Grove Hollow

By

Cincoflex@aol.com

(Author’s note: A good friend challenged me to rewrite the romance between Rose and Mac in a completely different universe, claiming that if all of the original factors were changed it would be a tough thing to do. I’ve accepted this challenge but I’ll let you readers be the judge on whether I’ve succeeded or not. )

MacGyver’s Journal

My little town of Grove Hollow has barely made it into the latter half of the Twentieth century, and only then, kicking and screaming as it were. Set back a few miles from the interstate, this place is a quiet mix of urban and rural life with the downtown is still a ten-block promenade with stores lining the streets, no building more than four stories high.

At one end of Grove Hollow’s downtown stands the dignified Roman façade of City Hall, and at the other, the West Astoria Hotel. Both are owned by town patriarch old Lionel Penderbrook, who serves his constituents as Mayor with quiet unruffled dignity. I like him—he fishes. Along Fairhaven Avenue (the town refuses to call it Main street although technically it is,) the shops are red brick, with large picture windows and the charming architecture of the late Twenties and Thirties. Wisely the residents refused to demolish any of these gems, preferring to renovate and restore the shops to their dignified stature. I don’t mind since it keeps me in business as the town’s resident handyman/carpenter/electrician for hire.

Farther out, surrounding the town are suburbs, comfortable neighborhoods with big trees and snug houses--beyond them, bucolic farms. All in all, walking down Fairhaven is like taking a trip back to Mid West America circa 1960; Grove Hollow is a time capsule, lovingly maintained and I’d like to think I’m contributing personally to that effort. Oh a few developers have planted their outposts—a single MacDonald’s, two Starbucks and a handful of ATMs and supermarkets were in town, but most corporations preferred to build over in Ashdale, or up the highway near Johnston City. Grove Hollow is too far off the beaten path, our citizens too self-sufficient to worry much about trends and fashion.

****

Rose Clowderbock pulled the U-Haul up Fairhaven and turned down the alley between the hardware store and the vacant shop, grateful that it was just after dawn on a Saturday morning. Very few people were out: the newspaper vendor man, a few patrons for the Diner across the street, a police car. As she climbed from the cab, the dog on the passenger side woke up and clambered out after her. She patted him.

“Welcome to Small Town USA, Barn. Ready for the quiet life?”

The Great Dane chuffed at her, his expression woebegone. She laughed.

“Come on you big galloot—let’s go see if the handyman got those track outlets put in.”

As Rose unlocked the glass windowed door, she held it open for the dog, then reached for the light switches. Nothing. Frowning, she tried again, but the only light in the shop came from the large glass front window. With a growl, Rose slammed her hands on her hips.

“I THOUGHT I was clear in my E-mail, Mr. MacGyver, AKA DT Mac—this shop was supposed to be wired and ready to go by the seventeenth!” she griped to the bare walls. Sighing, she propped the door open, and walked the length of the empty shop, moving to the side door and unlocking that as well, her grumbles punctuating the morning air.

“—Inconsiderate given the number of aquariums I’ve got lined up, and how am I supposed to refrigerate the brine now? I’ve got sixteen twenty gallon tanks to get primed and no place to plug them in!”

Even as she griped she was moving, bringing in boxes and setting them at various points in the shop, unloading the van as the rest of Fairhaven Avenue began to come to life. By the time the U-Haul was empty, it was after ten thirty, and Rose decided to celebrate her industriousness by getting a soda. The diner across the street, Mac’s, looked good, so she whistled for Barnum and crossed Fairhaven. The man behind the counter watched her with a keen stare, and then busied himself when she entered.

“Help ya?” he asked gruffly. Rose looked up at him behind the counter and smiled, liking his looks. From his bright blue eyes and curly iron-grey hair to his lean frame and height, he held the confident manner that said proprietor.

“Are you Mac?”

He laughed, waving a spatula.

“Now I KNOW you’re new in town, Missy. No, Mac’s my grandson although truth to tell, this place was named a good twenty years before he came on the scene. I’m Harry Jackson.”

“Rose Clowderbock.” She held a hand out over the counter and Harry shook it, his big one easily engulfing hers. He squinted past her.

“Your dog a mannerly sort?”

“Barnum? Yes, actually.”

“Good. He can stay then. I see you two bought Martha’s old Laundromat across the way there.”

Rose nodded, and sat on one of the stools at the counter. She was aware that other diners were listening in, even though none of them were looking at her, and it tickled her greatly that they were letting Harry pull information from her. It was as if his yes or no would settle the matter of her worthiness to be on Fairhaven Avenue.

“Yes, I’m opening a pet shop.”

Harry’s eyebrows went up in surprise.

“Really? Penny Parker’s going to love that—she’s always trotting off to Ashdale for PittyPat’s cat food. Puppies, birds, that sort of thing then?”

Rose nodded, accepting the cold glass of diet coke with a grateful gulp.

“And fish and snakes and rats and lots of other animals. I had the washers and dryers taken out months ago, but there’s still a lot to do.”

“Ayuh, starting up’s always a big job. Saw you pull in at sunrise,” his tone held approval, and she blushed a little.

“I was a little anxious to get going. I’ve got a lot of stuff ready, but I’m stuck for the moment because the handyman flaked out on me.”

This last came out with an air of real discouragement, and Harry cocked his head at her.

“Local fellah?”

“Yes. I looked him up on the town’s website, and arranged for him to rewire the shop so I could set up my fish tanks by the seventeenth, but it hasn’t been done. Heck the power’s not even ON right now.”

Harry grinned briefly, and wiped it away with his hand before sighing.

“Helen Balfour over at the utilities office in City Hall can get your power turned on. Tell her Harry sent you and it’ll probably be done today. As for the handyman, I’ll deal with him m’self.”

Rose looked up, gratefully surprised.

“Really?”

“You bet.”

*** *** ***

Two hours later, in the middle of the noontime rush, MacGyver dropped onto a stool at the counter and rubbed his eyes tiredly. A plate slid in front of him and he picked up a fork, diving into the slice of warm peach cobbler with serious appetite.

“Mmmuphf, Fanks Wucy—“ he muttered around a mouthful. The waitress rolled her eyes, but smiled.

“Word is Harry’s on a tear about some job you let slide, Mac. Brace yourself—“ she warned in a soft voice. Mac picked up the glass of milk and winced.

“Figures—I spent all night at Hank’s with that emergency gas pipe leak. All I really want is a chance to curl up and sleep for about the next two days—“ Mac grumbled. He stabbed the cobbler crust as Lucy patted his hand, her smile motherly.

“Well just grin and bear it.” Scurrying off to take orders, she left Mac just as Harry stepped around the grill window and scowled at him.

“Anything ring a bell about the seventeenth, Bud?”

Mac thought a moment, trying to buy some time as he finished up his serving of cobbler.

“It comes before the eighteenth?” he offered weakly. Harry snorted.

“Ya promised to rewire the Washtub for the new owner,” came the reply. Mac grimaced, and shot a quick look over his shoulder. Sure enough, the door across the street was open and someone was moving about in the shop. Harry pressed one callused palm on the counter and leaned, looming over his grandson like a thundercloud.

“Ms Clowderbock’s been up working since dawn to get that place in shape, so I suggest you get over there and do the job she hired you for, and do it damn quick.”

“Jeez—“ Mac closed his eyes, sighing, “It totally slipped my mind, Harry. I’ll go see her right now.”

Harry softened a bit, a tiny smirk lifting one corner of his mouth. He lifted a big white paper bag and set it on the counter next to Mac’s plate.

“Take some lunch for the two of ya—I don’t think that gal’s had a chance to eat anything yet. And be polite to the dog.”

Mac’s eyebrows went up, but he took the bag and slid of the stool, heading out. Lucy came up beside Harry and the two of them watched him go.

“Haaarrry?” she asked softly. His big hand came up behind her and lightly goosed her; a few customers along the counter grinned and snickered. Lucy shook her head at him, her blush and grin a perfect match.

“I could sue for sexual harassment—“

“Me too since YOU started it. Back to work—“

Mac crossed Fairhaven swiftly, reaching the old Washtub in less than a minute. The door stood open and a hastily taped sign read: OPENING SOON! CLOWDERBOCK’S CREATURE COMFORTS.

He paused, letting the name roll of his tongue, amused at the alliteration. Mac stepped inside,

“’Lo? Anybody in?”

Swiftly a huge dog bore down on him, moving through the dim light of the shop on a collision course. Mac held out a hand. The dog stopped, sniffed and his tail began to wag with ever increasing speed.

“Well, I like you TOO,” Mac smiled, patting the big Dane, who promptly bumped against his thigh in an attempt to get closer. A voice interrupted the love fest.

“Help?”

Alarmed, Mac shaded his eyes and moved deeper into the semi-darkness of the shop, looking for the source of the distress. After a second it became clear, and he drew in a breath, amazed, amused and dear God, aroused.

A young woman leaned out over the top of a five-foot cabinet, stretched out between the cabinet and the rope pull for the crawlspace of the shop. Obviously she’d climbed on it to reach the rope and leaned out too far to grab it. Now, she was suspended, sneakers precariously on the cabinet while extended out over the empty space high above, clutching the rope for dear life in both hands.

“Um---“ she began weakly. Mac set the bag down, and strode over to the cabinet, reaching up, sliding strong hands behind her ankles.

“Step down and let go—“ he ordered, “I’ll catch you.”

“I’ll knock you over,” she protested, shaking her long red hair and looking down at him. Mac gave an answering shake.

“No you won’t. Come on, it’s the quickest way we can get you back on the ground. You’re going to have to trust me.”

For a moment she looked torn, but finally gave a nod.

“Just don’t peek up my skirt—“ she ordered, stepping forward. Mac gallantly averted his face and felt the girl slide solidly down the length of his body. Reactively, he tightened his grip to slow her descent, and in a rush of sensation, managed to do so despite his surprise.

He looked at her. She looked at him, both of them frozen in their odd embrace. Mac swallowed hard.

The girl’s friction rub up against his overalls had been charmingly sexy, and up close, she was extremely pretty, with freckles, a pointed nose and blue, blue eyes. She smelled wonderful too, a blend of lilacs and personal fragrance that hit Mac’s senses as hard as the lovely tactile rush his body was enjoying. Guiltily he realized her drop into his arms had pushed her skirt up to her waist, and his hands were cupping the firm curves of her bottom. Her BARE bottom if his fingers were correct about the thong.

“Oh!” Blushing furiously, both of them broke apart, stepping away and each trying to regain some sense of dignity. Rose frantically smoothed her skirt down and tried to smile at Mac.

“Th-thanks for the rescue,” she managed. Mac gave a tight nod, grateful for the bagginess of his overalls; He tilted his chin up.

“Name’s MacGyver, and I think I owe you an apology,” he began. Rose’s brows drew together, but to forestall any griping, he held up a hand and went on.

“I know, I know, I was supposed to get this place done by today, but in self defense I had an emergency out at Hank Tattersall’s farm that took most of yesterday and half the night to fix. I’m here now, and if you give me twenty minutes to hit the hardware store I can get started.”

“What happened at the farm?” Rose wanted to know. Mac ran a hand through his hair.

“Hank accidentally ran his tractor into the kitchen wall and disrupted the gas line. Dorrie was quick enough to shut it off, but it’s a three-day weekend. That means the county isn’t going to send anyone to fix it if it hasn’t already exploded or caught fire. Hank and Dorrie have a farm to run; they need their utilities so they called me because I’ve got lots of experience with laying pipe—“

At this last he trailed off, blushingly aware of his innuendo as Rose smothered a giggle.

“Sorry, that sounded like something my brother would say—“ she spluttered. “I’m Briar Rose Althea Thais Clowderbock, but just call me Rose. And this is Barnum,” she added, patting the Dane, who chuffed. Mac smiled.

It was a good smile, Rose thought, showing his dimples and making his whole face light up—what she could see of it in the semi-darkness of the shop anyway. Combined with the long rangy body and those broad shoulders, that smile was enough to make her smile back.

