, across from the master sitting room. Two bedrooms flanked the back, one large and one small. Sam picked the smaller back bedroom for his own. Loud rock and roll blared into the hall from Sam's room as they neared . "Just wait." Mac said. "Your time will come." Beth smiled. As they surveyed the rooms, Beth made notes and drew diagrams.

They entered the master bedroom. It was clean, but virtually empty except for Harry's old maple cannon ball bed, minus mattress and box springs, and a worn dresser. A 19-inch TV, with rabbit ears sat on the dresser. Mac's sleeping bag and thermarest sat in the center of the room under the old ornate ceiling fan. His backpack was casually tossed in a corner. Beth looked at him. "Where do you plan for Maria to sleep?"

Mac glanced at her, pursed his lip, then looked away. "Well I..."

"Hmm, that's what I thought," she answered. She touched his arm. "If you really want to make her feel special, fix a room for her – separate from you." She shrugged. "If things get personal, so much the better, but at least give her the choice." Mac nodded.

"This room for Maria while she visits," she added while they stood in the master bedroom. "It should be yours when she is not here." He nodded in agreement. "What kind of bedroom suite do you have?" She wrote everything down as he described his meager possessions. When he finished she tucked her pen behind her ear. "This is the big question. What kind of budget do you have?"

Mac sighed and leaned on the door frame. "I don't want Sam to know, but it is kind of tight. I don't want to touch my savings – Sam needs that for tuition."

"I understand. But you need to give me a figure," she pushed.

Mac scratched his chin, took a deep breath then slowly blew it out. Can you do anything with five hundred dollars?"

Beth grinned. "We can perform miracles with five hundred. Ready for another cup of coffee?"

They slipped back to the kitchen. Beth pumped fresh cups of hot coffee from her air pot while Mac watched her. She was so fragile looking, but he was learning that she was anything but that. If not for Maria... He let the thought drop. She handed him a full paper cup and slipped onto the chair beside him. He smelled a faint aroma of vanilla coming from her ever present braid.

Beth flipped through the pages of notes until she found a fresh sheet. "Mom says you fix mechanical things for a living, but how are you with carpentry?" she asked.

Mac shrugged. "I worked on a construction crew one summer in college."

She nodded. "Do you think you can fix the front porch?"

Mac considered the warped boards and the broken pillar. "I think so, but I don't have tools with me."

"Tools aren't a problem. You can find everything you need in Steve's tool shed beside the barn. Just get Mom to unlock it for you. "I'll leave you my pick up tomorrow so you can get lumber. An, while you're in town get five large buckets of exterior latex paint - flat. I suggest white for now. Also get five large buckets of flat interior latex paint – again pure white, and oh, say two buckets of semi-gloss enamel. You're going to need brushes and rollers, with extenders for you and Sam."

"We're going to paint?" Mac asked surprised. "I thought the repair came first."

Beth smiled. "Usually it does, but in this case, time is a factor. Paint covers a multitude of sins. If you use white paint, it gives you a good base coat for later when you figure out your color scheme."

He nodded. What she said made sense. But for the life of him, he couldn't figure out how they would get everything painted in time. Mac shook his head.

Beth smiled up at him again, then reached out and patted his hand. "You can do this, Mac," she whispered. A warm tingle flowed from her hand to his then up his arm. "Trust me," she added.

Mac smiled over at her. He seductively curled his fingers around hers and leaned toward her. "Well, I don't know. You think I'm gay." He gave her his best seductive look, just for fun. She jerked her hand away and shifted away from him on the bench, then busily stacked all of her papers. Her hands shook and she looked panicked. Mac shook his head, he didn't know what came over him. "I'm sorry, it was a bad joke."

Beth closed her eyes and nodded. "I need to get home."

Chapter Seven

Now, I can do just about anything I need to do with all things mechanical, and many that are chemical, but when I stared at that leaning porch and those warped porch floor boards, I got kind of a queasy stomach. When I was twelve, my friends and I built a tree house out back of my house. We had great plans for it – camp outs, make out trysts with local girls, but the old boards couldn't support our weight. I crashed through. My left arm wedged between two stout branches as I fell, and my forearm snapped. It was a clean break and healed the way boys' bones do. The experience, however, added one more reason for me to not like being off the ground very much. It was also the reason that I didn't really trust my carpentry skills.

As Mac sat on the porch writing down a list materials he needed to buy, Sam came out, barefoot and yawning, a cup of tea in his hand.

"Morning," Sam mumbled.

Mac folded his list and stuck it into his back pocket. "I'm going into town this morning to get supplies to fix the porch. What do you say to me buying you breakfast?" he asked his son.

"Bacon and eggs? Smothered and covered?" Sam asked.

"They're your arteries," Mac answered as he checked the cash in his wallet.

Half an hour later, they cruised toward Mission City in Beth Reardon's old '82 Ford pickup. Sam nodded drowsily while Mac pointed out points of interest.

They strolled into North's Cafe' the local breakfast hangout. One side was a "quick shop" where you picked up over priced milk, sodas, beer, and a mismatched assortment of other items. The other side housed the cafe'. A sales counter stood between the two. From the cafe' side, someone called out his name and Mac smiled. Neil and Bill, two of his best friends from childhood sat at a worn booth. Neil was a local police officer. Chuck ran the gun dealership. It was great to see the guys, so Sam and Mac stayed in the cafe' longer than they planned, talking over old and Neil diligently related every embarrassing childhood incident Mac ever had to Sam. They also received two invites for dinner – Wednesday night spaghetti at Tom's, and best of all, Monday night football night at Neil's when the Vikings kicked off for the season. It was great to be with old friends, but after an hour, Neil and Tom both left for work.

Mac and Sam drove to the lumber yard, then to the hardware. They finished the morning at the library getting library cards and stocking up on books for the week – mysteries for Sam, how-to's for Mac.

Back home, the real work began. With Beth's power tools to help, it didn't take long for them to "get into the zone." To his surprise, Mac discovered that Sam knew much more about lumber construction than he did, so he let his son take the lead.

Under Sam's direction, they wedged a 4X4 beside the broken pillar to support the roof, then carefully removed the old pillar. Sam opened the break in the pillar, drilled holes into each end of the break and hammered in glue soaked dowels. Then he coated the break with more glue, clamped it, and set it in the sun to dry. "You can sand that down when it dries," he told Mac.

"How did you learn so much about carpentry?" Mac asked as he watched his son.

"I had to make my way somehow," Sam answered as he measured lengths of wood for the porch floor.

Mac winced. Sam claimed he didn't hold Mac culpable for his childhood, but he still felt guilty that he'd not been there to support his son.

Sam straightened to unkink his back, then glanced at Mac. "One of Mom's friends owned a construction company – houses mostly. I started working there as a gopher when I was ten. By the time I graduated, I was a carpenter's apprentice."

"I'm impressed," Mac answered.

Around seven that night, the new porch floor was laid and the repaired pillar was back in place. New railings would have to wait for tomorrow, as well as new steps.

Mac watched while Sam stomped around on the porch to check for squeaks. At the sound of tires on gravel, he turned to watch Beth and Molly rattle up the drive in an old red Toyota Corolla. She stopped in front of the porch. While she unbuckled Molly, Mac grinned at Beth's appearance. She looked like an Indian princess with her hair braided into two plaits. She wore an embroidered gauze "hippy" blouse. The outside seams of her tight jeans sported embroidered vines and flowers from the hem to the waist. A pair of bright pink flip-flops covered her feet. The whole effect reminded him of a sixties flower child. Although she was well into her thirties, she wore it well.

"Hi guys," she called out as she tucked Molly onto one hip. She studied the new porch floor. "Good job," she added with a nod.

She looked at Mac. "Did you get the paint?" He nodded.

"Good. Tomorrow we paint. I've arranged a few folks to help out," she answered. They'll be here at seven in the morning, so be up and ready to go," she said.

Mac and Sam glanced at each other. "How many people?" he asked.

Beth shrugged. "How ever many show up," she answered. "Ya'll gotta trust me," she added, exaggerating her southern accent. "And... do me a favor," she added.

"Sure," Mac answered. "Whatever you need."

Beth grinned and plopped the two year old into his arms. She went back to the Toyota and pulled out a huge pink flowered bag and handed it to Sam. "Diaper bag," she explained. "I have some running around to do, about an hour, maybe a little more. I'd rather not drag Molly along with me this late, and Mom's busy. Molly's already had dinner, but there are some wheat crackers in the bag, as well as a juice bottle if she gets hungry.

Mac looked at the squirming toddler in his arms, then at Sam. "Uh," he stammered.

Beth grinned. "Just play with her, change her when she gets wet. If she gets sleepy, tuck her in her blankie on the floor. It's in the bag. But don't let her out of your sight for even a second. She's in her 'eat everything' phase," she told him. "I'll leave the Toyota here with the car seat if anything happens." She patted the child on the head, then gave her a kiss. "Be good for Mr. MacGyver, Molly." Then she was gone, rumbling down the drive in her old pickup.

Mac looked at the child, then at Sam. "Uh, yeah," Sam stuttered. He sat the bag on the porch. "I've got some things I gotta do," he added, then bolted inside.

Mac looked back at the child. "Well Molly. I guess its just you and me." He wrestled the bag, the child and himself through the screen door and into the parlor. Dropping the bag on the floor, he readjusted the child in his arms. She grabbed his hair and yanked eliciting a sharp yelp from Mac. Startled, she screamed.

When Beth returned a little under two hours later, the front door was open, only the unlatched screen door kept the summer night bugs outside. Inside, Mac dosed on the floor, Molly curled in his arms. Beth 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 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 future.

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. She wore 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 to 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 shorts. 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. Putnam 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 personal 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 freshly painted, but 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 painted 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 cotton 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 plastic 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. At least, he thought he did. "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."

"I am forever in you debt," 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. ChuckStrange 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 double window. "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. But it also reinforced just how lonely I had become. I thought Sam would be enough for me. I was wrong. I needed to see Maria.

Mac stood under the shower and let the hot water flow over his aching muscles. Mrs. Putnam and the older ladies of Mission Lutheran 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 oxfordand a clean pair of jeans. Finally dressed, he went downstairs. The place was empty. Outside, his big kitchen table 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 he went to up to shower and change. 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 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. He tried to fix a picture of Maria's blond tresses firmly in his head, but Beth's country beauty seized his thoughts.

She smiled when he stepped into the driveway, into the light of the torches.

"Why Gus," 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. Then he narrowed his eyes, "Gus?"

"It seems to suit you," she answered. "Simple, manly."

He chewed his lips. "Well, maybe just between us," he answered.

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 stood by 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. Gus, 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 Mac, 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, Gus. 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, Gus?" 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, wanted to kiss her, but she slipped inside with a quick goodnight. He was left standing alone under the glow of the porch light. Shame over his thoughts, as if he cheated on Maria, caused him to shake his head before he turned away from her door.

As he walked back down Beth's drive, the porch light winked out and he turned back to look at her house in the moonlight. 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 onto the widow walk 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 fields toward him, then she turned her head to look at the full moon. He couldn't see her eyes, but he felt them as they swept over him. 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, before Maria. 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. And he? Mac sighed. He didn't know what the future held for him.

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. Moreover, I wanted to start making a new life for myself.

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 was forced to take a leave of absence for health reasons. As of September first, depending on his references, 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, and workers she recruited, came and went as she found the time to refinish the kitchen counter, and other small jobs. Mac's new cat, Penelope, diligently reduced the mouse population, with a little help from a few humane traps. Saturday morning, the moving van arrived, his truck in tow. Behind it someone drove Mac's Nomad.

Mac stood on the porch and watched the small convoy containing his possessions roll up the drive. He walked down the steps to meet the drivers, but was diverted by a familiar "whoop" from the Nomad.

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?"

"Well, I figure if back home is good enough for you, its good enough for me," Jack answered as he 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, even Jack, Mac thought. He grinned. He had work. He had furniture and, thanks to Beth, the house was livable, albeit not perfect.

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. Since the initial contact, they kept in touch every few days. Mac excitedly filled her in on the progress on the house, and Maria told him the local gossip. 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 house 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 brought up the reason for his call. 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. Everything will be fine, he thought.

After they hung up, he dug through the phone book for the number for the airport, then made reservations on his credit card for Maria's flight next Friday afternoon. That done, he bounded downstairs with a renewed sense of urgency. Maria was coming! He woke Jack. "Hey Jack, come on, we've got things to do!"

Jack mumbled and rolled away from Mac, but Mac wouldn't let him sleep. "Wake up, Jack!" He insisted. Jack rolled his head and cracked open one eye. "I was having a beautiful dream, Mac; five feet ten, thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six, red hair... Oh man, why did you wake me up?"

"Let's go into town!" Mac answered with a grin. "Maria's coming and I've got things to do!"

Jack sat up and looked at his friend through groggy eyes. "Maria Romburg? She's coming here? When?"

