By
Rose gasped, her eyes going wide. Mac smiled playfully, pulling her close, relishing her reaction to his proposition.
"In the light--It's *huge*, Mac--I'll never be able to handle something this size!"
"Sure you can. I was thinking about the two of us, practically on top of each other most of the time as it is--Rose, trust me. Let me show it off to you--" he begged gently.
She quivered, unable to resist his pleading look, and touched his cheek, sighing. He added in a seductive whisper, "I could make it good--just tell me what you like."
"Riiiiight. You think it's all going to be a matter of a couple of quick moves, and instant paradise for the two of us, but I need more time, Mac--it's not going to be that easy to get comfortable. You've put me in a very tricky position here, you know."
"True, but only because I know how well you can handle big things like this, Rose. We're up to the physical challenge," he responded, kissing her shoulder. Rose groaned.
"Stop trying to butter me up, Stud--if I'm getting the shaft, at least let it happen with my eyes open--I'm not falling for your soft soap that easily."
"You love it," MacGyver scoffed with a grin. "I can see the wicked gleam in your eyes, Brat. Can't wait to get your hot little paws everywhere--"
She flushed, caught in right in the middle of licking her lips. With dignity, she looked into his eyes. "As long as you don't force it on me, I might give in . . ." she teased, "But remember, size isn't *everything*."
"Oh yes it *is*," he countered happily, "Let me prove it to you--"
The two of them gazed around at the empty warehouse and sighed almost at the same time. MacGyver motioned to the far end, which had a raised platform under a skylight.
"Bedroom, with or without walls, whichever you prefer. I can put up railings, or curtains or screens or whatever. There's a huge storage room with plumbing that will make a perfect bathroom right there to the left--" he pointed. Rose studied the walls around her, which were exposed brick. She walked towards the far end, looking up at the ceiling. A wide catwalk circled the huge skylight above. Hanging lights and industrial fans dangled here and there. Spinning around, she glanced back down the length of the enormous room to the industrial bay door. MacGyver was over by a wall, examining wiring with a practiced eye.
"What about a kitchen?"
"Over by the front doors, on the supporting wall there . . . we've got wiring *and* a gas line. I figure that a corner kitchen would work, and we could put in a booth or a table--what?" he trailed off as she burst out laughing.
"Oh God, Mac, you sound so, so . . . domestic! Mr. Builder Fix-it guy!" she spluttered. "Honestly, I half expect you to start talking about term life insurance and carpeting or something--"
For a long moment he stared at her, his expression flickering through a variety of changes; she bit her lip and walked back to him, wondering if she'd hurt his feelings. He stepped behind her, wrapping his arms over her shoulders, leaning down to speak softly in her ear.
"If you're only going to do something *once* in your life, doing it *right* suddenly seems like a good idea. Think about it, Rose--if we were in cave man days, I would have dragged you here by your hair, and you wouldn't have a damn bit of say about what color the painting on the walls were, or how big the fire pit would be--"
"If we were in cave man days we'd be so busy dodging predators and finding food that we probably wouldn't even have a cave," she replied, squeezing the arms that rested on her shoulders. Mac laughed.
"True, but the point is that we're not, we have choices. The way I see it, this place is big enough to hold all our combined household stuff without cramping either of us, it's in a good location, the price is certainly fair, *and* it's structurally sound. I don't mind painting and weekend carpentry to get it into shape, Brat, how about you?"
She looked over her shoulder at him, and back at the warehouse. Her hands found hands, just over the swell of her chest and she interwove her fingers with his.
"It's a very nice cave . . ." she admitted gently, "Considering we could park about four mobile homes in it--"
*** *** ***
And so it began. Most Saturdays and Sundays were dedicated to renovating the Grotto, as Rose named it. The walls and floors were methodically scrubbed and sealed. Three weekends in a row, Mac measured and took notes while Rose scraped paint off of the high frosted windows that ran the length of the building. They argued about painting the brick, they disagreed about the carpeting; they ended up making hot and sultry love up against the industrial door once. Life was progressing at a good pace. And then one Saturday--
"It's no use--I need some bigger brackets, Rose," Mac tossed the one in his hand down on the worktable in disgust. His green flannel shirt hung open. The sleeves were rolled up his forearms, and the thermal undershirt sleeves underneath were dusty. Rose looked up from the can of varnish she was stirring and shrugged. She had her hair in a braid across the crown of her head, and wore faded jeans with a tight pink T-shirt that read So Many Fish, So Little Time.