“So you’re opening a pet shop. Great! Almost everyone around Grove Hollow has a cat or dog. Have you met Doc Ibarra, our vet?”

“Yes, actually. He and my dad are old buddies, and he was the one who suggested this town when I was making plans,” Rose nodded, in no hurry to move out of their conversational closeness. MacGyver smelled nice, a soap and water clean accented by soft musk of recent sweat. She looked up, over his head.

“Can you pull down the stairs for me?”

“Not up to cabinet diving a second time, huh?”

Easily he reached up, caught the cord and gave it a yank. With a creak, the pull down stairs to the crawl space dropped down and Rose sighed.

“Great! I’ve got a ton of boxes I need to start moving up there. If you want to go to the hardware store that would be fine—“

“Whoah! First things first. Harry sent over some lunch for both of us, and it might be a good idea to start on THAT before your blood sugar plummets.”

Rose paused, perplexed.

“But I didn’t order a lunch—“

“Yeah well I have orders to make sure you eat—I’m willing to bet both Harry and Lucy have been keeping tabs on you through the window.”

“Oh!” Startled at this thought, Rose looked through the glass out to the street. “I didn’t think about anyone paying attention. Wow—I guess this really IS a small town.”

Mac nodded. He headed back to the front of the store and began unpacking the bag as he spoke again.

“Harry’s my grandfather, and as close to a living conduit of information about Grove Hollow as you could ever hope to find. He knows the people and places around here pretty well. Chicken salad or tuna?”

“Both kinds of sandwiches?” intrigued, Rose dusted off her hands and peeked around Mac’s arm, liking the rangy muscle of it under his shirtsleeve. Mac nodded.

“Four kinds—there’s also peanut butter and Jelly, and tomato avocado in case you’re a vegetarian like me.”

“I’m not, but they ALL sound good—“ she admitted wistfully. Barnum joined in, giving a gusty doggy sigh and resting his head over the edge of the counter. Mac chuckled.

“Ladies first, so you get to pick. There’s also potato salad, green salad, apple juice and Lucy’s chocolate chip cookies for dessert.”

“Oh boy—a veritable feast! Let’s see—one half of the chicken salad, one half of the peanut butter, some green salad and a cookie—“

“And the tuna?” Mac inquired, forking over the requested items. Rose parked herself on one of the other counters, dreamily taking a bite out of the chicken salad.

“Barnum will eat it—although he’s going to have to sleep in another room tonight once it hits his system.”

Mac laughed, and gently laid the sandwich on the floor.

They chatted easily through lunch, each talking about themselves in an easy companionable way. Rose blushed when she found herself checking for a wedding ring shortly into the conversation. There wasn’t one, and she wondered why. Mac has the first to bring up the subject, albeit inadvertently.

“So is it Miss, Ms or Mrs.? We’re big on correct forms of address here in Grove Hollow,” he teased. Rose glanced down at her hand, rubbing her left one absently.

“Oh Ms. is fine. I gave up the potential missus along with the ring a while back,” she admitted softly. Mac gave her a serious look.

“Oh.”

“Not like that—it was an easy parting of the ways. I just wasn’t destined to become the latest accessory for a frivolous playboy,” Rose sighed. The last arguments with Ramon had been ugly; his parting comments cruel. Better to make a break with the past and start fresh. Looking up, she saw Mac’s abashed, slightly concerned expression and smiled. To change the focus, she added,

“And you?”

“Divorced,” came his short admission.

"Ah," came her commiserating reply to his tone. MacGyver shrugged, and looked as if he would say more, but just then came a rap on the door.

"Knock knock--you here, MacGyver?" came a cheerful tone. Mac rolled his eyes, and Rose found herself smiling as a bouncy man with a thick mustache and an aviator's cap poked his head around the doorway. His dark eyes settled on Rose and he gave an appreciative wink.

"Hellooooo Neighbor!" he murmured in a mock seductive tone that made Rose giggle. Mac sighed.

"Rose Clowderbock, meet Jack Dalton—“ he mumbled unenthusiastically. Dalton scooped up her hand and kissed the back of it, his mustache bristles ticking her.

"Enchanted, and welcome to Fairhaven Avenue. I've always said we needed a pet shop."

"Since WHEN?" MacGyver snapped, shooting an annoyed glance at the man before packing up the remains of lunch. Dalton smiled again, undeterred.

"Ever since Skippy, my mascot died. A tragic accident, too painful to recount--"

"Jack, Skippy was a cockroach and you squashed him under your coffee mug."

"All the more reason to appreciate the timely arrival of a pet shop--a new chance to fill my empty heart. Interested in the position?" Jack fluttered his eyelashes at Rose, who laughed out loud. Regretfully she shook her head.

"I'm afraid it will conflict with my vow of celibacy Mr. Dalton. I could find you a nice kitten though."

"Whoah, whoah, back up--a vow of celibacy?" Jack bleated, and even Mac looked slightly pained at this revelation. Rose felt color flush her face, but she cleared her throat and nodded.

"I’m phasing out dating, so it's going to be a lot easier to concentrate on the shop and my fish studies and stuff."

Jack staggered back, a hand dramatically pressed to his chest.

"Say it isn't so! Grove Hollow gets a hot new babe with a killer smile, a GREAT sense of humor, a chassis that's certainly easy on the eyes and she's pulling an Ave Maria on us? Oh the inhumanity!"

"It DOES seem a little--severe--" Mac agreed quietly. Rose drew in a deep breath and rubbed her nose.

"Call it a conditional circumstance. The single common denominator for all the turmoil in my past life has been men. I figure if I eliminate that factor, I've got a shot at normalcy."

"Instead of going cold turkey then, why not just drop it down to one--ME?" Pleaded Jack. Rose rolled her eyes.

"I'm doing it in three week increments, Mr. Dalton—“ Rose teased, “Check back with me in twenty one days."

"Call me Jack, and I'll be first in line, lovely Rose--" Jack sighed.

During all this interplay Mac had been measuring the walls of the shop; now he fished a pencil from a pocket and made a mark on the wall.

"--And right behind you will be Milt, and Willis, and Charlie Bannister, Lloyd Tattersall, probably Moose Ryan--" MacGyver rambled tonelessly. Rose gave growl, trying to be fierce, but sounding sexy all the same.

“I’m OFF the market, gentlemen—feel free to inform the general public.”

“I’ll wear you down—I have that affect on people,” Jack predicted. Mac snorted at that and Jack took offense. He swaggered up to Mac and glared at him.

“SOOOO--its Sylvia Barnstable ALLL over again, is it?”

“No,” Mac replied, swinging the tape measure along the wall and scowling. Jack persisted.

“Sure it is—you and me, rivals for the love of a lady, the fighting, the hatred, the cold and ruthless plotting—“

“—Yeah, all between recess and naptime, Jack. Sylvia Barnstable didn’t like either one of us in kindergarten and you know it. Besides, I just happen to think that if Rose doesn’t want to date that’s HER business. She doesn’t need to be pestered by the likes of you, okay?”

Rose left the two of them to take the lunch trash out before she burst a gut laughing.

*** *** ***

MacGyver’s Journal

Trust me to forget about the Washtub job. Trust Harry to lay into me about it too—but that’s HIS job I suppose. Why didn’t anyone tell me the new owner of the old Laundromat was—how to put it—pretty? For Pete’s sake, this is a complication I do NOT need at the moment! After Penny and Deborah and Ellen, Mike, Kate and the EX, another woman waltzing into Grove Hollow is precisely what I don’t have time for.

Of course, this wouldn’t BE a problem if I hadn’t done the gallant thing and caught her, leading to a very ungallant moment of clinging to her backside like some sort of human barnacle. I’m not so much in denial that I can’t admit it was a lovely rush to touch skin like that, warm silky kissable perfection. And it’s a sad indication that I need to get out more.

So we’ve got a pet shop in town, run by a pretty woman, and of course Jack’s radar goes off and he’s zooming around within an hour. He does his puppy thing, bouncing around her and I can see he’s determined to give Rose his usual rush, even though I KNOW he’s got a torch going for Lily, over at the Garage. Rose turns him down with a pretty good line about a vow of celibacy that grounds him for at least the next three weeks.

A vow of celibacy? I’ve got to get over to Doc Ibarra’s and see if I can get a little more info about Rose’s background.

***

Within three days the shop was nearly ready. MacGyver got the surge strips mounted and helped get the cabinets for the fish tanks in place while Rose arranged, organized and stocked the shop with everything from flea powder to 100 pound bags of kibble. Each night Rose drove to the Sunflower B&B run by Trevor Buchanan, dropping to sleep the moment she stretched out on the bed. The endless little details filled her time and occupied her thoughts in a good and relaxing way, and made easy openers for conversation with her neighbors on Fairhaven Avenue. Harry seemed to have spread the word, and now she was on chatting terms with Nikki the bookkeeper; Jack of course; Faith and Hope, the two old ladies who worked in Bozier’s bookstore and sweet Mr. Thornton of the hardware store.

Opening day was scheduled for Wednesday, and Rose beamed, delighted that everything was in readiness—the balloons, the key chains, the animal cookies all festively arranged. As she did a last minute walk through, she took a moment to check her teeth in the reflection of the door window, startled to see MacGyver’s quick grin in response on the other side. She let him in. He was in jeans, with a broadcloth button-down shirt—a bit more dressy than usual.

“No spinach in them, your teeth are fine—“ he teased her, holding up a paper bag with “Thornton’s Hardware” emblazoned on the front. She focused on it.

“What ya got there?”

“What every self respecting downtown shop needs—“ he held the sack out to her; Rose peeked inside and laughed.

“A bell for the door! Mac, it’s charming!” so saying she lifted the curly wire bracket and studied the tiny brass bell that dangled from it. “Thank you!”

“On the house—and soon to be on the doorframe if you give me a minute,” he promised. She nodded.

As he reached up to center the bracket, he spoke over his shoulder.

“So—where are you staying these days?”

“The Sunflower,” Rose sighed. “I’ve been looking for a place of my own, but with the shop opening, it’s been a little busy these days. Nikki tells me there are some good apartments on the east side.”

“A few. I don’t know what you’re willing to pay, rent wise, but there are also some little bungalows out on Bellano Road. Mrs. Colton had me fix up one of hers a week ago.” Mac opened his Swiss army knife, pulling out the screwdriver stub.

“A bungalow?”

“Yeah, one of the small single acre plots put up by Union Pacific for some of their employees back in the Twenties. Good brick, hardwood floors, fireplace, free standing garage in the back,” Mac muttered, deftly hooking the bell bracket up over the frame. Rose was on tiptoe, right at his shoulder, distracting him. Something about Rose’s proximity, the warmth of her breath near his ear made it hard to concentrate. But he didn’t really want her to move back, either.

“I’m on a budget—I was considering holing up in the attic here, but the lack of cooking or bathing amenities was a little depressing.”

“Yeah, that can be tough,” he muttered. “When I first proposed my place to Pete he had the same issues.”

“Your place?”

Yeah—I live over the hardware store—“ he pointed with his chin through the door’s window; Rose looked a little down the street, staring at upper floor of Thornton’s hardware.

“Really? Seems like a handy arrangement for you. I just assumed it was his inventory storage.”

“Part of it is—but I work around the crates,” Mac ruefully admitted. Rose shifted away and lightly ran a hand over the Plexiglas back of the display window. Currently the window held three kittens, all sound asleep. When Mac gave the doorbell a flick with his finger, one kitten opened an eye; the other two snored on.

“Yeah, they’re a lively bunch.”

Rose scooped one up and cuddled it, sighing.

“This one’s name is Houdini, because every morning when I open the shop he’s in the middle of the store, looking completely innocent. He’s escaped from every holding area I’ve got and it driving me nuts.”

“So don’t try and lock him up,” Mac replied in a practical tone, reaching a finger over to stroke the kitten’s head as it rested on Rose’s shoulder. Barnum, jealous but too polite to say so, nudged the back of Rose’s thigh, making her laugh.

“Okay, I can take a hint, Barn—“ She handed the dozing kitten to Mac and patted her dog soothingly, then checked her watch.

