Free Falling (13 page)

Free stood and patted her thigh. “Come on,
Oscar.” She reached for the Frisbee in the picnic basket, then
tossed it down the wide trail that weaved alongside the shallower
water upstream.

Oscar barked furiously and darted after the
bright orange disk. Free clapped and cheered when he came running
back with it. She and Mac walked side by side for some distance
without speaking, the silence broken only by Oscar’s barking and
Free’s praise of his retrieving skills.

“Here.” She thrust the Frisbee at Mac. “My
tossing arm is tired.” It was a lie, but she wanted Mac in on the
fun, too.

He stared at the Frisbee as if it were a
foreign object. “Okay,” he said slowly.

In the khaki shirt and faded blue jeans Mac
appeared at home in these surroundings, but Free knew he was far
from comfortable. Mac tossed the Frisbee and Oscar bounded after
it, then proudly pranced back with it in his mouth to be praised.
Over and over Mac repeated the process. Free watched the slow,
subtle metamorphosis. First his posture changed and Mac relaxed in
near imperceptible degrees. The grim lines on his face dissolved.
Then he even smiled. Free’s heart beat a little faster.

Vivid snatches of memory flashed in her mind.
Mac holding her in his arms in the rain, the sultry, jazzy throb of
music urging their bodies into a natural rhythm. His body moving
against hers. His mouth finding hers, his hands seeming to be
everywhere at once. Free closed her eyes and allowed the sensations
to envelop her. The heat, the need, the absolute madness.

She snapped her eyes open. Thank God she’d
had the good sense to stop. Good sense, hell! More likely it had
been her innate sense of self-preservation that had kept her from
going further. What would have happened if—No! They had stopped and
that’s what mattered.

As much as her traitorous body wanted to,
Free just couldn’t help Mac that way. Reaching out to him beyond
the bounds of friendship would be a mistake. A costly mistake. She
had to learn to protect herself—to say no.

She hadn’t learned to do that very well yet.
But she was determined to teach herself.

“I’m starved,” she announced before Mac could
toss the Frisbee again. “Let’s head back and have lunch.”

Mac flashed her an uncharacteristically
charming smile. “Sounds good. I’m starved too.”

Free didn’t look at Mac as they leisurely
walked back to where the picnic basket and blanker waited. That
smile he’d flashed her had stolen her breath and left her
lightheaded.

How could a mere smile from the man wreak
such havoc with her senses?

She spread the blanket and forbade herself to
think about white-hot kisses and hard, rigid muscle a moment
longer.

“Chicken?” Sitting cross-legged, Mac examined
the contents of the picnic basket. “I love cold fried chicken. I’m
beginning to think you really are psychic,” he said without looking
up. A groan of pleasure rumbled from him. Free shivered at the
sound. “And apple pie,” he said, elated.

“And potato salad, green peas, and rolls,”
Free told him as she swatted his hands away from the food. She
quickly spread their lunch and serving utensils out on the blanket
and set the basket aside.

Mac poured iced tea from the Thermos into the
two glasses. “With all this I may not make it to the pie,” he
teased, his eyes glittering in a way that made Free a little
nervous. But just as quickly as the smile had appeared, a frown
replaced it. Mac glanced at the woods and then back the way they
had come. “Where’s Oscar?”

Puzzled, Free studied his concerned
expression. “He’s probably exploring in the woods.” She filled a
delicate bone china plate for Mac. She always used her best. Life
was much too short to save anything for a special occasion. Every
day should be special. “Oscar always shows up in time to gobble up
the leftovers.”

“Oh.” He still didn’t look convinced.

Free set her plate containing much smaller
portions aside. “Mac, haven’t you ever owned a dog?”

The question brought him up short. He stared,
startled. “No.”

“Not even as a child?”

He shook his head before biting into a
drumstick. Free rearranged the food on her plate with her fork. “I
thought all little boys had dogs at one time or another,” she
prodded. Of course, she also thought that all little boys had been
fishing at least once.

Mac swallowed. When he spoke he didn’t meet
her eyes. “We moved around a lot. Dad worked long hours. We didn’t
have time for the distraction.”