"Friday," Mac answered. "Get yourself together and meet me out front," he added, then sauntered from the room whistling.

Jack shook the nap from his head. "Yeah, right. Maria. Pete, what have you gotten me into old buddy?" he muttered as he dragged his aviator cap from the pile of pillows on the window seat.

Chapter Eleven

I have two friends who I know would, and have, been willing to lay down their lives for me. One was Pete Thornton. The other was Jack Dalton. But Jack, to put it mildly, can get a little irritating at times. Despite that, I love him like a brother. He feels the same for me. I like that. It makes me well... more complete somehow to have him in my life. But sometimes, I just wish Jack would learn to keep his mouth shut.

In the truck, the two old friends fell into a quirky bantering mix that rapidly oscillated between childhood and adulthood, L.A. and Mission City. Both of the men spent their formative years in the Minnesota town. Many years passed since Jack was here, with more, but sporadic trips home for Mac.

"So, where we headed, Mac," Jack asked as they cruised the old familiar Main Street.

Mac shifted down, then answered. "I need to get a new shirt, and then stock the pantry," he answered. "Then I want to get you reservations at a hotel," he added with a quick glance at Jack.

"What? I can't stay with you?" Jack asked.

"Ah Jack, of course you can, but not while Maria's here. I want some alone time with her."

"So, are you going to cast out your only son as well?" Jack pouted.

Getting kind of biblical on me there, Jack," Mac answered with a laugh. Then he added, "Yeah, I am going to 'cast him out'. I just need to find out where he wants me to cast him."

"You're a hard man, Mac," Jack answered, then grinned. "When is the fair Maria due to arrive?" he asked.

"Friday night. That just gives me two days to get ready," Mac answered.

Jack nodded. "You, uh, you and Maria been keeping up since you bolted out of L.A. - without telling me you were leaving, I might add?"

"You were in Ireland, as I recall... looking for leprechauns," Mac answered. "And no, she's been on assignment with the Phoenix Foundation for the last year. This will be the first time I've seen her since last summer."

"Hey, I had big plans for that pot of gold. So, you're planning on just picking up where you left off?" Jack answered.

"I figure we'll just see which way the wind blows," Mac answered as he steered the truck into the parking lot of the Mission City strip mall. He set the emergency brake and unbuttoned his seat belt, then turned to look at Jack. "I'm not getting any younger, Jack."

"Yeah well, your not aging that fast either," answered Jack. "We are the same age and look at us," Jack responded with a wave. "You look great and I look like something the cat dragged in," he added.

"Come on," Mac grinned while he climbed out of the truck. "Help me pick out a shirt."

"Oh, and while we're at it, I need a new pair of pumps, and a matching handbag would be nice. And let's not forget to get our nails done and my eyelashes need tweezing," Jack answered with a limp wrist.

Mac grinned and slapped Jack on the back. "Glad to have you here, Jack."

Jack mumbled something under his breath as he followed Mac into Joseph A. Banks store.

As they rummaged through the racks and stacks of dress shirts, Jack brought up the subject of Maria again. "You know, Mac. Maria may not be the same woman that you remember. Could be she has other stuff going on in her life," he said. Mac held up a salmon colored shirt and showed it to Jack who wrinkled his nose and shook his head. He lisped. "Oh, its just not you."

"Its possible," Mac answered. "About Maria. But she sounded like we still have something."

"But why so all of a sudden, Mac?" Jack continued. "I mean, don't you want to get settled first?"

"All of sudden? Jack, its been over a year since I've seen her. And I'm more settled now than when she left. After all, I've got Sam, Harry's house, a new job starting..." Mac answered.

He picked up a teal shirt and showed it to Jack who nodded, "Nice."

Mac carried the shirt to the sales counter and paid, then turned to look at Jack. "Why the negativity, Jack?"

Jack pulled off his hat, readjusted his hair, put the hat back on, then carefully adjusted it. "I just don't want you to rush into any thing. There are a lot of fish in the sea, old pal."

Mac nodded. They headed out out of the store.

Down the road, Mac pulled up to his parents' old house. It was now a boarding house. They made reservations for a double room for Jack, and possibly for Sam, for the weekend, then hit the road again.

As they climbed back into the truck, Jack asked, "Where to now, bucko."

"The Crow Wing County Food Co-Op," Mac answered. "To get some veggies and some of Beth Reardon's world class wild blueberry jam," he added.

"I like jam," Jack answered.

They maneuvered through the growing town, down the long straight road that led into the countryside then turned down the side road that led to the co-op. As they pulled into the co-op's parking lot, Jack grinned. "Tommy Nelson's gas station! Boy, it sure has changed! I used to date Maeve Nelson, you remember that? She used to give me free gas if her dad was not around. I wonder what ever happened to her," Jack rattled on. "Boy she was something."

"Yeah," Mac answered with a grin. "She was something. I don't know what, but she was something."

"Hey," Jack answered. "As I recall you dated a few 'somethings' back then."

Grinning, Mac grabbed two cloth market bags from behind the seat. They climbed out of the truck. Mac bounded up the steps, Jack on his heels.

Inside, Molly Reardon, dragging a wood "Snoopy' dog on wheels staggered over to Mac. She dropped the toy's tow string and reached her pudgy arms up to Mac in that universal sign. She commanded, "Up."

Mac reached down and grabbed her under her arm pits, lifted her into his arms and gave her a big hug. "Hey Molly, my girl. How about a kiss?" The two year old giggled and dutifully kissed Mac on the lips.

"Jack, I want you meet my best girl, Miss Molly Reardon. Molly, this is Jack," Mac introduced. Molly, always shy with strangers at first, tucked her face into Mac's neck.

"Hi Molly," Jack cooed gently.

"Where's Mommy?" Mac asked the child. Molly lifted her head and pointed to the back of the store.

They followed Molly's finger. Beth Reardon stood behind the cash register ringing up a sale. She wore her co-op logo tee, jeans, and her silly pink reading glasses. Her hair was in the two 'Indian' braids. She glanced up and smiled at Mac, then went back to her work.

Mac looked at Jack and grinned. "Beth Reardon," he explained to Jack. "She owns this place, and lives in the yellow house across the street from me. Molly's her daughter."

Jack studied the woman for a minute, then looked at Mac. He whispered. "Now she is something." Mac nodded in agreement.

Beth finished her sale then reached out her arms across the counter for her daughter. Mac handed Molly to her. "Hi, did you get your business license? If you did, I can print some fliers for you and pass them out when I make my rounds of the farms next week," she said.

"Got it yesterday morning, and that would be great," Mac answered. "Beth, this is Jack Dalton, an old friend," he introduced.

Jack swept off his hat and bowed, "Enchante'," he answered. "Is there a Mr. Reardon nearby?"

Beth smiled and tucked Molly onto her hip. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Dalton. And no, there is no Mr. Reardon."

"Just call me Jack. No Mr. Reardon at all, or no Mr. Reardon nearby?" Jack asked, batting his eyebrows.

Mac answered for her. "Beth is a widow, Jack."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Jack said. He turned to Mac. "Why don't you do your shopping while I get to know Mrs. Reardon. After all, I have a feeling we're going to be very good friends."

Mac shook his head, then looked at Beth. "Watch out for him," he advised. Beth smiled.

As he filled his market bags, he winced every time Beth giggled at something Jack said. He didn't like Jack flirting with Beth. After all, he rationalized, Jack was a masher at heart and Beth was vulnerable. He didn't want her to get hurt. Finally, he couldn't take it any longer and decided to rescue Beth. He sat one full market bag on the counter, then grabbed Jack's arm. "Help me figure out what's for dinner," he told Jack as he led him away. Jack protested being pulled away, but between the two of them, they chose tomatoes, green beans, salad fixings and, to mollify Jack and Sam, two large steaks from the cooler, and Beth's special soy/tofu/garlic burger mix for him.

Back at the counter, Jack leaned over nearer to Beth as Mac unloaded the market bags. "So, Mac has a big date Friday night. How about you and me go into town and you show me the sights?" Jack asked.

Mac dropped his jar of jam on the concrete floor. It exploded into a gooey mess. He shook his head. "I'm sorry."

Beth raised her eyebrows at him, then shook her head. "It happens all the time. I'll get a mop." She left the counter area for the back room.

"Geez, Mac. You're getting clumsy in your old age," Jack told him.

Mac, squatted down to separate the shards of glass from the jam. He looked up at Jack. "Look Jack, leave Beth alone, would you?" he asked.

Jack wrinkled his brow. "You got a thing for her, Mac?"

Mac shook his head. "No, I don't have a thing for her, but... well, she's just not ready to date. She's still grieving," he answered.

"Oh," Jack answered. "When you said she was a widow, I thought it had been a while."

"It has," Mac answered. "Two years. But, well, she's just not ready. Okay?"

Jack raised his palms. "Whatever you say, pal."

Chapter Twelve

In the seventies, Carly Simon's song "Anticipation" was used in a catsup commercial. A boy held the catsup bottle upside down over his burger. As a boy waited for catsup to slowly move down the neck of the bottle to his sandwich, Carly Simon's song reflected the boy's anticipation of eating his burger with that particular brand of catsup. Friday evening, I felt like that boy. Maria was due in at 7:30 pm, CST. I couldn't wait!

Mac stood in the waiting room of the Mission City Municipal airport, a bouquet of twelve red roses clutched in his fist. The sky taxi from Grand Rapids with Maria aboard was due any minute. 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. He planned to stay over with another student that he met on his last visit. Jack, after a lot of cajoling, was ensconced in a bed and breakfast in town, at Mac's expense, of course. Mac mused over Jack's behavior the last few days. He couldn't understand his friend's constant negativity about Maria. It was starting to grow thin. Mac looked forward to a few 'Jack-free' days.

A beautiful trout that he'd pulled from the creek in the wee hours of the morning, 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 flowers 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.

In spite of his good intentions to be a gentleman and slowly 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, 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 of the fridge. 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?" she asked.

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 really 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. "You will meet him tomorrow."

She turned in his arms, and slipped her arms around his neck. "Why did you just take off with him?"

"I needed to... I don't know... get used to idea of having a son... be with him without distractions," he answered. "I wanted to time to get to know 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, her arms slid around his waist. "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 really 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, the only alcohol in the house, not counting Sam's secret beer stash. He drank a glass of fresh cold green tea. She nestled her head on his shoulder,. Finally, he took her drink – sat it, with his tea, on the porch floor. "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 also helped me. They made 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 my grandfather. 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."

Maria snuggled closer, and tilted her face toward him. "You think that throwing the life you made for yourself away will help Sam?" she asked gently.

He looked into her cool blue eyes. "I'm not throwing my life away, just starting a new chapter. A chapter that includes Sam."

"Sam, Sam. Mac – all I hear from you 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," she continued. "Besides, we need you at the Phoenix Foundation. I'll bet you could write your own contract."

Mac got up and walked over to the porch railing and stared across the moonlit field. The light in Beth's upstairs studio was on, as well as the outside light that illuminated a small sitting area on the balcony, 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."

As Mac pondered her words, Beth stepped came out on the widow's walk, a book in her hand. She curled up in her wicker chair to read. 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? Would he be like Beth? Sitting alone while the years passed? 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. Was he brave enough to do that?

Beth claimed to be content out here in the middle of nowhere. Could he find that kind of contentment here alone? But, Beth 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. He shook his head, then looked down at Maria, so beautiful in the moonlight. He tucked his cheek against hers. "Maria, I don't want to leave here. I want this to be my home," he whispered.

Later that evening, after another round of lovemaking, Mac lay in the dark staring at the ceiling. A glance at the clock told him it was two thirty in the morning. After the busy day he should be dead tired, but instead, he felt wide awake. Carefully, to not wake Maria, he slipped out of bed and grabbed his robe. He padded down the stairs to the kitchen. A glass of water in hand, he sat on the porch steps and watched the stars make their slow progress across the summer night sky.

Chapter Thirteen

Know matter how you look at, women are bad for men. I mean, whoever said 'you can't live with them and you can't live without them' really hit the nail on the head.

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 stayed up last night sitting on the porch until the first streaks of dawn. His head pounded and he was groggy. 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, a travel cup, probably full of coffee, sat on the porch floor beside her. Molly played with a stacking toy at Beth's feet. Mac 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 was still hot, so he fixed a cup of tea and strolled out to the porch.

"Mornin'. I see you two have met," 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 Beth, sorry that he sounded so blunt.

"Remember when I told you there were ways to repay people for helping you? 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 for free, 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.

Two hours later, Mac wiped the engine grease from his hands, then climbed into the cab of Beth's old Ford pickup. 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 a garage 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 he loaned Jack. 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.

"Ah... Beth. The one I'm supposed to keep away from," Jack grimaced. "And where my I ask is the fair Maria?"

"With Beth," Mac answered with a grimace.

Jack raised his eyebrows. "I get the feeling you don't think that's a good situation, pal."