"And I'm about ready for a break from the fumes myself, so why don't we go to Build Mart and then grab some lunch?"
They locked up and took the jeep, enjoying the unexpected sunny warmth of the late February afternoon. As they pulled into the lot, Rose glanced over at the truck next to theirs and drew in a breath. She nudged Mac, who followed her gaze.
"Not good . . ." he admitted warily. They climbed out of the jeep and swiftly moved to peer into the back of the flatbed in the next space.
Hunkered down in a metal cage too small for him, a large dog lay panting in the bright sunshine. His big paws protruded from between the bars, and a faint buzz of flies surrounded his head. Rose pointed at the bone-dry water bowl; Mac nodded, and made a faint whistling noise. The dog raised his head, ears pricking up at the sound.
"Hey boy--you don't look so hot--" Mac spoke softly and simply. At his tone, the dog's tail thumped twice against he truck bed and stopped, as if the effort of wagging was too much. Rose climbed up on the back gate of the truck for a better look.
"Oh Mac, his *neck*--you see it?"
"Yeah--looks like someone's been using a choke chain pretty brutally on him. We've got some water in the jeep--" He fished for the bowl, keeping an eye on the dog. "I wonder what breed he is?"
"Something big. Hey buddy, want some water?"
At the sound of Rose's voice the tail thumped feebly once more; encouraged, Rose held out a hand. Mac winced.
"Brat, that's a good way to get bitten--this truck is his turf, and he's liable to be protective about it!" he reminded her. She shook her head.
"Most of the time you'd be right, but look at him, Mac--he's more dead than alive. Where the *hell* is his owner anyway?"
Rose was bristling; the dog gave a whine of fear at the anger in her voice and she flinched. Mac was busy pouring water into the bowl. He pushed to towards the dog, who tried to reach it. His big muzzle didn't fit through the bars, but his tongue did, and he managed to lap a good bit of it up.
"I can count his ribs," Rose grumbled, "and it looks like there's an infected gash on his head. That's what the flies are getting into--Yech."
Mac looked at the cage. A heavy padlock held the door shut, and the dog lay on bare wire mesh underneath. He shook his head decisively.
"You stay here--I'm going to see if I can find the owner. If he comes out before I do, stall him."
"I'll try--" she muttered, pulling off her windbreaker and draping it over the top of the cage to make some shade. Mac jogged into the Build Mart, looking for a clerk.
Hey--you folks have a PA system here? There's a tan truck out there with it's lights on," he fibbed easily. The old lady behind the register nodded, asking,
"Did you get a license number?"
"Yes Ma'am--it's JT24396,"
The clerk cleared her throat and made the announcement, her voice echoing through the vast building. Mac waited by the door, watching. He glanced at the parking lot where Rose was still leaning over the flatbed talking to the dog.
Finally after a long five minutes, two men approached the door. One was tall and angry, his greasy blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. The other was squat and muscular, with a sour expression and a marine buzz cut. They seemed to be arguing.
"I *know* didn't leave no lights on, Tony--it's bullshit."
"Maybe, but it won't hurt to check. Besides, this place doesn't have any of that PVC pipe we need anyway," the shorter one responded. Mac stepped up to them.
"Hey--you the guys with the tan trunk?" he asked as mildly as he could. They stared at him for a second. Finally the taller one replied,
"Yeah?"
"Actually, your car lights aren't a problem, it's your dog," Mac commented. The two men looked at each other and then at him. Without further discussion, the shorter one swung a haymaker right at MacGyver's face, catching him full on the nose. Alarmed shoppers waiting in the lines looked up as Mac's head rocked back and his spine hit the doorframe. Blood spurted out in a spray. He grunted.
