Free Falling
Debra Webb
A note about the author: Though Debra Webb
has earned a reputation for outstanding romantic suspense, she
began her career with nearly a dozen sassy and spicy romances. For
the first time these heartfelt romances are now available worldwide
in e-book format. Previously published as a Kensington Precious
Gems, available only in Wal-Mart for one short month, Debra is
proud to present her beloved tales of romance.
HERE TO STAY
FREE FALLING
TEMPTING TRACE
UP CLOSE
BASIC INSTINCTS
KEEPING KENNEDY
TAMING GI JANE
GOING TO THE CHAPEL
This book is a work of fiction. Any
references to historical events, real people, or real locales are
used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents
are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to
actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.
Copyright 2011, WebbWorks, LLC
First Printing: March 2000 Kensington
Precious Gems
All rights reserved, including the right of
reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your
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away to other people. If you would like to share this book with
another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person
you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase
it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should
return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for
respecting the hard work of this author.
Debra Webb
Chapter One
“Just look at those biceps.” Alex breathed
the words as she peered through the parlor window.
“He’s beautiful,” Emily agreed dreamily,
resting one shoulder against the sash opposite Alex.
Free Renzetti cut a skeptical glance from
Alex to Emily, both of whom wore the same awed expression. Free
perched her hands on her hips and leaned forward between her two
housemates to get a good look at the man moving in next door.
“So, we’re finally getting the new neighbor,”
she commented, her nonchalance suddenly taking considerable effort
as her gaze swept over impossibly wide shoulders. The man bent to
pick up a box and Free took a moment to admire the cutest butt she
had ever seen molded into a pair Levi’s. When the owner of that
amazing backside straightened and turned around, her own eyes
widened. “Holy smokes,” she murmured.
“My sentiments exactly,” Alex muttered.
He wore his shoulder-length brown hair in a
ponytail. Strong, chiseled features lent a rugged quality to his
remarkably handsome face. Broad, broad shoulders tested the seams
of his nondescript white T-shirt. His skin was tanned, his arms
muscled. A slim waist and narrow hips flowed into long legs that
filled out his jeans particularly well. And that butt…Free sighed.
It was just right—not too much, not too little.
“Does anybody know who he is or where he came
from?” Emily asked, tugging at the prim neckline of her button-up
blouse, then fanning her flushed face with one fidgety hand.
Free nodded, then realized all eyes were
still riveted to the hunk’s every move. “His name is McFarlan or
McFerrin, something Irish anyway. He’s in construction.”
“Construction.” Alex folded her arms over the
tailored lines of her chic suit jacket and nodded knowingly. “That
would explain the gorgeous body.”
Free couldn’t get used to the idea that
someone else would be living in the widow Lassiter’s house. In the
three years since Free had moved to Magnolia Blossom Drive, Mrs.
Lassiter had proven a good neighbor and dear friend. The elderly
woman had died eleven months ago, but her house had not sold until
recently. She had only distant relatives, none of whom who lived in
Alabama. The last Free had heard the house and contents had been
sold to a man who worked for some construction company.
She hoped their handsome new neighbor
understood how lucky he was to live here. Magnolia Blossom Drive
was lined with beautifully maintained Victorian and Colonial houses
that dated back more than a century. Magnificent magnolia and oak
trees dotted the meticulously cared for lawns. The entire
neighborhood prided itself on carrying on the legacy of Southern
history in one of its grandest forms—home, sweet home.
As Free watched the new guy move one box
after another to the porch from the carrier hooked to the back of
his Ford Explorer, an uneasy feeling stole over her. Maybe it was
just the unexpectedness of having such an unbelievably handsome man
move next door, she rationalized. Not that Huntsville didn’t have
its fair share of good-looking men, but this one was much more than
merely good looking.
He was…he was—
coming over.
Her eyes
widened as she watched his long, sure strides. Before comprehension
could transform fully into awareness and trigger the appropriate
responses, her new neighbor had directed the chimes of her ancient
doorbell into a reluctant symphony.
“He’s at our door!” Emily shrieked. She
quickly smoothed a hand over her eye-stretching blond chignon and
pushed her glasses higher on her nose.
“Well,” Free said as she squared her
shoulders, “let’s see what he wants.”
“Twenty-four hours of tantric lovemaking, I
hope,” Alex suggested in a low purr.
“Alex!” Ever the prim schoolteacher and
minister’s daughter, color bloomed more deeply on Emily’s pale
cheeks.
“Girls, we want to make a good impression.
This is our new neighbor, not the centerfold of this month’s
Playgirl
,” Free scolded as they walked in unison across the
parlor and down the wide entry hall. Oscar, Free’s golden Lab, was
already at the door, sniffing and wagging his tail in
expectation.
“You’re absolutely right, Free,” Alex agreed,
then grinned. “He’s leagues ahead of this month’s centerfold.”
Free flashed Alex a warning gaze. “Sit,” she
told Oscar and then pulled the door open to meet Magnolia Blossom’s
newest resident. She managed a pleasant smile and looked up into
the most striking blue eyes she had ever seen. Sky blue—no,
electric blue. Her gaze dropped lower then, to firm, full lips. His
smile was relaxed, confident, and totally masculine. One hand was
braced against the doorframe, the other rested casually on his hip.
Her startled gaze swept over the cotton T-shirt that molded to
sculpted pecs and stretched taut over wide, wide shoulders.
“Hi.” He straightened, then extended his
right hand. “I’m Connor McFerrin, I just moved next door.”
