Finding Home: The Trilogy: Book Two – Beth's Story

Chapter One

Beth Reardon was thirty two years old; and she certainly was not getting any younger! Her morning started before dawn in her studio. She laid out the grid lines on a sheet of plexi-glass for the commissioned portrait sitting on her drawing board, then she blocked in the major points on her canvas. That done, she applied a few touches of color to the wheat field in the watercolor landscape on the easel. At six, her studio alarm went off, reminding her it was time to get ready to go to work at her store. She cleaned up her art supplies, then grabbed a quick shower and dressed.

In the kitchen, she cooked oatmeal, as her two-year old daughter Molly mumbled, hungry at her feet. While the child ate, Beth cleaned up the kitchen, then the oatmeal covered child. She grabbed an apple for herself, and shoved it into a pocket of Molly's diaper bag, followed by a Nalgene bottle full of cold Charleston mint tea. She felt her age in her back and in her knees as she scooped her two-year old daughter into her arms. The child giggled and nuzzled her blond curls against Beth's shoulder.

"Go bye-bye?" the child asked.

"Yes Molly, we go bye-bye," Beth answered.

"See Sam? See Guy?" Molly asked.

Beth shook her head. "No sweetie. Not today. Today you are going to work with me. Won't that be fun?" she answered as she grabbed Molly's diaper bag from the kitchen counter. Earlier, before getting the child out of bed, Beth filled the bag with travel necessities – a couple pairs of plastic pants, a few toys, juice and crackers, as well as a couple of disposable diapers for emergencies. She kept full diaper facilities at the co-op, complete with the cloth diapers she preferred to use, plenty of kid food and changes of clothing. When Molly came to work with her, like today, she did not have to carry much with her.

"Nooo," Molly protested. "See Guy." The child wriggled and pointed out the kitchen window toward the run down old house that sat directly across the narrow rural road.

"Guy is busy today," Beth answered, smiling at Molly's unique appellation for MacGyver.. "He has company."

Molly stuck out her lower lip, a sure fire indication that a pout was to follow. Beth resettled the toddler onto her hip, then opened the side kitchen door. The sun was still low in the sky, but even so, the morning air was already warm and muggy. She lugged her child and diaper bag onto the wrap-around porch.

Molly wiggled and kicked. "Down. See Guy," she demanded.

"No baby," Beth answered gently as she carried her daughter to the old pickup truck. Molly let out a wail. Beth bit her lip. She sympathized with her daughter. Since MacGyver and his teenage son, Sam moved into Harry Jackson's run-down old house across the street, her life, as well as Molly's, had been in turmoil. She smiled while she buckled Molly's seat belt. It was a good turmoil, however. She enjoyed the two men as much as her daughter. It was nice to have neighbors again.

Life had been bleak without Harry's sage advice and quiet support. And, his grandson, MacGyver – or Bud as Harry called him, was certainly pleasant to look at, that was for sure! Not that she was interested, mind you. It was, she reasoned, good to give back even just a little bit of what Harry Jackson gave to her. MacGyver had no clue just how close she and his grandfather were until his death.

Beth rubbed her forehand across her cheek to wipe away the wisp of mahogany colored hair that fluttered out of her braid. She studied the cloud formations on the canvas in front of her, then studied the photograph that was clipped to her drawing board to the left of the canvas. The clouds still were not right. She mixed a smudge of dark blue onto her palette, studied the color, smeared in some white, then some purple, then grimaced. "Still not right," she muttered. Exasperated, she plopped the palette onto the small table to her left, then walked to the wide double doors that allowed access to the widow's walk outside her third floor studio. The big French doors were flung open wide to let in the spring fresher that threatened pounding rain in the very near future. At the wind's mercy, the lace curtains blew out straight into her studio.

She stepped onto the widow's walk and leaned against the balcony to study the storm clouds building on the horizon, at least as much as her extended tummy allowed. She stroked her girth, absently petting the baby growing inside. Across the road, then across her neighbor's wheat field to the pasture beyond, she watched Old Harry, his wispy thin frame bent against the wind as he struggled up the hill from the creek. He held a fly rod in one hand. His other hand kept his battered old flop hat, blazoned with the flies he liked to tie, locked to his scalp. He wore one of those khaki fishing vests, his waders and a pair of green pants that were probably as old as he. The sides of his vest billowed in the wind. He looked like the cover art for an Orvis catalog.

Grinning, Beth spun on her heels and bolted into the study. Her camera lay within easy reach. She grabbed it and waddled back to the widow's walk. As Harry progressed across the pasture, Beth snapped pictures of him as fast as her old Nikon allowed. She adjusted the zoom, then continued taking pictures. At one point, Harry must have felt her presence because, without stopping, he glanced over at her, waved with the fly rod burdened hand, then continued toward his weathered farm house.

A sudden bolt of lightning spasmed across the sky, closely followed by low, lumbering thunder. Beth snapped a few more shots of her elderly neighbor, then retreated to the comfort of her studio as Harry reached his porch, and fat rain drops began to splatter the widow's walk.

Reluctantly, she closed the French doors, then put down her Nikon. Before she became pregnant, she would have developed the shots herself. Now pregnant, with the baby only weeks away, she feared the effects of the photo developing chemicals. She returned to her easel, but the muse had left her so she cleaned up her paints, then lumbered down the narrow stairs from the studio to the second floor.

On the second floor, she stepped into the nursery and looked around with a smile. She painted the room herself. Her husband, Steve, thought the decor was too busy. Beth didn't agree. She wanted her child to have something stimulating to study when ever she was alone.

The long wall to the left featured a landscape of Ocracoke Island looking across the lagoon to the small fishing village beyond. It was one of Beth and her husband's favorite vacation retreats. The outside wall, with two large windows, was just a painted sky with herring gulls soaring across the open expanse, a tribute to the South Carolina shore. The inner most wall, where the crib and changing table stood, was a painted lattice work, entwined with purple flowering clematis, yellow Carolina Jessamine and white sweet alyssum. This reminded Beth of her mother's flower garden in Dacusville, SC. The last wall was Paris at night – where Steve proposed. Le Tour Eiffel sparkled in the dark sky with tiny twinkling lights that Steve had embedded into a false facade.

Beth crossed the room and ran through her mental checklist one more time. Every thing had to be ready when the baby came. With her husband Steve in Kuwait, she was potentially on her own when the baby arrived – that is if the baby decided to get here before her mother did (which Beth seriously doubted). Beth knew that she wouldn't be able to just dash out for supplies for a while. She checked the drawers and counted the cloth diapers again. She fingered the tiny onesies.

Finally, things were going their way. She and Steve waited so long for a baby, that, now that one was imminent, it just didn't seem real. If only Steve could come home, she mused. Then life would be perfect. He called her last night, to see how she was feeling, and once again assured her that he was staying out of combat. All he was doing, he explained was ferrying supplies – just like a Sunday mail run across Minnesota. Beth ran her fingers across the framed portrait of Steve that sat on the small table by the rocking chair. His military buzzed blond hair sparkled translucent in the sun light. He wore a huge lopsided grin. She grinned back at him. "I love you," she whispered to her husband. Somehow, she hoped, across the many miles from rural Minnesota to Kuwait, he could feel her love. The baby kicked, followed by another Braxton-Hicks contraction. "Oh yes, kidney bean, I love you, too," she whispered to their baby. She breathed deeply, then slowly exhaled to ease the contraction. Partially relieved, she turned the rocker to face the rain covered windows and sat down. As the storm increased, her rocking slowed until she drifted into a spring storm induced nap.

Beth shook off the memory, then glanced across the street, her hand on the driver's side door handle of the pickup. All was quiet at Harry's house, no, MacGyver's house now. By this time in the morning, Harry would have been working in the fields or, more likely, casting his fly line into the creek at the base of the hill that ran past Harry's, under a narrow bridge, then along her property line. She shook her head, then climbed into the truck. It started easily, thanks to MacGyver's skills. The other day, the same day Beth met his girlfriend, Maria, he fixed some things on it that were broken, and adjusted some other things. She wasn't exactly sure what it was that he fixed, but she was grateful.

Molly continued to wail, but Beth knew the best thing was to get the child out of sight of the MacGyvers' house. With two-year old girls at least, out of sight, out of mind seemed to work. She wasn't so sure if it worked with thirty-two year old women who hadn't felt the touch of a man in over two years. "Oh God, Beth. Get your mind out of the gutter," she moaned, then giggled, embarrassed.

Beth steered the truck down her long gravel drive. MacGyver's house was full in her view. It looked much better than it did a month ago. There was a new base coat of white paint on the exterior, and the porch no longer leaned. MacGyver added a porch swing, and a potted geranium sat on the steps. Harry's front field, where he used to plant his wheat, was overgrown, and could use a good bush-hogging. She thought about calling MacGyver and telling him to come get her tractor for that, but she shook her head. Best not call him anymore, she reminded herself. MacGyver's girl friend, Maria, was clear on that point.

Beth wasn't sure if she really believed everything Maria said about MacGyver – about him being a womanizer, but she took the woman's point to heart – back off. Moreover, when MacGyver backed her against the siding on his porch, Beth was astonished at his bravado, and at her own reaction. She had not been kissed, really kissed, by a man since her husband left for Desert Storm over two years ago. When Steve didn't return, another casualty to a war she was not sure she believed in, she wrote sex out of her life.

Without warning, MacGyver walked into her life and, completely consumed her energies, and occupied her dreams. For a time, she thought the 'good thing' that Harry promised her had finally arrived. Then MacGyver told her about his girlfriend, about Maria, and she knew that Harry's 'Bud' was not the 'good thing.' Even so, when MacGyver leaned down close to her, his arms blocking her escape between his house's siding and his chest, his lips only inches from hers, for a moment, just a moment, she wanted the kiss – wanted it so badly she could feel it spread in a hot, white heat through her chest and down to her private parts. The feeling was so raw and primal that she panicked. Not exactly the reaction of a woman of the world, but then again, she never claimed to be worldly. Common sense took hold and she remembered his girl friend inside. Beth had never come between a man and his girl before. She had no intention of doing so now. "Maria is lovely," she whispered to MacGyver. Her words broke the spell and she escaped under his outstretched arm.

No. MacGyver was not the 'good thing'. It was best to forget him and re-focus her energies. Besides, a man in her life was not what she wanted right now. Her husband's death had been a hard row to hoe. She was, only now, starting to feel alive again. She had no intention of muddying up every thing with a man, especially one already entangled with another woman.

Beth turned down the road, then headed for work. She shook her head to clear it of MacGyver and his problems, as well as his broad shoulders, and tried to concentrate on her day. As a single mother, work consumed her. Not only did she have to pay her bills and put food on the table for herself, her daughter, and her elderly mother, who lived with her, but she also had to stash away enough money for emergencies and Molly's college fund. Luckily, her mom paid off the mortgage on the house – early inheritance, her mother called it. Still, paying the bills wasn't easy. Especially for a woman with a toddler and a nearly useless Fine Arts degree.

For the last few years, she played the Scarlett O'Hara game - "I'll think about that tomorrow." But tomorrow was upon her. She was, only recently, able to eek out a small salary from the rural food co-op that she started in an old, abandoned gas station. If it wasn't for the commission on the sales from her catalog items, she was afraid they'd be eating very lightly. The movie night behind the co-op last weekend helped too, but the money she made from popcorn, drinks, and the cover charge, went to cover the balance of her mother's diabetic medicine that her insurance didn't pick up, as well as her and Molly's health insurance payment. Beth knew she should ask her brothers for a supplement for their mother, but since her mother paid off her mortgage, she didn't think it fair to ask.

In addition to the food co-op, she had three commission works to paint. She calculated the profit in those, as well as how much time they would take to complete. Yes, stepping out of the MacGyver's lives was actually a God-send, she thought. She'd wasted a lot of time running around the county arranging people, and things, to fix up those men's house. Now she could concentrate on painting in the early mornings and in the evenings. Thankfully, her mom kept the garden weeded, watered and picked. All Beth had to do, once the plowing and planting had been finished, was to occasionally run the tiller down the rows to turn under the more stubborn weeds. And, of course, preserve the food for winter to keep the grocery bills in line.

Molly finally settled down and stared out the window. Beth smiled. Her daughter seemed to be experiencing her first crush. She remembered the first time her daughter saw MacGyver. He was covered from head to toe in muck and grease. Molly must have thought he was some kind of bogeyman because she screamed at the top her lungs when she saw him. It didn't take long, however, for the man to win her daughter's heart. "Big mistake, Molls," Beth muttered to her daughter. "He's WAY too old for you." Molly wiggled her fingers and stared at the digits as if seeing them for the first time.

Beth turned the truck onto the main road. Wheat fields lined both sides of the road. Beth noted the height of the plants as she passed. It appeared to be a good year for wheat. What kind of year would it be for her, and for Molly?

Chapter Two

As Beth pulled into the co-op she smiled. She always smiled when she saw her store. It was a bright spot along the dreary country road. The bright white facade, accented by the green porch sparkled in the morning light. She drove around back and parked, then freed Molly from the car seat. As the toddler busied herself by picking up and throwing small rocks she found in the driveway, Beth unlocked the back door. She scooped up the kid and carried her into the back storage room where a small play area, complete with a portable crib and playpen waited.

She plopped Molly into the play pen and handed the child juice and a cracker to keep Molly occupied while she unloaded the truck, then got the store ready to open. This included retrieving the till from the safe, counting it down, and checking the petty cash. She studied the work schedule and noticed that Bill Tollison would be the morning cashier, then she checked her watch. Soon, trucks would be arriving from the local farms, closely followed by early morning shoppers. Finally satisfied that all was ready, she freed Molly into the main sales floor while she restocked the shelves.

The rest of her day was the usual whirlwind. Luckily, Bill showed up on time, so she did not have to worry about waiting on customers. By eleven, she'd received four pickup trucks of produce, the delivery of milk and cheese from the local creamery, and twelve dozen assorted fresh eggs. She'd also inspected four local womens' canned goods – pickles, jam, essential oils, and honey, for consignment. Each had to have the correct pH and proper seals, as well as appropriate flavor and/or aroma for Beth to stock them in the co-op. The salesman from Arrowhead Mills Flour showed up, unexpected as usual, and she had to do a last minute inventory of the flour products, then calculate an order.