Mac opened his mouth, closed it, then shook his head. "It's good for Maria to meet some of the locals."

"Mmm hmmm," Jack answered. "So, what's the plan, Mac? Can I come home now?" he continued.

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 bother him for a while," he told Jack as he unwound his long legs from under the counter.

"Hey, great! Jack chirped. "Say hi to Speedy for me."

Mac pulled into Speedy's a few minutes later. True to form, Speedy was anything but speedy. As usual, he was asleep at his desk, his cheek resting on his fist. There was an empty lift slot in the garage, so Mac pulled onto the lift. If the oil in Beth's truck needed changing, it wouldn't hurt to already be in position. He slammed the truck door, hoping the noise would waken the garage owner. Speedy snorted once, but his eyes never opened. Mac grinned, then lifted the hood of Beth's truck. He rummaged around in the garage until he found the right timing belt, then slipped it on and adjusted the timing.

Speedy called out to him just as he finished. "Hey Mac, what'cha doin with Beth's truck?" he called out as he hauled his ample frame from the desk chair.

"Just doing a favor, Speedy. I owe you for a timing belt," Mac answered. "Hey, hand me a spark plug gauge, would you?" he asked. Speedy rummaged around a toolbox, then dropped a gapping tool into Mac's hand. "Timing belt busted. Looks like its blowing some oil, too," Mac added.

Speedy leaned under the hood and wiped a grubby finger across the engine housing. "Yep. Looks like it," he answered, showing Mac the black greasy spot on his finger. "Steve used to keep this old truck up pretty good, but Beth just drives it – never brings it in for regular service. I told her its gonna rebel on her one day, but, well... you know women," he added.

Mac grinned. "No, Speedy, I don't think I do know women. It seems like every time I think I've got one figured out, she does something unexpected."

Speedy slapped him on the back. "That's how they plan it, boy. It's in their rule book. Always keep the man off balance," he answered, then broke into a hearty laugh. "Now an automobile will never try to trick you. You take care of it, and it'll take care of you. Like that old Nomad Harry left to you," he added. Speedy pulled a kerchief from his back pocket, wiped his hands then added, "But then again, us guys don't always have it so all together either. Don't know how many times I seen a man turn up a good woman for a not-as-good, but flashier one, then claim it was the woman's fault when it didn't work out."

Mac looked at the older mechanic. There was an unmistakable twinkle in his eye. "You trying to say something to me Speedy?" he asked.

"Nope, not a thing," Speedy answered. "You're one of the lucky ones. I heard about that pretty little German girl you got visiting you. 'Course, I can't figure out what you're doin' here working on Beth Reardon's truck instead of paying court to your girl." He laid the rag on the engine for Mac to use. "Well, I got to get to work. You just keep track of everything you take and we'll settle up whenever you're ready." Speedy ambled to the other bay where a sleek Austin sat on blocks.

Mac wiped his hands and closed the hood, then started up the Ford. It was running more or less smoothly. After settling up with Speedy, he headed home.

Chapter Fourteen

Maria, in the passenger seat of the Nomad, studied Beth Reardon as they rode toward town. The woman was beautiful, but in a "Mother Earth" sort of way. She wore no makeup, her dark brown lashes were long and needed no mascara. Her skin was pale, as were her eyes, exposing ,what Maria supposed, a Celtic ancestry. But there was color in her cheeks, a barely perceptible line of freckles across her nose. The petite woman's hands were a testament to work, short nails, rough cuticles. Her long hair was bound in a long common braid, not even a Frenched, no bow to decorate it. She wore old blue jeans and a loose embroidered gauze blouse.

Maria did not know what, if any thing, was going on between Beth and Mac. All she knew was that every other word out of his mouth was about this woman. She needed to find a way to make sure that, if there was something between Mac and Beth, it didn't continue. Mac was certainly attracted to Beth, that was sure, Maria mused. She hadn't missed the way he watched her while Beth sat on her balcony last night. Maria recognized that this woman, along with her 'Gerber baby' cute kid, epitomized hearth and home, those things Mac desperately sought for Sam. Before she left for L.A., Maria needed to make sure Beth was out of the picture or she ran the risk of failing her mission.

Maria chewed her lip, then took a deep breath and slowly let it out. She thought about just how good Mac looked to her. However, the time they spent apart did not prove the old adage "absence makes the heart grow fonder." Instead, "out of sight, out of mind" was more appropriate. During her time trudging through the Venezuelan rain forest, she decided that the type of work she did was highly overrated, and grossly underpaid. When she was off the hook with the Phoenix Foundation, she planned to look for a man with money – lots of money. A man with a nine-to-five job who could indulge her fantasies of living the good life – the American dream. She knew Mac didn't fit that mold, still, she cared for him and hated to deceive him. But her life, and that of her grandfather's, hung in the balance.

Mac seemed so adamant about staying out here in the middle of nowhere because of Sam. How was she going to convince him to come back? She knew that once he was back with the Phoenix Foundation, working with Pete and Nikki, helping people, and traveling the world, he would be happy. But, it wouldn't be easy getting him to come back to the Phoenix Foundation... his grandfather's house, his desire to create a family atmosphere for Sam... and, what she suspected was a possible problem sitting beside her in the Nomad all seemed to reinforce his desire to stay in this rural hell. Add to that, the fact that Mac was a man with a mind of his own – hard to control. Well, at least hard to control under normal circumstances. 'Mother's little helper' should eliminate that problem.

Beth pulled the Nomad into the gravel parking lot of a worn out looking second hand store. Beth explained to Maria that she was looking for a rug for Mac and some things for herself. When they entered the store, the store owner greeted Beth with a wave.

Maria watched as Beth fingered a maroon and gold oriental rug as Hank, the obese owner of the re-sale shop, hovered nearby. It was a beautiful wool rug, but Maria wondered why anyone would buy a second hand anything. But, according to Beth it had just the right amount of 'shabby chicness' for Mac's master bedroom and would be nice to sit on in front of the fire.

Beth looked up at Hank. "How much?"

"It's vintage,Turkish wool - imported" he answered. "Two hundred and fifty dollars – just for you," he added.

Beth cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. Hank shuffled his feet. She called Maria closer and turned over the corners of the rug. She pointed out a three-by-five lighter colored area on the back. Tiny tick marks showed where someone had removed the stitches that once held the manufacturers' label. Beth looked at Hank and raised her eyebrows. "Imported from Neiman Marcus," she stated flatly. "I know this rug," she told Maria. "It came from the same estate that Mac's cat Penelope from. "I'll give you seventy-five dollars for it," she offered to the salesman.

Hank ran his fingers through his hair. "Beth, you're going to put me out of business." He sighed. "I'll tell you what. You give me one hundred for it, and I'll throw in something special." Beth narrowed her eyes again. He grinned. "Come on," led told them with a wave. Beth scooped up Molly and they followed him to a back room.

"I was going to try to sell this to Harry's grandson, for a hundred bucks. Figured a city boy like him would pay that much for a piece of nostalgia," he told them. They threaded their way through piles of junk to the back of the store room where something large sat, covered with an ugly brown tarp. "But, when I heard you were helping the boy fix up Harry's place, I figured you'd shame me into selling it cheap anyway," he continued. He pulled away the tarp to reveal a large leather steamer trunk. "Ben Carpenter found it in the attic of his place when he bought the house from Ellen MacGyver. Said he left it sit for a lot years, stored stuff in it, then decided to get rid of it about three months ago. That's when I got it."

He popped open the worn brass clasps on the front of the trunk, then lifted the lid. "Look here," he told her. He placed the tip of his finger against the side of the interior of the trunk. A child had scribbled all over the inside of the trunk with crayon. Where Hank's finger touched, barely visible beneath the crayon marks, was one word written in an elementary school scrawl - "Mac." Beth grinned then looked up at Maria.

"And here," Hank added as he closed the lid. He tipped the trunk onto its side and pointed the to the bottom. Carved in the wood bottom were the words, 'Property of James MacGyver.'

"Oh, Hank," Beth whispered. "It's perfect – but twenty-five dollars? Surely you paid more than that for it."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Hell, its not worth anything to anyone but James' boy." Beth shifted Molly to her hip, then wrapped her free arm around Hank's neck. She cooed in his ear. "I promise, the next time I buy something from you, I won't haggle the price." She let him go, then admonished him. "Don't you DARE let anyone else get their hands on this trunk. I don't have my truck with me, so I'll have to come back for it. I could be a few days."

On the drive back, Maria decided it was time to get this woman out of the picture. A sentimental find like the steamer trunk was just the sort of thing to make Mac all mushy inside.

"You're little girl is so sweet," she told Beth.

The woman grinned. "She's my girl," she answered proudly.

"I hope Mac and I will have a girl someday," Maria added. "I'm excited by the prospect. Mac will be a wonderful father," she added.

"I think so," Beth answered.

"He dated a girl with a baby once," Maria said. "But he told me that marriage with her was out of the question. He didn't think he could never rear another man's child," she continued with a surreptitious glance to check Beth's reaction. "He even had a paternity test done on Sam, just to be sure, but of course, don't tell him I told you. He gets really upset when ever I bring up the subject. He wants people to believe he is so cosmopolitan and free thinking, but inside, he really is just a small town boy," she added.

Maria touched Beth's shoulder. "I just thought you ought to know. I think Mac is attracted to you, and he is very good at seduction. But, he's left of a string of broken hearts wherever he goes. You seem like a good person. I don't want you to get deceived like so many women in his past," she continued.

"I thought you and Mac were looking to marriage. If he is such a womanizer, why do put up with it?" Beth asked.

"What Mac and I have is special, our souls are bound for all eternity. We completely understand one another. I can overlook his little indiscretions because our love is so strong. And those indiscretions will continue, of that I am sure. But I know he will always love only me. I guess you could call ours and open arrangement. I let him fool around, he let's me be free to pursue my own interests and my work. At the end of the day, we always come back together," she added. "My eyes are open when it comes to Mac. I just want to be sure yours are as well."

Beth sighed. "Maria, I am a recent widow. I am not looking for a man right now. And, I certainly have no intention of having a... a thing... with an attached man."

Maria smiled. "I am so glad you feel that way. I was worried that Mac might be stringing you along like he does his other "women"," she said,. "And it means we can be friends!" she added brightly. "You must share some of your recipes with me. And, I would love to baby sit Molly. It will give me a chance to practice for my own sweet babies," Maria added. She turned and look out the window and watched the fields of corn as they drove. She smiled.

Chapter Fifteen

As he pulled into his driveway, Mac shook his head. It looked like a used car lot. The Nomad sat beside Sam's bike. His own truck behind the Nomad. He maneuvered Beth's truck into a spare spot. As he started up the steps, he paused and scratched his chin. Not only were Sam and Jack inside, but also Beth, Maria and Molly, by the sound of the laughter coming through the screen door. It took a minute of debate between his "good side" and his "bad side" whether or not he wanted to go inside at all. It would be a lot easier on his still aching head to slip in the back door and creep to his bedroom for a well earned nap.

His internal debate came to a screeching halt when Beth appeared at the door. Mac climbed the steps and 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. There's a lot of oil buildup that could indicate a big problem," 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, Gus," she whispered.

He smiled. For the first time in his life, the sound of his given name sounded right, even in Beth's shortened form. 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 back against the clapboard, then propped his hands on the siding on each side of her head effectively trapping her. Beth glanced over her shoulder at the house. "Maria is lovely," she whispered as he leaned closer.

Mac's eyes widened. For a moment, looking into the depths of Beth's Carolina 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 still 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," Maria 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, while Molly clung to his pant leg, riding his foot. Beth pulled her free, then strapped the child into her car seat. She 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. "I'm sorry, Beth?" he told her. He leaned his elbows on the truck window sill, bending down to her level. He shook his head. "I don't know what came over me."

She opened her mouth, as if to say something, then closed it again. She shook her head. She started the engine.

"Forgive me, please," he begged. She stared straight ahead. "Beth?" he cajoled more forcefully.

She put the truck into gear, then finally looked at him. "Tell Sam and Jack to come for dinner tonight," she added. "I'll make Sam something fattening."

Mac watched as she rumbled down the gravel drive, then he glanced back at the house. Maria stood on the porch watching him. She smiled that sweet sexy smile of hers and held out her arms. He went to her. She pulled him against her and gently pressed her lips against his. His body responded and he melded against her and deepened the kiss. Finally breaking free, she whispered. "Why don't you take a nap. "She waved his truck keys in his face. "I've got a surprise for you, but I need to go get it. It won't take me long, then we can take a walk and you can show me your property."

Mac narrowed his eyes. "What kind of surprise?" he asked.

"You will just have to wait, my darling," she cooed.

Mac watched her start up the truck and pull down the drive. He shook his head. What surprise could Maria have for him that required his truck. Then he decided a nap was a good idea and headed inside.

