Single with Twins Read online

  “Press card?” Heather said. “Wait a minute. Wait just a minute here. Are you saying that you’re the Mack Marshall, the one who has received a zillion awards for your photographs? You had a book published, too. I read every word when I looked at the book at the library and it was very moving, very… That Mack Marshall?”

  He smiled. “Guilty.”

  What he was guilty of, Heather thought, was having a drop-dead smile to go along with his other incredibly masculine attributes. Forget it. That was beside the point. Apparently, Mack really was Frank’s half brother and, for reasons yet to be explained, had been determined to find her.

  Heather sighed. “I’m being rude and I apologize. Please, have a seat, but it’s getting rather late and I have to be up early in the morning. I’d appreciate your explaining as quickly as possible your reasons for going to such lengths to find me.”

  “Fair enough,” he said, nodding.

  Mack waited until Heather had settled onto a rocking chair before sitting on the faded sofa opposite her, sweeping his gaze over the room at the same time.

  This entire living room, he thought, would fit into the master bathroom in my apartment in New York City. Man, this place is small and shabby. It was clean, though, and he could detect the faint scent of lemon polish. Heather Marshall took pride in her home, such as it was.

  And Heather herself? She was lovely, in a wholesome, fresh way. She didn’t appear to be wearing any makeup, had very dark eyes and black hair that hung down her back in a thick braid.

  Her features were delicate and her figure was slender, well suited to the faded jeans and equally faded T-shirt she was wearing. She was a very pretty woman, his sister-in-law, or was it stepsister-in-law, or ex-stepsister-in-law since she was Frank’s widow?

  “Why are you staring at me?” Heather said, snapping Mack back to attention.

  “Oh. I’m sorry,” he said. “I was just trying to figure out what your official title is. You know, sister-in-law, stepsister-in-law. It’s not important. What matters is that I’ve found you at long last.”

  “Why?” Heather said, frowning. “Why is that important, Mr. Marshall?”

  “Mack. Please, call me Mack and I’ll call you Heather. After all, we are related.”

  “Back to the question…Mack,” Heather said. “Why did you go to such lengths to find me?”

  Because he’d nearly died in the dirt halfway around the world, Mack thought, and had been deeply shaken by the fact that he had no family, no one who cared enough to cry at his funeral. That was the truth of the matter, but he wasn’t about to bare his soul to a woman he didn’t even know.

  “I, um, I had some unexpected time on my hands,” he said, “and I remembered that I had some old boxes that belonged to my father when he was alive. I’d stuck them in storage and forgotten about them for years. When I finally sifted through the stuff, I discovered documents that proved my father had been married briefly before he met my mother. That first marriage produced Frank. For reasons known only to my father, he never told me he’d been married before and had a son older than me.

  “I was determined to find Frank. But after weeks of frustration and dead ends, I learned that he was deceased. Then I finally located you and your daughters. And—” Mack shrugged “—here I am.”

  “Well, that makes sense, I guess,” Heather said. “I suppose I’d do the same thing if I suddenly found out I had a relative I hadn’t known existed. Except I’m not certain we’re actually related, given the circumstances.”

  “You’re a Marshall,” Mack said firmly. “That makes us family as far as I’m concerned. My investigation also uncovered that you have no relatives. You, Melissa, Emma and I are it…the full contingent of the Marshall clan.”

  “You know my daughters’ names?” Heather said, her voice rising slightly.

  Mack nodded. “And their birthday. I also know your date of birth and…” He frowned. “You don’t look exactly thrilled with what I’m saying here.”

  “Well, my stars,” Heather said, throwing up her hands, “how would you feel if a perfect stranger appeared on your doorstep and proceeded to inform you that not only is he a relative of yours, he also knows everything about you? What else did you find out? When I had my last dental appointment? What kind of vehicle I drive? What?”

  “Your car is twelve years old,” Mack said, then cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but the information was right in front of me on the computer and—”

  “You’ve invaded my privacy, Mr. Marshall,” Heather said, “and I’m going to report you to…to— I don’t have the slightest idea who I’m going to report you to. Oh, this is ridiculous.” She paused. “Look, I’ve had a long day and I’m tired. I think it would be best if you left now.”

  “May I come back tomorrow?” Mack said, getting to his feet.

  Heather stood and crossed her arms, her hands wrapped around her elbows. “I really don’t see any purpose to be served by it. So, okay, we’re related, we’re…we’re family, if you want to stretch the point. But we come from entirely different worlds. You’re a famous photojournalist, a globe-trotting celebrity. I’m a single mother who runs an accounting business out of my home and pinches pennies to provide for my daughters. We have absolutely nothing in common. We’ve met, said hello, but we have nothing to talk about.”