Just after lunch, while she was updating her catalog to go to the printer, the health inspector arrived with his flashlight, clip board and thermometer. While Beth took pride in always maintaining a perfect health department rating, and had nothing to fear, the time out of her day was bothersome.

At two, she and Molly were on the road. She had three farms to test for harmful chemicals before the farmers could sell their produce to the co-op. Each farm inspection usually took about an hour to run all of the tests, then another thirty minutes of obligatory lemonade or coffee along with the giving and receiving of local news and gossip. Of course, everyone wanted to know about MacGyver and his son.

Beth detested gossip. She'd had her fill of it during those interminable lunches sponsored by the Air Force wives when she and Steve lived at Wright Patterson. However, her southern upbringing meant she politely listened to what the farmers had to tell her. She gave out as little information as she could. Yes, Sam really was MacGyver's son. No, she didn't know anything about Sam's mother. Yes, MacGyver was starting a fix-it shop – just like Emmet on Andy Griffith. No, she didn't know if he fixed busted radiators. Yes, the blond woman staying with MacGyver was his girl friend, but no, she didn't know anything about her, how long she was staying, or if she and MacGyver were 'intimate' while MacGyver's son was in the house. On and on it went at each farm, until Beth thought she couldn't possibly be polite any longer.

Molly saved her by becoming extremely cranky which gave Beth an excuse to bail at the last farm. At 5:30, they were headed home. Beth groaned as she suddenly remembered that she promised to feed Sam and Jack Dalton so that MacGyver and Maria could have some alone time. She didn't mind feeding them. Sam was delightful. He was quirky and fun, and Molly adored him – so did her black labrador, Maynard-dog. Jack Dalton was a little loud, but the more she got to know him, the more she enjoyed his comical nature. But, she was dead on her feet and she wasn't sure she could put up with Jack's banter. At six, she pulled into her drive, dragged her weary body from the truck, along with a napping Molly.

The kitchen was dark and dreary as she closed the door behind her. Her mother lived with her now, mainly to help with the baby, but also because mature onset diabetes and the first hints of senile dementia required that the elderly woman no longer live alone. This weekend, however, her mother was visiting with friends out-of-town, hence Molly going to work with Beth. When she came home from work, her mother usually had a pot of coffee waiting, and dinner would be started. Tonight, every thing was dark. The coffee pot was cold and empty.

Beth sighed as she looked around her large country kitchen. She had no idea what to cook for dinner. Sam liked "teenage" food, and she'd promised something fattening. Like a true bachelor, Jack ate any food she put in front of him. She carried Molly to her crib, then returned to the kitchen and turned on the baby monitor.

In the freezer, she found ground beef, and some of last seasons' frozen marinara sauce base that she put up with the last of the Roma tomatoes. She also found half of a chocolate pound cake in the freezer. She set the cake, meat and sauce on the counter to thaw, then headed for a nice hot, although quick, bath. As always, she carried the monitor with her. Maynard-dog plodded along behind her.

Chapter Three

By the time Sam and Jack knocked on the door at seven, Beth was dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a tee, and her hair was freshly braided. Molly, refreshed from her nap, played with the contents of the "noisy drawer" - Beth's euphemism for the drawer under the oven where she kept her pot lids. Ground beef, sweet peppers, and onions simmered on the stove, and the sauce base continued to thaw on low heat on the back burner.

Neither man seemed to have the slightest idea what to do in the kitchen, so she shooed them outside to entertain Molly, guilty that she relished the short break from the toddler. Standing over the stove, she yawned as she seasoned the sauce base with herbs from her garden, then added the strained meat and vegetables. "And so goes my life," she muttered as she stirred. "You promised me a 'good thing', Harry. When is it going to happen?" she whispered to the air.

Finally, the sauce simmered on the stove, her large pot, filled with water, sat warming to temperature on the back burner. She grabbed a stack of plates, topped with silver ware and cloth napkins and headed for the gazebo. Dinner outside was always more interesting than inside, she firmly believed.

Sam chased a giggling Molly around the side yard while Maynard-dog yelped playfully at his heels. Beth smiled at Jack Dalton who stood with one thigh propped on her porch railing. He surprised her by taking the stack of dishes from her.

"And where shall I put these, milady?" he asked with a nod of his head.

"The gazebo," she instructed. "Please, and thank you."

Jack grinned. "Anything to help the woman who is going to fill my empty belly," he gushed, then followed his words with a wide grin. She held her breath as he weaved between the playing kids and the dog, then sighed as he set the dishes on the picnic table. She returned to the kitchen to stir the sauce and ice down the tea.

While she stirred, the door opened and Jack entered. "Mmmm, something smells great! What else can I do to help?" he asked brightly. "Slaughter the hog? Grind the meal?"

Beth yawned again, despite her best intentions, then pointed to a cabinet. "You can get down the glasses and take them outside. Glass for you, Sam and me; a 'sippy' cup for Molly."

"Your wish is my command," he answered. Beth wondered if he ever just spoke plainly, like most people.

He pulled out the glasses. "So. You and Mac seem to get along well," he said as he set them on a tray that Beth handed him.

Beth chewed her lip while she added a touch more seasoning to the sauce. She didn't like the tone of his question. "I guess," she answered. She hoped she sounded casual enough.

"Molly likes him, too," he added.

Beth smiled. "Molly worships the ground he walks upon," she answered.

Jack leaned on the counter. "I think Sam has a crush on you," he said.

Beth looked over at him and grinned. "God, I hope not. Hearts all over Mission City will be shattered into small bits if he does."

"So, were you and Mac seeing each other at all before Maria showed up?" he answered.

Beth slipped her lower lip between her teeth for a moment before she answered. "What ever gave you that idea? We're just friends. All he talks about is Maria. A woman would be a fool to get involved with him. Besides, I'm still grieving, Jack.."

"And you're also no fool, are you Beth?" he answered.

She shook her head and turned back to the stove. "When you finish getting those glasses on the table, you can help me carry out the food," she directed. When she heard him leave, Beth breathed a sigh of relief. She was too tired for any more small talk, especially about MacGyver. She yawned again, then sliced the last of her homemade bread for garlic bread, enough for the four of them, thank goodness, then put the slices onto a cookie sheet. While pressed garlic simmered in butter, she made a quick, simple salad topped with homemade ranch dressing.

Jack returned as she strained the noodles. "What else, oh Genie of the kitchen?" He asked her.

"There's a pottery soup crock on the shelf there," she pointed. "Will you hand it to me, please?"

She slathered the bread with the garlic butter, then popped it under the broiler. While the bread toasted, she ladled the sauce into the crock, then seasoned the noodles.

"You're kind of quiet tonight, aren't you?" Jack asked softly.

She looked over at him. He had a pleasant face, round and jolly, sort of like a perverted Santa Claus. He wore a slightly wrinkled plaid shirt, tucked into well worn jeans. An over-sized belt buckle called attention to his crotch – an old ploy for men who felt the need to call attention to their crotches. She'd seen plenty of that during the Air Force days.

"I'm just tired. It's been a long day," she answered. In fact, it had been a long day following a long month, upon two years of long months, but she didn't elaborate that point. Instead, she pulled the browned bread from the broiler and laid the pieces into a napkin lined basket. "That's it, we're ready to eat. If you will carry the sauce, I'll get the noodles and the bread," she instructed.

Outside, she was pleased to see that Jack had actually set the table. She sent Sam inside for the iced tea pitcher and salad. He returned with, not only the food, but her kitchen radio tucked under his arm. He tuned it to a soft rock station. With Molly on her lap, and Maynard-dog panting at her feet, Beth said a short prayer of grace.

While they ate, Sam told them stories about his, and his father's, trip across the country on the bikes. Jack told 'MacGyver as a teenager' stories. Molly entertained them all with her peculiar spaghetti eating skills, which was a special hit with Jack.

"So Sam, what do you think of Maria?" Jack asked the young man as he pushed back his empty plate.

Sam glanced at Beth, then looked back at Jack. "She's okay, I guess. I haven't spent much time with her. She doesn't strike me as 'mom' material."

Beth laughed. "Well, I don't suppose she needs to be, do you? After all, you're not a child. And, at your father's age, I don't know if he would want to start having babies around the house."

Sam shrugged. "Yeah, well, I guess not, but..." he paused. "its just that... I don't know...," he let the sentence dangle, while he studied his plate.

Jack interrupted. "Don't worry Sam. Mac won't jump into things too fast, I can tell you that. Why, I'm surprised he's gone as far with this thing with Maria as he has. He likes to keep free, you know, take off when the mood strikes him."

Sam nodded. "I just wish she was more, I don't know... She just doesn't seem right for him somehow."

Beth wiped the smeared spaghetti from Molly's face. "It's not your choice to make, Sam – not your life to live. Soon, you'll be off to college, then building your own life. It's hard facing life alone. I know, believe me. I know. Sometimes, when you get to be as old as your father, and I, and Jack, you lay in your cold bed and stare at the ceiling and wonder why you are alone. How did that come to happen?" She shook her head. "It's possible that your father feels that and wants more – a companion to fill his life."

"Whoa now," Jack added. "Mac isn't the type of guy to get involved with a woman just to have a companion. He's got tons of friends, and lots of hobbies, and lots of potential girl friends. He's a confirmed bachelor if I ever saw one."

Beth shook her head. "I don't see that, Jack. When I talk to MacGyver, I see a man who worries about the future, not just his own, but the futures of every one around him. I know he worries about you, Sam." She looked sharply at the boy. "He worries about the beer you sneak, he worries about your girlfriends. He worries about the choices you'll make."

Sam blushed slightly, but she continued. "A man that cares that much about other people is not a man who wants to spend his life alone."

Sam nodded. "Maybe. But he really is jumping into this relationship both feet first. I just wish he'd slow down."

"Have you talked to him about it? Told him how you feel?" Beth added gently.

"No, I just... I don't know how. For all that he's my father and all, I still don't really know him all that well. I mean, about women and all. We've spent a lot of time talking about a lot of things, but, there are some things he's pretty closed mouth about. Women, for one," Sam answered. "Besides, its too late for us to start running each others lives."

"When you met, you were strangers. But, the two of you decided to build a relationship - to make a family. Part of being in a family is intruding when you feel it is necessary, even if it is a bit embarrassing," Beth added.

Sam nodded. "Now I'm really confused. You said it was his choice to make, but then you say I'm supposed to interfere. How can it be both ways?" He asked.

Beth smiled. "Ah, there's the rub. I don't have all of the answers, but I do know that a man's family is his bulwark against the world. Expressing your concerns, and your feelings, is not interference. It's being family. Even though you are a man, MacGyver chose to accept the role of your father. That means he chose to include you in his decisions, whether he realizes it or not." She reached across the table and laid her hand on his. "Try talking to him, Sam."

Sam nodded. "Maybe you're right."

"Then again," Beth added with a smile. "Maybe I'm not. If I had all of the answers, Molly wouldn't be smeared in spaghetti sauce."

Chapter Four

Sam and Jack made a big fuss about cleaning up after dinner. Beth, overruled, was forced to sit on her butt and sip ice tea. She felt like Scarlet O'Hara all over again. The sun was setting and, as it did, the air cooled to a more comfortable temperature. While Molly quietly toddled around behind Maynard-dog, Beth had to take deep breaths to keep from falling asleep where she sat. Finally, Jack emerged from the kitchen.

"Every thing's done. Sam's just finishing up a few last minute things," he told her as he settled beside her on the bench seat. He leaned close to Beth. "You know. Sam can baby-sit and we can go for a ride. I can show you some spots around town I'll bet you never knew existed."

Beth rolled her eyes and smiled. "I'll bet you can, Jack." She leaned close. "But no thank you. I believe that you, Suh, ah trouble with a capital T," she exaggerated her southern accent.

"Then how about a dance? I always wanted to dance with a Southern belle in a real gazebo," he whispered, then winked.

"The word, down south, Suh, is gaz-AY-beau," she smiled back, surprised that she was enjoying herself. It had been a long time since she'd felt like flirting. It really was kind of fun, although she was serious when she told Jack Dalton that she thought he was trouble.

Jack took her hand and lifted her from the bench. A Drifters tune, one straight out of the Myrtle Beach pavilion of her youth, played softly on the radio. Beth giggled as he twirled her into his arms and swept her across the gazebo. As the song ended, he dipped her low, then kissed her. It was a polite kiss, no tongue and no smearing about, but it shocked her. Beth gasped and pushed against him. As soon as she regained her feet, and her composure, she slapped him - hard. She heard tires on gravel down by the road as Jack, his hand on his red cheek, smiled and stared across the road toward Harry's house.

Beth seethed with anger. She spun on her heels and lifted up her daughter. Molly in her arms, she turned back to Jack. "I want you to leave. I want you to leave now." she hissed at him.

He raised his hands in supplication. "You don't understand. I was just overcome by the moment. It won't happen again. I promise. You were just so beautiful in the moonlight." He went to his knees. "Please Miz Beth, you just got to believe me. I wuz overcome. I swear, it wuz just the heat of the moment," he pleaded.

Beth wavered. It was a simple kiss, and she had flirted with him. She shook her head. "Jack, you have to understand. I'm not... I'm not ready for this. Really I'm not."

Jack dropped his head to his chest. He shook his head, then looked up at her, his face serious. "I'm sorry. Really, I am." He answered, finally speaking plainly. "Come on, give me another chance."

"No kissing?"

Jack shook his head. "No Ma'am. No kissing. Boy Scout promise."

Beth shook her head. "Some how, I doubt you were ever a Boy Scout."

Jack stood up smiling. "Well, no. But MacGyver told me all about it. HE was a Boy Scout."

Beth grinned. "You know, I'll just bet he was."

Sam came out, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Hey Beth, you really need to get a dishwasher."

Beth looked over at him. "I have one, but she's still in training," she answered jiggling her toddler.

A few minutes later, Sam and Jack left. Beth and Molly waved from the porch as they ambled down her gravel drive. When they reached the mailbox, Beth turned back inside. She tucked her daughter in bed then dragged herself to the studio. Exhaustion, however, killed her ability to work on either the portrait or the watercolor. By ten, she was asleep, her alarm set for four thirty in the morning and another long day.