"Outta here, asshole--" the blonde muttered to his partner. They bolted, only to nearly be hit by the jeep as Rose screeched it to a stop at the front doors. Leaping out, she grabbed Mac around the waist, hauling him to the car as he groaned, red streaks dripping down his shirt. The two men flipped her the bird and ran across the parking lot to their truck as Rose revved the engine and sped away.
"Swow gown, swow gown . . . Ahhhh!" Mac groaned through his fingers as each bump and jar of the vehicle sent fresh pain through him. Rose patted his thigh.
"Oh God Mac, you sound like Elmer Fudd, but you're sooo brave-- I'm trying to drive softly, but let's just get home and I'll get both of you taken care of--"
"*Bof* of uf?" Suspiciously, Mac craned his head to look in the back of the jeep. A mournful face looked up at him, and he gasped.
"WOSE, YOU STOWE DA DOGGGG!" came his anguished yell. She nodded grimly as she drove on.
"Sure did--and you bought us the time too--I knew you had some bolt cutters in here, and those two dipshits weren't about to take a lecture on the ethics of owning a dog, so I just jacked him."
"Arrggh!" Mac slumped in the passenger seat, saying nothing more until they reached the Grotto. Rose pressed the remote to unlock the door and jumped out, running to the small refrigerator and grabbing an ice pack and some paper towels. When she turned around, she saw Mac carrying in the shivering bone bundle from the back seat, grunting under the weight.
Looking at him, her heart swelled up, and she felt tears rise in her eyes. Mac had bloody streaks running down his chin, and his nose was completely puffy, but his focus was on the dog. He set the animal down on the worktable, absently wiping his upper lip on his thermal sleeve. She wrapped the ice pack and handed it to him, gingerly he pressed it to his face.
"Pwatchett dose a good vet?"
Yeah--" Rose fished for her cell phone as he gently patted the dog, examining it closely. The animal lifted his head and licked his fingers; Mac reluctantly smiled.
*** *** ***
"Yes, well it's in bad shape, but with some loving care and attention it's going to be fine--"
"Ah--danks, doc, but whad about da dog?" came Mac's reply. Grinning, the gaunt man in the lab coat handed back the ice pack to him and winked at Rose who was holding the dog.
"Hey, last time I looked, humans were animals too--I'm a nondescriminating sort you know," he replied cheerily. The badge on his jacket read Daniel Ibarra DVM. With his shoulder-length grey hair and tinted round glasses he looked like an older John Lennon, and Rose smiled back. Stepping over to the table, he ran a gentle hand down the dog's back and began a soft monologue as Rose and MacGyver watched.
"Hmmmmm, let's have a look here . . . you're quite a big boy, aren't you? Great Dane in your make-up, maybe some Mastiff too-- I see you've had a rough time of it sport, and we may have to do some stitching on your head here . . . haven't eaten in a while, have you, poor fella . . . bit of a fever, and will you let me look at your teeth? Good boy, yes you are . . . about eight months old I'd say, still got quite a few puppy canines in here . . . not neutered, so we better plan on taking care of that . . . dehydrated too . . . where did you find this big old sweetheart?"
"Uh--In a cage in a parking lot," Rose blurted. Ibarra frowned as he gently felt each leg and paw.
"Lemme guess--the cage had a mesh bottom, and was too small for him?" came the question. Mac spoke through his ice pack.
"Yeah."
"Shit," Ibarra muttered, shaking his head. "They're back. We've got a very lucky baby here--he was destined to be a sacrifice at a dogfight, most likely. They starve and dehydrate the victims so that the fighters can tear them apart before the real match--the taste of blood gets the adrenaline flowing--"
"Oh God!"
"Sweetie, they haven't got one unless you count the almighty dollar--every vet in the state are on the alert for this group."
"Are they a gang?" Rose asked softly.
"Not officially," Ibarra murmured as he studied the dog's eyes. "Those of us in the animal business call them the Abattoir. I'll alert the police that they're back," Ibarra looked over at Mac keenly, his expression serious.
"You get that crunched nose rescuing this dog?"
"Yeah," Mac admitted. Ibarra nodded.
"Then there's absolutely no charge for the house call or the treatment. I'm gonna take this big boy with me for stitches, fluid replacement and overnight observation and you two can probably pick him up tomorrow," Saying this, Ibarra scooped up the shivering animal and staggered with him out to the van. Rose followed him out while Mac reached for the cell phone.