“Time to open shop—wish me luck!”

Mac looked up from the kitten and grinned.

Rose’s first sale was to bubbly Penny Parker, director of Parker Dance Academy, and owner of PittyPat, an enormous Maine Coon cat. From the photos Penny showed her, Rose guessed his weight to be about fifteen pounds—and climbing.

“He’s SO wonderful,” Penny burbled, cheerfully forking over a small fortune for cat food, “and he loves it when I brush him.”

“Vacuum more like—are you sure he isn’t part Bobcat or something?” Jack Dalton questioned, peeking over Penny’s shoulder to look at the photo. Rose was inclined to agree, but Penny just giggled.

Other customers came through: Faith and Hope bought wild birdseed and a feeder; a family with three kids took one of the kittens home along with all the accoutrements. Other little sales—a new collar here, a water bottle there—added up and by the time Rose closed her door at eight that night she was both tired and elated. Oh a whim, she crossed the street to Mac’s diner and took a stool at the counter, spinning around once before smiling up at a smirking Lucy.

“Blue plate special, please—I’m prepared to tip heavily.”

“Ooooh, I’ll get right ON it! Milk, tea, soda?”

“Milk please,” Rose sighed happily. A short while later Lucy plunked a heavy china plate before her, steaming fragrantly. Rose dug into the mashed potatoes with vigor and over the order window, Harry watched her.

“Slow down, Missy or you’re liable to get a lungful of spuds there. They’re good, I grant you, but no need to INHALE them.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled though a mouthful, “Just hungry.”

Another customer slid in, sitting on the stool to Rose’s left; she looked at the man. The man smiled back.

“Love your auburn—it’s an amazing shade, really. I know a hundred women who would KILL for your exact shade, Darling—“ the man purred in a surprisingly deep voice. Startled, Rose shot another look at the man. He was trim and compact, in a black silk shirt and jeans. His shoulder length hair was curly and his dark eyes twinkled as held out a hand.

“Sebastian Murdoc, owner of the Curl Up and Dye. I’ve been dying to meet you and your Titian tresses of pre-Raphaelite beauty—“

“Laying it on a little thick aren’t you?” Lucy smirked as she brought him a plate of broiled fish. Murdoc chuckled, a low slightly menacing sound.

“Come come, Lucy, I call them as I see them. Much as I adore your mane of sun kissed gold, I can appreciate a redhead when I’m lucky enough to encounter one.”

“Murdoc, you’re a relentless flirt—“ Lucy accused with a good-natured wave of her hand. Murdoc gave her a slow stare, traveling leisurely from face to hips and she blushed.

“Stop it!”

“What IS that charming saying you Americans have—make me?” he teased back. He and Lucy bantered a bit more, and Rose got the impression that Sebastian Murdoc was DEFINITELY Grove Hollow’s Don Juan. Judging by the steely looks he was getting through the order window from Harry, it seemed obvious he had more charm than common sense too. She fell to her meatloaf as Lucy wandered away, and Murdoc let her eat in peace. By the time she was done with her dinner, though, he flashed a smile at her again.

“Honestly, I can barely get a bite down with the thought of your tresses on my mind, Angel—promise me you’ll stop in for a clarifying rinse and a tiny trim and put me out of my misery. I’m begging nicely here—“

She laughed, and he gave a self-satisfied smile as he scooped up the last of his lemon meringue pie.

“I’ve never had anyone BEG to cut my hair, to be honest.”

“Usually Murdoc only THREATENS to cut mine—“ came a familiar voice from her left. Swiveling, she caught sight of Mac on that side, leaning on the counter and scowling. Murdoc pursed his lips, sourly entertained.

“That’s because the Mullet went out fifteen years ago, MacGyver! It’s anachronistic and a shameless example of self-indulgence on your part. Just because you wear the cut does NOT mean the Red worms are going to come calling.”

“Red WINGS—“ Mac growled. Rose hid her laugh in her napkin.

“Whatever,” Murdoc dismissed the argument with a wave of his hand. “The point is, Ms Clowderbock and I were having a perfectly lovely discussion without you, so—“

“--So I ought to be going. Harry, terrific dinner! Gentlemen, I’ve got a drive to Ashdale for errands tomorrow, so if you’ll excuse me—“

Gracefully Rose left her money and headed out the door, leaving the two men glaring at each other over her vacated stool. All the way back to the Bed and Breakfast she smiled to herself, and as she passed through the front room she caught Trevor Buchanan’s sleeve.

“Do you know Mr. Murdoc of the Curl Up and Dye, Trevor?”

The older man looked up from his crossword puzzle at the counter and frowned.

“Oh yes, a black sheep from the other side of the Pond. He’s made a go of the salon, quite fond of his clientele.”

“I see—“

And Rose climbed the stairs to bed, still thinking.

*** *** ***

Mac climbed the fire escape ladder at the back of Thornton’s Hardware and unlocked the door of his apartment, still annoyed about his run-in with Murdoc at the diner. It wasn’t the sniping about his hair, which was an old familiar battle, but the predatory look he caught Sebastian giving Rose. Bad enough Jack Dalton had been harassing the girl, but to have Murdoc joining in was more than annoying. She had a right to say no, Mac reminded himself, determined to look out for her.

Later, in the warm last moments before sleep claimed him, Mac allowed himself to remember again as he did almost every night, the satiny warmth of Rose’s ass in his palms, the lovely warm press of her body against his own for those few and precious seconds.

By the end of September, Rose was more than contented with life along Fairhaven Avenue. The customers came in a steady stream, making the little bell over the door ring regularly. She set up the fish tanks and quickly developed a reputation for magnificent aquariums; The West Astoria hired her to care for a two hundred gallon one in their main lobby, as did the bookstore for their smaller seventy-five gallon one.

One afternoon Rose allowed Murdoc to do her hair, marveling at his flattery, which seemed as endless as his skill. He pooh poohed her vow with a grin.

“Once I lure you into my kissing booth that nonsense will be but an old memory, Darling. I have that effect on women during Harvest Festival.”

“Harvest Festival?”

“Oh the local merchant’s annual excuse to set up all sorts of booths and lure customers along Fairhaven—we have wonderful food, lots of arts and crafts, face painting, costumes, a parade, a kissing booth, a jail, a Sadie Hawkins race—“ Murdoc prattled blithely, “All manner of things completely and disgustingly home town-like—“ he told her, deftly combing her hair.

“Sounds wonderful!”

Later, Harry confirmed it for her as they shared a plate of oven warm cookies.

“Ayuh, one of the carnivals comes in with all their fancy rides and sets up near the city hall, while the rest of us have booths and all along the street. My booth sells funnel cakes and we do pretty good.”

Rose thought out loud.

“Maybe some spider races for me—I’ve got some red legged tarantulas that might like to do that—“

“That would work,” Harry admitted with a gruff laugh, “As long as you had them under glass or sumthin’. Penny’s sure to have a screaming fit if she thinks they’re loose. And you ought to have Mac build the box for ya—he’s in charge of constructing the booths anyway.”

Rose met Harry’s twinkly glance and cleared her throat. The older man winked and added in a soft tone.

“Is he still visiting that smart Alec kitten I keep hearing about?”

“Oh yes—Houdini. The little guy’s figured out how to get out of the back room now, though I’ll be darned if I know how, and Mac just laughs about it. You think he wants the cat?”

Harry had his own theory about Mac’s daily visits to Clowderbock’s’, but wisely said nothing, simply pushing the plate of cookies towards Rose.

“Best book the man early though—he gets damned busy damned quick—“ he advised.

*** *** ***

Mac needed the ice much more than the lemonade around it, that was for sure. The last Indian summer kept Grove Hollow warm as he worked on the booths, but the ice wasn’t for his temperature as much as it was for his libido. The sight of Rose in shorts was more than he could take for any long period of time.

It was odd, Mac thought. Penny had better legs, in the classic sense: proportional and long, her dancer’s legacy evident in every graceful move. But while he admired hers, they didn’t quite get into his thoughts the way Rose’s did. Rose had beautifully muscled legs, strong from climbing and running and biking. Legs that looked nice under skirts and dresses, but somehow more astonishing in shorts.

And if he didn’t stop staring, Mac warned himself, Rose might get self-conscious and go change, which would be very depressing. Forcing his gaze back to the wooden box in his hands, he cleared his throat and spoke again.

“The whole thing’s locked from underneath, so nobody can get in and annoy the spiders. I think it might be good it you did them every two hours or so, and made sure the box was in the shade—I’ll rig you an awning if you like.”

“Sure, that would be great—“ Rose muttered absently. It was hard to focus on what MacGyver was saying when he was in a dark blue tank top. The strong lines of his shoulders and intriguing trail of curly fur just visible at the top distracted the daylights out of her. Chiding herself, Rose refocused her attention on the half-finished booth and sighed silently.

Bad enough that she’d had a dream about Mac, and not just an ordinary one, no—it was the type that left her tingly and embarrassed once she woke up. Thank goodness Mac seemed to be the only guy in town to take her at her word about not dating—it made it much easier to hang around him as opposed to Jack Dalton or Sebastian Murdoc. Mac came by every few days to check on Houdini and generally shoot the breeze, which was nice. He’d introduced her to Mama Colton, and it looked like renting the bungalow was a done deal as well.

They got along fine, sharing dumb jokes and war stories about the day’s work, having dinner at Mac’s under Harry’s bemused eye. It was in a word--comfortable.

Rose shivered. Mac glanced at her, concerned.

“Cold?”

“Just apprehensive. I really want this whole enterprise to go well. Frankly, after all the grief Mama gave me—“ she stopped, flushing. Mac fitted a small screw to one of the boxes hinges before softly speaking.

“She doesn’t want you to run a pet shop?”

Rose shaded her eyes and looked up at the sky before answering.

“She didn’t want me to dump Ramon. My mama comes from a time and a place where money and security are more important than love, and even though she and my dad are soul mates, she seems to think that I might not ever be so lucky. We fought about it, and right now she’s just waiting for me to fail so she can say ‘I told you so”.

“You won’t.”

“I wish,” came her wistful reply. “Dad and Newt are all for it—they helped me raise the capital, but mom’s still thinking Ramon’s going to sweep into Grove Hollow and beg me to take him back.”

Suddenly embarrassed at her confession, Rose laid a hand on MacGyver’s forearm.

“You’ll keep that between us, won’t you? I didn’t mean to unload like that—“

Gently he laid his hand over hers, a sad smile ghosting over his face.

“I promise. I’m good at keeping things to myself,” he assured her.

MacGyver’s Journal

Early to bed since tomorrow’s the Festival and I’ll be lucky if I get to sit down at any point at all. Fifteen booths built, eight banners spanning the street, a walk through the carnival apparatus with Duke, flyers, streamers, extra extension cords, extra garbage cans, sawhorses, porta potties—sometimes it’s enough to make me seriously consider running off to Europe again, despite—

Ah well.

Have to admit I was touched that Rose felt comfortable enough to confide in me---poor kid. Sounds like she’s got issues of her own, which only goes to show you that none of us are baggage free anymore. I know something about the sour side of love too. I suspect Harry and Penny are going to make sure she has as good a time as anyone tomorrow, if only to welcome her properly to Fairhaven Ave.

Jack stopped by for more balloons and told me he was going to ask her out now that her twenty-one days were up. I guess I wasn’t too supportive of the idea because eventually Jack told me to lighten the hell up and help him figure out if she’d like the Pirate Cove or the Manchester House for a nice dinner. Of course he’s asking me this while inhaling helium, so he sounded like some oversexed Donald Duck.

I told him the Manchester House because I know full well they have a dress code Jack’s going to hate.

*** *** ***

“Rose Darling! Care to come help me warm up for a strenuous day of lip service?” Murdoc teased from his booth, eyeing her with a provocative smile. Rose giggled. Murdoc was dressed as a swashbuckler in a billow sleeved black pirate shirt and tight leather pants. His Zorro mask was in place and a large gold hoop gleamed in his left earlobe. He leaned over his kissing booth expectantly.

“I left my purse at home,” she replied coyly, but Murdoc shook his head.