Chapter Five

Two days later seemed just like the day before, and the day before that. Up early, working in the studio until six, at the co-op by seven thirty. At eight thirty, as Beth swept off the co-op porch, she heard a motorcycle roaring up the road. She looked up to see Sam, in his protective black leathers and helmet, pull into the lot. He was going a little too fast when he hit the gravel, and he had to whip the bike into a tight half circle to avoid hitting a concrete car block. Gravel sprayed up and slung dust back onto the porch she just swept. Beth shook her head, then leaned her broom against a vegetable bin.

Sam pulled off his helmet and hung it on the handlebar. Beth started to chide him for his abrupt entry into the parking lot, until she saw his face. His eyes were downcast, sort of like a scolded puppy.

He shook his head. "They're getting married, my dad and Maria," he told her. His voice was soft and she sensed his pain. She opened her arms and he climbed the steps, then leaned into her, his head on her shoulder. Beth wrapped her arms around him.

Beth rubbed his back, then stroked his soft brown hair. "Oh, Sam," she whispered. She slipped a finger under his chin then lifted his face. Despite the fact that he stood a good foot above her, his face still had its child-like youthfulness. "It isn't the end of the world. Things have a way of working out."

Despite her words, she felt something crumple up inside of her. She slipped her hand into his and entwined their fingers. "Come on, I've got a fresh pot of coffee inside." She led him across the sales floor to her tiny office. Inside, she had to move a box of catalogs to free a seat for him. An electric drip coffee maker sat on a small table in the corner. Beneath the table was a mini-fridge. Beth turned over a ceramic Hardees mug, and poured Sam coffee, then seasoned it with lots of cream from the mini-fridge, and a healthy dose of sugar. She fixed a black coffee for herself. She handed Sam his cup, then sat in the big old wooden swivel chair at her desk. "Tell me about it," she said.

Sam sighed, sipped the sweet coffee, then ran his fingers through his hair. "It was terrible. I said some things to him..." He shook his head again. "He never told me he loved her, Beth. He just said that he was afraid if he let her go, he'd never find someone else. And he said he's moving back to L.A. - to work for the Phoenix Foundation again."

"Was L.A. so bad?" she asked gently.

Sam was silent for a long time. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, the cup of coffee clutched in both hands. "When I met him, I was following a lead on the man who killed my mother. There was this warehouse and, well, I saw these thugs that I'd been tailing. Then I saw Mac." Sam was quiet again. Beth let him gather his thoughts. He cut his eyes up at her. "They were going to kill him, Beth. If I hadn't been there..." He looked back down, sipped his coffee, then looked back at her. "It wasn't the first time he almost died. You see, the Phoenix Foundation, you know, that he worked for? Well, it claims to be a research and development organization. But they also do troubleshooting and security, as well as some kind of undercover work for the government and the police. You'd think it wasn't dangerous working for a 'think tank', but my dad always seems to dig too deep for the truth. He wants so bad to help people that he gets in some people's way – people who have no scruples, and who don't mind using violence," he added. "He doesn't talk about what he did much, but just enough for me to know he's been involved in undercover work for drug deals, and weapons trading, and money laundering. Once, he was attacked during a..." Sam shook his head. "A mission, I guess you'd call it. The bad guys put him in a coma and he almost died. And that wasn't the only time he almost died." Sam looked back into his coffee. "I thought he was getting away from that, but he's going right back to it, and I'm afraid for him. And then marrying Maria? He doesn't even love her. I'm sure of it. How can he just... I don't know," he stumbled on his words, sighed, then looked back into his mug.

Beth looked at the ceiling. What words could she use to make Sam feel better? She was just a country widow who ran a grocery store. She didn't know anything about secret missions or undercover work, bad guys or drug deals. She chewed her lip.

Sam continued. "I called him a coward. And, I... I told him I wouldn't go with him to L.A.," he added softly. "I said some other things about Maria, too – nasty things. And he... he slapped me," Sam added.

Beth wrinkled her brows. "He slapped you? MacGyver did that?" A wave a quilt passed through her. It was her suggestion, after all, that precipitated Sam's confrontation with his father.

"I guess I sort of had it coming, but, well, it's just not like him." Sam said. "It's like, ever since Maria came, he hasn't been himself. He doesn't sleep and he has these mood swings and really bad headaches. I get the feeling that going back to L.A. and marrying Maria isn't what he really wants to do, but, like, he's... I don't know. Like he feels he has to do it," he added.

"For you? Do you feel like he's doing it for you?" Beth asked gently.

Sam chewed his lip, then sat the cup on the table. He shook his head. "Maybe, but, I don't think so. I think it's like you said, that he's just afraid of being alone."

"Oh Sam, I'm at a loss here. I really don't know your father well. I don't know his motivations, his needs. You need to talk to someone who does. What about Jack?" she answered.

Sam ran his fingers through his hair again, and scanned the cluttered office. "I guess, but Jack, well, he's not the most sensitive guy on the block," he answered with a slight grin.

"I'll grant you that," she answered. "But, I think he might surprise you. If nothing else, he loves your dad. And, they've been together a long time."

Sam nodded, then took a deep breath. "So, where's Molly?"

"Nap time," she answered.

Sam nodded then stood. "Look, I'm sorry to take up your time. I just had to talk to someone." He shrugged. "You know, I wish you and dad... well, you know, that you guys had gotten together. It'd been nice to have a baby sister."

Beth stood and put her cup down. "Sam, you can't make decisions for other people. Your dad and I, well, I'm not ready to take on a relationship, yet, even if there was something between MacGyver and me. Besides, even if I were, I'm clearly not what he wants. You can't change that."

Sam reached out and hugged her. "Can we still be, you know, can I talk to you when I want?"

She hugged him back, then smiled. "I may not be ready for something romantic, but that doesn't mean I'm not ready for a close relationship with you," she answered. "Now I need to go into town to get something. I could use a strong back. Want to go with me and help?"

Sam nodded. "Sure, I'm game. What are you getting?"

"I found an old trunk that used to belong to your grandfather at a second hand store. They're holding it for me until I can get over and pick it up," she told him.

Sam narrowed his eyes. "You found the old trunk?"

Beth cocked her head. "Maria told you about it?"

"Well, yeah. She had me and Jack pick it up the other day. She said she found it while you were shopping for a rug and that you didn't think my dad would want it. She said you thought it was a dumb idea, so she bought it for him."

Beth opened her mouth to speak, closed it again, then chewed her lip. She sighed. What could she say? Should she tell Sam that Maria blatantly lied about the trunk? What good would be accomplished? Finally she said simply, "Oh. I guess she misunderstood me." Then she nodded. "Good, I'm glad your father got it. It was nice of her to think of him," she answered.

Sam cocked his head. "You didn't think it was a dumb idea, did you?"

Beth shook her head. "It doesn't matter, Sam. It's just an old trunk. I'm glad it's back in your family where it belongs, no matter how it got there." But it did matter to her, Beth knew. It was more than just an old trunk. She'd wanted to give MacGyver something special, something intimate. She wasn't exactly sure why. When Beth found the old trunk of MacGyver's father in a second-hand store, it seemed like the perfect gift. It wasn't as if she and MacGyver were in any way romantically involved. The memory of the close encounter with the kiss swept across her and she felt a brief wave of heat. Maria clearly usurped her, whatever the woman's motivations might be. Maria was MacGyver's fiancée. She looked up at the ceiling. He's not your 'good thing', she reminded her self.

"Look Sam, don't say anything about this to your father. I don't want you risking your relationship any further over this," she told him.

"But it isn't right," Sam protested. "He's all gushy over her because she was so sentimental about the trunk, but you found it."

"Go home, Sam. Make up with your father. He needs your support, not more conflict. And get to know Maria; you've hardly given her a chance," she instructed. She turned Sam toward the door.

Outside, as she watched Sam's motorcycle roar back the way it came, Beth sighed. How could she have become so embroiled in the MacGyvers' problems in so short a time? She sat down on the porch, out of the foot traffic of her customers, and rested her chin in her hands. "Oh Harry," she shook her head. "How can I ever help them as much as you helped me?" she muttered softly.

The morning after the storm was as clear and bright as the evening had been dark and dreary. Beth fixed a low-fat strawberry breakfast smoothie in the blender, then meandered out onto the front porch. Across the road, Harry, seated on his tractor, rumbled across the wheat field, plowing under last year's stubble as he rode. Beth sat on her porch swing and rocked while she sipped her breakfast. The baby was still asleep in her swollen stomach, but Beth knew the food she ate would soon wake the baby – it always did. Beth supposed it was the sugar in the thick yogurt drink.

While she rocked, a large dark colored car came down the road that passed in front of her house. As it closed the distance toward her house, she recognized it as the car belonging to her Presbyterian Church minister. She groaned. Since her pregnancy became advanced, she visited church far less regularly than she should. Beth stood and shielded her eyes from the morning sun as the car turned up her drive. Reverend McAlpine, her minister, climbed out of the driver's side and she smiled. His face, however stayed set in a grim mask. He clutched a worn, black leather bible in his hand. An Air Force officer, his religious rank emblazoned on his chest, emerged from the passenger side of the car. Beth's breath caught in her throat. Across the road, the noise from Harry's tractor stopped. The men climbed her front steps.

"Beth," Reverend McAlpine said as he reached the porch. "Beth, this is Air Force Chaplain Gower. May we speak with you inside?" Forgotten, the smoothie slipped from her hand and smashed on the wood planking of the porch.

She shook her head. "No," she whispered. She panicked and scrambled for the door. Beth bolted inside and ran up the stairs to the sanctity of the nursery. She slammed the door closed and threw the simple lock, then scooped up the stuffed Elmo from the crib. She held it against her like a shield and backed toward the windows.

Someone knocked on the door and the door knob rattled. Beth shook her head. "No," she whispered. "You can't do this to me Steve."

"Beth?" Reverend McAlpine spoke through the door. "Beth, I need you to open the door." The knob wiggled again. Beth shook her head and slammed her eyes closed. There were muffled voices outside the room, then the door knob jiggled again. There was a slight sound - metal scraping against metal. The door knob slowly turned.

It was Harry Jackson who entered the nursery. He closed the door behind him, then pushed his pocket knife into his pocket. He ignored her at first, just quietly strolled across the room to stare out the window, his hands shoved into the pockets of his dusty work pants, an old, dust covered straw hat perched on his head. Beth felt the tears as they rolled down her cheek.

Harry spoke. His voice was full of gravel, but still, somehow soothing. "Bethie," he used Steve's nickname for her. "This is the hardest day you will ever live through. But you will live. So will your baby. Just like I did, just like Bud did." He turned to look at her, his hands still shoved into his pockets. "I know, I've been there." Harry's chin quivered, and she could see his own tears well up. One slid down his cheek. "Just when you think nothing good will ever come to you again, it will. I promise you. One day you'll look in front of you and see it, the good thing, and you'll smile and you'll tell Steve, up in Heaven, that you'll be okay. You'll always love him, but your heart will be open again, and you'll be happy again. You'll feel Steve smile down on you, just like I felt my wife and my son smile on me that day when my Bud found me again. You'll live again, and love again, just like I did."

Beth sniffed. Harry held out his arms to her and she flew to him. He wrapped her in his embrace, her head tucked against his still solid chest. She clung to him as she'd never clung to anyone before, and he let her cry out her despair for a long time before he finally spoke again.

"The chaplain is still waiting for you. You need to hear what he has to say. Someday your child will want to know how its father died a hero," he explained. He unwrapped one arm and pulled a handkerchief from his shirt pocket. "Here now. Blow your nose. Look at me Beth." He lifted her chin. "Show your mettle, girl. Blow." She blew her nose, and dried her eyes.

He led her downstairs to face her fate. Later, when they were alone, Harry fixed her a sandwich and a cup of tea, then went into the living room to call her mother in South Carolina. Left alone in the kitchen, Beth moved the sandwich around the plate. The thought of food made bile rise up in her throat. She stood up from the kitchen table and carried the plate, with its uneaten sandwich to the counter. A sudden cramp wrenched her into a knot and forced the air from her lungs. Her knees buckled with the force of the contraction. On her knees on the kitchen floor, another contraction followed on the heels of the first. The sharp shaft of pain writhed across her abdomen and then radiated up her back. "Oh God," she whispered, as she supported herself by her palms on the floor. "Oh God, not now. Please, kidney bean, not now." But she knew her plea was in vain. The baby was coming – and it was coming too fast. She gagged, vomited on the floor. Then Harry's hand was on her back, his other palm supported her forehead while she retched. A moment later, still panting from the pain and nausea, she heard a jingle of keys as Harry retrieved her truck keys from the hook by the kitchen door. She felt wirey, but strong arms lift her to her feet. Harry scooped her up like a baby and carried her out of the house to her pickup.

Molly Harriet Reardon was born two hours later at Mission City Memorial Hospital. She weighed just at six pounds and was nineteen inches long. While Beth pretended to sleep, Harry rocked the infant in his arms. He cooed to her. "You're a lot quieter than the last baby I rocked like this. Now my Bud, he hollered from the moment he entered this world." Harry smiled. "Hollered like a banshee was after him." Harry chuckled. "Then he peed all over my shirt." Harry's eyes widened and he unwrapped the swaddling blanket and he checked to see if the child wore a diaper. He counted her toes while she was exposed. Satisfied that all was well, he re-swaddled the infant and leaned back in the rocker. He hummed a soft lullaby.

Beth sighed, unsettled that the memory remained so vivid in her head. A few minutes later, she went back to work.

Chapter Six

The next weekend, Beth took a little time for herself. With her mother finally home, she did not have Molly tied to her hip, and she was ready for a quiet break. The MacGyver's were busy with their own concerns. Maria was gone – back to California. Sam was getting ready for school to start, so was MacGyver. Jack Dalton was... well, she had no idea where he was. So, early Saturday morning Beth hitched up her small Rockport pop-up camper and headed for the lake.

