Free Falling (3 page)

“That can be arranged,” Mac muttered.

Jake held up his hands to stop them. “There’s
got to be some way we can compromise.” He turned to Mac. “What
exactly is your problem with the tree?”

“Magnolias continually loose their leaves and
I don’t want to deal with the mess.” He shrugged. “I like things a
certain way and that tree doesn’t fit into the plan.”

“You’re not cutting it down,” Free stated
simply.

“What if,” Alex said slowly, seeming to
consider her words carefully before she continued, “you leave the
tree standing—”

“No way.” Mac shook his head. “The tree
goes.”

“Just hear me out, McFerrin.”

Several tense seconds ticked by before Mac
finally relented with a slight nod.

“You leave the tree standing as long as Free
agrees to rake up the leaves, blossoms, and the seed pods on a
regular basis.”

“That would work,” Free chimed in. “The tree
would be safe and you wouldn’t have to worry about the mess.”

“I don’t know.”

“Sounds like a good compromise, Mac,” Jake
said and then added, “and if at any time Ms. Renzetti fails to live
up to her end of the bargain, you could still cut down the
tree.”

Free held her breath as she waited for his
decision, fingers and toes crossed. Bare toes, she noted. Phil
hadn’t given her time to get her shoes.

Mac sighed long and deep. He looked from the
two attorneys to Free, his gaze lingering on her for a
breath-stealing moment. That odd awareness passed between them once
more.

There was something about him, she decided.
Something she couldn’t quite separate from the anger and arrogance
he radiated.

“All right, I can live with that if she
can.”

“I can,” Free said quickly. Her smile faded
as uneasiness stole over her for the second time that day. An
uneasiness that felt suspiciously like attraction. What on earth
made her think that she could live with any solution that involved
seeing more of this man?

Chapter Two

Free rubbed the thick, sticky residue of
paint and remover from the intricately carved nineteenth-century
mantel. The mahogany beneath the numerous layers of paint would
finish out beautifully and would replace the badly damaged mantel
in the parlor of the LeMont house. Mrs. LeMont had been thrilled
when Free was able to find an exact match to the other four mantels
in her sprawling Victorian mansion.

Refinishing these old pieces gave Free almost
as much pleasure as finding them did. Thomas had taught her to
relish the hunt and savor the restoration. Free sighed and laid her
steel wool aside. She removed the protective gloves and tossed them
onto the worktable as well.

Thomas.
She missed her old friend so
much. It still hurt sometimes.

Free turned around slowly in the huge
garage-turned-workshop that claimed a full corner of her large
backyard. Thomas Styles had turned this old garage into a heaven
for forgotten architectural treasure. Liberty Salvage and
Restoration had been his idea. Free’s love of antiques and the need
for a means by which to support herself had spawned the
concept.

Though Thomas had taken her in when she had
no place else to go, Free had refused to allow him to continue
providing for her financially once she was on her feet. She
intended to make her own way. Free had loved him like the daughter
he had never had and he had loved her like the father she had never
known. In the end, Thomas left her everything he had to give.
Gossip had been hot for a while, but eventually it died down. Free
had survived and Liberty Salvage and Restoration had
flourished.

Every antiques dealer in town respected her
discriminating eye and restoration ability. Most of the owners of
Huntsville’s historic homes knew Free by name. She worked hard,
although she would never get rich. But Free didn’t care. She loved
her work and that was all that mattered. Lance, the wayward son of
a local antique dealer, helped Free part-time, although she would
need his assistance full-time for the next few weeks. They worked
well together and he had a strong back, her only requirements for
the position.

“Daydreaming?”

Free spun around to find Alex striding across
the stained and cracked concrete floor. Free smiled and massaged
her stiff neck. She had stayed bent over that mantel entirely too
long.

“You’re home early today.”

“Jake hasn’t left the office all day and I’d
had all I could stand of his Martian mentality.”

Free inclined her head and studied her friend
more closely.

“You didn’t tell me how handsome your
father’s soon-to-be partner was.”

“Looks aren’t everything,” Alex supplied
dryly.

