in a long, smooth caress. “I
research the history of the houses I work on and the people who
lived in them. I can sense a lot about them by what they left
behind.” She ran her fingers into his hair, smiling as the strands
sifted through them. All conscious thought evaporated for Mac.
Free tiptoed to press her lips against his
and he groaned in response. He traced the seam on her lips with his
tongue and she opened, inviting him inside. Time vanished as he
explored the heat and softness she offered.
“Whoa! Excuse the hell out of me!”
Mac jerked back from the kiss that had
consumed him with its intensity. A tall, lanky young man lurked in
the parlor doorway. Tattoos marked his bare, muscled forearms. From
his blond head to his biker boots, he looked like trouble. Right
now he also looked ready to rip Mac’s head off and spit down his
throat.
“Lance,” Free said, her voice unnaturally
high. She raked a shaky hand through her hair. “This is…this is Mr.
McFerrin. His company is dong the reconstruction on this site and
several others we’ll be salvaging from.”
Lance leaned against the doorjamb, folded his
arms over his chest and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. “Oh.
The magnolia hater,” he said archly.
Anger shot through Mac. If this was Free’s
helper, she needed her head examined. This guy looked like the
poster child for Criminals-R-Us.
“Lance,” Free scolded, “Mr. McFerrin is my
neighbor.”
“Delighted, I’m sure,” Lance muttered.
“I have a meeting.” Mac pushed past Mr.
Leather-and-Tattoos and strode toward the front door.
Free caught up with him on the front porch.
“Lance is really a good kid. He’s just a little
overprotective.”
“Kid?” Mac whirled on her. “That’s no kid,
Free. And I wouldn’t trust him with my grandmother, much less
with—” He snapped his mouth shut. Instantly he recognized the
strange emotion twisting his gut: jealousy. He was jealous of this
guy’s relationship with Free! But Mac had never been jealous of a
woman in his life. Shock, followed swiftly by fear, raced through
his veins, making his heart pound harder. “I have to go.”
“You never got a chance to me tell me if you
could see—”
Mac glared at her, cutting her off
midsentence. “I didn’t see anything, but an old rundown house that
lost its purpose a long time ago.” With that, he stormed away,
trying his level best to forget the look of sadness on her sweet
gypsy face.
~*~
Free sat in the dark on her back steps and
watched the lighted windows of Mac’s house. Now and then she would
see him pass the window as he moved about in the kitchen. Every
night for the past week she had watched his house. And it was
always the same. He never had company and he worked until midnight
or later. If she stood on her tiptoes on the top step and leaned to
the right, she could see him huddled over the mass of papers spread
out on the kitchen table.
Even on Sunday, he had done the same.
On Monday, Free had watched from the next
block as the Bower Street houses were tore down. She had struggled
with her tears, but the salty drops had streamed down her cheeks
anyway. She had sat in her truck in the hot morning sun and watched
another part of the past destroyed.
Free wasn’t foolish enough to believe that
progress was bad, but did it have to destroy everything more than a
few decades old? It just didn’t seem right to tear down all those
beautiful old homes. How long would it be before her own
neighborhood was viewed as obsolete?
Maybe people like Mac were right. Maybe she
was fooling herself. Maybe her salvage work didn’t make a
difference.
No! It did. People like Mrs. LeMont and even
Julius Faraday understood. The past did have a place in the
present. And no one would ever make her believe otherwise.
Chapter Four
“Mac, are you listening to me at all?”
Mac jerked his attention back to the present
and wheeled around. He had been staring out the
research the history of the houses I work on and the people who
lived in them. I can sense a lot about them by what they left
behind.” She ran her fingers into his hair, smiling as the strands
sifted through them. All conscious thought evaporated for Mac.
Free tiptoed to press her lips against his
and he groaned in response. He traced the seam on her lips with his
tongue and she opened, inviting him inside. Time vanished as he
explored the heat and softness she offered.
“Whoa! Excuse the hell out of me!”
Mac jerked back from the kiss that had
consumed him with its intensity. A tall, lanky young man lurked in
the parlor doorway. Tattoos marked his bare, muscled forearms. From
his blond head to his biker boots, he looked like trouble. Right
now he also looked ready to rip Mac’s head off and spit down his
throat.
“Lance,” Free said, her voice unnaturally
high. She raked a shaky hand through her hair. “This is…this is Mr.
McFerrin. His company is dong the reconstruction on this site and
several others we’ll be salvaging from.”
Lance leaned against the doorjamb, folded his
arms over his chest and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. “Oh.
The magnolia hater,” he said archly.
Anger shot through Mac. If this was Free’s
helper, she needed her head examined. This guy looked like the
poster child for Criminals-R-Us.
“Lance,” Free scolded, “Mr. McFerrin is my
neighbor.”
“Delighted, I’m sure,” Lance muttered.
“I have a meeting.” Mac pushed past Mr.
Leather-and-Tattoos and strode toward the front door.
Free caught up with him on the front porch.
“Lance is really a good kid. He’s just a little
overprotective.”
“Kid?” Mac whirled on her. “That’s no kid,
Free. And I wouldn’t trust him with my grandmother, much less
with—” He snapped his mouth shut. Instantly he recognized the
strange emotion twisting his gut: jealousy. He was jealous of this
guy’s relationship with Free! But Mac had never been jealous of a
woman in his life. Shock, followed swiftly by fear, raced through
his veins, making his heart pound harder. “I have to go.”
“You never got a chance to me tell me if you
could see—”
Mac glared at her, cutting her off
midsentence. “I didn’t see anything, but an old rundown house that
lost its purpose a long time ago.” With that, he stormed away,
trying his level best to forget the look of sadness on her sweet
gypsy face.
~*~
Free sat in the dark on her back steps and
watched the lighted windows of Mac’s house. Now and then she would
see him pass the window as he moved about in the kitchen. Every
night for the past week she had watched his house. And it was
always the same. He never had company and he worked until midnight
or later. If she stood on her tiptoes on the top step and leaned to
the right, she could see him huddled over the mass of papers spread
out on the kitchen table.
Even on Sunday, he had done the same.
On Monday, Free had watched from the next
block as the Bower Street houses were tore down. She had struggled
with her tears, but the salty drops had streamed down her cheeks
anyway. She had sat in her truck in the hot morning sun and watched
another part of the past destroyed.
Free wasn’t foolish enough to believe that
progress was bad, but did it have to destroy everything more than a
few decades old? It just didn’t seem right to tear down all those
beautiful old homes. How long would it be before her own
neighborhood was viewed as obsolete?
Maybe people like Mac were right. Maybe she
was fooling herself. Maybe her salvage work didn’t make a
difference.
No! It did. People like Mrs. LeMont and even
Julius Faraday understood. The past did have a place in the
present. And no one would ever make her believe otherwise.
Chapter Four
“Mac, are you listening to me at all?”
Mac jerked his attention back to the present
and wheeled around. He had been staring out the
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