  “What about Frank? I’d like to hear about my half brother.”

  “That will take all of sixty seconds,” Heather said, rolling her eyes heavenward.

  “Heather, I’d really like to meet your daughters, have a chance to get to know them…and you. You’re all the family I have and…well, I’m all the family you have. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “No. Yes. Oh, I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “This is all rather overwhelming. I have to give serious thought to what is best for my daughters. Our family, for all intents and purposes, consists of the people who live on this block.

  “I rented this house right after the girls were born and no one has moved away from this street since then. We look out for one another and…I don’t want to upset or confuse my daughters by saying, ‘Hey, guess what? You have an uncle, or stepuncle, or whatever. Say a quick hello to Mack, girls, before he takes off for parts unknown and we never see him again.’ Why disrupt their peaceful and consistent existence like that?”

  Heather shook her head. “I’m sorry. You’ve really thrown me for a loop, and I’m not behaving well. I apologize for being so rude, but I have to think about what is best for my girls.”

  Mack nodded slowly. “I understand, but perhaps it will help you to reach a decision if I tell you that I won’t be doing any traveling for a while. I’m self-employed and I’m on an extended…vacation. I’ll definitely be around for a few weeks at least.”

  “Oh,” Heather said. “Don’t people in your tax bracket usually go to more exotic places than Tucson, Arizona, for their vacations?”

  “Not when they discover that the only family they have is in Tucson, Arizona,” Mack said quietly, looking directly into Heather’s eyes. “I want—I need—to connect with you and your daughters, Heather. I hope you’ll grant me that privilege.”

  She couldn’t breathe, Heather thought suddenly. The soft, rumbly timbre of Mack’s voice, combined with those mesmerizing dark eyes of his, was stealing the very breath from her body.

  Mack Marshall was so big, so powerful, so blatantly male, that his very essence seemed to fill the room to overflowing, leaving no space for her, no air to breathe.

  Oh, this was frightening, yet somewhere deep within her was a hum of excitement, as well. A heightened awareness of her own femininity as nothing she’d ever experienced before.

  No, she didn’t want to see Mack again, didn’t want him in her home, close to her, unsettling her, throwing her so off kilter. No.

  “Heather?” Mack said. “May I come back tomorrow? You name the time and I’ll be here. Please?”

  “Three o’clock,” Heather heard her
self say, then shook her head slightly, stunned at her own response. She sighed in defeat. “The girls get home from school about two-thirty. I’ll explain things to them while we’re sharing our snack, then you can arrive and—oh, I hope I’m doing the right thing.”

  “You are. Believe me, you are,” Mack said, smiling. “Thank you, Heather, more than I can begin to express to you. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock sharp. Good night.”

  Mack extended his right hand toward Heather and she stared at it for a long moment before placing her right hand in his. He gripped her hand firmly, but didn’t release it from his grasp.

  “Thank you again,” he said.

  Heather nodded, told herself to retrieve her hand, but didn’t move.

  Heat, she registered. There was a strange heat traveling up her arm and across her breasts, causing them to feel heavy and achy, so strange and— She could feel the calluses on Mack’s hand, which was so large it totally covered hers. There was power in that hand, but he was holding hers with just the right amount of gentleness and, dear heaven, the heat.

  Heather pulled her hand free and hoped Mack didn’t see the shuddering breath she took in the next instant.

  Mack turned and moved to the door, and Heather followed to lock up behind him.

  “Until tomorrow,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice hardly above a whisper.

  Mack left the house and Heather closed and locked the door behind him. She leaned her forehead against the worn wood.

  How was it possible, she thought, that a simple knock on the front door could turn her entire world topsy-turvy?

  Oh, Heather, stop overreacting, she admonished herself as she spun around and headed for the kitchen to make the almost-forgotten lunches. Anyone would be a tad shaken up to have a stranger suddenly appear on the doorstep and claim to be a long-lost relative.

  Her world wasn’t topsy-turvy, as her mind had so dramatically described it. It was simply changed a little by the arrival of Mack Marshall. She could handle this. She just needed some rejuvenating sleep, would have this development in its proper perspective in the light of the new day.

  “Right,” she said dryly as she yanked open the refrigerator door. “If that’s true, then why do I have a sneaking suspicion that as of three o’clock tomorrow afternoon my life is never going to be quite the same again?”

  Chapter Two

  Mack muttered several earthy expletives, tossed back the blankets on the bed, then crossed the room to the large bathroom.