What kind of father considered a family pet a
distraction? “What about your mother? She didn’t—”

“She died when I was five,” he said quickly,
cutting Free off. Mac dropped the drumstick onto his plate, then
crumpled his linen napkin in his hand. Finally he lifted a
carefully masked gaze to Free. “I barely remember her.”

“I’m sorry.” The words came out
automatically, a rushed whisper.

He shrugged, his attention captured once more
by his plate. “It’s difficult to miss someone you never really
knew.”

Free didn’t believe Mac for a minute. She had
very vivid memories from when she was five. He just didn’t want to
remember; it obviously hurt too much. “Your father never
remarried?”

“No. He was busy with building McFerrin
Enterprises.”

Mac focused on eating, but his movements were
strained with tension. He didn’t want to talk about himself, Free
knew, but she wanted—needed—to know more.

“So who took care of you?”

He stilled, slowly lifted his head and met
her inquiring gaze with defiance in his own. “I took care of
myself.”

Free choked out an odd sound that she prayed
would pass for a laugh. “But you were only five years old!”

“Not for long,” he said bluntly.

Free absorbed the impact of that statement.
During the silence that followed, she forced herself to at least
attempt to eat. The tension grew heavier by the moment, but she
felt reluctant to cross the imaginary line Mac had drawn. He didn’t
want to answer any more questions. Free scolded herself for
pushing. This was supposed to be a fun day, not an inquisition. She
couldn’t let her curiosity ruin the day for Mac.

“What about you?”

The coldness in his tone more than the words
jerked Free’s gaze to his. “What about me?”

“I suppose you always had a dog and a white
picket fence to go with it.”

Free flinched at the harsh tone. “Most of the
time I had some sort of pet, a dog or cat. I had a bird once.” She
watched his expression grow more distant. “But there was never a
white picket fence.”

“What about your mother?” He threw her own
words back at her. “She didn’t provide for you?”

“She died.” Free let go a heavy breath. “I’ve
been on my own since I was sixteen.”

His face changed instantly; warmth and
curiosity claiming his features, but no sympathy. “Father?” he
asked more softly.

Free found the lack of sympathy she normally
encountered when people learned about her past a bit unusual, but
oddly comforting. Of all people, he would definitely understand. “I
never knew my father,” she finally told him. Before he could say
anything, she quickly added, “Have you and your father always been
close?”

Mac thought for a long while before he
answered. “Close might be too personal a description. I started
going to his office after school when I was ten, could do better
freehand drafting by the time I was twelve than most of the
architects who worked for him.” He shrugged. “We’ve worked together
ever since, until two years ago anyway.”

“What happened? Did he get sick?”

His gaze wandered somewhere past his
shoulder. “No, nothing like that. He just got bored. I’d been
running the company for a while and he no longer felt” he searched
a moment for the right word “challenged. So he took off to redesign
devastated cities around the globe with one of his semi-retired
colleagues.”

Free had a sudden vision of Mac thirty years
in the future. Bored with the business he had built his life
around, he would travel the world in search of an unobtainable
sense of fulfillment. But that wasn’t fair. She didn’t know his
father. Another realization dawned on her with vivid clarity. “Is
that why you’re here, Mac, because you’re bored with the day-to-day
routine at the corporate office? Surely you have people who could
have set up your new offices and projects here in Huntsville
without your personal attention.”

Free knew she had hit the nail on the head
when she saw the flicker of surprised panic in his eyes. He didn’t
like anyone recognizing what he didn’t want to admit himself.

“I am a hands-on CEO,” he offered by way of
explanation. “Nothing unusual about that.”

Free smiled and shook her head ruefully.
“Scorpions have no sense of balance in their lives. They always
need the final word.”

“Who says I’m a Scorpio?” he protested,
frustrated at being examined so closely.

“When’s your birthday?”

Mac shifted and sighed impatiently. “I don’t
believe in that nonsense.”

“Just answer the question.”

“November nineteenth.”

“I knew it!” Free smiled triumphantly. “And
I’ll just bet the party gets bigger every year. Scorpios don’t do
anything halfway.”