"Hey Bete--no it's nod a coad," Mac grumbled, taking the ice pack off to speak more clearly. "Listen, who do we have as community liaison for SPCA? And while you're ad it, can you pass on a license plate to them for me? Long story, but its aboud a dog-fighting cadre called the Abattoir. Yeah . . . the plate's JT24396. Thanks."
They went back to Rose's place in silence. She could tell Mac was sulking; it wasn't just his nose that was bruised but his ego too, and it was partially her fault, she knew. Rose sensed he could be coddled out of his bad mood with the right incentives; fortunately there were plenty at her fingertips. She climbed out of the jeep first and scurried over to his side.
"Let me talk to Mr. Pratchett a minute while you hop in a nice hot shower. I'll be right up to make you some soup, okay?"
He made no reply.
"--A rich golden mushroom bisque with garlic and pepper, with French bread and a tossed salad," she offered in a consoling tone. Mac's eyes lit up, but he waited for a long moment.
"Dessert too?" His lower lip jutted out and it was all Rose could do not to laugh.
"Dessert too--I've got some peach cobbler from my mom," she offered, reaching up to rub his back. He slowly nodded, and she turned away, stifling her smile. Men. Always little boys underneath.
Mr. Pratchett looked up at her from the leash display he was re-arranging. He was a bushy-browed scarecrow of a man with a full beard and a bald head.
"Briar Rose! How's the dog? Did Danny look him over?"
"He did--the dog's going to be fine I guess. I wanted to thank you for convincing Dr Ibarra to come out."
"Oh Danny loves to get out of the office, trust me--" Pratchett smiled. "Says it gives him more time to pursue the ladies."
"Really?" Rose grinned, "He didn't make any passes at *me*."
"He saw the ring, I'm sure--besides, Danny's type is more along the lines of your average librarian or teacher--shy and ladylike--not all boisterous like yourself."
"Thanks a lot! But honestly, I appreciate your help."
"Will the dog be needing anything once he comes home? Bedding, kibble, chew toys?" Pratchett asked thoughtfully. Rose shrugged.
"I guess so--"
"Let me put together some things for you then--" he offered. "Make things easier once you bring him back."
"Thank you Mr. Pratchett," Rose beamed.
Once upstairs and in the kitchen, Rose concentrated on cooking, pulling together the fresh mushrooms and cream, keeping an ear out for MacGyver. Just as she finished setting the table he emerged from the bathroom, toweling his hair dry. She felt her knees go weak at the sight of him in the plaid bathrobe.
"Oh babe--" she sat him down and took a good look at his nose. He gave her a crooked smile and Rose knew his bad humor was weakening.
"I don't think it's broken, but it's pretty sore," he sighed. "I'll be looking like Rudolph for the next few days."
Rose tenderly cradled his cheek against her full chest; Mac sighed and slid his arms around her hips.
"Do you *know* how incredible you are, Mac? You're brave and smart and kind--" she murmured, kissing the top of his head, "--And handsome and wise, and--hey!"
"--You promised dessert," he mumbled. She swatted his roving hands away and motioned to the table.
"Dinner first, MacGyver--besides, you might need your strength," she lightly threatened. He arched an eyebrow at her, but said nothing, preferring to concentrate on the soup for a while. She ate as well in the comfortable silence, making sure Mac had at least two bowls full. When they were done with dinner, Rose sighed.
"I'm taking a bath," she told him. Mac stacked the bowls and nodded absently. She disappeared into the bathroom, humming while he did the dishes. Once he'd finished, he wandered over to the nearest bookcase, looking over the spines.
"Rose?"
"Yes?" she called back through the door.
"Why do you have so many books about knitting? I've never seen you knit."
"Ah. Well, for a while my granny tried to get me interested in it, and I didn't have the heart to throw the books out," came her honest reply. Mac nodded to himself, looking further long the case. With an inquisitive look, he selected a volume, tugging it from the shelf.
"And all the--erotica?"