In her spot at Mission Beach campground, Beth opened the plastic windows of her small camper to air it out. It had been over six months since she'd gone camping, and, although she scrubbed her pop-up from head to toe before leaving home, it still smelled a bit musty. It took most of the day to clean the camper, hitch it to her truck, tie on her kayak, and load the few supplies she needed that were not already stored in the small camper. The drive to the Mission Beach campground on Upper Mission Lake wasn't far, and took the least amount of time of all of her preparations.

She planned to have enough time, after setting up her campsite, for a nice paddle on the lake before the sun went down. A quick glance at the sky confirmed that she just made it. She locked the camper, for what it was worth, then pulled her gray Perception 'Carolina' kayak to the lake shore and slipped into her life jacket. With one swift shove, she pushed the narrow boat into about a foot of water, then slipped in the cockpit.

Steve always loved the thrill of whitewater. Beth however, loved still water kayaking. She loved to float on calm water and watch the clouds roll over her, or to silently drift into the still backwater coves to scan the trees for birds. If she was lucky, she might see deer along the shore just before sunset, tanking up for the night.

She paddled away from the busy campground ground with its hoards of swimmers and the roar of jet skis, for the next cove over. There, she knew, was a small area reserved for wildlife - no power boats, or campers allowed. Once or twice, she'd seen fishermen in the cove, before the place where Wildlife Department markers restricted access into the shallow protected breeding ground, but they usually blended in with the scenery. The sounds of their lines spinning out as they cast across the water were barely audible above the croak of frogs and the calls of birds, and never intruded on her privacy.

With luck, she hoped to see bald eagles or, more likely, ospreys, as the large birds returned from foraging to roost for the night, in addition to the deer. The breeze was stiff on the 'big water' so she had to put a little bit of work into her paddling until she reached the protection of the cove.

This was one of the places that Harry brought her a few weeks after Steve died. He surprised her at dawn one morning, his old car packed with fishing tackle, a picnic lunch, and his worn out jon boat hitched to the Nomad. "It's time to get away for a while, Bethie," Harry told her. "Your mother can keep the baby for the day."

Beth shook her head from the memory. She must have looked quite a sight to Harry. Her face was smeared with paint from her pre-dawn time in the studio, and she wore an old work shirt of Steve's over her rattiest pair of jeans. She'd protested – said something lame about not feeling like getting out, but Harry persisted. "Girl, you haven't left this house since Molly was born. It isn't healthy for you or for the baby. You need fresh air and exercise."

In the end, she relented. He put her into an old pair of waders that he said used to belong to 'Bud' as he called MacGyver, then taught her how to use the fly rod. Not matter how many times she tangled the line, or snagged a tree, he never lost patience with her. Beth never did quite manage to get the knack of snaking the line out, then gently laying the fly on the water, nor did she catch a fish. But, for a few hours, she forgot about Steve, and the pain of losing him.

Then, as they'd packed the gear back into the jon boat, memories of her husband flooded back and she broke down. She leaned against Harry's shoulder while deep, wrenching sobs welled up from her heart. He offered no words of wisdom, no banal platitudes of consolation. Rather, he just held her while she cried until there was nothing left in her.

Beth reached the mouth of the cove and the stiller protected waters. She paddled to the bank where she and Harry fished that day nearly two years ago. Looking up into the trees that lined the bank, she could see one of Harry's hand-tied flies that she snagged into the tree. They had been unable to retrieve it. "I miss you, Harry," she whispered. A slight breeze found its way into the cove and the snagged fly waved on its tether. Beth smiled. "You heard me didn't you," she whispered. She turned her boat and continued her paddle into the cove.

On the other bank, she saw a fisherman, dressed in a fly fishing vest over a plaid shirt, and tall waders. He stood knee deep in the water. His long pole whipped out and the line gently sailed through the air. The fly landed silently on the water. He wore a baseball cap with the local high school logo visible above the brim. The hat partially obscured his face, but she knew those broad shoulders and the lithe form, the light brown hair that just reached his shoulders. She steered her boat wide so as to not intrude on his fishing, but as she passed, he called out a hello.

"What are doing here?" she asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Fishin'. Harry used to bring me here when I was kid."

Beth smiled and she slid her boat closer as he reeled in his line. "I think this was one of his favorite spots," she answered.

MacGyver cocked his head, his eyebrows knitted close. He waded out farther and met her boat then rested his hand on the gunnell to stop her movement. Beth blushed under his scrutiny. "Harry told Steve and me a few of his fishing stories – tall tales mostly, I think, but enough to know he came here regularly," she answered his unspoken question. She blushed again, and cut her eyes away from his, uncertain why she didn't want to tell him just how close she and Harry really became during their time together.

MacGyver nodded. "Ah, Steve was a fisherman?"

Beth shook her head. "Not really. He liked extreme sports, mainly. White water kayaking, rock climbing, that sort of thing. But he and Harry like to chat, you know, sort of over the fence as it were? Neighbor stuff?" She pondered her next question to phrase it carefully. "Sam tells me that congratulations are in order? You and Maria are getting married? That's really great," she said.

MacGyver grinned, but the grin was a bashful one, and he tilted his head to look across the water. "Uh, yeah. January."

Beth nodded. "I wish you the best," she said. "I'll get out of your way now," she added as she raised her paddle. "Let you get back to fishing."

MacGyver shrugged. "Fish have quit biting. Besides, its nice to see you. It's been a while."

Beth chewed her lower lip, then looked across the quiet cove. "We've been busy, Molly and I. Subsistence stuff, you know – putting food on the table, paying the bills."

"Yeah, well, I know all about that!" MacGyver answered. "After paying Maria's plane tickets, and Sam's tuition, I'm pretty stretched myself." He surveyed her boat. "You're traveling light. I don't even see a water bottle. Are you camped around here?" he asked.

Beth took a deep breath. Should she invite him to the camp or not? Oh, it was all so confusing. She wanted to be friends with him, but every time she saw him, it made her feel jittery and on edge. "Just my pop-up – over at the RV camp. Nothing special," she answered.

"Yeah? Have you got a fire ring over there?" he asked.

Beth nodded.

"Well, you know, I've got two largemouth bass on my stringer. I really owe you a meal. Why don't you let me come over and cook them up for you? That is, if you haven't eaten, yet?" he asked.

Beth chewed her lip again. The idea of sitting around a campfire, alone in the dark with MacGyver, was unsettling at best. Then again, she was a big girl. She certainly was capable of controlling any situation between the two of them.

"Please?" he asked.

His face looked so much like a hopeful little boy that, despite herself, she laughed. "Okay. Do you know where the campground is? I'm in #48, loop #2," she answered.

"I think I can find it. But I'll have to hike out of here. It'll take me a little while."

"Why don't you give me the fish rather than you carrying them?" she asked. MacGyver waded back to the shore where his stringer was tied to a dead fall near the bank, then returned with the fish. She stowed the stringer between her knees. "I'll be waiting," Beth added, then she turned her kayak toward the mouth of the cove leaving MacGyver to pack his tackle.

Chapter Seven

"Oh God," Beth whispered as she pushed her boat toward her camp. "Beth Reardon, what have you gotten yourself into?" She shook her head and leaned into her paddle. The fish flopped between her knees and she groaned. "I'm going to smell just like you guys," she muttered as the kayak bounced across the slight chop.

She beached the kayak, climbed out, then dragged it well on to shore. She hung the stringer on the branch of a partially submerged bush, then rushed to the camper. Inside, she grabbed her day pack and a towel and bolted for the bathhouse. She showered quickly, trying to keep her hair dry. Dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a loose button up shirt, she brushed her teeth and hair. Beth frowned at her reflection in the bath house mirror, then made a face. "There's no help for it," she muttered, completely dissatisfied with her appearance. "At least I don't stink."

Back at the camper, she tidied up a bit, then set the picnic table with the Corning Ware plates that lived in the pop-up. She plugged in the drip coffee maker and started a pot. As the coffee started to drip, MacGyver drove up in his truck.

He studied her small camper. "Nice," he commented, peaking inside the door. She gave him the tour – one room, beds at each end, a mini-fridge, gas stove and miniature sink. Just for fun, she reached down and plugged in her tacky lights – small multi-colored kayaks hanging around the front awning.

"Steve and I used to go backpacking, but with the baby coming, well, it just didn't seem very practical, so he bought me this. We only took it out a few times before... before Steve died. I've brought Molly down here some to camp out. She really likes it – especially the lights," she explained.

MacGyver smiled and surveyed the entire campsite. Although the sun had gone down and the night was dark, the lights from Beth's tacky lights, and the lights from other RVs, created an almost carnival-like atmosphere. Couples strolled along the camp loop, or rode by on their electric golf carts. Teenagers circled the road on bikes. "All these people. It doesn't seem much like camping, but I can see how it's easier with a kid than backpacks," he answered. "I like it. It's kind of fun."

Beth blushed. "You're being polite, but thanks. At least its pretty safe. The rangers ride through – and the camp hosts, sometimes even Highway Patrol, so I don't have to worry about bad guys. Or mischievous wildlife, for that matter."

There was a palpable silence between them for a few moments. Beth stumbled for something to break it. "Um, the fish. I'll get the fish," she said as she turned toward the water. "I hope you know how to clean them, because I don't," she called out as she walked away. She retrieved the stringer and climbed back up the small incline to the RV pad. She handed him the fish.

"Got a fish knife? And maybe a plastic bag?" MacGyver asked.

"Um, I, I've got a sharp knife. It doesn't have one of those edges to scale with though."

"That's fine. I could use my pocket knife, but the scales get into the works," he answered. She found the knife, a disposable garbage bag, and a cutting board. MacGyver slipped down to the water's edge to clean the fish.

Beth fixed two cups of coffee and joined him, then wished she hadn't. She had to turn away as MacGyver gutted the fish, dropped the entrails into the disposable bag, then cut off the heads.

He grinned at her squeamishness. "As much as you cook, I'd have thought you'd be used to this," he chided.

"Yeah well, cooking and disemboweling are two totally different things," she muttered. He signaled for the coffee and she held the cup to his lips, his hands too fouled to hold it himself. "Mmm, good. Can you start a fire?" he asked.

"Well, duh," she added, glad for a reprieve from the gross job of cleaning the fish. She bounced up the hill and stacked charcoal in the fire ring then doused it with girl scout water. While the flames were still high, she scrubbed the grate with her long-handled wire brush, then sprayed it liberally with non-stick cooking spray. While she worked, MacGyver came up behind her, the fish, now looking more like food than wildlife, balanced on the cutting board, the disposable bag of guts and heads tied shut. Beth nodded toward the camper. "You can clean up in there. There's soap and a hand towel," she told him as she took the fish and the plastic bag. She placed the cutting board on the picnic table, then dropped the bag of fish guts into the camp trash can. She chewed her lip and tried to figure out what to do with her hands until MacGyver emerged from the camper.

Beth looked up at him. "You did the hunting and gathering. I'll do the cooking?" she asked.

"No, no way. This one's on me. Just tell me what kind of herbs and spices you brought."

She showed him her small box of seasonings, the butter, and the cooking oil. Then sat at the picnic table to watch. MacGyver mixed butter and seasoning in her small metal bowl, then set it on the fire to heat. "What else have you got?"

"Well, there's green beans that I picked last night, and some Romas, some onions, and a few potatoes," she answered.

"Perfect. Where?"

She pointed to the back of her truck where the box of non-perishable food sat. He sifted through the box and found the vegetables he wanted, along with an apple, all of which he sliced and laid on the grill. She fetched grill tools and a small grill basket from the camper, for the beans. Amazed at his skill as she watched him cook, she wondered why she'd been feeding his family so often. The thought made her grin and she shook her head. Men, they're all alike, she mused.

"So," MacGyver said as he laid the beans on the grill, then the fish. Squatting within easy reach of the food, he turned to look at her. His face was serious. "I've been wanting to talk to you. I'm really sorry about the other day – on the porch." His brown eyes reminded her of Maynard-dog's. "I don't know, I wasn't feeling well, and I... I don't have an excuse. I just wanted to apologize."

Beth dropped her head and chewed her lip. She didn't know what to say. Did he guess how affected she was by his nearness, the feel of his breath on her lips, the scent of his sweat as he leaned close to her that day on the porch? She shook her head. "I... uh..." she stammered.

MacGyver rested his elbows on his knees. "You don't have to say anything." He sighed. "I was wrong. I don't know why I did it, I just, well..." he let his sentence drop. "I wouldn't do anything in the world to hurt you, you have to believe that. Will you forgive me?"

She looked down into his puppy dog eyes, and nodded.

He smiled, then nodded back. "Thank you," he answered quietly. He stood and picked up his cup from the table.

Anxious to change the subject Beth said, "You can borrow my tractor if you want - to bush hog your field?"

"Oh yeah? That's great! I haven't had a chance to work on Harry's tractor, yet," he answered quickly. From his tone, she suspected that he was as anxious to find a new topic of conversation as she.

They spent the rest of the evening, sitting across from each other at the picnic table, a canned candle burning between them. While they sat, they ate, chatted about their kids, the food, and their respective jobs. They giggled over silly things, like Molly's wobbly legs and Jack's peccadilloes. They solved all of the world's problems, and even a few of their own. Around them, the busy RV camp slowly went to bed. Long after the front gate was locked, Beth yawned and MacGyver checked the time. They marveled that it was three in the morning.

Beth loaned MacGyver a blanket and a pillow. He bedded down on the picnic table and she climbed into her small mobile nest. When she woke the next morning, he was gone, his bedding neatly folded on the table. A note, held down by the canned candle nearby said simply, "Thanks."

Chapter Eight

Beth's renewed friendship with MacGyver appeared to be short-lived. As happened each fall, she taught night courses in food preservation at the local community college. And, this year, she added a half-semester course on basic drawing. MacGyver, who, like her, spent all of his time trying to earn a steady income, worked nights at the University. Their evenings off never jived.

Then her agent in New York called. He had a new opportunity for her. An upscale new, theoretically 'green' department store, loosely based on a mid-west country store theme was opening up in Upstate New York. They wanted just the type of homey, landscape oriented art that was her specialty. Not only did they want to feature her artwork, they wanted her to attend the opening – all expenses paid! It was only for three days, so, feeling like one of the 'jet-set', she flew East where she was treated like royalty for a few days.