“No charge, Miss Witch believe me, it would be MY pleasure—“ he purred. Blushing this time, Rose nearly dropped her basket of lollipops. Murdoc chuckled.

“I love to bring the green to your cheeks—“

“’Bastian, stop teasing!” Lulu called impatiently as she crossed Fairhaven carrying a bunch of autumn colored balloons. Swinging around the signposts of the booth, Murdoc stalked over to her, taking them and sliding an arm around her slim waist, pulling her up against him. Lulu looked nervous.

“Come to see the big bad wolf, little Red?” he nuzzled her ear. Lulu snorted bravely and planted a good kiss on his mouth, earning applause from early visitors who wandered down the street as Rose busied herself with the display at her booth. Across the street she could see Harry and Lucy setting up the funnel cake booth. Lucy was dolled up in a gypsy costume with bangles and a head bandana. Harry didn’t have a costume, but his orange apron read: Grove Hollow Harvest Festival in black letters.

“Rose you look GREAT!” came a delighted voice to her right. Jack Dalton sauntered up, looking like the world’s chubbiest Dracula with his cape and slicked back hair. She glanced down at herself dubiously, running a hand over her skirt.

“I guess you can’t go wrong with basic black, huh? The leotards from Penny and I had the black skirt already. Looks like folks are starting to trickle in—“

“Yeah, we’re opening in about three minutes—listen, I wanted to ask you—“ Jack began earnestly. Rose felt a small twinge of panic. To shift the subject, she thrust a sucker right into his mouth.

“First one—think the kids will like them?”

Jack rolled his eyes comically for a moment, and she realized she’d wedged the lollipop between his fake fangs. As Jack struggled to dislodge it, she apologized.

“Sorry, sorry—I didn’t know—“

Mac appeared behind her shoulder, smirking but only for an instant. He reached out and took the stick of the lollipop, yanking it straight up towards Jack’s nose. The action forced his fangs out, candy still between them.

“Thanks MacGyver—but how am I going to get this thing unstuck from my choppers?”

Mac pulled out his pocketknife, but instead of opening it, merely used the weight of it to tap hard on the transparent oval candy disk. It shattered instantly, and he handed the teeth back to Jack.

“Transylvanian dentistry at it’s finest! You’re a genius, Mac!” Jack stuffed his fangs back in as Rose tried not to laugh. Mac gave her shoulder a squeeze.

“Jack, you’ve got customers down at your booth. Rose, where’s Barnum?”

“He’s in the shop—“

As Jack scurried off, Rose looked up at MacGyver, and laughed.

He was dressed in blue and white pinstripes of a baseball player, complete with cap, mitt stuffed in his back pocket and suspicious lump in his cheek. With one good puff he blew a large pink bubble and Rose poked it with a finger, popping it as she grinned.

“Position?”

“Second base, outfield as needed,” he shrugged, smiling down at her.

“ERA?”

“Good enough for local.”

“Glory days?”

“Junior year, MVP, one busted arm and Ginnie Hadlock. I regret nothing—“

Rose threw her head back and laughed, loud and long, a melodic sound that he liked. She reached for her pointed hat and settled it on her head as her snickers died down.

“Oh we HAVE to go play catch sometime, Mac. Between you, me and Barnum, we’d clear the bases!”

Mac arched an eyebrow at her thoughtfully.

“Lunch then. Everyone’s going to the park, and we can get Sandra or Faith to watch your booth for a while. What do you say—I’ll even go easy on you—“

Rose shook her head, chin out.

“No, I’ll go easy on YOU, Mr. MacGyver.”

MacGyver’s Journal

Festival today, had a good time. No, had a great time this year. Pete tells me the proceeds are way above expectations, and that even after the cut for the carnival and the band we’re all in the black.

Been a heck of a day, truth to tell. I had little emergencies popping up all over, as usual, from a safety pin shortage for Penny’s tap dancing students all the way to the band’s amplifier shorting out in the second number. Got them all under control and a good time was had by everyone—Willis made up with Lulu, finally. Harry raked in his usual fortune at his stand. Pete’s hotdogs helped him sell a lot of grills this year—more than last if memory serves.

Oh yeah, and I got to play catch with Rose.

And I got to crawl under her.

And I damn near kissed her.

I think I have a problem.

The game of catch was actually the only innocent part of all that, really. I roped her into it as an easy lunchtime deal, just a way to stay loose and not get too uptight. She’s trying so hard to fit in, and mostly she’s there, but I can see the stress. Anyway, we took Barnum with us over to Phoenix Park after she changed her outfit and washed the green off her face. I don’t think she missed that I liked the shorts, even with my poker face. Rose insisted with Dutch it even though I was willing to pay. Hot dogs with mustard, a pickle on the side—don’t know why I mention that except it was just one of those things I noticed. She ate them even though I told her about what’s in them, and laughed at me all the while. I tell you, trying to raise people’s social consciences and health awareness is a full-time job.

After lunch, catch. I lobbed a few that she managed to snag even though my glove was huge on her. Then she got this look and the hairs went up on the back of my neck.

“Think I could pitch one to you? No holding back?”

I told her sure, and she offered me the glove, but oh no, I had to decline and give her a smile. Rose changed right then and I’m telling you it was scary. She rocked back, cocked her arm, checked first and third, then let the ball rocket out straight and true to me. Her pitch was a little low and inside, but the smack on my palm SIZZLED so hard I dropped it.

Well Rose ran over, apologizing all the way, and took my hand to look at it. I just stood there, staring down into my throbbing palm like an idiot.

Rose looked a little crestfallen thinking she’d hurt me. So she lightly blew on the sting, and then kissed it.

She KISSED it! As if I was a six year old or something! And the worst part about it wasn’t having people all over Phoenix park seeing that, or having Barnum come barreling over to knock us down—

No, the worst part was that I liked it. A lot. I mean, really, really a LOT. Enough to redirect blood flow kind of like.

Talk about embarrassing— for the past thirty something years I had no clue the palm of my hand was an erogenous zone except the in the topical sense in the privacy of my own bed or shower. Then Rose comes along, plants a warm soft pucker in the center of my hand and leaves me quivering.

Thank God Barnum chose that moment to shove his way between us and give me a moment to recover, which I took, gladly. As we got up, Penny and Lulu came and dragged Rose off to the Crafts tables while I decided I needed to cool off with some lemonade.

This is SO not good. I don’t like getting thrown off balance like this. Rose a nice girl, and I’m glad she’s fitting in, but I’m not ready to hear what the rest of me thinks about her.

*** *** ***

Houdini did NOT like the noise. The soft rumble of the distant band vibrated the windows of the pet shop, and made the water in the fish tanks shiver slightly. He paced back and forth in the window, tail bottle brushy in the twilight. The clink of the key was his cue, and with a sudden dash, he was out and through Rose’s ankles as she yelped.

“Houdini! Jack, he’s liable to get hurt—“

“Never fear—cat retrieval is my specialty!” Jack beamed. He turned and chased Houdini down the street, calling loudly.

“Here kitty kitty—“

Rose followed the two of them, annoyed and worried. The upper end of Fairhaven was still crowded even this late at night, and visions of Houdini being stepped on or kicked darted through her thoughts. Jack crouched and pointed.

“He’s gone this way, Kemosabe-ette, and we’re in luck—he’s just under the stage here in front Penny’s dance studio. Let me get a flashlight from Pete and I’ll be right back.”

Rose dropped to her hands and knees, peeking under the plastic skirt of the now dark and unoccupied plywood stand. Jack gave a strangled sigh and scooted off as she called timidly,

“Houdini? Come on baby, come out—“

This end of Fairhaven was dark since most of the celebrants were at the carnival up near the steps of City Hall. Earlier, Penny’s tap and jazz students had been dancing their little hearts out on this stage, but now it was empty. Rose stuck her head and shoulders under the stand.

“Houdini?”

A defiant “mrrrow!” came back, and Rose snorted.

“Should have told me you wanted lessons, buster—“ with a sigh, Rose inched further under the stand. It was a tight fit, since the entire platform was only two and a half feet off the sidewalk, but she managed to get deep enough into the structure to actually SEE the smug face of Houdini as he sat on one of the supporting struts, washing his face.

“Rose?”

“I’m under here Jack—“ she called back, reaching for the cat. He struggled, and Rose tightened her grip, her head bumping the platform.

“Ow!”

“Oh for the love—“ Rose heard MacGyver’s exasperated voice outside. “Jack, take one of the flashlights to the other side of the stage—the cat’s going to shoot out that way.”

“Right-o!”

Rose squirmed with Houdini, but the little cat twisted and contorted, true to his namesake, and squirted out of her arms. Rose lunged for him, and her shoulder hit a support beam, knocking it down. The clatter of wood on the sidewalk sounded loud.

“Rose?” came two worried voices. She looked up and ahead to see Jack peeking at her from the far side of the stage, flashlight beam in her eyes.

“I’m fine, I’m fine—“

“Got the cat trapped in my coat—feisty little dickens, isn’t he?” came Jack’s admiring comment. Rose sighed. The sidewalk was dirty, the claustrophobic feeling was growing and she was tired.

“Great! Just toss him into the shop and close the door, but make sure the back door’s locked too—“ she begged. Jack gave a grunt of understanding and she saw him withdraw the flashlight, leaving her in the dark again. Mac spoke up from somewhere behind her.

“Now it’s your turn to come out—“

She giggled and began to back up only to feel a tug along her ribcage. Rose shifted, squirming a little.

“Ahhhh—“

“What?”

“I’m a little bit hung up here—“ Rose confessed, gulping. She could feel something cold and metallic hooking the back of her shirt right up to her bra strap, exposing her ribs.

“Hang on—“ MacGyver grumbled. She heard him tug the plastic skirt of the stage back and begin to crawl under; panicking, she yelped.

“No, wait! I think I can get it—“

But it was too late. Mac had already started to slither under the stage, flashlight in hand as he moved on hands and knees. Being bigger, he clattered and bumped much more, and Rose felt the first flush of embarrassment when he laughed.

“You’re hooked on one of the braces for that strut you knocked over. It’s caught right on your—well, it’s caught. Hang on a minute—“

Rose gasped when a large warm hand slid up the exposed skin of her bare back along her spine. She flexed her shoulders back in response, and Mac shifted closer. He was behind her, his shoulder pressing against the back of her thighs.

“Geez, this is really snagged ON here—“ came his complaint as his fingers explored the problem. Rose wriggled a little, and Mac yelped.

“Ow!”

“Sorry! What happened?”

“Pinched my finger on the edge—listen, can you help me unhook this ah--? You’re going to end up with a hole in the back of this shirt either way, but that’s only PART of what’s caught—“ his voice trailed away, and Rose could feel the heat of his blush. Her own mortification grew.

“I can’t.”

“Can’t reach?”

“No, it just that the hooks are, um, in the front—“

“Oh. Oh! Okay, let’s think about this—can you crawl forward?”

“I can TRY—“ so saying, Rose moved, feeling a second of elation that vanished as her shirt tightened once more.

“It’s not working—“

“The brace has a hooked end. If you could rise up about an inch or two you could slide off of it—“ Mac deduced, his hand still tugging at the knot of cloth between her shoulder blades. Rose gurgled as the neckline pressed more tightly into her throat.

“Whoops. All right, let me think a minute here—“ came Mac’s slightly breathless tone. She waited, and then he spoke again. Slowly.

“I have an idea, but it’s tricky.”

“Well I’m open to suggestions, short of letting you cut my shirt off—“ she snapped back, humiliation making her words sharper than she’d intended. Mac gritted his teeth.

“If I could get—under you—I could lift you off the hooked end.”

For a moment they both paused, picturing that. Rose felt the warm flush all the way down her stomach at the thigh-clenching image, but certainly it was a better option than having a rescue crew tear up the stage.

“O-okay, I guess. If you think you’ll fit—“ the minute the words left her mouth she blushed again in a fresh wave of heat.

“If I don’t, we can both wait for the fire department—“ Mac commented dryly.