Sam sat on the living room floor, a sleeping Penelope draped across the lap. Jack leaned on the mantle. Mac gave a quick wave, "Gonna take a nap," he said as he veered toward the staircase.

"Hey Mac," Jack called after him. "We haven't had a chance to talk."

"Not now, Jack," Mac answered. "I've got a killer headache. I just want to close my eyes for a few minutes." He started up the stairs, but Jack fell in at his heels.

"Mac, we really have to talk. It's important," Jack begged.

"Everything is always important with you, Jack. It has to wait," Mac snapped. He bolted up the steps leaving Jack, mouth agape, behind.

Chapter Sixteen

Nearly an hour later, Mac awoke to the sound of thumping outside his bedroom. His head pounded with such force that it blurred his eyes and made his stomach queasy. He suspected that, for the first time in his life, he suffered from a full blown migraine. The light streaming in the double windows didn't help. Just opening his eyes caused shooting pains to stab across his brow. As he struggled to free him self from the grogginess of sleep and the pain in his head, the bedroom door opened and Sam and Jack, with lots of grunts and bangs, carried an old trunk into the room as Maria directed.

Mac pushed himself up, and rubbed his eyes again to clear the blurriness. He looked at the trunk and a grinning Maria.

"Do you remember this, Mac? When Beth and I were at a second-hand store, I found this shoved in a corner. Beth didn't think you'd it want it, but I knew you would," Maria gushed. She shooed Jack and Sam out of the room, then closed the door. She went back to the trunk and lifted the lid. "It's your father's trunk. It has his name on the bottom, and you can see where you wrote your name it in," she added excitedly.

Mac stared at the trunk, cocked his head, and smiled despite his migraine. "We used that old thing as my toy box," he answered as he swung his long legs to the floor. But when he stood, his head began to spin. He swayed on his feet.

Suddenly Maria's arms wrapped around him. "Mac, are you alright?" She guided him back to the bed.

Mac, his head in his hands, let her help him sit back down. "Headache," he mumbled as she lifted his legs back on the mattress.

"Oh, my poor baby," Maria cooed. She stroked his brow. "Have you taken anything for it?"

"No, I thought a nap would fix it," he answered. "I haven't been sleeping well."

"You just stay in bed. I'll get some Aspirin," Maria directed. She pulled a light-weight chenille comforter over him and stroked his brow before she gave him a gentle kiss. "I'll be right back."

"Curtains," Mac answered. "The light hurts." He rolled over away from the window as Maria closed the window blinds. He vaguely heard the bedroom door softly close.

A few minutes later, Maria returned with pills and a glass of water. He managed to choke them down despite his flip-flopping stomach. She curled into the bed beside him and pulled his head onto her breast. "I'll take care of you. I'll always take care of you," she whispered as she stroked his brow.

He snuggled against her. "Thanks for the trunk. It really means a lot. I just can't deal with it right now," he mumbled.

Two hours later, he woke. He felt washed out, yet full of energy, the pain completely gone. And, he was hungry. Outside, much needed rain pattered against the windows and the tin roof. He climbed out of bed and padded over to the trunk. Sure enough, there were the crayon marks he made one rainy Sunday afternoon. He smiled. Maria was right, he was very glad to get the trunk, and extremely touched at her sentimental gesture.

He changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a tee, brushed his hair, then headed downstairs.

He found Maria in the kitchen stirring something is a pot. "You're up," Maria said. "How are you feeling?"

"Hungry... and better. More than better, perfect." He slipped his arms around her and leaned over her shoulder to sniff the contents of the pot.

Still leaning over her, he nibbled her neck, then slid his hands up to cup her breasts.

"Smells good." Mac mumbled, taking in the scent of her perfume.

"Chicken soup. It's good for what ails you," Maria explained.

"I wasn't talking about the soup," he cooed.

Maria turned and wrapped her arms around his neck giving him access to her lips.

He pushed his hips against her. Desire, stronger than any he felt in a long time, surged through him and he deepened the kiss as he slid his hands down to her rear. He drew her tighter against him. "This is what's good for what ails me," he whispered, breaking the kiss.

"Where is everyone?"

"Jack and Sam?They went to a movie, then they are going to the Reardon's for dinner," she explained. "I told them you needed a quiet house and to scram," she laughed.

"So we are all alone?" he whispered. He ran his tongue down her neck.

Maria giggled. "I thought you were hungry?"

"I am," he mumbled. "But not for chicken soup."

She surrendered into his embrace, letting him trail kisses down her neck and across the swell of breast. "Oh Mac, I love you so much," she whispered.

Chapter Seventeen

Now I usually sleep pretty good, but my mind wouldn't shut down for another night in a row. While Maria softly snored, I got up and tiptoed to the kitchen and made a cup of tea. Things were good with Maria, really good. But, were they good enough? Was it fair to ask Maria to move out here? She had family in LA – her grandfather, like all of us, wasn't getting any younger. And, would she be willing to leave the Phoenix Foundation and settle down in small town America?

Why was I really in Minnesota trying to fix up a run down farm? My life was full in LA.

Everything told me I should go back, but I knew, for some reason I had yet to discover, I wasn't ready to leave.

Maria snuggled close to Mac on the porch swing. The rain dripped gently from the eaves. The porch light was off and they sat in the dark, with just enough glow from the inside lights to allow them to see each other. Maria shifted slightly and laid her hand on his thigh. "It's so quiet out here. Don't you miss the excitement of L.A.? I mean, you had your work, your friends, the community center? You were doing such good things there. Surely you miss it."

Mac nodded. "I do miss everyone, but people in Mission City have the same problems as those in L.A., just not on so grand a scale. I'm going to volunteer at the Mission City Youth Center, and maybe at the retirement home."

"So you will help what, maybe five lost children instead of fifty?" she answered. "And what about Pete? He really needs you now. You were his eyes to the world. He misses you."

"Yeah, I miss him too," Mac answered. "But he has plenty of friends."

"Those friends don't take him fishing." She squeezed his thigh, then let her hand drift toward his crotch. "You were the only one willing to take a blind man fishing and hiking."

"Maria. It's Sam's turn now, and Pete understands that," he explained. "I have to do this for Sam." Mac slipped his arm over her shoulder. "If I don't, well, I think I'll regret it for the rest of my life."

"Then you really need to open your eyes and consider what is truly right for Sam. Do you really think that he will be happy at the University of Minnesota? Mac, it doesn't have nearly the opportunities to advance Sam in the future. By comparison to UCLA, its just a backwater hick school. And he won't even be going to the main campus! Don't you think it is a bit selfish to insist he stay way out here?" she answered.

"I want Sam to develop small town values, Maria," he answered.

Maria shook her head. "You think Pete's values are not as good as yours because he lives in LA?"

"I didn't say that," Mac quipped.

"Not in so many words, but it amounts to the same thing," she said. She slipped her arms around his neck. "Mac, Sam will learn by your example no matter where the two of you live. And in LA he can actually live with you rather than just coming home on weekends."

"Besides, I want to be near you, and I can't leave my grandfather. He needs me so," she added just before she brushed his lips with her own. "Let's go back inside," she whispered. "I want to show you again just how much I want to be near you."

That night, try as he might, Mac couldn't sleep, again. He tried counting sheep. He tried slow steady breaths, concentrating on each breath as he inhaled and exhaled. He tried the old trick of self-hypnosis where he concentrated on each part of his body, willing the part to sleep. Nothing helped. Finally, around three am., while Maria softly snored on the other side of the bed, he gave up. He grabbed his jeans from the foot of the bed and padded out into the hall. In the bathroom, he dressed and washed his face, brushed his teeth.

Downstairs, he brewed a cup of Sleepytime tea and carried it out to the porch. It was that special time of night that most people rarely experience. Yet, he experienced it several nights in a row. Dawn was several hours away, but night was almost done. Neither night nor day animals were awake, so the world was dead silent. He sipped his tea and waited for the sunrise. He looked up as Sam, dressed in boxers and a tee, opened the porch door, then sat beside him on the steps.

Mac looked at his son. "What are you doing up?" he asked.

"I was going to ask you the same thing. Do you have any idea what time it is?" Sam answered.

"Not really," Mac said.

"It's four thirty," Sam answered. "You have been out here for hours," he added. "Can't you sleep?"

Mac shook his head. "I guess everything is just catching up with me. You have to realize that all of this is as new to me as it is to you. And, I'm the one cursed with the "adult" label," he added with a grin. He slipped an arm around Sam's shoulder. "For the life of me, I can't really remember when I became an adult. It just seems like yesterday that I was bumming around as carefree as you," he told Sam. "Now look at me. I've got a college aged kid, a house, bills, and soon I'll start a real, you know, adult type job. I guess it's no surprise that I'm having a little trouble sleeping. But, it'll pass when I get better adjusted to all of this new stuff I'm going through."

Sam grinned. "I hope so, because I'm worried about you. First the insomnia, then the migraine. I think you ought to see a doctor."

Mac nodded. "If it keeps up, I will. But really, I'm fine." He ruffled Sam's bed head. "So, what do you think of Maria?" he asked.

"I don't know, Mac. I haven't had much time to be around her," Sam answered.

Mac patted his son's shoulder. "Let's remedy that tomorrow... I mean today. We can go on a picnic down by the creek."

Sam yawned and nodded. "Whatever. Let's go to bed."

Mac nodded and they rose. Inside the house, Sam started up the stairs, but Mac veered into the living room where his comfortable old sofa now sat. "Dad, aren't you coming up?" Sam asked.

Mac picked up the throw blanket from the back of the sofa. "I'll just crash here," he answered. After Sam went up the stairs, Mac retrieved the introductory physics book from the den and curled up with a notepad. He still wasn't sleepy. Reading, he mused, might do the trick. If it didn't, well, he needed to start lesson plans anyway.

Chapter Eighteen

Jack Dalton, leaning on an oak tree, watched his old friend spread out a picnic by the banks of the creek that wound at the boundary of Mac's property. Mac and Maria couldn't keep their hands of each other. Jack frowned. It wasn't good. He didn't like Maria the very first time Mac introduced them. There was steel under her pert, blond exterior - cold, hard steel. What Mac needed in a woman was not steel, but gold. Gold was warm to the touch. It molded to the wearer. And, it never tarnished or lost its value. Jack knew that, when Mac fell in love with a woman, really fell in love, it could consume him. He wanted a woman for Mac that could match the depths of his emotions; give back of herself, not eat Mac alive. And, that woman was not Maria. Especially not if Pete's suspicions were correct.

Jack glanced up to see Sam watching him. The young man had a fly rod in his hand. Jack nodded and strolled over to Sam, while Mac and Maria unpacked a large picnic basket.

"You know how to work one of those things?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, Mac's been teaching me," Sam answered. He tied on one of Harry's hand-tied flies. "You want to watch?"

"Sure," Jack answered.

Sam nodded downstream. "I don't want to hit anyone with the hook," he said, then threaded his way down the bank away from Mac and Maria. Jack followed. Sam adjusted the rod, then flicked his wrist to send the fly sailing over the creek. It landed near the other bank.

"Not bad," Jack said as Sam wiggled the line.

"Somethings wrong with Mac," Sam said quietly without looking over at Jack. "He's not sleeping, he's barely eating, not to mention that head ache he had yesterday."

"You notice he's getting grumpy, too?" Jack answered.

Sam smiled, "Well, maybe at you. You've been ragging him pretty hard about Fraulein Maria."

Jack snorted and made the sound of a horse whinny. Sam looked at him, his eyebrows raised. "Young Frankenstein? Frau Blucher?"

Sam grinned. "You don't like her either."

"Can't stand her," Jack answered in a whisper. He glanced back at Mac and Maria, then herded Sam further downstream.

"Look, Sam. You and me gotta talk. Mano-a-mano." Past a bend in the creek, out of sight of Mac and Maria, they found some large rocks and sat down.

Jack adjusted his hat. "Sam, Pete Thornton told me something that scared the living daylights out of me. He said that Maria had a meeting with the Chairman of the Board of Directors of the Phoenix Foundation before she came up here. He didn't know what the meeting was about, only heard about it through the grapevine, which is weird. Maria should be answering to Pete, not to the Chairman. And, Pete says Corbett, that's the new chairman, has really been pushing Pete to get Mac back to the Foundation – and back into covert operations, not community service."

"Does Pete know what their meeting was about?" Sam asked.

"Not a clue," Jack answered. "Hell, for all Pete knew, the Chairman may have just wanted to meet her since she was on assignment when he took over," he added. "But, I think its pretty strange that she would show up here just like no time passed between them and be, like, well, like she and Mac... I don't know. It just seems to me that they would take more time getting to know each other again, not rush into this relationship."

Sam nodded. "When I told you something was wrong with Mac, I left out a symptom." Sam studied Jack's face carefully. "You know Mac pretty well. How pushy would you say he was with women... where sex is concerned?"