That remote look returned. “I don’t bother
with birthday parties,” he said flatly.

“You’re kidding, right? I mean, it’s not
against your religion or something, is it?” All signs of certainty
had vanished from her voice. Heat crept up her neck and across her
cheeks at the possibility that she had committed a major social
blunder.

“Why waste the energy on a party? My father
has one of his assistants pick up whatever I want. On my last
birthday he gave me complete control of McFerrin Enterprises. I
never needed parties, I always got whatever I wanted.” He pushed
his plate away. Free wondered if the subject matter had caused his
sudden loss of appetite. “I don’t have time for parties.” He plowed
his fingers through his long hair and continued to stare at
anything but her. A muscled flexed rhythmically in his handsome
jaw. “I must have been out of my mind for agreeing to this little
outing.”

Images of a lonely little boy flooded Free’s
mind. No wonder Mac concentrated so intently on the future…he only
had half a past. Nothing worth remembering. His life had always
been about working and shaping the future. His memories would all
be alike—work and more work. Sadness filled her and threatened to
overflow. She blinked furiously to keep the tears at bay. Tears for
a lonely little boy who had grown up into an even lonelier man.

Free pushed her plate aside. Sitting on her
knees, she inched closer to him. “Mac.” She swallowed her
uncertainty. “I want you to close your eyes.”

He jerked his attention back to her then and
eyed her suspiciously. “We’re not going to play that game again,
are we?”

She smiled, remembering that day in the Bower
Street house. “For a minute.” He looked away, impatience marring
his chiseled features. She simply wiggled closer, putting herself
in his space now. “Now, close your eyes,” she commanded. “And
there’s only one rule in this game. Whatever you say has to be the
truth.”

Mac exhaled and reluctantly faced her. When
that blue gaze collided with hers, Free shuddered at the intensity
of the feeling that shot through her. She quickly composed herself
and waited for him to obey. What seemed a lifetime later, he closed
his eyes.

“It’s two years in the future, and you’re on
vacation—”

“I don’t have time for vacations,” he cut
in.

Free blew out a breath of frustration. “It’s
two years in the future, Mac, and I’m telling you that you’re on
vacation.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him,
for all the good it would do her with his eyes closed. “Now, where
would you go on vacation?”

He absently rubbed his forehead with the tips
of two fingers as he thought. The moment stretched into half a
minute. “Aspen, The skiing is good there.”

“So skiing is one of your hobbies?”

His eyes snapped open. “I don’t have any
hobbies.”

“Keep your eyes closed!” Free frowned at him
and he relented. “If you like to ski, then it’s a hobby.”

“Whatever you say.”

Free shot a look heavenward. God, the man was
hopeless. “Okay.” She shifted to keep her legs from going to sleep.
“Now it’s five years down the line, and you’re married.”

He flinched. “Marriage isn’t in my five-year
plan.”

“Take it easy, McFerrin. Remember, this is a
game and I make the rules. It’s five years from now and you’re
happily married.”

“Fine. I’m married.” Mac scowled, then a
startled expression stole over his features.

Free realized by the look on his face that it
must have been a real shock to imagine himself with a wife. “Can
you see her?” Mac nodded and scowled again. She hoped that scowl
was no indication of how he pictured his future wife.

“Mac, the wife you would pick surely can’t be
that bad.”

His eyes still closed, he laughed. “You have
no idea.”

Free sighed. ‘”Okay. Your wife is about to
give birth to your first child, a son.” She wet her dry lips. The
thought of Mac’s child parched her throat. She shook herself. “Can
you imagine that picture?”

Mac didn’t answer. He sat absolutely still as
if in deep concentration. Good, she decided, that’s what she wanted
him to do—to think. To see something more.

“Can you imagine holding your son in your
arms? Does he look like you or your wife? A family is what you’ve
always needed. Someone to make real memories with.” Her breath
hitched. She didn’t want to think of Mac with someone else. The
realization slammed into her with tremendous force. No! This was
his future, not hers. She didn’t factor into any part of his life.
“Describe what you see,” she managed without wavering.