“No!” she closed her eyes, picturing her mother’s shock and chiding looks, the amusing story in the local newspaper.

“Okay.” Mac shifted until he was beside her. In the dark, with only the flashlight carving hard-edged shadows, he looked mysterious.

“Let me get on my back, and I’ll edge over. Think you can sort of—“

“--Straddle you—?” she finished for him, not daring to meet his gaze. He gave a little chuffing sound, laying the flashlight down.

“Let me straighten my leg—“ Rose fumbled, sliding her foot back and lightly stretching it over his shin. With several scoots and grumbles, MacGyver managed to slide his arm between her stomach and the sidewalk. He curled it to begin wedging the rest of himself under her in slow, sidewalk scraping movements.

“Ow!”

“Sorry—was that your knee?”

“Yes—Ohhh! Careful, don’t smack your head--!”

“Move your knife—“ Rose blurted right as she realized that the annoying length she was straddling most definitely WASN’T manufactured in Switzerland. For a moment they both froze, caught in that supremely ticklish awareness of sheer physical reaction. Rose could feel the warm angles and muscular heat of MacGyver’s body under hers, his lean frame radiating heat. She could feel his quickened breathing and the involuntary throb of something far more insistently responsive as it rubbed her bare thigh. Mac made a soft almost helpless sound, his face carefully averted.

“Just—ignore--that, okay?” came his desperate whisper. “I think I can reach the brace—“

“’kay—“ she replied meekly, closing her eyes and letting her body bask in the contact with his. Her thighs ached to tighten around his hips, and even though she had her arms locked straight to keep from lying completely on him she savored the press of her chest against his, the sensation of his hard stomach against hers.

Then his arms came up and around her ribs, reaching for the catch of cloth between her shoulder blades.

“Got it. Hold your breath—“ gently he strained up, lifting her smaller form enough to force the wadded cloth and tangled strap off of the up curved metal. Instantly Rose slumped onto him, freed and overwhelmed at the delicious feel of Mac under her. She dropped her head, not sure of how close his face was to hers. Her mouth brushed his as she whispered,

“Thank you—“

Warm soft lips barely moving against hers in the lightest of caresses, a ghost of a kiss, no harder than the press of a butterfly’s wing. Mac spoke against her lips.

“You’re---welcome. Anytime—“

He didn’t move. She didn’t move. They stayed, quivering, right on the edge, not kissing, but whispering into each other’s mouths in a silky dance of words spoken and unspoken.

“Mac--?”

“Yeah—?”

“We have—to move.”

“Mmmm—yeah. Right now?” that tiny hint of reluctance came paired with a matching throb down below and Rose giggled. It broke the mysterious spell, and Mac sighed, finally shifting his head and easing himself to one side of her. During the process a lot more rubbing happened, particularly at hip level although neither one of them DARED mention it. Once Mac rolled free, he snatched up the flashlight with a little groan.

“Oh-kay, let’s go—“ he sighed in a voice slightly higher than normal.

They crawled out into the cool night just as Jack Dalton called out to them.

“Hey hey—I barely managed to get that escape artist Angora of yours locked in—what is he, part magician?”

“Well he IS call Houdini—“ Rose replied in a distracted tone. In the soft twilight, she looked up at Mac standing beside her and licked her lower lip unconsciously. At the sight of that erotic hint, his carefully guarded expression broke for a moment, but before either of them could say anything, Jack interrupted once more.

“So—what time shall I pick you up tomorrow?”

“What?” Rose turned reluctantly to face Jack. He smiled confidently at her confusion.

“Dinner at the Manchester House—your time is up and I DID tell you I would be first in line. So name the hour oh Fair Maid of Fairhaven!”

“Jack—“ Mac impatiently shifted his flashlight from hand to hand. “Can you give her a minute before you start with the full court press?”

“No, it’s okay,” Rose sighed, fidgeting. “Um, seven. I can close up shop an hour early—is seven all right?”

“Siete it is my sweet! I shall await the appointed hour with delight—“

Mac walked away. He morosely trudged to the diner, stuffing the flashlights under his arm, and yanked open the door hard enough to make the bell over it rattle loudly. For a second, everyone stared at him, but he ignored them and settled himself on the stool nearest the wall. Lucy sailed over, taking in his thundercloud expression.

“Mac?”

“Pie,” he requested in a monotone. Worried, Lucy shot a quick glance through the order window at Harry, who nodded. Deftly, she opened the gleaming glass pie carousel and fished out a fragrant slice of homemade apricot peach, popping it into the microwave for a moment before setting it in front of Mac.

He stared at it. Stuck a fork in it. Sighed.

“Bud—“ Came Harry’s mild voice. MacGyver looked up into worried blue eyes and gave a faint smile.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fair enough. But don’t you dare take it out on Lucy’s desserts—ya got no call to be torturing innocent pastry.”

Mac gave a grin at that, and nodded. He quietly ate while Harry fussed at the counter, wiping it down with efficient strokes and Lucy rang up customers. Only a few were left in the diner at this hour. Finally, Mac set his fork down and sighed.

“Harry, I like her too much.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I knew I liked her as a friend. I still do, but I didn’t know I liked her—other ways.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth went up; he shot a quick look at Lucy before turning back to Mac.

“And you don’t WANT to like her that way?”

“No. That’s always the first step towards screwing up a perfectly good friendship,” Mac observed with a hint of despair. “Once I let my hormones get a word in edgewise it’s all over and this time, I really DON’T want that to happen!”

“Ah.” Harry sighed. He gave a slight shake of his head and leaned on the counter to look at his grandson.

“Ya might consider the honest approach. She seems like a levelheaded gal who might appreciate that. Tell her the truth, let her understand the situation as you see it.”

Mac mulled that over as he wiped his mouth with his napkin. He sighed.

“Yeah, that might work. Although—“

Harry waited as Mac grimaced before finishing,

“—She’s going out with Jack tomorrow night.”

“Is she now?” Harry glanced at the pie carousel, counting pieces in his head. Mac grunted.

“So why is that bugging me? I mean it’s JACK for Pete’s sake. He’s been my best friend since kindergarten and I know he’s a pain in the ass most of the time but it’s just—worse—that it’s HIM of all people, you know? May I have some more pie?”

Harry set a slice of blackberry in front of him with a sigh.

“Dalton’s always been a go getter—but he hasn’t been gotten yet, Bud. Just cool yer jets. And think about what I said.”

Mac sighed and began on the second slice.

*** *** ***

Rose finished sweeping up the shop and looked around, satisfied. The fish tanks were bubbling softly, the display cases gleamed, and the entire shop smelled of cedar chips. She walked over to the Plexiglas display where the hooded rats were running on the wheel.

“Oh stop-you’re not GOING anywhere—“ Rose grumbled at them, familiar with the feeling. One of the rats came to the front, wiggling his nose at her. She opened the lid and scooped him out.

“So—are you the big metaphor for my life at the moment?” she demanded of him, stroking his sleek head. For a moment, the young rat closed his eyes, letting her pet him, then scampered up her arm to rest on her shoulder. She giggled at when he nosed in her hair.

The shop bell rang.

“I’m sorry, we’re closed—“ she commented, looking up to see Mac standing there uncertainly. He managed a twisted grin, and she reached up for the rat, which was still sniffing her hair.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked with grave amusement. She smiled back and stroked the rat again.

“Just playing for the moment. Can I do something for you, Mac?”

He chose to ignore the immediate images that come to mind in a rush of heat and nodded, tightly.

“I have to tell you something,” he began. Rose set the rat back into his cage and sighed, keeping her back to MacGyver.

“Yes?”

“Okay. Ah, about yesterday. I’m—“ he struggled, drawing in a deep breath before plunging on. “—I’m attracted to you but I don’t want to be, all right?”

“Don’t want to be what?” Rose turned, her brows drawlng together as she tried to figure out what Mac had just said. “Don’t want to be attracted, or don’t want to be all right?”

“What?” Mac tried to backtrack his train of thought. He hadn’t considered that she wouldn’t understand, and that threw off what he had planned to say next.

“Attracted or all right? Because it’s actually all right to BE attracted, and it’s all right not to want to either. I feel the same way.”

“Can you repeat that?” Mac muttered helplessly, wondering why the gist of it made some sort of sense, but looking at her woebegone expression was twisting his stomach so badly. Rose shook her head.

“No.”

“No?” Mac blurted, feeling his chest tighten unexpectedly.

“No I can’t repeat that—“ Rose clarified softly. She drifted closer, and Mac simply stared at her.

“I didn’t know what I wanted to feel until I knew you better, but I know now that you don’t know what you want to feel either except you DO feel it too and we both don’t and do at the same time—“ Rose blurted breathlessly. Mac felt giddy. He slowly reached down, cupping her face in his hands.

“I’ll give you a hundred dollars to say that again—“ he told her. She grinned sadly.

“My date’s here.”

“What?”

“Jack just pulled up. I have to go, Mac.”

Mac said a very bad word. Rose pretended not to hear and pulled away.

“Besides, you don’t want to be attracted to me.”

“I don’t? Oh. That’s right—I really don’t. I can’t. It’s sort of the kiss of death—“

Rose nodded, managing a smile as the bell rang again.

“Absolutely. I’m so glad you told me, Mac and I agree.”

“Rose! Ready to go, your chariot awaits—Mac, what’s wrong, man? You look like you just got broad sided.”

Mac closed his mouth and ran a hand along the back of his neck.

“More pie—“ he muttered.

MacGyver’s Journal

According to Harry, various friends and my bank account, I do well at a lot of things, and modestly I have to agree. I’ve got a good grasp of chemistry, and physics are pretty simple too—in fact most science comes easily to me. On top of that, I have a modicum of hand eye co-ordination, some skill in carpentry and plumbing and a lot of other practical talents.

I have hobbies—sports for one. Hockey still lies first in my heart, but there’s room for rock climbing and hiking and skiing and baseball and fishing, so I get my fill of fresh air in on a regular basis, no trouble there. I also spend time reading and trying to plunk out a tune or two on the guitar—normal pursuits for a man of my age I’d guess.

I date—okay that’s stretching it a bit. According to Harry, who seems to keep better track of this sort of thing, I’ve gone out only three times in the past year, all different women. I know I went out with Ellen Jericho—before she got arrested for framing her bodyguard for murder—and Betsey Mathison that one time to the Mayor’s party, but I’m having trouble figuring out who else. Penny turned me down, and Lulu kept putting me off to go out with Willis—

Pretty pathetic. Even flipping back over the pages of this journal I can’t find who date number three was—or even WHEN it was. Ever since getting back to Grove Hollow I’ve been walking on the mild side. It’s not that I don’t have itches, or opportunities I suppose, but if I had to be honest I’d have to chalk it up to the divorce. Never in my life had the rug pulled out from under me so completely, and somewhere deep inside I must have decided that the easiest detour around heartache is to bypass the whole thing. If I never dated, I ‘d never get hurt again, QED right?

So why am I sitting up late at night writing this while Jack Dalton is squiring Rose Clowderbock out to dinner on MY advice? Why am I so utterly annoyed that for once my best friend manages to do the very thing I—

--I WANT to do. Okay it’s out. I admit it—I wouldn’t mind taking Rose out to dinner myself. Despite the inner quaking I’m man enough to admit that maybe the whole avoidance thing is an overkill reaction to Maria’s manipulations. Enough time’s gone by that it doesn’t sting the way it used to, and I can even remember a good time or two, before the lie came out.

And let’s face it, another part of my anatomy is reminding me that I am carrying a Y chromosome, to my chagrin. Not that I’m ashamed of that, but that my body’s sense of timing is particularly trigger sensitive right now. Manual appeasement goes only so far these days.

*** *** ***

“—And that’s when I knew I could eke out a living in the air. The cropdusting and short hauls pay for the upkeep, and the lessons and longer jaunts are the payoff. I’ve been as far as Lima and Fairbanks—“ Jack rattled on, smiling at Rose, who listened good-naturedly. She smiled at him.

“What keeps you in Grove Hollow?”