"Mac? Pushy with women? Never." Jack shook his head. "He flirts, but pushy? Mac does not get pushy with women. Why?"

Sam chewed his lip. "Lately, since Maria got here, he's..." Sam shook his head. It was difficult to talk about a parent and sex. He sighed. "He's been all over Maria – a lot. And, I mean, well, not gently. And the other day, almost right in front of Maria, he made a pass at Beth. I saw him through the screen door. He literally backed her into the wall. It scared her half to death, I think." He shook his head and stared at the water rushing down the creek bed. "And, have you noticed that his hands have started to shake?"

Jack glanced back upstream. "Yeah, I noticed that."

"What would cause that, Jack? Is it the insomnia? Stress?"

"I don't know" Jack muttered still staring upstream. "But I think its time we try to find out." He looked back at Sam. "Until Mac lets me move back in, there's not much I can do. I can't get any face time with him without Maria. You need to do so snooping," he told Sam.

Chapter Nineteen

In the guest room, Mac carefully dressed in his new teal silk shirt, dark gray National Wildlife Federation tie, and gray 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.

As he turned from the dresser, a wave a dizziness swept over him. He leaned back against the dresser to steady himself. He looked at his hands. They were shaking. A new headache began to build behind his eyes. He remembered he'd eaten little that day – no breakfast, and just a bite of slaw and half a sandwich at the picnic. "Low blood sugar," he muttered. "I need to eat something."

He shook off the dizziness, then 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." He backed her into the bedroom. She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"But I'm hungry," she pouted.

"I have something you can eat," he mumbled as he nuzzled the cleft between her breasts. Suddenly, the stabbing pain knifed across his brow. He stumbled against her. She supported his weight.

"Mac, what's wrong?" she asked.

"Headache again," he answered as he pulled himself together. "I guess I need to eat, too."

"I have some aspirin up here. Let me get you some. It will help," she answered. She sat him on the bed, then rummaged through her handbag, opened a pill bottle and shook two pills out in her hand. From the bathroom, she retrieved a glass of water. "Open up," she instructed, then popped the pills in his mouth, then fed him water to wash them down. "There, that will take care of it," she told him. She stroked his head. "I'll always take care of you Mac." He leaned his head against her breast, his eyes closed. She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. "I know what you need, what will make every thing right," she whispered.

Within thirty minutes the headache was gone. Renewed, Mac sang a German folksong as he 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.

When the Nomad reached the end of the drive, and was at its closest point to Beth's house, Jack pulled Beth into his arms and dipped her. In his field of vision, Mac watched as Jack pulled her up and swung her around in his arms. Mac took a deep breath. He didn't realize that his fists clinched. He didn't care about Jack and Beth, he told himself. He just didn't want Jack to hurt her. She was naive and vulnerable. He gunned the Nomad's engine more than he meant to, then spun the tires in the gravel as he turned onto the road..

Later that evening, 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 week, 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.

Chapter Twenty

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, again 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 Harry's 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 stared at his shaking hands.

He reached for his tea, missed and knocked the mug to the floor. The tea soaked into the new carpet. He got towels from the kitchen, then squatted down by the spill. As he worked to blot up the liquid, Sam joined him.

Sam squatted down beside him and grabbed a towel to help. "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. She needs to be close to him."

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. "Then, maybe Maria and I can retire out here."

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, his tone surly. 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 answered. He shook his head. "I don't think that's true, Dad," Sam added softly. "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 his father in defiance, with 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."

Mac sat at the kitchen table 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 have, 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 Neilled.

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 to 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, 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. Harry was dead. "Never mind. It was just a dream." He hung and looked at Maria standing by the kitchen door. "It was so real. Like I was there. Really there," he told her.

Chapter Twenty One

The next few months were hectic, humbling, and full of small, everyday surprises. My illness, what ever caused the headaches, dizziness, and insomnia, cleared up within days after Maria left for L.A. But, just to make sure, I got a clean Chuckof health from a local doctor - at Sam and Jack's insistence.

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 every one 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 and the impending wedding. 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. It was great getting to make new friends, and reestablish connections with old ones.

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 until he saved up enough money for water lines and having the power run. 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. Sometimes, when I was alone, I wondered if I my decision to marry Maria was the right one. On those days I'd claim a little "me time" and go fishing, or take my hockey gear down to the rink and work out. Common sense always prevailed. I knew I suffered from nothing more than cold feet. Everything would work out just fine.

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. I never understood what came over me that summer day when I corner her on the porch. It broke my heart that I'd destroyed what started out as a great friendship.

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 with the child, but I did. It also forced home the things I'd missed while Sam grew up, and hopefully, those things I would experience when Maria and I had our own children.

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 - 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. Putnam 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. Putnam, 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. 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. Putnam 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. Putnam gave me a really great sweater she knitted. Sam got a matching one. Jack got a box full of cookies, fudge, homemade mints and various chocolate covered goodies, and a knit scarf with matching gloves. 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 furnished place lined up,. It was a small place, near the Phoenix Foundation, two bedrooms, she told me. 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.

Looking back on it, those days after Maria and I got engaged were some of the most relaxing and satisfying days of my life. Repairing things for my neighbors, gardening, and fixing the house were more fulfilling than I could have ever envisioned. And I absolutely loved teaching. When I got back to LA, I thought I might get a California teaching certificate and teach underprivileged kids.

Chapter Twenty Two

It was supposed to be pretty simple really. Get to L.A. Sign my contract. Get married. Live happily ever after. But it seems that, no matter how simply I try to live, life always seems to throw me a curve.

Mac waited for his baggage to roll down the conveyor at LAX. He grinned remembering riding 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 address. He needed to take a taxi, because Maria was out of town on assignment, and he knew 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 the wedding night. 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 to host.

The taxi pulled up to one of those high-rise apartment buildings with absolutely no character, or green spaces, 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 a week 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, opening windows as he explored. 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, nor moved in any of her things. The only art work in the place was still wrapped up with his stuff – the watercolor of Sam and Molly that Beth painted.

He checked his watch. Pete expected him at four to sign his contract. It was only two thirty, so he shucked out his jacket and shoes and stretched out on the bed for a quick nap. However, the street sounds that drifted through his open window kept him awake. A nap clearly wasn't going to happen. He changed into jeans and the sweater Mrs. Putnam knitted and decided to go on over to the Phoenix Foundation.

Mac no longer had an ID badge for the Phoenix Foundation and the receptionist was new, so he waited in the lobby while she called Pete's office for clearance. He expected to be just be buzzed up, was surprised and delighted when Nikki Carpenter, his former co-worker, and oft times partner, looking gorgeous in a pinstriped, form fitting Armani suit, and stacked heels, strolled 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 back through the lobby toward the exterior doors.

Mac looked back over his shoulder toward the elevators. "Aren't we going up? I have to sign my contract, and I want to see Pete," he told Nikki. Her firm grip on his arm didn't lessen.

"There is something we have to do first," she explained as she dragged him outside.

"But Pete is waiting for me," he continued. She spun him around to face him.

"Pete's resigned, Mac," she answered.

"Why? What happened?" Mac asked.

"We don't know. No one seems to know. All we know is that he cleaned out his desk yesterday afternoon. Since then, no one has seen or heard from him," she explained.

"What about Connie? Have you called her?" Mac asked. Connie was Pete's ex-wife. They rebuilt their failure marriage into a deep, lasting friendship. Connie stepped in as primary care giver when Pete's glaucoma caused his blindness.

"Yes, I called her and no, Pete never called her to say he'd quit. She found out when she came to pick him up as usual and he was already gone," Nikki told him.

It wasn't like Pete to be out of contact with Connie. Mac suddenly got very worried.

"We all saw him get on the elevator, but no one saw him leave the building," she said. "I stayed here until midnight last night searching the building, and all this morning. He isn't there. And Mac, no one saw him get in a cab, or on a bus – no one saw him leave the building!. And there is nothing in his files or computer to indicate where he may have gone, or why."

She tugged his sleeve and pulled him toward the street. "I've been sitting on pins and needles waiting for you to get into town," Nikki added. "I want to go over to Pete's place and see if we can find anything there." Mac nodded and, with a glance back at the tall Phoenix Foundation headquarters building, allowed Nikki to lead him to her car.

.Maneuvering through the busy streets, Nikki continue to tell him about Pete. "The new chairman of the board and Pete have not gotten along very well from day one." She glanced at Mac. "Part of it was because of you," she continued. "Pete told me that Corbett, that's the new chairman wanted you to come back. He tried to get Pete to talk you into it."

"Well, he did call me about it, but I told him I wasn't interested and Pete let it drop," Mac answered.

"Apparently Corbett didn't let it drop, at least not right away," Nikki added. "They had a big blow up about it back in the summer, but Pete said he finally convinced Corbett to let the matter drop. Since then, their relationship hasn't been tip-top, but workable. Then yesterday, Pete got a phone call that caused him to blow his stack about something. He stormed up to Corbett's office, was there about thirty minutes, then came down and cleaned out his desk."

"Then he disappeared?" Mac added. Nikki nodded. She pulled into Pete's apartment building parking lot. Mac jumped out of the convertible and opened Nikki's car door. Together they headed for Pete's apartment.

Inside the apartment, a very worried Connie paced the floor while Mac and Nikki searched Pete's desk and files. "I found something, Mac," Nikki yelled from the bedroom.

Mac jogged to join her. She shoved a paper in his face. "It was shoved behind his night stand drawer. According to this, Pete was investigating Corbett's dealings with oil companies," she explained.

Mac studied the paper. "Corbett was gathering intelligence on George Bush, Jr. and the Harken Corporation." He looked at Nikki.

Nikki shook her head. "The Bush family was absolved of any wrong dealings in the Harken stock sales two years ago. So why would Corbett still be interested?"

"Unless someone found out something new?" Mac mused aloud. "But then, Bush is out of the White House. A political scandal wouldn't affect his presidency, except in the history books," Mac answered.

Nikki, leaned against him to read the page. "It could advance the Democratic cause for the next election," she mused. "And eliminate any chance that George Bush, Jr. will win the Texas gubernatorial race."

Mac looked at her. "If Pete suspected that Corbett was using the Phoenix Foundation to advance one political cause over another... Nikki, that is something that would really get his hackles up."

She nodded. "And be enough to make him quit."

"If Corbett is using the Phoenix Foundation to affect American politics, would he be desperate enough to try to shut Pete up?" They locked eyes. "We need to get into Corbett's office," he told her.

Nikki shook her head. "That office is like a fortress, you know that. No one can get in there without being seen."

Mac spread his arms and smiled.

Nikki smiled back and popped her hands on her hips. "I'll say it again, Mac. I'm glad you're back."

Chapter Twenty Three

It was nearly four thirty when Mac and Nikki strolled back into the Phoenix Foundation lobby, laughing, Nikki's arm tucked into the crook of Mac's. She greeted the receptionist, and introduced Mac as a new hire. Then they slipped into the elevator. Inside, they dropped arms.

Nikki studied Mac as he pressed the button, then readjusted his satchel. He looked at her and saw the worry in her face. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "We'll find him Nikki," he consoled her.

She nodded and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Oh, Mac, this was supposed to be such a great time for you. You're getting married in a few days. You shouldn't have to be dealing with all of this, yet."

He hugged her and smiled as the elevator came to a stop. "Happy face, remember?" he instructed as the door opened.

As soon as they stepped out of the elevator, Mrs. Green, Pete's secretary stormed over to them. "Where have you two been?" she commanded. Then she wrapped her thin arms around Mac's waist and gave him a hug. "It's good to see you, Mac."

The next few minutes, Mac's former co-workers swarmed around him with 'welcome back' greetings and congratulations on his upcoming marriage. Finally, Mrs. Green sent everyone back to work.

"Have you heard anything from Pete?" Mac asked her Pete's secretary.

She shook her head. "Not a word," she answered calmly. "And Corbett is beside himself. He wants the two of you in his office NOW!" She told him.

As they rode the elevator to the penthouse suite, Mac walked the interior of the private elevator car, running his hands over the walls, and inspecting the corners, edges, and the ceiling. When the double doors opened, a middle aged woman, seated at a large desk, picked up her telephone receiver, and pressed a button on the telephone keypad. "They're here, Mr. Corbett," she said into the phone. She stood and introduced herself. "I'm Mrs. Hanover, Mr. Corbett's personal assistant, Mr. MacGyver. It is a pleasure to meet you. Mr. Corbett has been expecting you." She turned to Nikki. "Ms. Carpenter? Good to see you again. And, congratulations. Mr. Corbett would like for you to wait here for a few minutes while he speaks with Mr. MacGyver." She pointed to a comfortable easy chair.

Mac looked at Nikki, his eyebrows raised. She waved her hand. "Later," she added.

Mac shifted his satchel from his shoulder. "Nikki, will you take care of this for me?" Nikki took the satchel and sat down.