It was early afternoon when she drove her old truck from Mission City Municipal airport home. The air was crisp and the smell of winter was in the air. As she pulled up the drive, she noticed her mother's Toyota was not in its usual spot. The side porch light was turned on, despite the daylight. Maynard-dog, curled up in his nest on the porch, lifted his head, then, tottered out to meet her. She gave him a big hug, then let him in the house. "At least someone's glad to see me," she cooed at him.

Inside, she found a note on the fridge. "Gone to Jackie O'Hanlon's house to play bridge and spend the night. Molly's with me. See you in the morning. You have messages on the answering machine. Love, Mom. "

Beth sighed. It wasn't exactly the happy homecoming she'd expected. She checked the answering machine. Several were the usual "Hi, how are you's. One was the Fraternal Order of Police seeking donations, the last was her good friend Julia Ballew. She was throwing a dinner party that night – and she wanted Beth to come. Eating alone out of the fridge didn't sound appealing, so Beth dialed her friend and said she'd love to come over if Julia could still accommodate an extra person.

After a long, luxurious bubble bath, something Beth rarely had time for, she called her mom and told her where she would be. Molly was having the time of her life playing with the O'Hanlon's grandchildren. Beth then turned her attention to her closet. Because Julia's parties tended to be slightly more formal than jeans and a tee, Beth chose a simple, gray, calf-length wool skirt with a soft knitted winter-white turtleneck. She slipped on cream colored tights and her black leather maryjanes. Tired of her braid, she left her long dark hair hanging loose, held back by a black head band. She even took the time to add a little blush to her cheeks and soft salmon colored lipstick.

At a quarter to seven she was on the road, a paper sack full of homemade jam, a gift for her hostess, on the seat beside her. As she pulled into Julia's drive, she noticed Harry's Nomad parked among the rest of the cars of that lined the drive. She smiled, glad that she'd dressed a little nicer than usual.

The Ballews lived in a modern style 'McMansion', in a country club subdivision called Spruce Country Farms, of all things. There were no spruces any where Beth could see, and it certainly wasn't farming country! But, even so, the homes were upscale and the setting serene. As she drove through the complicated maze of tree named streets, Beth wondered how nice it would be to have so many neighbors so close. However, the homeowners' association was definitely a downside – no gardens, no tractors, and certainly no outdoor showers! Nope. Her country farm house was just where she belonged, despite the loneliness.

Julia met her at the door. "Beth! I'm so excited. You came at last. I was beginning to think you didn't like me anymore," Julia chided. "Just kidding," she added with a grin. "I know you've been busy. I am so glad you could make it!"

Beth handed over the jam. "I'm glad you asked. I feel like I haven't had any time with my friends in ages," she answered.

Julia ushered her in. "With your schedule, I wonder if you even have time to sleep. We're having cocktails in the play room," Julia explained as she steered Beth through the house, then downstairs to the extremely large modern 'play' room, as Julia called it. The long interior wall of the room was lined with a wall sized mirror. A massive hanging rack was suspended in front of the mirror. It held every possible type of stemware for serving alcohol, from deep V-shaped beer tumblers to tiny cordial glasses. Beneath the rack, glass shelves held a fully stocked liquor collection. A narrow set of cabinets sat beneath the liquor shelves. A space for a bartender to work stood between the mirrored wall and a leather edged bar, complete with bar stools. The exterior wall featured sliding double doors that were framed by a large entertainment console and a wide-screen television. Centrally located was a regulation pool table covered in green felt. A pin-ball machine stood on the wall opposite, beside a door to what Beth knew was a luxurious bath. A spare guest room sat behind a door at the far end of the bar.

Perhaps twenty people were milling around the room, or sitting at the bar. A few played pool. MacGyver was one of the players. Leaning over the table to line up a shot, he cut his eyes up at Beth and Julia as they entered the room. His attention momentarily diverted, his shot went wild, and the cue ball bounced unobstructed against the table railing. He grimaced, then grinned at Beth.

Henry Ballew, his curly red hair highlighted by the bar lights called out a greeting. "Beth? Hey! Long time no see! You look marvelous, darling," he mimiced Billy Crystal.

Beth turned her attention away from MacGyver to Henry who stood behind the bar mixing a drink for one of his guests. A former bartender during his law school days, Henry still loved to mix drinks for friends and to keep up his bartender showmanship.

"What'll it be?" He asked as she moved toward the bar. He leaned over the bar toward her. "A cherry coke? Rootbeer? Or, maybe a small glass of wine to celebrate the occasion?" He asked.

Beth climbed onto the bar stool. "Um," she pondered the choices. "How about a Shirley Temple. Extra cherries?"

"You got it."

She watched as Henry mixed the ginger ale and cherry juice as if it was the fanciest cocktail in his repertoire, complete with a little umbrella and fruit garnishes. "You really do look great," he told her as he sat the drink on a napkin in front of her.

She blushed, and looked down grinning. Henry tapped her forehead. "Girl, you got to quit looking away every time a guy pays you a complement."

She blushed again. "Thanks, Henry."

He looked around the room. "I think you know everyone. Go have fun. Live a little, flirt a little. There are several eligible men here. That is unless you're going to take me up on my offer and fool around with me?" he joked.

Beth shook her head and grinned. Henry loved to flirt, but she knew he was harmless. His heart belonged to his high school sweetheart, the one he married – his Julia. One of the guests, Annie Sidell, the local PTA maven, and one of Beth's first good friends after she and Steve moved to Mission City, grabbed Beth's arm and pulled her toward a cozy circle of easy chairs occupied by several other women Beth knew.

As she passed MacGyver, still at the pool table, he touched her shoulder and smiled. "Hey, how was New York?"

"Good, but exhausting."

"I'll bet." He leaned close to her ear. "You look great."

Beth blushed her thanks before Annie dragged her away.

Beth surprised herself by really enjoying the evening. It was great to giggle with girlfriends about the foibles of motherhood, and the strangeness of men. MacGyver remained occupied with the men around the pool table and seemed to be enjoying himself as well. That was a good thing, she mused as she watched him. He got out as seldom as she.

Dinner was served in the massive dining room where Julia had set up not one, but two dining tables. Beth, as one of the few single women, was seated between two bachelors, one of which was MacGyver. The menu was simple, but elegant – salad, roast prime rib, asparagus with butter sauce, and baked potatoes. For each course, a wine selection – specifically chosen by Henry to perfectly compliment each course, was passed around the table. As was her usual ploy, Beth poured a small amount of the first wine into her glass, then let it sit, passing on subsequent wines. It seemed to satisfy the drinkers sensibilities. However Julia, well aware that Beth never drank, kept her water goblet full. Beth noticed that MacGyver didn't even pretend with the wine.

"So tell me about New York," MacGyver asked, leaning close to her to be heard over the laughter of the other diners.

Beth shrugged her shoulders. "It was busy, but a lot of fun. I had dinner Friday night with the CEO and his executive staff, the architect, and their spouses at the Carlton. Oh, it was devine!" she cooed. "Lobster."

"Wow!"

She leaned close and whispered. "I HATE lobster."

He grinned and chuckled.

"Then breakfast Saturday with the art design team."

"And how was that?"

"Sausage and egg casserole swimming in grease, overcooked bacon, cold scrambled eggs and chilled danishes. Heavenly," she rolled his eyes. She nodded toward the heavily laden table in front of her. "It's good to be home with plain food and good friends."

He leaned over and bumped his shoulder against hers. "It's good to have you back." She grinned and blushed.

Dinner wrapped up with strawberry sorbet and coffee. After dinner drinks were to be served in the living room, but Beth made her excuses to Julia. She didn't lie. She was dead tired, and ready to go home. Henry walked her to her truck.

Halfway home, her truck made a clunking sound that she could feel through her Maryjanes, then the tires started to wobble. Her foot on the clutch, she managed to steer onto the shoulder, then laid her head on the steering wheel and sighed. "One step forward, one step backward," she muttered as she wondered how much this was going to cost her. Alone in the dark on a rural country road, she pondered what to do until headlights appeared in the rearview mirror. Harry's Nomad drifted beside her, then stopped on the shoulder directly in front of her.

Beth climbed out of her truck to meet MacGyver as he opened his car door. "What's wrong?" he asked as he stood.

Beth shrugged. "I heard a clunking noise, and felt a kind of thump from the floor board. Then the steering went haywire."

"Not good. Come on, I'll take you home and we'll worry about it tomorrow."

She nodded and retrieved her purse and keys, then locked up the truck. MacGyver held the door for her as she climbed into the Nomad. The car was spotlessly clean, she noticed, just as Harry always kept it.

"I'll get Speedy to tow it in for you tomorrow and I'll take a look at it," he told her as he climbed behind the wheel.

"You don't have to do that. I can call Speedy – and he can fix it for me."

MacGyver laughed. "And you'll get it back when?"

She grinned. "Christmas?"

MacGyver grinned and popped his car into gear then steered onto the road.

"No really. I can use Mom's car until it's fixed," Beth added. She knew he was almost as busy as she.

"Ssshhh," he answered with a quick glance at her "I'll fix it. No use arguing."

Beth nodded. "Thanks."

"Your welcome."

"I was surprised to see you at the party," he said.

"It was nice. I enjoyed it," she answered. "But I didn't think you went in for that sort of thing," she added.

"I don't usually. But Jack's out of town, Sam didn't come home from school this weekend, you were gone. Even Molly and your mom were gone. I felt a little lonely to be honest."

"I know the feeling."

"But, I think I've had enough of dinner parties to last me for a while," he answered with a grin. "I hope no one from that party gets behind the wheel of a car tonight."

Beth laughed. "That country club set? Best to be well off the road because you know they will."

MacGyver grunted his disapproval. "What ever happened to the designated driver concept?"

Beth nodded in agreement, but said, "To be fair. Julia will make sure everyone's sobered up before the night is out. And most of them just live in the same subdivision so they don't have far to go. You and I were the only ones who live out in the middle of nowhere."

"Hey, it's not the middle of nowhere. We live there and that makes it somewhere," he answered with a grin.

MacGyver turned onto their lane, then pulled up her drive. He climbed out, then opened her car door for her. Like a Southern courtier, he took her hand and helped her from the car, then escorted her up her walk, despite her protests. At her kitchen door, he took her key and unlocked the door, then reached in and turned on the kitchen light. After a quick check that everything was fine, he let her into her home.

"Would you like coffee? Or a cup of tea?" she asked to be polite.

MacGyver was quiet for a moment before he answered. "Uh, no, I better get home."

"Then, thank you so much for the rescue..." she answered as he placed his hand on her door knob. Without warning, he leaned toward her. His lips pressed against hers. Despite the alarm bells clanging in her head, she leaned into him. He wrapped one arm around her and pulled her against his chest deepening the kiss. Passion ripped through her and she wrapped her arms around his neck. His tongue touched her lips and she parted them to his full onslaught. His other arm slid around her waist and pulled her in even tighter.

Maynard-dog, anxious for attention of his own, bumped against her leg, and Beth realized just how dangerously close she was to fully submitting to what ever MacGyver asked of her, and to denying her own code of conduct. She pushed away from him and backed to the kitchen counter, her hand over her mouth.

MacGyver stood beside the open door, his mouth slightly parted, his own passion evident in his trousers. "Beth, I... I." He shook his head and left, gently closing the door behind him.

Beth, now shaking, leaned against the kitchen counter. Maynard-dog nuzzled against her. She kneeled, then buried her head into the fur of the dog's neck. "Oh my God," she whispered. "Oh my God. This can't be happening. Not with him. Oh please, not with him."

Chapter Nine

From that night on, Beth avoided MacGyver at all costs. When Sam was in town, she invited the young man to dinner to get the scoop on college and how his life was going. She even allowed MacGyver to keep Molly some days, to give her a male role model. But she made sure that she was never, ever alone with him. One way or another, she planned to get MacGyver out of her head, forever!

As he promised, he repaired her car. She pretended she wasn't home when he drove it into her driveway. But, she had no reason to fear. He didn't knock on her door, just left a note on the truck seat explaining the repairs that he made and that there was no cost.

Over the next few weeks, he invited her family for dinner a few times, but she made excuses and never joined them. He also joined the co-op. His work time there was spent maintaining her coolers and other equipment once a week. On those days, Beth made her rounds of the farms. One Sunday, with Molly as a chaperon, she showed him how to plow his garden. Neither of them mentioned the kiss. To his credit, MacGyver seemed just as anxious to stay away from her as she from him. He never pushed, and avoided being alone with her, as much as she with him.

When the invitation for his wedding arrived, she sent a polite decline. She also declined the reception invitation from someone named Nikki Carpenter. She never mentioned the invitations to MacGyver, nor did he.

Christmas came and, for Sam and Molly's sake, she invited the MacGyver's and Jack for dinner and the exchanging of presents. To her surprise, MacGyver gave her new tins that he made for her home flour supply. For him, she had painted a portrait of Sam and Molly together. He gave Molly an electric train set up, modeled after the farm, which not only delighted Molly, but Sam and Jack as well.

Just after Christmas, MacGyver moved back to Los Angeles and Beth breathed a sigh of relief, yet also one of extreme disappointment. Her life fell back into its usual routine – each day a rerun of the one before.

Bob Keeling asked her out as his date to Henry and Julia Ballew's elaborate New Year's Eve party. This time, she accepted. She even enjoyed the New Year's kiss he gave her when Julia turned out the lights. The only firecrackers, however were the ones Henry set off in the back yard.

Jack flew over to L.A. for MacGyver's wedding. When he returned, Beth figured that the man had very little food at Harry's house, or in his new trailer in the pasture out back, so she invited him for dinner. After dinner, with her mother and Molly pretending to have other things to do some where else in the house, Jack laid out the frightening and sick events of MacGyver's return to L.A. - of Maria's treachery and MacGyver's grief.

"Is he coming home?" Beth asked Jack.

Jack shook his head. "Nope. Pete Thornton's got so many things to clean up in the Foundation that Mac's staying on to help out. He signed a two-year contract and he's stickin' to it," Jack explained. "When Mac says he'll do something, he does it."