“I’ve got ties here—“ he sighed. “All my dad ever left me was the building on Fairhaven and enough capital to start Dalton Air—everyone knows me, and I’ve always got a place to hang my hat. How about you?”

“My dad and Hector Ibarra went to school together—they kept in touch, and dad visited a few times, so when I needed—well, needed a place to make a fresh start, Dad suggested Grove Hollow.”

“Fair enough—“ Jack responded, a thoughtful gleam in his eyes. They looked at the Maitre’d and he finally beckoned them.

“Your table is ready, however—“ he looked at Jack’s fleece flight jacket and shook his head. Jack scowled.

“Your sign says jacket required and this IS a jacket—“ he began to argue, but the Maitre’d raised an eyebrow and looked to Rose. She suppressed a giggle and tried to look placating.

“Do you have a jacket we might borrow?”

Ten minutes later, Jack Dalton sat opposite Rose in a small corner near a back window, looking thunderous. He plucked at the sleeve of the coat he wore, grumbling. The sportscoat was electric blue, and easily three sizes too big for Jack, hanging off of him and making him look like a boy in his father’s clothes.

“I haven’t had to follow a dress code since Buchanan High School and I BET Mac knew all about it, the underhanded rat—“

“Why?” Absently Rose hid behind the menu. Jack shrugged, but it could barely be seen under the monster coat.

“I asked him where to take you and he suggested here—I’m guessing he’s getting a good laugh at my expense on THIS one.”

“Sounds a little mean-spirited—and unlikely,” Rose replied. Jack shook his head, suddenly grinning.

“If it was a typical deal I’d say yeah, but I’ll let you in on a secret, Rose—Mac likes you and you’re the first woman I can say that about since his wife ran off.”

“She ran off?” Fascinated, Rose set the menu down and Jack, sensing he’d spoken out of turn, blushed.

“Well it’s not exactly a secret, but yeah. He got married a couple of years ago over in Germany while he was touring with a rock-climbing group. Damnest thing, too—Harry got a few overseas calls and let on that it was whirlwind kinda thing, out of the blue as it were. Mac went through all the paperwork to bring her home here to Grove Hollow.”

“Oh—“ Rose mused, her mind racing. Jack nodded, setting his menu down. She spoke up.

“What was she like?”

“Maria? Pretty. Blonde and sorta tall, with a cute accent. I only met her twice, but both times she seemed nice.”

“But she ran off?”

Jack looked uncomfortable, pursing his mouth.

“Listen, this really is Mac’s business—I don’t want to get on his bad side by telling tales, you know? Besides, we have lots of other far more interesting things to talk about—like ME for instance. Did you know that I hold the Grove Hollow record for most watermelon consumed in a single afternoon?”

“Really? I bet my brother Newt could give you a run for your money—he once ate forty-seven hot dogs in a sitting—“ Rose countered, even though her thoughts were far from the conversation at hand. Jack flashed her a grin of white teeth and would have made some reply just as the waiter sailed over.

“Good evening, my name is Walter and it will be my pleasure to serve you tonight—“ he began in earnest tones, trying not to stare at the tent Jack was wearing.

*** *** ***

It had been a good date, Rose had to admit. Jack Dalton was funny and interesting, making the entire evening fly by with wild stories and amusing conversation. She liked his laugh, and his earnest belief that the world was a good, fun place. He reminded her of guys she’d known in high school with his optimism and easygoing charm.

And both of them knew in that gentle ease of jitters and shyness through the evening that while there might be a spark or two, the fire would never build beyond a glow. For Rose it was a relief. For all his bluster and flirtations, Jack knew the truth as clearly as she did, and seemed content to walk beside her and bump her shoulder as he saw her to the door.

“You promise not to tell anybody about the circus tent they made me wear, right?”

“Only if you promise not to tell anybody I dropped two forks—talk about a butterfingers!”

A shy shared smile, and she kissed him lightly, watching him hide a sigh. He motioned to the door with his chin.

“Inside before you lose a slipper Cinderella—“

“Wrong story—“ Rose giggled, unlocking the door. “Try Sleeping Beauty—SHE’S the one I’m named after.”

“No kidding? Really?”

“Briar Rose Althea Thais Clowderbock—“ Rose mournfully rolled out to Jack’s delighted whistle.

“Gee Louise, that name’s almost as bad as Mac’s!”

“Really? What’s HIS?” Rose demanded with a giggle. “Alvin? Morton? Pierre?”

“Nonono—that’s one thing I really CAN’T tell on pain of death! Gotta worm that secret out of Mr. Fixit yourself, Rose,” Jack told her with another flash of white teeth. They chatted a moment more. Finally Rose gave him a last hug and slipped inside, glad to be home as Barnum trotted over, wagging his tail. She sighed.

“Well, that’s over with—nice enough, but strictly potato salad,” she murmured to the dog.

In Rose’s mind, men were easily sorted into foods. Potato salads were nice steady friends, the sort to round out a good time. She’d known lots of potato salads in her life, from guys in high school to buddies of Newts, all terrific fellows.

Ramon on the other hand had been a Jalapeno burrito—spicy, saucy, daring and unusual, but ultimately painful enough to leave her wide awake at three in the morning, wondering why she kept hurting herself at his expense. What had seemed intriguing early on was in truth hard to take over the long haul.

Sebastian Murdoc had the potential to be another Jalapeno burrito if she wasn’t careful.

Rose giggled. If she was honest, and carried the food analogy to a logical conclusion, then MacGyver would have to be a T bone dinner—and THAT was a thought she didn’t DARE want to admit. He appealed to all sorts of appetites she had, and judging by that rub and grind under the stage, Mac seemed a bit hungry himself. Certainly he had the cutlery nicely framed in those jeans—

Rose drew in a breath wandering into the kitchen. Before she could stop herself, she reached for the phone, checked the number pinned on the fridge door and dialed. Along the line, she heard it ring once, and then a slightly annoyed voice answered.

“’Lo?”

“Ohhhh. I’m sorry to wake you Mac—“ she blurted, feeling stupidly awkward. Her mind raced for a good excuse. “Umm, did I leave the front light on in the shop again?”

“Rose—hey, I was already awake—“ he admitted with a bit more warmth, “Let me look—And---yep.”

“Okay—“ Rose replied softly, glad to hear his voice. She could almost feel his answering smile through the line.

“So how was the big date?” he asked. She stared at the fridge and thought of T-bones.

“Good. I had no idea Jack could talk that much.”

“Yes, he’s pretty oral—um, verbal that is—“ was that the heat of a blush she felt? Rose nearly giggled. She rushed on, feeling her hands grow cold as they clutched the phone.

“Listen, I just wanted to ask you something Mac. Something that’s been on my mind for a while—“

“Yeah?” his voice was slightly panicked now, but tinged with hopefulness.

“I know your friends call you Mac, but what IS your name?”

In the long agonizing silence, Rose felt her mouth dry up a little, sensing, FEELING the slow shift of the mood between then, the rekindled flare of attraction. Finally he spoke in a low husky tone.

“There’s a price for THAT information, Rose.”

“A price? I could just ask Harry you know—“

“He’d never tell.”

“A price—“ she mused again as giddy trembles danced in her stomach. On the other end of the line, Mac made an affirmative sound.

“Why? It can’t be that bad, Mac, even if it’s a family name or something really old-fashioned or dumb like mine—“ she rushed on. MacGyver chuckled.

“Rose isn’t dumb, it’s elegant. Sort of describes you.”

“Not the whole thing. I’ll remind you that I’m Briar Rose Althea Thais Clowderbock which doesn’t give me the greatest initials in the world, you know?”

“It gives you the PERFECT acronym!” he laughed delightedly, and she felt herself flush at the sound of his amusement.

“You wouldn’t DARE—“she spluttered with mild annoyance. Mac laughed low in his throat.

“A brat—why didn’t I see it before? Now THAT’S a name that fits.”

“Enough of this! Name your price, MacGyver—“

He sucked in a breath and let it out again, the sound deep and slow over the phone.

“My name’s on my driver’s license in my wallet. If you can get my wallet off of me, you’re welcome to look at it and laugh—“

“—And to GET your wallet, I’d have to--?”

A little steamy pause circled around the moment. And then--

“Goodnight, Rose—“

“Mac?”

“Good NIGHT—“

She hung up, giggling.

*** *** ***

The tall teenager looking at her was thin and gawky, but calm. He had one hand stroking Barnum, who gave a doggy sigh and leaned against him.

“—I’ve got soccer practice on Saturday mornings, but other than that most of my afternoons are free,” he finished in an amazingly deep voice. Rose looked at him.

Hudson Vo wore a black tee shirt, black jeans and thick leather wrist cuffs with silver spikes on them. His waist length black hair was tied in a neat ponytail, and he wore a thin leather strap headband as well. Despite the Gothwear, his smile was sunny and confident. Rose gave a slow nod.

“All right—can’t offer you much in the way of benefits or anything, but I could use the help, especially with the general work and clean up—you don’t mind scooping puppy poop and wet newspapers?”

“Miss Clowderbock, I’ve got three younger brothers and sisters—“ Hudson grinned. Rose grinned back and reached out for his hand, shaking it.

“Wonderful! All right, I could use a hand on Saturday afternoon, and most evenings between five and closing. The pay’s not great I’m afraid.”

“I like working with animals better than flipping burgers or hustling at the mall,” Hudson replied, tickling Barnum’s ear. The big dog sighed happily again. Rose nodded.

“Alright—you need to finish this paperwork, then make sure you get your work permit filed—that will take a few days or so, and then we can talk about your schedule.”

“Cool. Thank you, Miss Clowderbock!” Smiling, Hudson gave Barnum a final pat and left the shop while Rose walked over to the bunny run in the other window. The two little fur balls were buried in the cedar chips at opposite ends of the enclosure.

“Fighting again?” she sighed, scooping up a lop-eared rabbit and holding it out at arm’s length. The black and white rabbit gave her a blank stare, his nose wriggling. The bell over the door rang, and she turned to see MacGyver stepping into the shop. When their gazes met, both of them went a little pink.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Rose pulled the rabbit to her chest, holding him carefully as Mac held out a white cardboard box.

“Harry sent over your new business cards—they got dropped off at the diner by mistake.”

“Oh!” Rose traded with him, passing the bunny for the box, and then opened it, looking over the card as Mac absently petted the lop.

“Hey these turned out nice!” she held one up for inspection. The white card had a line drawing of puppies and kittens framing the words CLOWDERBOCK’S CREATURE COMFORTS along with the hours and phone number, all in a rich embossed pink. Mac looked over her shoulder.

“Definitely—feminine.”

“I’m a girl—it fits,” she replied, setting the box on the counter. He snorted.

“I never doubted that part,” he mumbled, not facing her. The lop squirmed in his gentle grip, so he set the bunny on the counter next to the box. The bunny sniffed at the box. Rose sighed.

“He’s fighting with Claudine again.”

“Claudine?”

“His SUPPOSED mate—honestly, the two of them are the most unhorny rabbits I’ve ever seen—“

Mac bit back a laugh as Rose blushed.

“All right that sounded bad, but all they do is kick and squabble and sulk.”

Mac lifted one of the rabbit’s hind legs, and then moved to the enclosure, scooping up the other animal. He inspected its soft little belly.

Umm—you’ve got two males,” he solemnly informed Rose.

She stared at him, the red creeping up her face at his words. Swiftly, she looked at the counter lop’s underside, checking for herself; when she looked up again, Mac arched an eyebrow at her, and it was just too much. She burst into peals of laughter.

“Oh-my-GOD!” she spluttered, shaking with laughter. Mac laughed too, setting the little rabbit back into the enclosure and reaching for his cell mate on the counter. As deftly as a magician he returned it to the pen and caught his breath as Rose finished up her gurgles, leaning on the counter to catch her breath. She didn’t DARE look at him.

“I don’t think Grove Hollow’s quite ready for Alternative Lifestyle rabbits—“ he informed her, setting off a fresh wave of hilarity. Rose swayed bumping around the counter, reaching for him and collapsing against his chest, laughing heartily.