“Ha!” Free tossed her an incredulous look.
“This coming from the woman who eats men alive with her eyes.”

“He’s definitely not my type,” Alex stated,
her tone brooking no argument. “Speaking of handsome, have you seen
the write-up on the new guy?” She waved a copy of the
Huntsville
Times
.

Free frowned, perplexed. “Who?”

“You know, Mac the Magnolia Murderer.”

Free flashed Alex a disgusted look and tugged
her gloves back on. She never wanted to think about him again. Nor
did she want to think about that little trip downtown to the city
jail. She still shuddered when she relived that nightmare. She’d
seen more than enough of that place for a lifetime. “No, I haven’t
seen the article.” She tried to sound casual. “Why is he in the
paper? Not that I care.”

Alex shifted the newspaper toward her. “He’s
the CEO of McFerrin Enterprises, a multi-million dollar progressive
construction firm based in Atlanta.”

Free studied the picture of Connor McFerrin.
“If he’s the CEO, what is he doing in Huntsville?” That uneasy,
restless feeling plagued her again, the same one that had shuddered
through her the first moment she’d laid eyes on the man.

“His firm was contracted to complete several
rather large projects in our area over the next three years.” Alex
pointed to a list in the half page article. “Starting with this
one.”

Bower Street Medical Tower.
Free
swallowed tightly. Liberty Salvage and Restoration had one the
salvage contracts on that parcel of property. At the corner of
Bower and L&N Streets, three houses dating back to the late
1800s were to be torn down and replaced by a sleek,
futuristic-looking medical building with accompanying parking
lots.

Free scanned the remaining projects listed.
The next two were hers as well. She hated to see those beautiful
old homes demolished. Two of the houses were beyond repair, but one
had potential. Of course, that was neither here nor there. Free had
a job to do, and anything worth salvaging was hers to take. From
floorboards to window sashes to punched tin shingles, she would
rescue as much as possible before the houses were destroyed.

“If McFerrin is like most of the contractors
I know,” Alex continued, “he’ll keep a close eye on his projects to
ensure that everything stays on schedule, especially since he’s the
boss. So, I suppose you’ll run in to him from time to time on the
job site.”

“I suppose,” Free admitted reluctantly. The
possibility held no appeal whatsoever. Well, almost no appeal, she
amended when warmth heated her insides at the very thought of his
handsome face. That kind of appeal she didn’t need—or want.

Alex tucked the folded newspaper under one
arm. “Just watch out for yourself.” She frowned and brushed at the
shoulder of her expensive suit. “I don’t trust any man who looks
that good.”

Free snatched up her steel wool and gave Alex
a steady look. “Don’t worry. I’d never trust a magnolia hater.”

Alex paused before she turned to go and
smiled, her green eyes suddenly shining with affection. “By the
way, I’m having dinner with Dad tonight.”

“Tell him I said hello,” Free called to
Alex’s retreating back. Alex was lucky to have a father who loved
her so dearly. It was such a shame about his health.

Free forced her attention back to the
still-sticky mantel and set to the task. She had never known her
own father. Her mother had been a flower child, moving from place
to place with a different relic from the sixties each time. After
her mother’s death, when Free was fourteen, she had spent four
years in foster homes before setting out on her own. Life had been
extra rough at times.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Renzetti,”
she muttered. “You had Thomas…eventually.” Thomas had been the
father she had never known. He had saved her.

Free scrubbed with renewed purpose. She had
to get this step of the removal process finished so she could move
on to her other work. Julius Faraday expected her to deliver his
wainscoting this evening. And Julius didn’t like to wait.

~*~

Mac pulled into the drive, shut off the
ignition and simply sat for a while. He scanned the vulnerable
two-story house he called home for the present. It wasn’t exactly
his idea of efficient living quarters. Though he had to admire the
detail and craftsmanship of these old places, they represented the
past and Mac preferred progress. His townhouse in Atlanta in no way
resembled this place. It was modern with smooth lines and dramatic
architecture, conveniently close to work and anything else he might
need. Why John had set him up in this place he would never
understand.