Beth nodded. "It's good to stand by your word, and your friends," she answered.

After Jack left, she returned to her studio. The widow's walk called to her and she stood by the railing, a lap blanket around her shoulders. There was a slight winter breeze, that blew the finely powdered snow into a swirling haze.

Beth breathed deeply, sucking the cold night air into her lungs. Wrapped in her blanket, she thought of Harry, and how much he loved his grandson.

"Look here, Bethie. This is Bud. Remember? I told you about Bud? I want you to meet him. He can do just about anything. Why, when he came to visit me, we had these bad guys chasing us and Bud came up with all sorts of tricks to outsmart them."

Harry shoved the picture in front of her face. Bud was a handsome man with Harry's lean build. With the men side by side in the picture, their arms draped across each other's shoulders, you could the see the resemblance between the two, despite the generation gap in their ages.

"He's a spy, you know. At least I think he is. Anyway, what ever he does gets him in trouble sometimes, but he always seems to get out of it."

They were seated on the porch steps under the glow of the porch light, despite the chill in the air. Beth took the picture from Harry and studied it closely. "Is this where you lived? In this old cabin?"

Harry nodded. "That's it. I guess you could say I didn't have my head screwed on too tight," the old man answered. He shook his gray head. "After Bud came to visit, well, hiding out just didn't seem to work for me anymore, so I came back here and bought that old farm," he added with a wave to his house across the street. "'Bout forgot how to work a farm."

"Harry, this cabin is really rough. How could you live there?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "When my wife, and Bud's father died, I... I just gave up caring about anything – at least about anything for myself. All I thought I needed was a roof, and nobody to bother me. Sort of like you've been the last few months." He shook his head. "I did them wrong, Bethie. I want you to learn from that."

Beth nodded. His lesson was loud and clear. "But Bud didn't care? I mean, he was okay with you leaving?"

"Oh, he cared all right, but, well, the boy's better able to let things go then I am, I guess."

"He was younger than you when it all happened," she consoled him. "They say that the young are more adaptable."

"Maybe. But we talked it all out. It's getting good between us. Bud's a good boy."

"I'm sorry you missed your trip to Los Angeles, when Steve died."

Harry bumped his shoulder against hers. "Bud understood when I told him about it. But, I'm going to take a bus out this fall after the harvest. Maybe we'll see another hockey game. Bud always loved hockey. He was pretty good at it at one time, too." He slapped his hands on his knees."Well, I best be getting' home. I haven't stayed up this late since I can't remember when."

"Hey, Harry," she whispered, bumping him back with her shoulder. "Thanks for the date. I mean it. I really appreciate it."

Harry grinned and cleared his throat. "Date? That weren't no date. Just a couple of neighbors out on the town."

"I don't know. I'd call dinner and a movie a date," she kidded.

Harry harrumphed. "Weren't much of a dinner, weren't much of a movie. But the company was good." Then he cackled. "Did you get a load of the looks those folks gave us at the restaurant? They were so busy trying to figure out if we were related or dating that I don't think they tasted a bite of what they ate! Maybe when Bud comes to visit, I'll get him to take you on a real date," he answered with a glint in his eye.

"Now Harry, Don't you go fixing me up. Dating is not on my agenda yet, maybe not for a long time to come. Besides, maybe I'd rather go out with you," Beth answered with a grin.

Harry grinned back. "You can be a smart-ass little thing, can't you?" He slipped his arm around her then leaned toward her, his voice gentle. "Don't you worry, Missy. One of these days you'll feel like having a young buck show you the town." He gave her a squeeze.

Beth smiled and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Oh Harry, why don't you forget about Bud and adopt me?"

Harry chuckled, then stretched. He stood, and arched his back. "I'm going home. I'm going to the lake and do some fishing tomorrow morning early – the crack of dawn." He started down her walk.

"Harry?" Beth called out. He turned back to face her. "Thank you."

Harry grinned, waved, then turned to walk home.

The next morning, there a cold, misting rain fell as Beth finished her weekly accounts. She arched her back to work out the kinks from sitting in her desk chair. Because of the bad weather, business during the day was light and she got a lot of paperwork done.

The call came in the early afternoon from a friend who worked in the Mission City General Hospital E.R. Beth threw on her coat and rushed out the co-op door, thankful that Molly was home with her mother. Windshield wipers slapping away the rain, she pushed the truck as fast as she dared up the slick rural road toward town.

She maneuvered into a parking place, grabbed her purse and rushed through the emergency entrance. At the reception window, she asked about Harry Jackson's condition, but was denied information, so she asked for her friend Debbie, the nurse who called her.

Debbie got Beth a pass, then escorted her to Harry's room. He was so pale, lying there in the bed, his eyes closed. Tubes and EKG patches covered his bare chest and arms. Beth looked at the nurse. "Have you called his grandson?"

Debbie nodded. "We got the information from his family practitioner."

Beth pulled an uncomfortable metal chair next to Harry's bedside. She sat, then took his hand in hers. "Harry? Can you hear me?" There was no response. She stroked his brow, then chewed her lip. "Oh Harry. Don't do this. Please. We need you so much," she whispered. He groaned slightly and tilted his head, but his eyes remained closed. The EKG machine quietly beeped in the corner.

The nurse, slipped out of the room. Beth, continued to hold his hand as the hours clicked by, always sure that Harry's grandson would walk into the room – but he didn't come. Harry's friends came and went, silently padding in to pay their respects. Within hours, the room was filled with flowers and notes of hope. But there was no sign of Bud.

Despite the limited visiting hours allowed in the critical care unit, the staff allowed Beth to remain. At one point, she dozed, her head on the edge of Harry's bed. She never let go of his hand.

Sometime after dark, Harry muttered, but she couldn't understand his words. She leaned closer to hear. "That's showin' 'em, Bud," he said quietly. Harry smiled, then sighed. The EKG machine went silent. Beth laid her head on Harry's arm and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. He wouldn't want her tears.

On the other side of the bed, the doctor examined Harry, then quietly read the time to the on-duty nurse. The nurse gently unhooked the machines, then removed the patches. "I'll give you a few minutes," she told Beth.

Beth stroked Harry's head again, then leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "Good bye, Harry. I'll miss you," she told him. She said a quiet prayer and asked Steve to watch out for Harry, then she let him go.

She stood, then her emotions got the best of her. Her head in her hands, she weeped for Harry, and for herself.

Three days later, dressed in her best black dress, her infant in her arms, Beth watched as they laid Harry to rest beside his wife, near to his daughter, and his son-in-law. A huge old oak stood silent sentry to mark the spot. Bud still had not shown up, although by now, a friend of his in L.A. had called one of Bud's boyhood friends to explain that Bud also, was in the hospital. Since Harry made all of the arrangements for his own internment at his wife's death, there had, thankfully, been little to arrange. The women of the church put together the wake for immediately following the funeral.

Beth bowed her head as the last prayer was said. She stepped forward and placed a red rose on the coffin, then laid her hand at the head. "Say good-bye to Harry, Molly," she told her baby. She fought tears, didn't succeed, then sniffed. "I'll miss you."

The throng of mourners filed past the coffin, then Henry Ballew took Beth's arm and led her away.

That evening, unable to sleep, Beth wandered through Harry's house. She cleaned out the refrigerator and took out the trash, then tidied up a bit. She turned the thermostat to a low setting, just to make sure the pipes wouldn't freeze, then checked to make sure all of the windows and doors were tightly closed and locked. She carried the few indoor plants that he kept outside and placed them in the bed of her truck, along with his dirty laundry. Finally, she closed Harry's front door, then turned the key to lock it. She would turn it over to Harry's attorney tomorrow after she returned his clothes. She climbed into her truck, then took a last look at the house. She whispered. "Thank you, Harry."

Chapter Ten

Nearly two years passed. During that time, as Harry predicted, Beth's grief for her lost husband blurred, then found a sheltered place deep in her heart. She started going out more, and working a little less, as income from her art, and from the co-op increased. She and Molly, who was now an exuberant four year old, camped and hiked, giggled together, and made new friends. The child was smart as a whip, with a love of nature that knew no bounds.

Molly's memories of MacGyver, unfortunately, dimmed, but Sam remained a presence in their lives. Every few weeks, he visited for dinner, often treating them to ice cream or some other special treat. Molly adored the young man. School seemed to agree with him, and his grades were fantastic. He spent summers with his father in Los Angeles. MacGyver never returned. For that, Sam had no explanation, although he said his father seemed to be doing well, but was very busy.

Jack was also a regular visitor, sometimes more regular than Beth needed, but then, Jack was Jack. You had to love him for that if nothing else. He met Mim Davidson at an air show and she fell head over heels in love with him at first sight. For three weeks, Mim followed him around like a stalker until he relented and asked her out. Since then, they all but lived together. Beth suspected nuptials between the two before the year was out, although Jack denied it - but never when Mim was in hearing range.

It was early spring when Beth received the invitation to present her art at the Guggenheim during the New York Arts Festival the following October. The title of the show was 'Slices of Americana – Modern American Art from Fifty States'. She was to present four pictures. She chose an oil portrait of Harry that she painted last year, and a landscape of Mission Lake. With permission from Sam, she also carried the painting that she gave MacGyver, the one of Harry walking into an approaching storm that she painted just after Steve's death, as well as a watercolor of her co-op.

When November arrived, she flew to New York on Thursday morning. Saturday night, the Festival sponsored a formal reception at the gallery. Anyone who was anyone in the New York art world made an appearance, if only briefly. For the gala event, Beth chose a slinky, red gown, immodestly slit all the way up the side, proud that she managed to drop a few pounds. It exposed one bare shoulder, allowing her rose tattoo to be seen – a sixties folly that she never regretted. She wore her hair straight down her back, tucked behind her ears.

Her date for the evening was her agent, Adam Masters – a handsome and extremely fashionable man, just a few years older than she. They dated a few times on past trips to New York, but neither wanted to make a commitment. He had, she smiled, proven to be a considerate lover on one occasion.

Adam laid his hand on Beth's shoulder. "You look like a million dollars tonight. But I really want to see how you look in a more natural state," he cooed.

Beth lowered her eyes and blushed, then giggled. They already went through this discussion earlier, and she'd declined his offer. She shook her head. "No way. We've been there and there is no future in that."

"Ah, Beth, you break my heart," he cooed, his other hand on his chest. Beth giggled and turned to scan the room. Adam's hand dropped from her shoulder as he turned to schmooze a rich art patron. Beth turned another quarter turn and her eyes met soft brown eyes across the room.

MacGyver was dressed fit to kill in a dark gray, double breasted suit, opened to reveal a deep maroon shirt and skinny black tie. His hair was longer than before, but not as shaggy. He was as lean and muscular as ever. A paper was clutched in his hand. She smiled and silently mouthed his name, then cocked her head. He stopped and smiled, slowly at first, then breaking into a grin. Beside her, Adam said something but she waved him away, then pushed through the milling crowd. MacGyver met her half-way.

"Sam said you might be here," MacGyver said, as he waved the paper, a brochure for the gallery.

Beth shook her head. Still couldn't understand why he was there.

"I just flew in from London." He answered the question in her eyes. "When I called Sam to let him know I was back in the states, he told me about your show. I figured, if nothing else, I'd get to see your art work on display."

She grinned. "I'm so glad you're here. Come on, I'll give you the grand tour." She led him to her exhibit.

He studied the paintings. "I never got a chance to have an artist explain her work. Why don't give me your spiel?"

Beth shook her head. "There's no spiel. Art is just art. You take from it what you will."

"But aren't I supposed to get something out of it? Isn't there a hidden message? Like in literature?"

Beth giggled. "Nope, no hidden message. An artist puts their feelings into everything she paints, or he," she added with a slight roll of her eyes. "But there is no message – just feelings. Kind of like the Mona Lisa. When you think of that painting, what message is Da Vinci sending to you?"

MacGyver stammered. "I... Well, isn't that what everyone has been trying to figure out all these years? The hidden message in her smile?"

Beth shook her head. "Don't think. Close your eyes and feel." MacGyver closed his eyes. "Can you visualize the Mona Lisa?" He nodded. "How does it makes you feel?" she whispered.

MacGyver was silent for a moment, then a slow smile spread across his face. "I feel happy. When I see the painting, I feel happy." He opened his eyes. "Is that right?"

"I don't know. Is it? What's important is what's right for you." She took his hand again and led her to her painting of the co-op. "Don't concentrate on the technique. Just relax and tell me how you feel when you look at this."

MacGyver studied the picture. "I feel happy – like on a sunny day. And peaceful."

She grinned. "That is how I felt when I painted it."

He studied the painting of Harry in the storm. Then closed his eyes. "I feel sad when I see this. Sort of empty inside. He opened his eyes. "You can't see Harry's face. And the wind that he's walking into seems like it will blow him away."

Beth nodded. "That's how I felt. Steve had just died and I felt as if life was blowing me away." She turned to face him, her hand still holding his. "That's all art is... a communication of feeling, not technique or skill. Even a child's crayon drawing can convey a wealth of emotions, but a skillful artist heightens that."

MacGyver looked down at her. "It's good to see you again," he whispered. "I'm glad I came."

She smiled back up at him. "I'm glad you came, too. It's nice to see a familiar face, and hear a mid-western twang in the middle of all of this pandemonium."

He studied her paintings for a few more minutes, spending a long time looking at the portrait of Harry, then he turned to her. "Why do you paint so many pictures of Harry?"

Beth sighed, then looked at the portrait. It was a bust in which Harry wore his old fishing hat. He was staring into the distance, an enigmatic look in his steely eyes. "Harry was important to me." MacGyver looked into her eyes and she could feel his question.

"Harry... he'd been through what I went through after Steve died. He knew how I felt, how... how exposed and vulnerable I..." She looked back at the portrait of Harry. "We spent a lot of time together. I think that, without Harry, I would have shriveled up and died myself." Tears welled up in her eyes and she shook her head, fighting them. "What he felt when he left you and your mother... That's what I felt when Steve died." She looked up at MacGyver. "I wouldn't even look at my baby for two days after she was born. If not for Harry..." She blinked her eyes to clear them. "If not for Harry, I think I would have jumped off my widow's walk."