Mrs. Corbett picked up a file folder from her desk, as well as a pad and pen. Then, she waved her hand toward double oak doors to the side of the room. "This way please, Mr. MacGyver."

As they passed through Mrs. Hanover's office toward Corbett's office, Mac studied the setup. Large plate glass windows covered the outer wall of the reception area, two sets of double closet doors on the wall opposite Corbett's doors, another closet on the same wall as the elevator doors. There were smoke and CO2 detectors, as well as two cameras mounted to the ceiling.

Mrs. Hanover knocked twice on Corbett's door, then opened the double doors. The office of the Chairman of the Board was huge. Like the reception area, the outer wall was glass. More double closets lined the inner wall. A bar set up sat directly across from from the entrance, under an oversized, framed print of the Phoenix Foundation. The obligatory picture of the President, ChuckClinton, hung on the dividing wall between Corbett's and Mrs. Hanover's offices. Beneath the painting sat a small desk with an uncomfortable looking straight back chair. A seating area consisting of two heavily brocaded wing back chairs and a small table sat in the center of the room. Corbett's oversize oak desk sat in front of the windows. More cameras and another set of smoke and CO2 detectors were mounted on the ceiling. A video monitor hung in the corner opposite Mac. It displayed images transmitted by the four cameras in Corbett's and Mrs. Hanover's office. As he watched, the screen flipped to another image of the downstairs entrance to Corbett's private elevator, then back to the original four images.

A man that Mac suspected, from his size and build, played a lot of football in his youth, stood and looked out the windows. The man urned, then strolled toward them as Mac and Mrs. Hanover entered, his hand extended, a salesman's smile on his face. "Mr. MacGyver. It is a pleasure to meet you after all this time," he said as he pumped Mac's hand. "I'm Allen Corbett."

Mac returned the man's grip and answered. "Mr. Corbett."

Corbett patted Mac's hand. "Allen, call me Allen."

Mac nodded. "Allen."

Corbett released his hand. And put it on Mac's shoulder, propelling him toward the easy chairs. "I'm so sorry that Pete Thornton isn't with us. I understand you are very close." He leaned closer and studied Mac's face. "I assume that our Nikki has filled you in on the situation concerning Thornton?"

Mac nodded and looked at Corbett. "Yes," he answered.

"I want you to know," Corbett continued. He placed his palm on Mac's shoulder. "That we are doing everything we can to find Pete." He motioned for Mac to sit. "As a matter of fact, I hope you are ready to go to work, because I could use your help in finding him."

"You've got it. Pete is special to me, and its not like him to just vanish," Mac answered.

Corbett nodded. "Good, we are on the same page." He looked at Mrs. Hanover, still standing near the now closed door. "Mrs. Hanover, do you have the contract?"

The secretary stepped forward and handed Corbett the file she carried.

Corbett opened the file and extracted several papers. "Here is your contract," he told Mac. "As soon as you sign it, we can get your pay started. With a wedding on your horizon, I suspect you need that," he added with a laugh as he handed a set of papers, stapled at one corner, to Mac. " It's the standard two year contract, the same as you had before – but a slightly better salary," Corbett added, then smiled. "Pete insisted on the raise."

Mac studied the document. It was, indeed, as best as he remembered, identical to the contract Pete offered him just before he rode off with Sam. Of course there was hazard pay, and the insurance plan – due to the nature of his job description was superb. Mac's bonuses, were also included. Mac looked up at the chairman. "I'd like to study this overnight," he told Corbett.

"Normally, I would encourage you to do just that. However, I'd like to get you looking into Pete Thornton's disappearance as soon as possible. But, our company insurance can't protect you, or the company in the event of an accident if you aren't an employee," Corbett explained. "Mr. MacGyver, I understand you have a son as well as a fiancée'. Our company insurance will provide for them quite adequately should something happen to you. But, I don't know if the foundation can recover should your family choose to sue us over any damages to you as a result of actions you take on behalf of the Phoenix Foundation, or Pete Thornton." He placed his hand on Mac's shoulder. "I'm sure you understand that the Phoenix Foundation can not support or permit any investigations on your part until you have signed the contract."

Mac nodded. His original intention for coming to the building was to sign the contract.

"I understand," he answered. "But I really need a few minutes at least, to read all of the fine print," Mac told the chairman with a smile.

"Of course. I expected nothing less," Corbett answered. "I have some business that I need attend to while you look it over. You can sit in Mrs. Hanover's office and use her desk. Just knock when you are ready," he added. Corbett stood and waved Mac toward the door.

Mac closed the door behind him, leaving Corbett and Mrs. Hanover alone in the chairman's office. He looked at Nikki then sat down at Mrs. Hanover desk. "Contract," he told her as he waved the papers at her. He glanced up at the cameras, then back at Nikki. She smiled, tilted her head, then looked out the window.

Fifteen minutes later, Mac stood and walked over to Corbett's door, contract in hand. He knocked and Mrs. Hanover ushered him into the office.

"All set?" Corbett asked. He stayed seated at his desk.

"All set, except for one thing. I've always had the right to refuse assignments written into my contracts. This one does not include that clause," Mac answered. He crossed the room and laid the papers on the desk.

Corbett waved his hand, "Oh, that," he said as he opened a file drawer in his desk. He pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it to Mac. "There has been some restructuring within the organization since you left us. The 'right to refuse' is standard procedure now. That is the document that we circulated to all of our employees when we implemented the new procedure. Since it is S.O.P, our lawyers no longer feel it is necessary to be included in the contract.

Mac read the document. It did appear to satisfy his need to refuse assignments that he found morally offensive. However, he felt uncertain about signing the contract. He shook his head. "All the same, I will feel better if the clause were included in the contract before I sign."

"It isn't necessary, but if it makes you feel better..." Corbett took Mac's contract and wrote an addendum to the contract, signed and initialed the addendum, then handed it back to Mac. "Will that suffice?"

Mac nodded.

Corbett handed him a pen. Mac signed the contract.

Corbett shook his hand. "Welcome back to the Phoenix Foundation, MacGyver. Now we can get down to business and find our mutual friend." He looked at his secretary. "Mrs. Hanover, will you bring in Nikki now?"

Nikki entered the room carrying Mac's bag. She handed it to Mac. Corbett bussed her on the cheek. "Nikki, you look as beautiful as ever," Corbett told her. He motioned for her to sit in the easy chair beside Mac, then sat on the edge of the desk facing them. "I am sure you are aware, Nikki," he smiled. "And you, too, MacGyver, that the office grapevine says Pete and I had an argument yesterday." He studied their faces. "The grapevine would be correct."

He looked at Nikki and continued. "Pete's blindness has progressed to the point that the board feels, and I'm afraid that I must agree, that his continued employment with this organization as Director of Ops is detrimental to the foundation's future. Pete is as good an operative as I've ever known, and has been an extremely effective executive. However, his disease prevents him from being completely involved in his cases. You, of all people, Nikki, know how important facial expressions, for example, can be in our line of work." Corbett shifted his weight and turned his attention to Mac.

"The board decided that it was time that Pete's position changed within the organization. We never considered removing him from the payroll. His vast experience is a valuable resource to all of us. Unfortunately, it was my job, as Chairman of the board, to offer Pete a new employment package as a consultant to a new Director." He looked at Nikki. "He was to be given an office adequately outfitted to accommodate his special needs, as well as full access to his retirement package. In addition, I offered him a continuing salary, on top of his retirement, commiserate with comparable consultanting fees appropriate to his experience and for this part of the country."

"You put him out to pasture?" Mac asked. His voice, an octave higher than usual reflected his shock.

Corbett shook his head. "Nothing can be further from the truth," he told Mac. "However, I am afraid that is exactly how he took it. It concerns me that he may have done something foolish," he added.

Mac narrowed his eyes. "Like what?"

Corbett sighed. "Pete refused my offer and stormed out of my office. He said he'd rather be dead. I have not seen him since," he said. "I'm afraid that Pete may have gone somewhere to commit suicide," he continued.

Mac bolted to his feet. "NO! Not Pete, unh unh, no way."

Corbett shook his head. "I sincerely hope not," he answered.

The chairman looked back at Nikki. Corbett stood up and walked over to Nikki. "I know that you, like MacGyver, were close to Pete. And, normally, I would say you are too close to the situation to be involved. However, as our new Director of Operations, Nikki, I am going to permit you to handle this situation."

Mac's head snapped sideways. He stared at Nikki, shook his head, then stormed out of the office.

Chapter Twenty Four

Jack Dalton deftly adjusted the controls of his light sky taxi and nosed down to the runway. Sam dozed beside him, his head resting on the passenger side window. As the wheels touched the runway, Sam opened his eyes. Jack throttled back and applied the break. "Welcome back to world of the living, kid," he said to Sam.

Sam rubbed his eyes and sat up. "We're here?" He asked as he looked around.

Jack Neilled. "You know, that's the first time I've ever seen a MacGyver sleep during a flight."

Sam stretched. "I'm not my father, Jack," Sam answered.

Jack laughed. He turned the plane into a taxiway. "You got that right!" He glanced at Sam, then back at the tarmac. "How 'bout you dig our things out of the back while I get us parked?"'

Sam unbuckled and climbed into the passenger compartment while Jack, speaking softly through his radio's mouthpiece, acquired hangar rights.

Twenty minutes later, with the small plane parked and tied down, Jack and Sam headed into Los Angeles International Airport. Jack showed his, and his planes, identification and filled out the necessary paperwork. Sam checked his watch. "Jack, we need to hurry. It's almost five o'clock."

Jack nodded as he retrieved his paper work. "I'm ready," he answered, then steered Sam toward their checkpoint. Outside, they hailed a taxi. Sam sighed as Jack haggled the price. The taxi wove a frighteningly fast route through the rush hour traffic, then barreled into a neighborhood of small, but well-kept single homes. The taxi driver pulled up in front of a Tudor style brick two-story, with cottage style landscaping in the front yard.

Jack paid the driver, after another round of negotiations. As he did, Sam opened the trunk and set their travel bags on the sidewalk. He looked at his watch again as Jack shouldered his bag. "We're late," Sam said. "Do you think he's already here?"

"I guess we'll find out in a few minutes," Jack answered. He headed up the neat brick walkway to the house. Sam followed. Before they reached the door, an attractive middle-aged woman opened the door. She looked right, then left, then waved to hurry the men inside.

She shut the door behind them as Jack said, sweeping off his hat, "Ah Connie, you are a vision of unbridled loveliness this afternoon."

"Cut the crap, Jack" she answered, then looked at Sam. "You must be Sean," she said to the young man. "I've known your father for a long time. You look like him." She held out her hand. "I'm Connie Thornton." She herded them down the hall, then pointed toward a dining room. "Dinner is almost ready. Go ahead and have a seat, Pete's waiting for you."

Chapter Twenty Five

Mac stabbed the elevator repeatedly. He knew it wouldn't make the doors open any faster, but he wanted to be as far away from Nikki Carpenter as could manage. He clinched his jaw as she called out his name.

"Mac!"

He could hear her heels click on the hardwood floor of Mrs. Hanover's office as she hurried toward him. He stabbed the elevator button again and the doors finally opened. He slipped inside and hit the 'close doors' button, but Nikki managed to slip into the elevator just in time.

He turned his head away from her. "Mac," she sighed. "It's not what you think," she said.

Mac shook his head and hit the down button.

"I was going to tell you," Nikki pleaded.

Mac shook his head again. "When?" he finally blurted out. He spun around to face her. "All day you knew that you were Pete's replacement, and you didn't tell me?" he spat at her.

Nikki closed her eyes, shook her head, then looked back at Mac. "Mac, Corbett didn't approach me with the job until after Pete disappeared. I took it on the provision that I would only be a temporary substitute until Pete came back and I could talk to him about it."

Mac shook his head and turned away. "You do believe me don't you, Mac?"

"I don't know what to believe, Nikki. It wouldn't be the first time you've played me, or Pete for that matter," he answered.

Nikki stepped closer. "I'm not playing you, Mac, I swear. Corbett wasn't happy that I wouldn't take the job permanently without talking to Pete. You have to believe me."

Mac readjusted his satchel as the elevator door slid open. He barreled out of the shaft, Nikki at his heels. "Mac, where are you going?" she called out to him.

"To find Pete," he answered without slowing.

"I'm going with you," she answered.

"The hell you are," he said.

She grabbed his arm and spun him around. "I love Pete as much a you do. You know that." she said. He looked away, his jaw clinched. "Okay," she added. "Be angry with me. I really don't care. But you need me to help find Pete."

"No, I don't need you," he spat back at her, pulling his sleeve from her fingers.

"Oh you don't? He's somewhere in this building. I'm sure of it. But then you have a high-level security clearance badge, Mac? Oh, that's right, you haven't been given one, yet. And I guess you know the new computer access codes? And, how about the new security protocols? Oh, and how about where Corbett keeps his top-secret files?" She answered with her hands on her hips.