"College course--those were all required reading!" Rose told him. He shot a skeptical look towards the bathroom door and she must have sensed it since she added,
"They *were*--check the inside covers, smarty pants--those things cost me a fortune! I *wanted* to take the psychology of Death and Dying, but all the sections were full, so they bumped me to psychology of Sexuality instead."
Mac flipped the book open, seeing the college stamp and price across the title page. Cautiously he thumbed through the rest of it, shaking his head, a knowing grin on his face. Engrossed, he didn't hear Rose come up behind him. She cleared her throat.
"A-*hem*"
"Boy, I bet the study groups for this course were fun--"
"Not really--" she replied, chewing her lower lip. Mac looked at her and his teasing expression softened. She was wearing her short terry robe, and the ends of her hair were wet from the bath. He set the book back on the shelf. Rose reached up to his nose.
"Let's get a bandage on that, and then you need to get to bed." Meekly Mac allowed her to tape some gauze across the bridge of his nose and fuss over him, secretly enjoying every moment of it. Rose ushered him into her bedroom and pulled up the covers on the four-poster bed.
"Get in and let the aspirin have a chance to work, okay?"
Before he could say anything, the phone rang. Rose picked it up from the nightstand.
"Oh hello Pete--uh, yes, he's right here--" she handed Mac the phone with a dry smile. Mac took the receiver and leaned back against the headboard, sighing.
"Yeah Pete?" He muttered.
"Well I talked with Lloyd Thuy, he's our connection to the SPCA--do you mind telling me how you got involved in something as repugnant as dog fighting, Mac?"
It took a few seconds for MacGyver to respond since Rose had slowly peeled her robe off and dropped it, artistically on the floor, revealing a tiny pink lace nightie that clung to her curves.
"Ah . . . the Brat and I sort of rescued a dog today . . ."
"I see--well it turns out that Lloyd's got a file on the subject that's as thick as a two by four. This blood sport goes back about seventy years, Mac."
"Really?" came the distracted reply. Rose flicked her hair off her shoulders and slid up on her side of the bed, her hands gliding gently up Mac's chest, pulling open the plaid robe.
"Oh yes. It's definitely a serious crime, and the foundation's just the sort of group to get behind a crackdown against it. If you can come in sometime tomorrow I can set up a meeting."
"A . . . meeting?" Mac replied, trying to keep his voice neutral. Rose was smiling; her hands slid down his chest across his stomach. He swatted at her and recupped the receiver against his ear but she dropped her mouth to the hollow at his throat and kissed him.
"Yes, a meeting. If you rescued an animal, any information you can share with Lloyd is going to help. Did you see anyone?"
"Two guys--one cracked me in the nose pretty good . . . ah--" He gurgled. Rose lay on top of him, nipping at his collarbone, her hands sliding down his ribs in wickedly tickling strokes. She pushed herself up to straddle his hips on her knees and took his hands, bringing them up to her breasts.
"Then you *definitely* want to talk to Lloyd," Pete insisted. MacGyver struggled to keep the receiver pinned in the crook of his neck while he tugged at the lace nightgown, but it was difficult to concentrate. Rose stifled a giggle. She began to grind against him as she licked her lips.
"Yeah, okay Pete, we'll meet with Lloyd tomorrow, look I gotta go--something big's just come up--" Hastily Mac cut off the call and dropped the phone over the side of the bed. Rose squealed as he grabbed her shoulders, pulling her up to his face.
"Briar Rose I oughta spank you!" came his growl. She laughed into his face delightedly.
"You wouldn't dare--"
"Wanna bet?" With one yank he tugged her across his lap; she grappled at one of the pillows when his broad hand came down across her firm barely covered fanny in one swat.
"Hey!" Rose tried to protest, but she was still giggling. "I'm a good girl!"
"No you're not--" he replied, although it was hard not to smirk. She squirmed across his lap, and Mac bit back a groan at the sensation. Gradually she managed to rise to her hands and knees and looked over her shoulder.
"Now look at me, a marked woman--" she muttered, examining the faint pink imprint of his hand across her bottom.
"I'll kiss it and make it better . . ."
Rose tossed her hair and gave him a seductive gaze; he returned it with one of his own. Within minutes the pink nightie and plaid robe had joined the phone on the floor.