MacGyver shoved his hands into his pockets. "I didn't know. You never told me that."

Beth scanned the room. "I know. It just didn't seem... It was too private at the time."

MacGyver nodded. "Look, can you break free? Maybe go get a cup of coffee or something? Talk over old times?"

Beth chewed her lip, then looked across the room. "I have a date."

"Oh," MacGyver answered.

"But, I..." Beth looked over her shoulder. "Where are you staying?"

"The Abingdon. It's a B&B over on Eighth Avenue."

"That's not too far from me. I'm at the Larchmont on Eleventh. Maybe we can meet for breakfast? My hotel has a great continental breakfast."

"That'd be great. Eight o'clock?"

Beth smiled and nodded. As she did, Adam found them. Beth introduced the men, then Adam protectively wrapped his arm over her shoulder. "So, home town boy? My girl is the toast of the town," he said as he stroked Beth's bare shoulder.

"Uh, yeah. Look, I'll see you later, Beth. The exhibit's great. You should be proud." MacGyver smiled and walked away.

Beth shrugged off Adam's arm. "I am NOT your property. Don't you dare act like I am," she hissed. She spun on her heels and stormed across the room.

Adam caught up with her and grabbed arm. "What? Farm boy is important?" he asked.

Beth opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it, then shook her head. She wasn't sure what MacGyver was to her after two years, or what she was to him. "It doesn't matter about him. What matters is about me. I am not your girl. I am your client and I expect for you to treat me as such."

Adam raised his palms in a defense. "Okay, okay, I get it. You client, me agent. And, as your agent, I advise you to get back to drumming up business. You still owe me a commission."

Chapter Eleven

The next morning, Beth upended the contents of her suit case on the bed and rifled through her clothes. "Where is it? Oh, where is it?" she mumbled as she hunted for her favorite blouse. Frustrated, she went back to the closet and, once again, rifled through the few items hanging there. "Yes!" She found it, her favorite white button-up blouse. She pulled on her worn jeans, then the shirt, tucking it in as she fumbled into her Birks. Looking in the mirror, she grimaced. Her hair was a mess. She should never have gone to sleep with it wet.

A glance at the clock told she was going to be late. She grabbed her brush and worked it through her hair, pulled the long mass over her shoulder and quickly braiding it, tying it off with a scrunchy. It was after eight o'clock – no time for makeup. She sighed, grabbed her purse, and headed downstairs. "Maybe he'll be late," she muttered as she pushed the elevator button.

She rushed out of the elevator toward the dining room, but halted before entering. She took a deep breath, and blew it out. "Not too eager," she whispered to her self. As gracefully and nonchalantly as Birkenstocks allowed, she strolled into the dining room.

MacGyver was making a cup of tea, and didn't see her entrance. Beth strolled up beside him and grabbed a cup.

"Hey!" he said.

"Hey yourself," Beth answered as she poured coffee into her cup. "Have a good night?"

He smiled and she melted, blushing.

"I did. Got a good night's sleep. And you?"

Beth chewed her lip, then smiled back. "A late night, but okay."

Cups in hand, he ushered her to a table. "So, what can I get you? Bagel? Muffin? Boiled egg?"

She set her cup down across the table from his tea. "You don't need to wait on me. I can it get myself."

He leaned close. "No problem. Sit," he commanded. "Now, what's your pleasure?"

"Um... bagel with cream cheese?"

She watched him as he mounded food onto a plate. He wore jeans and a baby blue silk shirt, sneakers and a worn black biker jacket. The jeans fit just right, and were worn in all the right places. Beth smiled, rolled her eyes at where her thoughts were headed, then quickly looked at her cup as he returned to the table balancing the overfilled paper plate.

"Oh my God, you must really be hungry. You brought bagels, muffins, eggs, fruit. You brought every thing!"

"Not cereal. I didn't bring cereal. But I can go back for it. They've got Fruit Loops, if you want."

Beth tilted her head. "Your kidding, right?"

"Me? Kid? Never," he answered with a smile. He smeared half of a bagel with cream cheese then offered it to her. "So tell me about the reception."

She shrugged. "It's sort of like prostitution. You get all dressed up, wander around until you see someone dripping with diamonds, then proposition them for money. The only thing different is you sell art instead of your body," she answered with a grin.

He grinned back, then bit into a muffin. "Not as good as yours." He set it aside and picked up and apple.

"Well, duh," she giggled.

"I missed that."

"What?"

"That giggle."

Beth blushed to her toes.

"So did you?" he asked.

"Did I what?"

"Did you sell any art?"

"Oh. Well, yes. I sold the watercolors of the co-op and the one of the lake. You don't mind that Sam let me borrow back the painting of Harry that I gave you, do you?"

"If I remember, you said it was a loan. Of course I don't mind."

"A permanent loan. That means its yours."

"But I'm glad you didn't sell it. So," he polished the apple on his shirt front. "When do you go home?"

"My flight leaves in three hours. And you? Where do you go from here?"

MacGyver chewed on his apple, then took a sip of his tea. "I'm taking a bus to L.A. in the morning."

"Oh," disappointment rippled through her. She chewed her lip. "So, you've given up on the idea of living in Harry's house?"

"The last couple of years I've done a lot of thinking. I went back to Mission City for all the wrong reasons. I thought I was doing it for Sam. But, well, Sam will be okay where ever he lives – where ever I live. It took me a while to realize that. I realized that, now and then, I need to be a little selfish. I'm gonna live for me a little."

Beth rested her chin on her hands. "Los Angeles is a great place to live. All that sun – and fun."

"Did I say I was going to live in L.A.?"

"I don't understand."

"I like teaching. I like plowing. I like fixing Christmas lights. For months, all I've been able to think about is eating green beans straight off the vine, and fresh rhubarb pie."

The ramifications of his words brought a smile. "You're coming home?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I'm going to L.A. to deal with my stuff and turn in my resignation. Then I'm going to commute from the Mission City to the college and get my teaching credentials."

Beth smiled. "That's great. So when will you be back?"

"In time for the spring semester in January, for sure."

She leaned toward him. "I'm glad."

He leaned toward her. "Are you?" His brown eyes sparkled.

Beth leaned away from him. "Molly missed you... after you left."

"Oh."

She chewed her lip again. He reached out and touched her chin. "I missed that, too. You chewing your lip." He tilted his head. "I make you nervous."

"No," she protested. "It's just a habit." She pulled back from him.

"Beth. When I get back to Minnesota. Can I call you?"

"Of course you can. Mom and Molly will be excited to see you. And Jack comes over all time. You can come eat dinner with all of us. Then when Sam is in town, maybe we can have a picnic, or something. Then there's your house. You've still got a lot to do fixing it up."

"Beth. That's not what I meant. Will you go out with me? On a date? Just the two of us? No Molly, no Sam, no Jack, no Mom."

She dipped her head down to stare at her hands. A thousand answers swirled through her head. Which was the right one? Should she be coy? Flippant? Should she make him ask again? Or jump in with both feet first?

"It will be a good thing, I promise," he added.

At his words, 'a good thing', she looked up into his eyes. "What did you say?"

"I said that, you and me, going out on a date, it will be a good thing."

Beth sucked in her breath. "A good thing," she whispered, then turned her head to look out the window at the busy street.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Its just that... It's something Harry told me one day." She shook her head again and looked back at him. "It's nothing." Then she grinned. "I don't know if I can go out with you. I mean, it would be kind of weird."

"Weird?"

"I've never dated a man and his grandson."

MacGyver narrowed his eyes, then tilted his head. "Harry? You and Harry?"

Beth grinned wider, enjoying his discomfort. "You think you can live up to him?"

He shook his head. "No way." Then he grinned back. "But I'd like to try."

Chapter Twelve

With little to no fresh produce coming in, Beth cut the co-op's hours back to five days a week, giving her, not only Sundays off, but Mondays as well. She needed the time to prepare for Christmas. This year, she vowed, there would be no store bought Christmas presents, with the exception of a few toys that Molly really wanted. Since Beth limited the amount of plastic junk toys she gave her daughter during the year, she felt obligated to break the rules a little at Christmas.

Beth finished the last few stitches on Molly's new backpack, then broke the thread with her teeth. She smiled at the result. Starting with a second hand backpack she picked up in town, she'd decorated it with patches shaped like animals, edged with fabric paint and sequins. A pink kangaroo danced on the exterior flap. On the lower pencil pocket, sat a panda. One side featured a cartoon-like whale, while on the other, a teddy bear hugged a red heart. Molly would love it, Beth mused. Like most four year olds, Molly daydreamed of the day she would be allowed to start school. Unfortunately, she had another year to go. Beth hoped the backpack, once filled with books, crayons and other school supplies might alleviate her daughter's disappointment at having to wait another year for K-5, as well as encourage the child's love of learning. She wrapped the backpack in tissue paper, then stored it, along with the other Christmas presents she had already completed, into her big trousseau trunk in the studio.

She wrapped a shawl over her shoulders and wandered onto her widow's walk. The air was frigid and the television weather man called for snow before morning. Beth pulled her wrap tighter around her for warmth. Across the road, despite the hammering that had been going on all day, workman from Johnny Anderson's construction company continued to fix various exterior problems to Harry's house and outbuildings that MacGyver chose to contract out before he returned to the farm house.

She expected MacGyver to arrive sometime within two weeks, before the first of December. Beth rubbed her cold arms. She was afraid of his return. She accepted that he brought up long denied feelings in her heart. With that acceptance, however, were plenty of misgivings. In addition to her sexual attraction to him, she liked MacGyver, more and more with each telephone call he made. Despite the fact that they always seemed to find things to talk about, and that each seemed to truly enjoy the conversations that often lasted long into night, she worried. Did he really like her, or, was this just more of the same – his looking to make a future? Did he want a relationship just for a relationship's sake? Or was she just his pick of the day? How much of what Maria told her about MacGyver and women held a grain of truth? Then there were Jack's stories about a girl named Penny, and other women in MacGyver's life.

She shook her head. Last of all, there was Molly to consider. When MacGyver left before, her daughter's heart was broken. The child sat on the kitchen floor one evening, two weeks after he left, her little body racked with deep, grieving sobs. "Want Guy," she'd mumbled between sighs. Was it fair to put her child through that again?

"I don't know, Bud," she whispered. She looked at sky and asked. "What do I do?" Feeling a little foolish, she retreated to the warmth of her studio.

Inside, she curled up in her over-sized upholstered recliner and closed her eyes. The repetitious hammering, muffled through the closed doors, lulled her to sleep.

"Hey Bethie!"

"Steve? Steve? I don't understand." Beth shook her head. "You can't be here. You're dead."

"Oh baby, no. You've been dreaming. I'm right here."

Steve stood in the gazebo, a paint brush in his hand. He wore a wife-beater tee and too tight jeans, both smeared with paint. His short blond hair reflected the sun. His grin, lopsided as ever, widened as he opened his arms to her. She was no longer in her studio, but outside on the side porch, and it was Summer. She looked down to see she wore her yellow sleeveless dress and she was barefoot.

"Come on, baby," Steve wiggled his fingers and she ran to him. He swept her up in his muscular arms and he spun her around as she tucked her head into the nape of his neck. She smelled his aftershave mingled with his sweat.

"How do you like the paint job?" he cooed as he set her on her feet. "It's finally finished. That gingerbread you wanted was a bitch to paint! But you were right. It's worth it."

She strolled around the gazebo. "It's beautiful. I love it!" She rubbed her still flat stomach. "Kidney bean will love it, too," she answered. He put down the brush, then sauntered to her side. He nuzzled her neck, then ran his lips down her bare arm. She melted against him and he lowered her to the floor of the gazebo.

"I think we ought to test it out before we let the kidney bean play in here," he mumbled as his lips traced the line of her collarbone. "I mean, what if the floor won't support his weight? The little guy could crash right through."

Beth arched against him. "You're right of course. It might not be safe," she mumbled. She kissed the top of his head. "How do you think we should test it?"

Steve looked up. His blue eyes squinted as he grinned. "Oh I think we should bounce on it. Really hard."

Beth giggled. "Do you think the baby knows when we make love? That maybe he, or she, can feel it?"

Steve shrugged, then began to unbutton the front of her dress. "Facts of life, baby." He nuzzled against her exposed cleavage.

Afterwards, they lay panting in the freshly painted gazebo. Her yellow dress was a wadded up mess beneath them. Her head lay on his chest and she could hear his heart beat.

"Was it good for you? It was good for me," Steve said,then laughed at the ridiculousness of the worn out line. He rolled over onto her. "God, Bethie. I love you. You'll never know just much. When I get back, baby we'll have it all. You, me, kidney bean – the farm. It's all coming together, just like we planned. Just one more overseas tour and I'm done. I've earned that desk job – and I'm going to take it."

"You promise? No more Kuwait? No more Philippines? No more Ohio?"

"Nope. No more commuting between here and Wright-Patterson. I'll be the official ranking recruitment officer for the great state of Minnesota." He kissed her and she wrapped his arms around his neck pulling him closer.

"I love you, Steve," Beth whispered as her head lolled against the recliner's wide wings.

She heard Harry's voice, somewhere deep within her dreams. "One day you'll look in front of you and see it, the good thing, and you'll smile and you'll tell Steve, up in Heaven, that you'll be okay. You'll always love him, but your heart will be open again, and you'll be happy again. You'll feel Steve smile down on you, just like I felt my wife and my son smile on me that day when my Bud found me again. You'll live again, and love again, just like I did."

Beth jolted awake. Tears streamed down her face. She buried her face in her hands and allowed herself the time to weep. Finally her sobs slowed and she sniffed. "I'll be okay, Steve, but I'll always love you, but its time to open my heart again," she whispered. "Goodbye."

Then she was standing on the tarmac. Steve's face, his head encased in his helmet, was invisible to her, but she knew he was smiling. He always smiled when he got into the cockpit of his 'caddo' – the massive C-17 Globemaster cargo plane. He waved from the cockpit window, three stories above her and blew her a kiss through his helmet, then held up his fingers in a "V' pattern.