Mac stared at her, then sighed.

"You need me, Mac. Just as much as I need you," she finished.

Mac shook his head again, sighed, then nodded. "Okay... for Pete."

Nikki smiled. "For Pete. Now, where do we start?"

Mac looked down the hallway toward the main elevator. "You say you've searched the building?"

"From top to bottom," she answered. "Pete's in here somewhere, I just know it."

"If he's not in the building?" he asked.

Nikki thought for a moment. "He would have been seen leaving by the guards or the receptionist in the lobby if he went out that way. The other exits are secured exits that send a silent alarm to the security station. The on-duty guard would then have checked the video screen. Pete would have been seen, and recorded."

Mac nodded. He was familiar with the setup. For safety reasons, staff and visitors used the lobby doors only. The other fire doors were rigged to allow emergency traffic to exit, but were alarmed and visually monitored twenty four hours a day.

"You checked shipping and receiving?" Mac asked. Nikki nodded. "Nothing went in or out the bay doors after Pete disappeared. I know, I had them secured."

"So, is there any place you haven't searched, Nikki?" Mac asked.

"Only one," she answered. She glanced up at the video camera and pushed Mac to the main elevator. "Corbett's suite," she whispered. Inside, she pushed the 'close doors' button, but did not choose a floor.

Mac leaned against the metal wall. "Let's go back to the beginning. Pete found evidence that indicates Corbett could be violating Phoenix Foundation's charter."

"Correct," Nikki answered. "And that evidence could have a deleterious effect on at least one political campaign, as well as an ex-president's reputation."

"Correct," Mac answered. "Then Pete and the director have a fight."

"Also correct," Nikki said. "And Pete quits."

"Then Pete disappears, and Corbett asks you to be the new Director," Mac added. He looked at Nikki. "And you say 'yes'."

"Tentatively, yes," Nikki added. "Then you show up, sign your contract, and here we are."

"What would happen if the rest of the board discovered what Corbett was doing?" Mac asked.

Nikki shook her head. "It depends. First, we don't really know that Corbett has done anything wrong, or gone against the board's wishes. Second, we don't know if Pete's disappearance, and the paper we found about Corbett are connected."

They locked eyes. "We need to get into Corbett's office," they said simultaneously.

Mac nodded. "I'm hungry." He pushed the down button.

Chapter Twenty Six

The sliver of a crescent moon barely illuminated Mac's black grease smeared face as he readjusted his climbing sling. He wore a black hooded sweat shirt and a black pair of jeans along with his climbing shoes. Beside him, Nikki, holding his messenger bag, waited. They stood in a corner recess of the exterior of the Phoenix Foundation, out of sight. "Ready," he nodded.

She nodded. "Be careful, Mac." He pulled the sweat shirt hood over his hair. Mac fitted a tiny chock into the crack of the building's facade as high as he could reach, then pulled himself up until his waist met the chock. He pushed the non-skid soles of his climbing shoes against the building, creating friction, and began his ascent. Nikki watched as he disappeared up into the dark, then checked to make sure they weren't seen. Nonchalantly, she strolled to the front door and entered.

A security guard, seated at the reception desk, put down the magazine he was reading and stood. "Ms. Carpenter, you're here late."

She nodded. "I couldn't sleep. Since we still have not found Mr. Thornton. I thought I would go through his files again and see if we missed anything," she nodded.

"That's a real bad thing, him missing like that, Ma'am. Mr. Thornton was always real good to me," the guard answered.

Nikki smiled a wan smile and laid her hand on the man's shoulder. "He was good to all of us," she consoled. Then, she signed in and rose in the elevator to Pete's floor. Once on the floor, she checked to make sure she was alone. She spent a few minutes looking through Pete's files, then checked her watch. It was show time.

She returned to the lobby and went back to the on-duty guard. "Frank, I just thought of something. I'd like to check the registry logs for the day Mr. Thornton disappeared. Do you have those here?"

"No ma'am. Each log is collected and filed in the security office every evening after visiting hours are over," he answered.

Nikki nodded. "Who is in the security office right now?" she asked.

"Bill, ma'am. Mack's on rounds," he answered.

"You want me to have those records brought down?" he asked.

"Please," Nikki answered. But, as soon as he picked up the phone, she stopped him. "No, wait. I might need to see more than just that day. Will you call them and tell them I'm coming up?"

"Sure thing. And congratulations on your promotion," he added.

Nikki thanked him. "I wish it had been under different circumstances," she added. She strolled to the elevator and rode the two floors up to the security suite. She pushed open the the suite door.

A guard sat a bank of video terminals. The terminal held ten small screens that showed changing views of different places within the building. The guard stood at her entrance.

"Hi," she said brightly. "Frank called you about the reports I wanted to see?"

"Yes, ma'am," one of the guards answered. "Right in there," he pointed to a connecting room.

"You know we're trying to find Mr. Thornton. I'm hoping the records might tell us something," she explained.

"Hope so, ma'am. The files you want are by date on the outside drawers of the cabinets. Do you need me for anything else?" the guard asked.

"No, thank you," she answered dismissing him.

She entered the file room and closed the door behind her. Next, she pulled a thin, but sturdy metal rod wrapped in floral wire from Mac's messenger bag. One end was curved into a hook. A long wire tail extended from the other end. She found the drawer that contained the registry logs for the date Pete went missing. Then she opened the drawer below it. She pushed the files back until the bars that supported the files were exposed, then she held up the rod. "Hope this works, Mac," she whispered. She hooked the metal support bar on the base of the inside of the drawer, ten ran the wire up through the narrow crack at the base of the drawer above it. She opened the upper drawer, then captured the wire and pulled it until it extended above the top of the drawer. Finally, she closed both drawers, and pulled hard on the wire. The metal rod, now pulled up against the bottom lip of the upper drawer, effectively wedged it closed. Taking a small pair of wire cutters from the bag, she cut the wire tail close to the drawer, then tucked it out of sight. She gave the drawer her best pull. It wouldn't open. She tugged again and it still wouldn't open. Nikki smiled, then tugged the drawer below. It too, was stuck fast. Grabbing Mac's bag, she left the file room and called out to the guard.

"I'm really sorry to bother you, but I've tried everything and I can't get the file cabinet open. Is it locked?" she innocently asked the guard.

"No ma'am," he answered. "All of the files that need to be kept locked are in another room. It must be stuck."

Nikki batted her eyes. "Do you think you can see if you can open it?" she asked, giving her best "poor me, I'm just a girl," look. "I'm happy to watch the monitors for you," she added.

"Well, since you're the DO now, I guess that would be okay," he answered as he stood. "You just keep a good eye out, and I'll get that drawer open for you." He offered his seat to Nikki and went into the file room. As soon as she heard him banging around the file cabinet, she slipped to the window. The security office was the only room above the first floor that actually had windows that opened. She popped open the latch and dropped Mac's bag by the window, then swung the window open. That done, she turned back to watch the file room. The guard added cursing to the banging.

Behind her, Mac crawled through the window, closed and latched it, then dropped behind the monitor terminal, dragging his bag with him. With Nikki standing guard, he opened the maintenance panel. He pulled a syringe full of clear liquid from his messenger bag, uncapped it, then emptied to contents of the syringe into the motor housing through the housing vents. There was a crackle, then a puff of smoke. The monitors went dead. Mac smiled, replaced the panel, dropped the syringe into the messenger bag, then slipped out of the room by the door, dropping his bag into Nikki's lap as he went.

"Hey!" Nikki shouted as soon as the door closed Mac. "Get in here, the monitors aren't working!" The guard pounded into the room.

"What did you do?" he demanded.

"Nothing. I was just sitting here when they went dead," she explained. He fiddled with controls. Nothing worked.

"The video tapes are still running," Nikki pointed out to him.

He opened the maintenance panel and peered inside. "Ah, damn. It looks like the motor is fried," he explained.

"What do you mean fried?" Nikki asked looking over his shoulder.

"It must have shorted out," he told her. "I'll call maintenance."

"How long do you think it will take to get it fixed?" Nikki asked.

"Don't know," he answered. "But don't worry, ma'am. We'll beef up security until its done."

"I should hope so," Nikki answered. "Did you get that cabinet open?"

The guard shook his head. "No ma'am, I'll have maintenance look at that too."

Nikki nodded. "You do that. And, I want a full report about this on my desk, along with those files, as soon as maintenance has solved these problems. I'm not happy about all of this." She stormed out of the office.

Closing the door to the security suite behind her, she looked up and down the halls. They were empty. She checked her watch, then rapidly walked to the elevator and rode to the top floor.

In the top floor hall, Mac waited. She handed him his bag. "So far so good," she told him.

"That was the easy part," he answered. "The cameras are still working, but at least they can't see us."

Nikki nodded. "Now what?"

"Now we get into Corbett's office." Together, they walked down the hallway to the penthouse suite's private elevator. Mac pushed the button, nothing happened. He grimaced and glanced at Nikki. "I was afraid it would be locked." He studied a key pad positioned directly below the control panel. "I don't suppose you know the code?" he asked Nikki. He tried to manually open the doors, but the locking mechanism held them tightly shut.

She shook her head. Mac pulled his Swiss army knife from his pocket and gently pried the cover from the elevator's main control panel. Holding a small mag lite in his mouth to illuminate the inner workings of the panel he traced the wires running between the buttons and the inside of the panel with the tip of his knife until he found the one he was looking for. Within seconds, he found it... the door open override.

"What are you doing?" Nikki whispered.

"Hot wiring it," Mac answered as he pulled two wire ends free and touched them together. There was a soft click and the doors slid open. "Hold the doors," he told Nikki.

While Nikki kept the doors from closing, Mac re-attached the wires and the control panel face plate, then slipped into the elevator with Nikki. "Hope this works," he told her as he pushed the up button. The elevator's motor engaged, and they rose to the penthouse. But at the top, the door failed to open.

"Great," Nikki commented. "Now we're locked in," she added.

Mac grinned. "It's all part of the plan. Corbett's got motion detectors installed in his and his secretary's office. I noticed them when we were up there earlier. If the doors open, they'll set off the alarm. I need to bypass the security system first." Using his knife, Mac pried open the security key pad below the control panel. Next, he unscrewed the key pad and gently tilted it back. Once again, he traced the routes of each of the wires until he found the wire connecting the sensors to the key pad.

"Hot wiring it?" Nikki asked looking over his shoulder.

"Nope, just bypassing the sensors," he explained. First he removed a small dime sized battery. Next, he snipped a wire, then replace the key pad and face plate. Finally, he grabbed the crack between the two elevator doors and pulled. Nikki grabbed from the other side and they manually slid the doors open. Mac put his arm across Nikki's chest, keeping her in the elevator, then scanned the dark room. Satisfied, he stepped in the office, using his mag lite to illuminate the dark interior. Nikki grabbed his sleeve. Together they made their way to Corbett's office door. Another key pad barred their way. Mac groaned and pulled his knife from his pocket. He repeated the process of bypassing the security sensors, then popped the lock.

They took a quick look around the room before they entered. Nikki ran to the closet doors on the opposite side of the room from Corbett's desk. "This is where the top secret files are kept. She pulled open the double doors to reveal a coat closet.

Mac groaned, "Nikki..."

"Just wait, Mac. Now it's my turn." She disappeared behind the coats hanging from a rack. Suddenly, to Mac's surprise, another set of sliding doors at the back of the closet opened exposing a dark room.

"Secret room," Mac said. "I love it."

Chapter Twenty Seven

Sam paced the floor. Pete listened to the teenager's footsteps, gentle thuds on the carpet, and shook his head. He felt his watch, three-thirty am. He hoped he'd hear something soon. Nearby, Jack snored from the sofa.

"Sam, you really should get some sleep," Pete stated gently in the direction of the footsteps. The steps stopped, then resumed, stopped again.

"I don't understand why it has to be this way," Sam said.

"He has to believe us, Sam," Pete answered tenderly. "Really believe us. Beyond any shadow of a doubt." Pete heard the boy sigh. He wished he could see his face, have a better judge of the boy's condition. Blindness, wasn't the end of life. It took Pete a while to realize it, but he did. However, there were some things that he truly missed. Expressions were one of them.

Pete reached for his cane, then stood. Using his cane to alert himself to obstacles, he worked his way to the sound of the boy's footsteps. When he was near, he reached out his hand. Sam's strong, young hand wrapped around his. He pulled the boy into a bear hug. Sam hugged him back, tucking his face against Pete's chest. Pete patted Sam's back.

"We'll hear from them soon," Pete consoled the boy. "Soon," he whispered to console himself.

Chapter Twenty Eight

Mac illuminated the secret room with his mag lite. Four file cabinets sat, two each, on either side of the room. He groaned and looked at his watch. "This is going to take hours, Nikki."

Nikki shook her head as she closed the door, then turned on a light. We only have to prove one thing against him. Just concentrate on the things we know. Bush, Harken, Thornton..."

