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  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 personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given 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.

  FREE FALLING

  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.

  Instantly, he recalled his wayward thoughts and adopted the no-mercy attitude for which he was famous. “That’s precisely my intention,” he stated. Mac turned to Woody. “Make whatever preparations possible. I want this job started the moment the police have removed”—he shot a look at the women draped around the tree as he walked away—“these ladies from my property.”

  Woody shrugged. “Whatever you say, Mr. McFerrin.”

  Mac leaned against the side of his house and watched Woody back his rather large and noisy truck closer to the unfortunate tree. The three women stood statue still. Mac glanced at his watch and then down the street. Surely the police would arrive soon and put an end to this nonsense. Several other residents had wandered into their yards to watch the show.

  Great. Bad publicity was about the last thing he needed his first day in Huntsville. He blew out a puff of frustrated air and sagged against the porch rail. He’d been under the impression that all the residents on this street were much older and certainly not inclined toward disturbing the peace. Maybe this was his longtime friend and attorney, John Whitaker’s idea of a joke. Buying this old house certainly hadn’t been Mac’s idea of a wise investment. He hated old houses. John would think this entire situation hilarious. Mac surveyed the threesome once more. He didn’t find it a damned bit funny.

  The police arrived. Mac straightened and moved toward the cruiser that came to a stop in his drive. A stocky middle-aged man emerged and settled his cap onto his gray head.

  “Mr. McFerrin?” he asked, sizing Mac up as he approached.

  Mac stuck out his hand. “Connor McFerrin. Thank you for coming—” Mac flicked a glance at his badge “—Officer Gerard.”

  “What seems to be the trouble, Mr. McFerrin?” Gerard gave Mac’s hand a quick shake, assessed the small crowd now gathering in the street and then the unsightly truck parked further up the driveway.

  “I contracted these gentlemen” Mac gestured toward the truck “to remove a tree from my property and some of my neighbors have staged a protest of sorts.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and wondered of the whole scene looked as ridiculous as the story he’d just told sounded.

  Officer Gerard pushed up his cap and scratched his forehead. “Well, Mr. McFerrin, if this is your property, then that’s your tree. Why don’t you direct me to the protesters and I’ll send them on their way.”

  Mac smiled, relieved. “This way, Officer.” In his peripheral vision, he watched Gerard’s face as they walked around the truck and to the tree. He clenched his jaw to prevent the grin that came naturally at the sight of the man’s astonished double take when he saw the women, backs to the bark, encircling the tree.

  “Good afternoon, ladies—”

  “Phil?” Free Renzetti stepped from the opposite side of the tree, smiling with relief. She hurried as fast as her bare feet would take her to the officer’s side.

  “Free? What the hell is going on here?” the officer asked.

  “Phil, you’ve got to do something,” she pleaded and clutched his arm.

  Mac shook his head and plunked his hands on his hi
ps. “I don’t believe this.” She knew the guy? Perfect.

  “This…this” Free glowered at Mac “zodiac misfit intends to cut down our beautiful tree.”

  “Our? I have every right—” Mac started, but Officer Gerard halted him with one upraised palm.

  “This is Magnolia Blossom Drive,” the gypsy beseeched, “he can’t cut down this ancient tree—it would be a sacrilege!”

  The crowd of neighbors had moved from the street onto Mac’s lawn now. He could hear them murmuring behind his back. “This is outrageous,” he snapped. “This is my property and I’ll damn well dispose of that tree if I want to.”

  Offer Gerard cut him a warning glance. “Go on, Free,” he said patiently.

  “There just has to be something we can do to stop him,” she said, her big blue eyes bright with tears.

  Oh hell, as if things weren’t bad enough, the woman was going to cry now. Mac rolled his eyes and forced the roar of protest that tightened his chest. He was at this cop’s mercy, and the cop was obviously her friend.

  Gerard patted her arm kindly, making Mac grit his teeth. “Free, if Mr. McFerrin wishes to cut down this tree, there isn’t a single thing I can do about it unless his actions somehow posed a threat to you or your property.”

  “What if the tree is on the property line?” Alex asked from her post. The cut of her pricey business suit showed off her slender figure well. Everything about the woman screamed money and influence. Her confident bearing and professional appearance struck Mac as odd, considering her current actions.

  “The tree is on my property,” Mac ground out. How dare the woman imply that he didn’t know the boundaries of his own property. He was an architect, for Pete’s sake. Lines and angles were his business.

  “Perhaps we need to have second opinion on the survey,” Alex suggested. She stepped forward then, arms folded over her chest. Mac didn’t miss the calculating gaze she allowed him, or the timid peek Emily took around Alex’s shoulder.