At least it was only temporary. The
Huntsville merger had been finalized, and McFerrin Enterprises now
owned Falkner Engineering Consultants. Once all the major projects
were well underway, by early September thereabouts, he would go
back to Atlanta.

He wondered if expanding wasn’t at times more
trouble than it was worth. But without expansion there would be no
growth or security. In this business, a company either moved
forward or it lagged behind. There was no standing still. McFerrin
Enterprises would keep moving forward as long as he was alive and
kicking. And he would keep his eye on the bottom line every step of
the way.

John’s warning flitted through his mind.
What happens when you’re gone, Mac? No wife, no heirs. Are you
building all this for nothing? You sure as hell can’t take it with
you.
Mac shook off the unsettling thoughts and got out, shoving
the door shut with his elbow. He noticed the newspaper lying on his
front lawn and decided to retrieve it. Maybe he would have time to
glance at the financial section after he had reviewed the
blueprints and contracts tucked under his arm. He stopped to snatch
up the paper and expertly slid the rubber band off and around his
wrist. He opened the paper to read the front-page headlines as he
slowly crossed the yard to his front door.

Something squashed beneath his right shoe and
Mac looked over the paper at the grass to determine the source.

“Damn,” he hissed from between clenched
teeth. Dog doo oozed around the soles of his Gucci loafers. Too bad
he hadn’t visited a site today—he’d have had on his work boots.
Reciting every vile curse in his vocabulary, Mac scrubbed the sole
and sides of his shoes against the grass until he had removed most
of the excrement. This is exactly why he didn’t own a dog. Dogs
ate, dogs barked, and dogs really messed up lawns.

Folding the newspaper and tucking it under
his arm with his blueprints and contracts, Mac made a quick survey
of the neighboring yards for a possible four-legged culprit. His
gaze locked on an overgrown Labrador sprawled next to a lawn chair
in Free Renzetti’s yard. “I should have known.”

No doubt Huntsville had a leash law and by
God he intended to see that Free Renzetti kept that animal properly
restrained. If he wanted a dog fertilizing his grass, he’d get one
of his own. The Lab lifted his head and thumped his tail as Mac
stalked past, but didn’t bother to get up and give him a sniff. The
beast probably ate his weight in kibbles. Why would anyone own
something so totally useless?

Before Mac made it to the porch, a loud thud
drew his attention to the truck backed up to his flighty neighbor’s
garage. He caught a glimpse of the top of Free’s wild mass of brown
locks as she entered the wide open doors of the large structure.
Mac altered his course and headed for the garage. He noticed as he
passed the annoying magnolia that not one leaf littered the ground.
At least she was holding up her end of that agreement.

He walked around the old truck, and the newly
refinished wainscoting stacked in the bed caught his eye. What
would she be doing with that? Remodeling?

Mac stepped through the open doorway and
assessed what appeared to be a plain old garage from the outside.
The inside was anything but. Wood staining products and a variety
of cans and bottles lined several shelves along one wall. Mantels,
columns, moldings of all types, window sashes, and other odds and
ends filled the place. The air reeked of the pungent odors of
solvents and varnishes, and a distinct mustiness mingled with the
chemical smells. The garage was a veritable hodgepodge of old
stuff—junk, in Mac’s opinion.

He scrutinized the place once more. This
setup was much too elaborate and there was too much inventory for
mere do-it-yourself home repairs. This had to a business of sorts.
He wondered if his unconventional neighbor was in violation of
zoning. Probably, he decided with annoyance. But why should he
care?

He wasn’t going to live here long enough to
complain about what people in this neighborhood did in the privacy
of their garages.

A shuffling sound drew his attention to the
left and his curiosity climbed another notch or two. A wall of
sorts, fashioned with propped-up antique doors, formed a barrier
between him and the sound. Maybe he’d just see what Ms. Renzetti
was up to, Mac decided as he proceeded quietly around the
obstruction to find the source of the noise. He found Free hefting
several long strips of wainscoting onto her shoulder. Mac drew his
eyebrows together in question. Why was she doing that? Loading
lumber was a man’s job.