The huge engine on the C-17 roared to life. Capable of carrying over 170,000 pounds of cargo, it was the second largest cargo plane in service during the Gulf War years, but also the most maneuverable and quiet. Captain Stephen Reardon was one of the few authorized to fly it.

She waved back as the rear ramp slowly closed. The engines accelerated, emitting the C-17's characteristic loud whistling roar, then the plane began it's taxi. Despite its monstrous size, the plane lifted from the runway as smoothly as a an eagle from its aerie. The engines roared to an almost unbearable crescendo as it dragged its heavy body into the climb and Beth covered her ears. As it climbed, the right wing dipped followed by a dip to the left - Steve's characteristic good-bye wave. The plane's wings leveled and the nose rose and its ascent steepened. The plane climbed toward Heaven.

Chapter Thirteen

MacGyver returned to Mission City late on a Saturday afternoon just after Beth returned home from work. She watched from the porch as he pulled a duffle from the back of a taxi. He paid the driver, then bounded up his porch steps, never looking at her house. She glanced down at her clothing. "Oh my," she muttered. She'd spent the day scrubbing the cooler room at the store. She wore pink plaid rubber wellies on her feet, torn jeans with spots faded by bleach, and one of Steve's plaid flannel work shirts over a worn sweat shirt. Her hair was in two collapsing braids. She smelled like bleach and sweat. "Oh my," she muttered again.

She bolted into the house and rushed toward the stairs. Behind her, her mother asked her if there was a fire. "No," Beth yelled down. "I'm going to take a shower." Beth stopped mid-way up the steps and shouted, "Mom, would you make some coffee and put it in the thermos? And maybe bake some of those frozen cookies?" She sprinted for her room.

Beth grabbed her robe and bolted for the shower. As she ran, the phone rang. She ignored it. She turned on the water, then peeled off the smelly clothes. Her mother knocked on the door. "Beth, the phone is for you. It's MacGyver. He's back and he wants to talk to you," the woman said through the door.

"Take a message! And Mom! He probably has no food in his house. Invite him for dinner at seven!"

She stepped into the shower and let the hot water rinse away the grime. She lathered her hair and scrubbed every inch of her body with Dr. Bronner's eucalyptus soap, hoping it would mask the scent of bleach.

Still dripping, she wrapped up in her heavy fleece winter robe and bolted downstairs barefoot, her long wet hair dripping down her back, to retrieve MacGyver's message and see if he was coming for dinner. She rounded the corner from the den into the kitchen and ran smack into an immovable object – Angus MacGyver. Unbalanced, she teetered, her wet feet slipped out from under her and she landed hard on her bum on the kitchen tile floor.

Sheepishly, she looked up into his face. His eyebrows were raised in that expression he had when he didn't want to laugh, but was trying hard to not laugh. His eyes traveled from the tangled wet mess of her hair, down the length of her body to her toes. Beth glanced at her form. Her legs were splayed out in front of her and the robe had flopped open to expose her right leg almost to... well... almost. "Oh!" she struggled for words, then jerked the robe to cover her leg.

"Are you okay?" he asked as he reached down his hand. "Can you stand? That was a pretty hard fall."

"Oh," she stammered. "I, uh, no, and mean yes. That hurt! What are you doing here?" She grabbed his hand and let him help her to her feet, suddenly conscious that, as she leaned forward, he had a clear view down the gaping front of her robe. She jerked her hand free from his, and pulled the robe front closed under her chin. Then, the pain in her backside got the better of her and she rubbed her left butt cheek.

"That's going to hurt in the morning," he smirked. She sneered at him and he laughed.

"Look, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were, uh, busy. I just thought I'd take all of you out for dinner tonight – that is if you want," he explained. "Your mom seems to think that not having to cook sounds like a good idea ."

Beth glanced at her mother on the other side of the kitchen, Molly tucked against her legs. "You do, do you?" Beth asked the woman.

"Well, I just thought that, sense you've been working all day, you'd like to go out instead of cooking for a change," the elderly woman answered. "We haven't started dinner, yet."

"He said I can have ice cream," Molly added her two cents worth.

MacGyver leaned toward her. "Please?" he asked.

Beth chew her lip, then sighed. "You cheated – you bribed my family," she whispered to him, then louder, "Only if we go somewhere family friendly. Molly's dinner manners aren't quite up to snuff, yet," she answered.

MacGyver looked over his shoulder at her mother. "How about the diner?" Then he looked back at Beth. "Will that work?"

Two hours later, they all sat at a booth covered with the ubiquitous vinyl red-checked tablecloth at a local diner. Molly was eating her dessert bowl of strawberry ice cream with the relish of a hound dog while the adults enjoyed coffee. Beth leaned on her palm and listened to the chatter as MacGyver described the sites of London to her mother while four year old Molly slurped. After four years, Beth accepted that she wanted a man in her life. Her one foray in making love, with Adam, proved as much to her. But, she had no intention of reprising the role of mistress. After her night with Adam, she felt used and dirty. She knew that she was the type of woman who needed to be married to truly enjoy sex. Without the bond, she knew she was destined for a chaste future. Could she deal with that?

Was this man in front of her the one? Or was he, indeed, too much of a confirmed bachelor? Statistics prove that only one in five bachelors over forty marry. Beth sighed, then shrugged off the reverie. They had not even had one date. She was getting the cart before the horse.

At her sigh, MacGyver looked at her and smiled. "Tired?"

Beth nodded. "It's been a long day." He signaled for the check as Molly scraped up the last of her dessert.

As usual, he walked them to their door. Molly and her mother quickly disappeared into the house leaving her alone with MacGyver in the kitchen. As she offered him coffee, the memory of the last time they were alone in her kitchen flashed through her mind and she blushed.

"No, thanks. I haven't even unpacked, yet. I need to get home," he answered, declining the coffee, his hand on the kitchen door.

She nodded. "Then thank you for the dinner."

"It was my pleasure," he answered with a quick scan around the room. "Will you walk me to my car?"

Beside his car, he took her hand. She blushed again as he rubbed the callouses on her palm. "You work too hard." She blushed again at the intimate touch, then tried to pull her rough hand away, but he held on to it.

He grinned. "Don't be shy about your callouses. They prove your worth." She dropped her eyes. "I'd like to take you out some place better than the diner. Without your family. Will you let me? Saturday night?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes, I'd like that."

"Great. I'll let you know more when I've had a chance to think about it." He released her hand, then gently stroked her hair. A tendril of pleasure snaked down across her shoulders. Then he got into his car and backed out of the drive leaving her standing under the glow of the light from the porch.

Chapter Fourteen

Saturday took for ever to arrive, then when it finally did, Beth was not ready for it – at least not mentally. MacGyver called earlier in the week to tell her to dress simply and comfortably, but nice, but refused to tell her where they were going on their date. He did specifically say 'no high heels'. That wasn't a problem. She was only five feet two, but because of her life style, heels rarely were an option. On Friday, she took Julia and Annie shopping with her and Molly. Together, they picked out a deep red V-neck shift, with a soft linen blouse underneath, and black tights. A long overdue trip to the beauty parlor resulted in her split ends being removed, and the mass of hair slightly thinned. The beautician showed Beth how to twist the sides up in a style reminiscent of the forties, then sold her a too expensive red barrette.

Standing in front of her mirror Saturday evening, Beth was pleased with the results. The shift was attractive without being flashy. She wore a light layer of makeup, no eye shadow, but mascara, a touch of blush and lipstick. The only jewelry she wore was her watch, a pair of onyx studs, her engagement ring and wedding rings. For the first time since Steve put them on her finger, she toyed with removing them, but could not bring herself to do it. Besides, MacGyver knew about her late husband, there was no reason to try to cover it up.

She heard his car on the gravel, and grabbed her black wool dress coat and leather gloves. By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard his voice in the living room, along with Molly's laughter, and her mother's voice.

When he saw her at the door, he grinned. "Wow, you dress up really nice."

She grinned back, then smiled broadly at her mother as he held her coat for her.

She controlled her grin, then turned back to look at him. "You look great, too." And he did, in a pair of chinos topped with a teal silk shirt, gray tie and gray sport coat.

She kissed Molly good-bye then he ushered Beth to the Nomad where he held her door for her. After he climbed in, he reached behind to the back seat and lifted out a bouquet of red roses and handed them to her. "I notice you like red."

Beth blushed. "Thank you."

He slipped the car into reverse, turned around, then drove across the street to his house and pulled around back beside a black van she had never seen before. "I hope you don't mind. I forgot something. Come on in with me. It won't take long." As she climbed out of the car, he scooped the roses from her hand and led her up the back steps. He led her through the kitchen, through the walk-through pantry and into the dining room. She gasped.

His dining table was set with a pristine white tablecloth and a crystal vase with water, but no flowers. Two chairs, one at the head, the other just to its right sat before full formal place settings of what appeared to Beth to be fine bone china and thin sculpted crystal flanked by silver table ware. An elaborate candelabra sat between the place settings which, along with other candles in the room, and a fire in the fireplace, provided the only illumination. "Oh, it's beautiful," Beth stammered, her breath taken away.

MacGyver helped her off with her coat, then seated her at the head of the table. After shedding his sport coat, he unwrapped the roses from their cellophane wrapper and arranged them in the vase. That done, he winked at her before he jogged to the dining room door where he spoke to someone out of her sight.

Beth wrinkled her brow as MacGyver jogged back and sat down at the table. A violin began to play and a tuxedoed violinist emerged from the hallway. He took a position in the corner of the room. Another man, wearing black pants and a starched white shirt, an apron wrapped around his waist, carrying a bottle of something, emerged and poured golden liquid into their wine glasses, then backed off a few feet away.

Beth, enthralled with the surprise, giggled, then covered her mouth. MacGyver grinned back. "Sparkling apple juice," he told her as he lifted his goblet. "It's really hard to make a toast over orange juice." After she raised her goblet, he tapped the edge of her glass with his. "To the future," he said, then took a sip.

"I can't believe you did all of this."

MacGyver sat down his glass. "I never get a chance to talk to you alone. Someone is almost always around – Sam, your Mom, Molly, Jack. I just wanted us a chance to get to know each other and a restaurant just didn't seem like the right place."

The waiter refilled their goblets then disappeared toward the kitchen.

Another waiter, this one in a full black tux, appeared carrying a tray with two bowls.

"How many people are here?" Beth asked with a giggle.

"Counting you and me? Seven. The violinist, the drink steward, the waiter, and two chefs."

The waiter placed bowls of soup in front of them. "Water cress, portobello mushrooms and leek soup,"he informed them in a French accent before retiring from the room.

"Two chefs?"

MacGyver shrugged as he picked up his soup spoon.

The light vegetarian soup was wonderful, followed four more courses; endive-pear salad bites with maple vinaigrette; smoky and tender grilled seitan served over mashed potatoes sitting in a horseradish cream sauce; artichoke -cherry tomato- and feta salad with artichoke pesto crostini; and creme-broulee. When Beth thought she couldn't eat another bite, the steward presented cups of espresso. MacGyver waved to the violinist who pushed the button on a tape recorder filling the room with classical music, then departed. Beth heard the back door close and suddenly, they were all alone.

Beth set down her cup. "I can't believe you did all of this. If must have cost a fortune!"

MacGyver grinned. "I think you're worth it," he whispered, leaning close. She blushed.

"You know," she said. "I don't really know what to call you. Sam calls you both Mac and Dad, Jack calls you Mac, but everyone else calls you MacGyver. I want to use your name."

MacGyver smiled. "I thought we covered that the first time we ate together."

Beth shrugged. "I know you don't like Angus, so I tried shortening it to Gus – but that isn't right either."

He wrinkled his nose. "Nah, I didn't like that."

Beth twirled her cup. "Before I met you, I knew you by another name." She looked up into his twinkling brown eyes. "It's the only name that fits."

MacGyver nodded and leaned closer. "You spent too much time with Harry."

She laughed. "Never."

MacGyver leaned back in his chair and studied her face, then nodded. "So how am I stacking up against him?"

Beth giggled and blushed. "It wasn't really a date – just friends getting out."

MacGyver laughed. "If I know Harry, it WAS a date, he just didn't tell you that!" He leaned forward. "The name you are thinking of. I used to tell Harry, don't call me Bud. But, he always did. It's right that you use it," he smiled gently.

"Thank you. Bud."

"Are you through with your coffee?" At her nod, he rose and took her hand. "The reason that I wanted you to bring comfortable shoes is I thought we might take a walk to work off some of this food we ate. It's cold, but manageable."

Beth bundled up in her wool coat and gloves, then MacGyver wrapped a wool scarf over her head, and around her neck. He donned a down jacket, wool gloves, and a knit wool cap. Together, they walked into the snow illuminated night.

"Did you go to Harry's funeral?" he asked.

"Yes, it was very nice – simple and elegant. I think everyone in town was there. I heard you were sick."

MacGyver nodded. "I wanted to be there."

"What happened?"

"I fell. Hurt my head."

Beth nodded. From his tone, she knew he wouldn't say anything else about the injury.

"When Harry died, he said something."

MacGyver stopped walking and turned to face her. "You were with Harry when he died?"

Beth nodded. "He said, 'That's showing them, Bud.' Right after that, he passed."

MacGyver looked away, then shook his head. "I miss him." He looked down at her. "I'm glad you were with him."

Beth locked her arm in his and they continued their walk down the lane toward the main road.

The snowy walk chilled them to the bones. Again Beth was amazed at how well Bud planned the evening. She gave him a sideways glance as he poured her a cup of cocoa from a thermos while she sat in his one easy chair in front of his fire.

"Boy Scout motto. Always be prepared." He grinned, then curled up on the rug at her feet. After a few moments, she abandoned her chair and curled up beside him. They talked about Sam's schooling, Jack and Mim, Molly. They even talked about Steve and Maria. After Harry's old clock chimed midnight, he walked her home, her roses clutched in her gloved hands.

As usual, he unlocked her door then handed her the key. This time, he didn't come in. "Beth, I always seem to need to apologize to you. That night. After the party. I behaved badly. I'm sorry."

Beth reached up and stroked his cheek, then stood on her tiptoes. She pressed her lips against his, then whispered. "I'm not."

He leaned into her and brushed his tongue against her lips, then pulled her against him.