“T-talk about your little bunny foo-foos—“ Rose giggled. Mac nodded.

“And you call yourself a pet shop owner—a mistake like that could get you thrown out of the Habitrail Society—“

“Stop!” Rose demanded, pressing closer and choking a little. Deliberately, Mac hugged her to him, resting his chin on the top of her head, settling her down. They stood like that in a comfortable embrace, neither letting go, neither saying a word for a long sweet moment.

“I thought you didn’t want to be attracted to me—“ Rose accused his shirtfront. Mac shrugged.

“I don’t want to—but I am,” he whispered into the crown of her hair. She sighed contentedly.

“Me too. I’m glad THAT’S out of the way.”

“So.”

“So.”

“So—doing anything tonight?” he croaked a little, his grip tensing. Rose let her hands slide up his back in a soothing gesture.

“No, not yet.”

“How do you feel about watching some really old movies while eating the best popcorn in three counties?”

“I’d say you’re on.”

MacGyver’s Journal

Back when I was in high school I took a semester of Ethics from Mr. Cosznowski who introduced us to the several important concepts including the Point of No Return. He talked about how after a decision has been made, that first committed step of action is the Point of No Return, and it’s the REAL make or break moment for your choice. Deciding not to smoke it easy—actually turning down the offered cigarette is the Point of No Return.

Well I have officially hit the PONR with Rose. I’ve asked her out. This is quite possibly the scariest instant I’ve had in the past two years. Heights are nothing, snakes a walk in the park compared to this. By asking her out, I’ve got myself on the line here about whether or not I’m ready to move on.

I’ve been on the verge of calling Rose and canceling about three times now, and it’s only the memory of her shy smile that keeps me gritting my teeth and setting the phone down. She wants to go. Amazing as that seems, she wants to go. Rose can’t be so naïve that she doesn’t know the subtext of what a drive in means.

A drive in—I can’t believe I asked her to go with me to the Panoramic—my brain’s being held hostage by my baser nature. I could have suggested a restaurant, or the comedy club over in Ashdale, but noooo, I had to let my hormones do the talking and entice her into a small confined space with a bench seat in the semi-darkness. I’m caught between shame and elation, knowing full well that whatever else might happen, I definitely get to kiss her tonight, at least once.

*** *** ***

Rose stared at the car in surprise. Behind her, MacGyver was fumbling for the keys as she stepped to the curb.

“Oh my God—it’s a Bel Air—“

“--Nomad, yeah. Harry traded it with me for my house.” Mac leaned down and opened the door for her almost absently. Rose slid in, demurely pulling her skirt over her thighs while he strode around and climbed in himself. He shot her a slightly tense look.

“After my divorce, I didn’t need that much—empty space. Harry and Lucy were looking for an apartment together, so I cut them a deal— they could have the house, rent-free for three years for the Nomad.”

“That was generous—“ Rose nodded sympathetically. Mac stuck the keys in and flashed a brief smile.

“It works out pretty evenly. I still do all the yard work, repair and maintenance over there, but then again, Harry and Earl make sure the car’s in top shape. It’s a win-win deal all around.”

They pulled away from the front of Rose’s bungalow, and Mac stole a quick peek at her outfit again, his mouth a little dry. Long-sleeved pink Angora sweater over a short dark wool skirt. Dark stockings, ankle boots, twinkly silver chain belt. She’d brought a jacket as well as her purse and they sat between them on the bench seat of the car. Rose looked over at him.

“Overdressed, huh?” she guessed mournfully. He shook his head.

“Nah—you look great,” came his admission. She relaxed a bit, and Mac guiltily dragged his glance from her back to the road, turning down the highway. He gripped the wheel a little tighter.

“So what’s the feature?”

“Hmmm? Oh, Um, Dracula, with Bela Lugosi, and The Mummy, with Boris Karloff. Pinky’s pretty fond of the old classics, especially around the holidays.”

“Pinky?”

“Pinky Burnette—he runs the Panoramic. He was a silent screen star ages back.”

Rose digested this bit of information, studying the man next to her out of the corner of her eye, liking what she saw a lot.

Mac wore a collarless white shirt under his brown leather jacket, and dark corduroy jeans. This close, it was easy to see he’d shaved. She smiled.

“What’s so funny?”

“Just thinking wicked things, Mac,” Rose warned him sweetly. He twitched a bit at that, but a faint answering grin crossed his face.

“That’s not helping my concentration—“

“It’s not supposed to.”

“Brat.”

They both grinned for a moment. The Nomad swung off the road onto a paved turn off and down towards what looked like a carport. Rose watched as they pulled up to a booth.

“MacGyver! Haven’t seen you in a few weeks—“ came a cheerful call. Mac leaned out and handed over six dollars to a white-haired gnome with big dark eyes. He glanced at Rose and gave a faint smile.

“Hey Pinky—just waiting for the monster movies, you know that.”

“Of course. Have a good time!” he waved them through, and Rose looked over the dashboard at the lot. A good twenty cars were already there, and Rose recognized at least two of them.

“Decisions, decisions—we can park off the center aisle, but it’s noisy, or go with my usual hangout near the side wall—“

“Oh let’s not break a routine for you—“ she replied quietly. He nodded, and expertly swung the nomad into a space almost up against the right wall. Since the drive in sloped down towards the screen, this spot gave them a good view of everything. Rose looked around in wonderment.

“This place is HUGE!”

“It’s big,” Mac agreed, putting the car in park. “And Pinky keeps it pretty running smoothly. Saturdays are Classic night, and Tuesdays through Fridays are first run movies. I wasn’t kidding about the popcorn either—it’s been voted the best in three counties for three years running.”

Rose undid her seat belt and tossed her jacket and purse over to the back seat. Mac dialed up the radio.

“No speaker boxes?” she asked. He shook his head.

“The Panoramic got upgraded seven years ago all for the better and they broadcast the soundtracks. Trust me, on a rainy night, it’s a blessing to have the windows CLOSED.”

She giggled nervously. The big screen was brightly lit with a rotating slide show: an ad for Nikki’s Accounting flashed up on the screen. Mac looked over the back through the rear window.

“Line’s starting up for the concessions—want anything?”

THAT was a loaded question, Rose thought to herself as she gazed over his handsome profile. With effort, she broke her glance and scrambled to her knees, leaning over the back to reach for her purse.

It was Mac’s turn to blink as he caught sight of her rounded bottom bobbing inches from his face. Ooooh mama, he thought with a throb, this is NOT the moment to get caught staring. He fumbled for the door handle as Rose pulled back, purse in hand.

“Lead on MacGyver—“

The concession stand was a lovely building of glass brick and neon lighting, a classic example of fifties art. Behind the counter, a pair of girls giggled as MacGyver approached.

“Krystal, Lisa—“ He greeted them warmly. Back at the grill, a young African American waved a spatula at him, and Mac nodded his way as well. “Breeze—“

“Yo, MacGyver—the usual?” the chef called back, grinning at the sight of Rose. MacGyver shot a look at her.

“The usual for me is popcorn, a pair of veggie burgers and a vanilla shake. And Jujubes since it wouldn’t really be a movie without candy.”

“I’ll pass on the burgers, but I’d love popcorn and maybe some Good and Plenty’s. And a diet coke.”

Lisa had scribbled the order for Breeze and pinned it up while Krystal looked at them and grinned.

“One monster tub, or two bags? I have to warn you,” she confided to Rose “That although he looks lean, this hunk can really put away the popcorn, so I recommend the tub.”

“Is that a fact? Growing boy is he?” Rose looked him up and down.

Both girls giggled at that while Mac looked pained. He fished out his wallet and pulled out a twenty.

“You’re not helping me make a good impression here,” he complained. Lisa cocked her head.

“Sorry—I guess we’re all so blown away that you brought someone with you, FINALLY, that we lost our heads for a moment.”

Mac blushed; in the cool florescent light it was charming to see, and to save the moment, Rose smiled at Lisa.

“Well he did brag about the popcorn, and I ruthlessly twisted his arm until he agreed to share it—“

“Uh huh” Krystal snorted with bemused cynicism. “The fact that you’re a total babe had NOTHING to do with it, I’m sure.”

“Oh THAT. Completely slipped my mind—“ Mac recovered with a straight face. Now Rose was radiating pink, and Lisa took pity on her. With a pat of on her arm, she whispered,

“Don’t mind the teasing—we do that all the time. Are you the one running the new pet shop?”

“Yes—“

“Cool! You just hired my boyfriend Hudson! He’s TOTALLY stoked to be working for you.”

After a few more minutes of chatter, Mac and Rose left, loaded down with their order. Mac spoke over his shoulder to her.

“They’re good kids who’ve had some rough times—Pinky adores ‘em, and they’re part of the profit-sharing group for the stand.”

“They seem terrific, and they sure know YOU.”

“Yeah well—“ Mac muttered, “I like kids. Always have.”

They climbed back into the Nomad just as the first flash of previews began to play up on the big screen. Rose looked around to see how she could set her drink when Mac climbed out again.

“Hang on—“ he muttered, going to the back of the car. In a second he was back with—a shoebox. Rose took it, surprised at its weight. As she looked at it in the dim light she could see that it was duct taped closed and had large holes cut in the lid. Mac set it down on the floor mat.

“Home made drink holder—it’s weighted with sand so it won’t tip—just fit your cup into the holes and there you go.”

“That’s ingenious—“

“Practical anyway,” he admitted, looking pleased all the same. Rose set her soda into it and reached for popcorn. Her hand brushed Mac’s, and for a second, their fingertips caressed each other over the top of the bucket before they broke apart and scooped up separate handfuls.

“Mmmmmmmmmm---“ Rose crunched her way through the first mouthful. Mac watched her, waiting.

“You’re right—this stuff could get addictive,” she admitted with a happy sigh, going for a second handful. Mac nodded, and settled back as the second preview began to roll. Rose sighed.

She’d forgotten how charmingly quaint Dracula was, how the music set the mood, and how elegantly creepy Bela had been. At some point the tub of popcorn had gone from being on the seat between them to being on her lap as she snuggled into Mac’s side.

“Rose—“ he muttered, glancing down at her uncertainly. She beamed up at him.

“Where IS it, Mac?”

A flush of heat went across his face as he blinked. He didn’t dare glance down as he tried to process what IT she meant. The most obvious one—well that was going to be easy to find if she kept that sultry tone. Frankly it was already on alert—

“Rossse—“ he responded in a low uncertain voice. She clutched the rim of the half-empty popcorn tub.

“Come on—I know you keep it in your pants, I saw it when we were up at the concession stand. Are you going to make me slide it out or do I have to sit on you?”

“What!?” completely shocked, MacGyver gave her a wide-eyed stare, and Rose leaned up to rub her nose with his.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to get a peek at your—wallet,” she finished in a purr as hot little puffs of her breath hit his lips in an amazingly erotic fashion. He relaxed from the shoulders up.

“Wallet. Ah. Well there IS a price, as I may have mentioned—“ Mac responded softly, gazing deep into tourmaline blue eyes. Rose lifted her chin.

“Name it—“

“Kiss?” he suggested in a whisper, the word hanging in the air between them. A sudden howl of wind gusted, making the car’s antenna shake. Rose made a tiny sound deep in her throat, a helpless acknowledgement of the magnified attraction between them, heavy and strong.

“if that’s what you want---“

“--I WANT—“ he muttered at the same time, turning to face her, his hands sliding up to cup her shoulders. The two of them surged towards each other, meeting in a press of soft mouths and urgent passion. The warm shock of it coiled through Rose’s stomach; she whimpered, her hands coming up to cup Mac’s face as she surrendered to the heated demand of his mouth.

Mac lost himself in the kiss, tasting Rose’s succulent lips. Before he could stop himself, his tongue slid urgently along her lower one, caressing that lush temptation with slow pleasure. An answering moan rumbled up, and his grip on her shoulders tightened. She wasn’t going anywhere, Mac decided instantly, not when there was still so much of Rose to taste and savor. Under his slow lick, her lip trembled, and with a soft wet flick, her own tongue glided out eagerly to meet his. The kiss suddenly shifted into overdrive.