Free gave her hand the order to move a full
three seconds before it responded and accepted the one he offered.
His fingers were strong and callused, from his work, she surmised.
The brisk handshake was over far too quickly for her to analyze the
myriad sensations his touch sparked.
“Free Renzetti,” she said, then inclined her
head in turn to the women on either side of her. “Alex Carlisle and
Emily Parker.”
“Welcome to the neighborhood, Mr. McFerrin,”
Alex said and offered her hand next.
“Call me Mac.” He gave Alex a quick but
heart-stopping smile, then moved on to Emily, gracing her with the
same.
“If there’s anything you need—or…or we can
do, don’t hesitate to…to ask,” Emily stammered.
“Actually, there is one thing.” He turned his
attention back to Free. “Does the truck parked near the back of the
house belong to one of you?”
“It’s mine.” Free wondered what interest he
could possibly have in her old Chevy pickup.
“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to move
it until the tree service is finished. I wouldn’t want to risk it
getting damaged during the removal process.”
Free’s eyebrows drew together in
bewilderment. “Removal process?”
A loud rumbling sound in the street drew
Mac’s attention in that direction. “They’re here.” He looked back
at Free just long enough to dazzle her with one last smile. “You’ll
need to move the truck right away. Just to be safe.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand why I have to
move my truck.”
“I’m about to have that annoying magnolia cut
down,” he explained. He shot her a quick smile and turned to go. “I
should get over there and supervise. Thanks,” he called over his
shoulder as he took the steps two at a time.
Free could only stare after him in disbelief.
Cut down the magnolia?
Shock flooded her system, bringing
outrage hot on its heels. The man was about to destroy one of the
most beautiful trees on Magnolia Blossom Drive. A part of what
distinguished this historic neighborhood from several others in
Huntsville. An irreplaceable monument to nature and the elemental
value of mother earth.
Cutting it down would be a crime.
She had to stop him.
~*~
Mac couldn’t believe his eyes. The three
women from the house next door had formed a human chain around the
trunk of the magnolia he had hired Woody’s Tree Service to remove
from his otherwise streamlined yard.
“No way I can top that tree with those women
standing under it.” The burly man named Woody announced the
obvious. “Can’t bring her down without topping her first,” he
added.
Mac assessed the threesome with mounting
annoyance. He stalked toward the mini group of protesters. Woody
the tree trimmer followed. Mac would have expected this sort of
behavior from a woman named Free, but the other two just didn’t
seem like the type to get radical over a cause. The tall brunette
named Alex looked too cool and polished to be a martyr to any
cause. And the plump little blond, Emily, personified the blushing
Southern belle. Yet there they were. Wrapped around that tree trunk
like decorations at Christmas, only it wasn’t Christmas—unless it
came in July in Alabama.
“Look.” Mac leveled his most intimidating
boardroom glare on Free Renzetti. “This is my tree and I intend to
cut it down. Now, if you’ll kindly remove yourselves from my
property…”
She lifted her defiant chin and glared at him
with those stormy blue eyes. “No.” The one word encompassed more
emotion than the litany of protests he had expected.
“May I?” Without taking his eyes off the
infernal woman, Mac reached for the cell phone Woody clutched in
one beefy hand. With a nod of agreement, he slapped the phone into
Mac’s open palm. “Thanks.” Mac flipped it open and entered 911. His
gaze still locked with Free’s, he asked the operator to send the
police to remove the trespassers from his property.
He snapped the phone shut and handed it back
to the owner. Mac lifted one eyebrow and glared at Free in triumph.
“You could leave before the police arrive and save yourself the
trouble.”
“I’m not leaving until he does,” she said,
tossing a disdainful glare at Woody.
“Same here,” Alex affirmed when Mac shifted
his glower in her direction.
Mac walked around to where Emily had
stationed herself. “And how about you, Emily,” he asked. “You want
a ride to the police station, too?”
“You’re not cutting down this tree,” the
blond insisted with surprising conviction.
Mac completed his circle and came to a stop
once again in front of the ringleader. “Do you always get your
friends into trouble like this, Ms. Renzetti?”
“You’re a Scorpio, aren’t you, Mr. McFerrin?
I should have recognized that angry, arrogant aura.” She all but
spat the words at him and then looked away. Her glorious mane of
brown hair tumbled over the creamy skin bared by her
off-the-shoulder sleeves—if you could call the strappy things
sleeves. Tiny, barely there streaks of gold highlighted the deep,
rich brown. Mac couldn’t recall ever having seen hair quite like
hers, a thick, seductive mass of loose curls and tempting
contrasts.
Had this beauty just called him an insect?
Mac put the two comments together and realized she was spouting
astrological mumbo-jumbo. “I don’t know anything about auras,” he
told her dryly, “but I do know a deciduous tree when I see one, and
I have neither the time nor the inclination to attend to such a
nuisance.”
That stormy blue gaze collided with his once
more. “You want to destroy this magnificent tree because it sheds a
few leaves?”
Mac gave her the full-body once-over for the
first time. His inspection was slow, bold, and he knew from her icy
glare that she hated every second of it. In spite of himself, he
almost smiled in appreciation. Free Renzetti wore a long, flowing
skirt of vibrant green that covered most of her long legs. Delicate
ankles ornamented with thin silver bracelets, bare feet and
brightly painted toenails were all that the voluminous fabric
revealed. A striped blouse engineered in some sort of tight, ribbed
material snuggled against full, unrestrained breasts. An
uncharacteristic yearning tightened his stomach and he frowned. She
looked for all the world like a gypsy. A very sexy gypsy.