Mac followed her process. "Oil, democrats, republicans... Got it."

"Right. Open the cabinets and scan the file names. If anything jumps out at you check it out," she added. "I'll take A through L, you take M through Z."

Mac nodded and opened the 'M' cabinet drawer. The very first file had his name on it. His file. There was no reason that his file should be in the "top secret" room. He pulled it out and opened it. The top document was his contract. But it wasn't his contract. He studied it carefully. It had his signature, but the addendum that he'd had Corbett add was not there. There was also an eight by ten photograph of him. In addition to the photograph, the file contained a complete description of virtually everything he'd done, and everyone he'd spent time with since leaving the Phoenix Foundation, even Beth and Molly. There was also a picture of Sam, complete with Sam's dossier and movements. "What the hell?" he muttered. "Nikki?" he said turning to show the file to his partner.

Nikki glanced at it, then waved her hand. "There's probably one of every employee in here," she answered.

"My contract," Mac started to say, but she interrupted him.

"Keep looking, Mac, we're running out of time."

He sat 'his' file on top of cabinet and kept searching.

Thumbing through the files, he began to notice a pattern. Finally, he turned to Nikki. "These cabinets are full of bids for industrial espionage going back to last June."

"I noticed the same thing. That is when Corbett became the chairman. Grab some, we'll copy them to take with us. But keep looking. We need to find one that he actually won the bid on, then... Ah hah, here's the Harken file." She turned to Mac. "He lists every stock sale going back quite a few years. And, it says that Bush, Jr. is being investigated by the SEC for insider trading," she read.

"That's common knowledge," Mac answered. "But if the papers are right, its just a paper work error on the part of Junior's staff."

Nikki thumbed through the file, then pulled out a sheet of paper. "This isn't," she told him, as she handed him the paper.

The paper was, Mac read, a copy of a letter from Corbett to Sheik Bakhsh of Bahrain explaining that the Phoenix Foundation had a network of off-shore companies ready to camouflage the movement of money and aircraft between the United States and the Middle East, especially Saudi Arabia – for an appropriate fee. It also contained an admonition to keep their negotiations secret from the Bush family and their confidantes. He looked up at Nikki. "This is it," he said. "This needs to go to the State Department."

Nikki nodded and placed the document back into the file. She checked her watch. "Keep looking while I photocopy these." She grabbed the stack of files they'd pulled.

Mac turned back to the files. As he thumbed through the "P" cabinet, his finger ran across a file labeled "Project MacGyver." His brow wrinkled. He pulled the file, then opened it. On the top of the stack of papers, was a letter dated last August. As he read, he sank to the floor and leaned his back on the file cabinet, his long legs stretched out in front of him. When he finished, he dropped his hand to his lap, the letter still clutched in his fist. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the cold metal of the cabinet.

Nikki kneeled beside him and took the letter from his hand. A few minutes later, she wrapped her arms around him. "I'm so sorry, Mac," she whispered in his ear. "We can go now," she told him.

Mac shook his head. "I haven't found out anything about Pete, yet," he told her. Slowly, as if carrying the weight of the world on his back, he pushed himself up and turned back to the cabinets.

Nikki placed her hand over his and drew it away from the cabinet. "You don't need to look anymore, Mac."

He looked at her, his brow wrinkled.

"Our mission is over," she explained. "We've done the two things that Pete wanted us to do. What he couldn't do himself."

Mac cocked his head.

"Mac, I know where Pete is. I've known it all along."

She tried to pull him toward the door, but he shook his hand free. He opened the "R" drawer and skimmed the files. It was there, "Romburg, Maria." He pulled her file, but Nikki slipped it from his hand. She shook her head. Let Pete read it first, Mac. Please."

Mac looked into Nikki's eyes, then nodded.

Chapter Twenty Nine

Mac didn't speak as Nikki drove her red Maserati down the dark residential street. There was just a hint of dawn when she parked in front of a two story Tudor home, with an English style flower garden in the front yard. "Where are we?" he asked.

"A safe house owned by Safe Harbor. It provides a twenty four hour emergency shelter for victims of domestic violence," she answered. "It's one of Pete's favorite projects. Currently, there are no residents because the bedrooms are under renovation. We felt that the renovation project was so far down Corbett's list of priorities that he would never think of looking for Pete here."

She opened her car door, and climbed out, then reached in the back floor board for her brief case. Mac didn't move. "Are you getting out?" she asked him gently.

Mac sighed and shook his head. "I just need some quiet time."

"Mac, this is a safe house. I'd rather not call attention to it, if possible," she instructed.

Mac looked over at her, then nodded.

They walked up the sidewalk together.

Pete was standing just inside the entrance way as they came through the door. "Mac? Nikki?" he asked.

"Yes, its us" Nikki answered.

"Did you get it? All of it?" Pete asked as Mac closed the door.

"Yeah Pete, we got it all," Mac answered quietly.

Pete reached out his hand and Nikki touched it with the brief case handle. Pete grasped it, then let the brief case dangle at his side. "Mac," he started, but he was interrupted.

"I'd rather not talk about it right now, Pete, if you don't mind. I just want to take a bath and get some sleep," Mac told him. He brushed by his old friend, then stopped and touched Pete's shoulder. "I'm glad your okay, Pete," he added. Pete nodded. Connie Thornton waited down the hall. She motioned for Mac to follow her, then she showed him to a downstairs bathroom. His suitcase sat on the floor by the tub.

He stood under the hot shower until the water started to turn cold. The words Maria had written, on her report to Corbett, kept reverberating through his mind. "I used large, twice daily does of Valium as an aid to coercion. The drug was effective, although MacGyver suffered some moderate to severe side effects including insomnia, headaches, dizziness, and a change in libido, as well as the expected mild disorientation. However, those effects should not affect his future performance with the company." And then, "The mission was completely successful, although I regret I was not able to persuade him to return to work until January. I shall continue the pretense of a marriage until his contract is signed and you have released me from the mission."

He dressed in a pair of sweats and a tee from his suitcase, then barefoot, opened the door. Sam leaned on the wall across from the bathroom door, his arms crossed. He unfolded his arms, then held them out. Mac stepped into his son's arms.

Another set of arms wrapped around both of them. "You know we love you, don't ya, Mac?" said Jack. Mac nodded, his head still buried on his son's shoulder. "Come on, Dad. Let's get you to bed."

Chapter Thirty

Mac opened his eyes. The afternoon sun beamed through the window of the bedroom of the safe house. The room, under renovation smelled of paint. Sheets covered most of the furniture. Pete dozed in an uncovered easy chair.

Mac sat up. "Pete?"

Pete startled, opened his eyes.

"Did you ever get any sleep?" Mac asked his friend.

Pete nodded, then smiled. "But not as much as you. Do you know its nearly three o'clock?" Pete answered.

Mac rolled out of bed, then walked to the window. "Has any thing been done about Corbett?" he asked Pete.

"I called the state department while you were in the shower last night," Pete answered. "They were waiting for Corbett when he showed up to his office this morning. All of his records have been seized and he is sitting in military prison pending a bond hearing."

Mac nodded. He turned to face Pete. "Why, Pete? Why did you fake your disappearance?"

Pete nodded. "Two reasons, Mac. First, we've been suspicious of Corbett since August, but didn't have proof of his dealings. And, I had reason to believe that Corbett knew I was on to him. We're talking big money in his pocket, Mac. Corbett started an entirely new, unauthorized, covert department within the Phoenix Foundation. His goal was to provide private intelligence as well as an elite mercenary army to the highest bidder, irregardless of who, or what organization hired him. Last night we discovered he had links to Hesbala, Al-Qaeda, the Palestine Liberation Front, not to mention Saudi Arabia and Saddam Hussein. In addition, he was planning an attempt to subvert the funds from several US oil companies into his own pockets, with a little help from the Saudis. Corbett was suspicious that I was on to him. When he fired me, I decided that I could keep his eyes on a search for me to create a diversion away from someone else I sent in to investigate."

"Me and Nikki," Mac added.

"Yes," Pete answered. The Phoenix Foundation no longer has any old school covert ops agents. At least, not any that weren't hip dip in Corbett's pocket." He turned his palm up. "We are a think tank, Mac, not a spy operation. You and Nikki were the only ones, with the skills I needed, that I trusted to get into Corbett's office and find evidence of his traitorous activities."

"But why didn't you just come to me and tell me? You know I would have helped you," Mac asked.

Pete dropped his head. "I know, Mac. But, I couldn't take the chance of Corbett finding out what Nikki and I had planned."

Mac shook his head. "Have you ever known me to open my mouth when I shouldn't?" he asked.

Pete looked toward Mac. "It wasn't you I was concerned about," he answered softly. He shook his head. "I couldn't take the risk of Maria getting to you."

Mac turned back to the window. "What was the second reason?"

Mac heard Pete's cane gently strike the floor, then tap across the room as Pete came to his side. Pete laid his hand on Mac's shoulder. "If I told you what I suspected about Maria, you would have never believed me, Mac. Not completely. I had to let you discover it for yourself. I needed to give you a reason, my disappearance, to go through those files until you discovered Maria's, if they existed."

"When did you suspect her, Pete?" Mac asked.

"As soon as she returned from Brazil. She had a secret meeting with Corbett. Since I was already suspicious of Corbett, I decided to watch Maria. That's why I sent Jack up to Minnesota, to report to me. And what Jack told me... I didn't like. I was ready to send Nikki up, but then Maria left and you appeared to be bouncing back from the illness that we now know was caused by overdoses of diazepam. When she got back here, I put a watch on her." He paused, then took a slow deep breath and exhaled before he continued. "If it helps, Mac, there is no indication that Maria knew about Corbett's plan to sell you to the Palestinian Liberation Front. If anything, it appears that he may have coerced her using her grandfather as a bargaining tool."

Mac dropped his head. "Where is she, Pete? She told me she was on assignment and wouldn't be back until today."

"You were her assignment, Mac. She was in town, hiding out, waiting for you to sign, then get her pay. Yesterday afternoon, after you signed your contract with Corbett, Mrs. Hanover delivered a envelope with five thousand dollars in cash to Maria. At my request, you're friend Kate Murphy of the L.A. police detained her and her grandfather at the airport last night just before they bordered a flight to Switzerland. We planned to turn her over to the Minnesota courts for battery and administering drugs without a license."

Mac winced.

"However, Maria's file that you retrieved last night implicates her in at least one of Corbett's other schemes. It seems he sent Maria to Brazil to obtain the illegal bank account numbers of high ranking members of the former Brazilian cabinet. She was to turn over the information to Corbett who would then divert the funds for his own use. Apparently, she was to receive a cut of the profits. She is now in the custody of the US Military. Her grandfather has been returned home."

Mac shook his head then looked at Pete. "What did my contract have to do with all of it?" he asked.

Pete pursed his lips, then closed his eyes. It took a while for him to compose his words. "The Palestine Liberation Army offered Corbett one million dollars for you - alive. Corbett wanted you in his grasp so he put you into their hands. But he didn't want an investigation into your disappearance. I guess if he figured you had a contract, he could send you, without suspicion, whenever and where ever he needed to to make the sale."

"That's why my contract was altered," Mac answered. "So I couldn't refuse his assignment?"

Pete nodded, then added. "You know, there's a young man downstairs who is very worried about you."

"Sam," Mac said.

Pete nodded. "I called him and Jack and told them to get their butts down here. I figured you needed to have as many people around you as possible who love you. Then, Jack can fly you home when you're ready."

"I signed a contract with the Phoenix Foundation, Mac. Not Corbett's bogus one, but a real one."

"I know. I have it downstairs," Pete added. "But, under the circumstances, you are under no obligation to honor it. I'll tear it up whenever your ready."

Chapter Thirty One

I clung to a small metal support in an old London sewer system. I'd been on the run in London, 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, 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 pondered my situation. But, all I could think of was that 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. I wanted... hell, I wasn't sure what I wanted. 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. Sam would be enough. Like I told Harry one day. I wasn't alone, neither was Sam. As long as we had each other, we had enough.

My ill gotten contract with the Phoenix Foundation was up. I decided to honor if for Pete. With all of the chaos within the foundation caused by Allen Corbett, he needed someone to help him out. But now Pete was retiring. Well, at least sort of. He was taking a seat on the board. He was training Nikki to take his place. She'd already been approved by the restructured board as the new Director of Ops. Sometimes, she really made me loose my cool, but she was the best damn choice they could make. And I knew, it was time to quit one life and get on with the next. For good this time. I was just going to be Gus MacGyver, citizen of Crow Wing County, Minnesota.

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 dark brown 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 half way around 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 her 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, "Gus."

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 Putnam, now ninety-one years old, dosed in an easy chair. Molly sat on the floor at her grandmother's feet.

Sam, oh 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.

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.

Maggie, Sam's wife bustled around the room collecting dirty dishes.

Mac looked around. "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.