Rose pulled away for a breath and dove back in, Mac’s face still firmly in her hands. With reckless giddiness she let her tongue explore the surface of his kiss, playing over his eager lips, but the tease went on too long, and with a growl, Mac opened his mouth, lightly sucking her tongue in, mastering it for the moment. All his senses were hyperaware of Rose, her flavor, her scent, and her feel—

Rose wasn’t about to let him boss her tongue around though, and laughed into his mouth. Mac laughed back, relief and desire racing through his system. He reluctantly gave in to his need to breathe.

“More—“ he gasped, his dark eyes twinkling in the dim light. Rose lightly dropped delicate kisses from one cheekbone to the other, on each eyelid, on the end of his nose. Mac quivered.

“You’re killing me here—“ he accused, hauling Rose forward until she was sprawled against his chest, pinned there by his strong grip and the rim of the steering wheel. Rose playfully poked her nose into his ear, making Mac gasp.

“I can see you’re going to be trouble,” came her flirtatious accusation. Mac tried to look aggrieved, but it was difficult through a moan.

“Could say the same of YOU, Brat—“ came his growl as he managed a soft love bite on her throat. She squirmed.

“NO fair!”

“Completely—fair—“ he countered, settling in for another passionate round of kissing. The light of the movie screen flickered over them, highlighting Rose’s lush mouth, Mac’s glittering gaze.

A sudden papery thump startled them; Rose had inadvertently knocked over the half-empty tub of popcorn, spilling the white kernels onto the floor mats with a soft rattle.

“Oops—“ she gasped. Mac laughed, hugging her close.

“Butterfingers—“

“I was—distracted,“ she muttered with attempted dignity. Mac said nothing, but his dimples deepened as she scrambled to scoop up the mess. She managed most of it, and Mac watched her, admiring her spine, her rounded backside as Rose dove for stray kernels. She slithered down, stretching over one of his knees as she reached for the last ones far down near the brake pedal.

“Oof! Watch where you’re leaning—“ he muttered, breathless as the warm weight of her full chest pressed against his thigh. What had been subtle before was blatant now, and Mac felt heat rising right through the rims of his ears as Rose made a murmur of approval.

“While I’m in the neighborhood, maybe now’s the time to get that wallet—“ she called out. Mac gripped her arm and fished her up.

“Not in THAT position—“ he chided. Rose giggled.

“Face it, MacGyver, I’m determined to get into your pants—Uhhh---“ the flaming blush over her mortified face was almost bright enough to see by. “Uh, I mean—“

Mac pulled her up and settled her in against his side.

“You’re just lucky my mother didn’t raise that kind of boy, Brat—at least not on a first date—“ he hoarsely teased her, only a hint of a grin on his face. While his straining body was more than ready to capitulate to her erotic double entendre, the tiny voice of his own common sense was still in charge.

Rose gave a little sigh and obediently settled in against Mac’s ribs, relaxing in his hug. For a while they didn’t use words to speak, enjoying the subtle warmth of simply cuddling. It was familiar territory; a sweet breather from their combustible intensity and Rose basked in it. She knew instinctively she could trust Mac, that there was no pressure to go any faster than either of them wanted to. In front of them, Bela Lugosi came to his end and the credits began to roll. Around the Nomad other car doors opened, and the soft sounds of chatter grew louder.

“Intermission—“ Mac murmured to Rose, pulling his arm reluctantly from her shoulders. She sighed, and rubbed her lips with a finger.

“You might want a Kleenex—you’re wearing most of my lipgloss right now—“

“Strawberry,” came his smug reply filtering through his handkerchief, ”My favorite.”

Rose lightly punched his shoulder and they climbed out of the car, stretching and trying hard to seem relaxed. Mostly they didn’t look at each other, which was difficult. Mac introduced her to several people who greeted her warmly and gave Mac approving looks. A nagging suspicion tickled her thoughts, and once the second feature began, she settled back into the car, frowning. Mac handed her the Good and Plentys.

“Mac?” She caught his eye and he gave her a smile. “How long has it been since you dated?”

The smile faded. MacGyver ran a hand along the back of his neck, under the leather jacket.

“A while—“ came his quiet admission. Rose said nothing, letting the pause grow. He began to shift uneasily under her patient gaze.

“Okay a LONG while. I haven’t really given it a lot of thought, I’ve been busy—“

“—Me too,” Rose blurted, cocking her head. “Jack was the first one in almost a year—“

Mac’s eyebrows went up in questioning surprise. On the screen, Boris Karloff was being wrapped in linen as Rose studied her hands.

“Yeah—I just wanted you to know. I mean, because I-- kissed YOU but not him—“

“Rose—“ cupping her chin, Mac lifted her face and whatever he’d intended to say blanked out of his mind. Her look was so sweetly woebegone that he felt utterly compelled to kiss her again, dropping his mouth on hers with warm ease.

These kisses were slower, and all the more erotic for their deliberate intensity. Rose yielded to him hungrily; her little gasps fueling Mac’s lust by swift degrees. Suddenly the Nomad seemed too small and warm, and when he slid a hand around her ribcage Rose twisted, arching a breast against his palm. Mac shuddered.

“Rose!—“ came his strangled gasp against her neck. He didn’t pull away though, and caressed the sweet heft with slow circles of his fingertips, his thumb finding her hard nipple through the thin sweater.

For the first time in decades MacGyver felt dizzy, hot and cold and utterly lost in the hammering of his own pulse. Rose sucked in a breath.

“I—I can’t. Mac—“ With a shake of her head she pulled back from him, eyes suspiciously wet as she rubbed the heel of her hand along her cheekbone. He drew a shaky breath of his own, aware of this body throbbing.

“I’m sorry Brat,” he confessed, closing his eyes, fighting raw urges. He pulled his hand away, still feeling the warm weight of her breast, the astounding sensual curve, pliant and full. He fought back the image of it bare and sleek under his questing mouth and knew that vision would haunt him. Not sorry for that.

“My fault—I didn’t know it could BE like this. Kisses. Your mouth--Like silky fire—“ she sniffed, loudly. Mac took her hand and kissed each finger lightly. She watched him, lashes spiky with tears.

“We can stop. You KNOW that. Nothing has to happen—“ Mac told her, wishing it was true and knowing it wasn’t, at least not for him. The sight and sound of Rose were easy to deal with but the smell and taste and feel of her bypassed all civilized aspects of his mind and plunged straight to his groin. She nodded politely to show she didn’t believe him. He sighed.

“Maybe I better take you home,” he muttered, hating the words as his hand caressed hers. Rose shook her head fiercely.

“You’re angry with me—“ she blurted. He locked gazes with her. Taking her hand, he deliberately pressed it to his mouth again.

“Nope. Going a little nuts here, but not angry. A whole lot of things, but NOT angry.”

Rose relaxed, and even as she did so, a little niggling suspicion circled Mac’s mind, an inkling of a thought. He pulled her head to his shoulder and nuzzled her hair, willing his body to relax. It did so sullenly, all too aware of Rose’s proximity. They both stared at the movie, watching the mummy lurch across the screen.

“Correct me if I’m wrong—“ Mac began softly, “—But I get the feeling you’ve been—coerced—in the past.”

He felt Rose stiffen, and that wordless little confirmation sent a surge of anger through him. He suppressed the reaction, filing it away. Rose’s hand twisted in his.

“Coerced is kind of strong—worn down would be more apt,” she replied. “Ramon told me things so often that I started seeing them as true, just because I heard them all the time. Some of them BECAME true, like self-fulfilling prophecies I guess.”

“Like what?” Mac asked carefully.

“Cara, you are sooo clumsy—you wouldn’t treep so much if your breasts were smaller—“ She mimicked the South American accent effortlessly. “Rohse, wear your heels so you look taller, paloma—no REAL man likes legs that short. Dohn’t worry, I am sure next time will be good for YOU—“

“He SAID that?” torn between astonishment and anger, MacGyver looked Rose full in the face. She managed a blush, nodding sadly.

“Pretty stupid, huh? Just little comments, nothing every openly abusive, but hearing them day after day for months at a time just—got to me. I finally couldn’t take it anymore and told Ramon that if I had so much wrong with me that maybe he should go find someone else who was closer to his ideal.”

Mac said nothing; the lump in his throat didn’t stop him for tightening his hug around her waist. Rose smiled up at him wanly.

“Ramon didn’t appreciate my suggestion and we fought about it. It got—bad,” she finished darkly. Mac gave her time, handing her some Jujubes to fill the awkward silence. Rose chose a yellow one.

“So that’s that. I couldn’t see myself married to a man who was going to spend the rest of our lives making me over.”

“Good call—“ Mac told her sincerely, kissing her temple. She smiled at that.

“Yeah, well enough about the bumpy unromantic past of Rose Clowderbock—as I recall you still owe me a peek at your wallet, MacGyver.”

Now it was his turn to stiffen. With a sigh, Mac shifted, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the back and grey billfold. Rose took it with a grin of triumph, peeling open the Velcro and gazing at the license. She looked up again.

“It’s a good, noble Scottish name,” Rose told him with stubborn sincerity Mac rubbed his face.

“It’s nothing I’m going to inflict on any of MY kids—“ he complained. Rose looked stubborn, and shook her head.

“Maybe not as a first name, but it’s got class as a middle name you know—Robert Angus MacGyver, or Daniel Angus MacGyver.”

“That would make their initials RAM or DAM, neither of which are much better, “ MacGyver pointed out. “Just admit it—Angus is NOT a name to be called out in the heat of passion—“

“Oh I don’t know,” Rose shot him a quick look through her lashes, her smile soft and inviting. Mac felt his face heat up again, but managed to look back at her steadily. It dawned on him that despite the unceasing urges of his body; the rest of him was comfortable with Rose, thrilled as this easy give and take between them.

“That sounds like a pass,” he murmured back, watching Rose lift her chin and settle for a prim expression. She toyed with the wallet.

“Maybe, So what else is in this thing?”

“Hey give that BACK—I said you could look at my LICENSE, not the rest of it, Brat!” he tried to grab the wallet back, but giggling, Rose tucked it behind her. Mac paused, cocking an eyebrow at her.

“That is an open invitation to get tackled, you know—“ he warned.

“You and what arm—“ she didn’t get to finish as MacGyver lunged, hands groping swiftly behind her back. Squealing, Rose twisted, hitting the rim of the steering wheel with one flailing hand and honking the horn. Instantly both of them froze.

A quick chorus of honks came back from all over the drive in, and Rose burst out laughing.

*** *** ***

MacGyver’s Journal

I’ve learned that people keep journals for a variety of reasons, and that foremost among them is to record the events of their lives—the births and deaths and other momentous experiences that make up the course of their existences. I’ve done that—talked about mom’s death, and ranted in here, drained my anger and resentment and sorrow over Maria and the baby, I’ve vented my bile and managed to keep my days going through a healing process of sorts with the support of this town, this life.

There isn’t much that’s cheerful or upbeat in this journal, but I feel that’s going to change as Rose keeps showing up on these pages and while I might present a cautiously optimistic side to the world, here in this journal I have every right to pour out the amazing inner goofiness that keeps bubbling up every time I think of her. Am I a man in love? I don’t know—what I DO know is this feeling isn’t like any other I’ve ever had, this bizarre blend of tenderness and lust and amusement and frustration and hope and fear and anticipation. Never experienced this with Maria, or Kate or Ellen—at least not to a degree I can compare it with.

So at the moment, it’s three in the morning. I can’t sleep because I have so much on my mind, and I can’t share it with Rose because I just left her three hours ago after a lovely goodnight kiss on her front porch that I swear scorched the paint off the door. My balls are aching, my appetite’s gone, I’m pacing around my kitchen but I can’t understand this other sensation.

This—happiness.

END

(note: Again I thank you the readers for your patience as this story posted in bits and pieces. I’ve enjoyed the challenge of redoing Mac and Rose and would love to continue this Alternative Series. If you have a moment, I encourage you to drop me a note at Cincoflex@aol.com and give me your thoughts on the matter! Thank you!)