  He tore the paper off one of the hotel glasses, filled the glass and swallowed the pill the doctor had prescribed for him when he’d left the hospital in New York City.

  He’d been determined to deal with the pain in his shoulder with nothing stronger than aspirin, he fumed, returning to the bed. But he’d been tossing and turning so much, he’d aggravated his wound to the point that he would never be able to sleep with such throbbing pain tormenting him.

  Mack sighed and gave himself a firm directive to relax, turn off his mind and get some much-needed sleep. He was bone-tired and had jet lag, to boot.

  His doctor had been none too pleased with Mack’s announcement that he was flying to Arizona. The doc had told him that he was far from recovered from the trauma to his body, his energy level was below par, and the wound itself was not totally healed.

  Mack had nodded in all the right places as the physician stated his concerns, then told the doctor that the trip could not be postponed any longer and he was leaving the next day.

  And here he was, he thought, in the hot, dusty city of Tucson, having accomplished the first step of his mission. He’d met Heather Marshall.

  Heather, he mused. Pretty name. Pretty lady. She could, in fact, be stunningly beautiful if she was decked out in an expensive evening dress, had just a touch of makeup on, maybe some glittering jewelry to wear, and allowed her dark hair to tumble down her back in what would be a raven cascade.

  Mack frowned into the darkness.

  He was mentally transforming Heather into one of the women he was accustomed to dating, one of the wealthy, jet-set gals who wore only the finest and expected to be wined and dined at five-star establishments. He was automatically placing Heather in a social scene where she obviously had never been.

  Why was he doing that? Perhaps because it created a sense of familiarity, of knowing what to say to the woman in question, how to flatter her and make her feel special and pampered as she fully expected to be. He was very, very good at that, and the number of women who were always eager to learn that he was once again in New York was proof of that puddin’.

  But Heather Marshall? She was from a different world altogether. She lived in a shabby little house in a crummy neighborhood, and wore clothes that had been washed so many times they were nearly void of color.

  And she was a mother, for Pete’s sake. Did he know any women who were mothers? No, he didn’t think he did. What did a guy say to a mother once he’d gushed about how cute her kids were? Hell, what did a man say to six-year-old twin girls?

  He really wanted—needed—to connect with Heather and her daughters, but he was so out of his league it was a crime. There had to be something, some common ground he could find. Like…hell, like what?

  Mack’s frown deepened as he felt a sudden tingling heat in the palm of his right hand, and recalled how delicate and feminine Heather’s hand had felt encased in his. He’d been very, very aware of Heather as a woman at that moment, had experienced a jolt of…of lust, he supposed, when he’d held her hand and looked into the depths of her lovely dark eyes.

  Ah, now there was a common ground he understood. Good old-fashioned sex, a healthy, physical release. The women he associated with were on the same wavelength on the subject. There were no strings, no commitments. That was how he’d operated his entire adult life, and it had served his purposes just fine, with no complaints from the female contingent.

  But there was no way on earth that Heather Marshall operated in that arena. Not a chance. She was hearth, home and motherhood. She probably even baked apple pies.

  No, the common ground between him and Heather was not going to be falling into bed together. Even a hint of such a thing would probably get him shot in the other shoulder by the feisty Ms. Marshall.

  Man, oh, man, this was complicated. He was determined to cement a family relationship with Heather and her daughters. It had to happen, it just had to. The remembrance of believing he was about to die and realizing no one would give a damn caused a cold fist to tighten in his gut. He never wanted to relive that chilling loneliness. No, never again.

  Heather and her girls were his link to having a family, because he sure didn’t intend to marry and produce a bunch of kids of his own. No way. He wasn’t traveling down that road, thank you very much.

  He would firmly establish his role of…of uncle, he guessed. He’d solidify his place in that family unit while he recuperated, then know that the next time he was on the other side of the world he belonged somewhere.

  He would know that if he died, Heather and Emma and Melissa would cry.

  Was that too much for a man to ask of life? To know that some people…a family, his family, cared? No, he didn’t think it was unreasonable, but he’d have to earn that caring somehow.

  How was he going to do that when he didn’t have a clue how to carry on a conversation with a mother and her children?

  The pill Mack had taken began to dull the pain in his shoulder and his mind became fuzzy from the medication and lack of sleep.

  He had until three o’clock in the afternoon to figure out how to communicate with Heather and the twins. He’d figure out something…somehow. He was an intelligent man, who just happened…to be…facing a new…challenge, that’s all. He’d get…a handle on this. Sure…he would…and he’d do it…by…three…o’clock. Guaranteed.

  At last Mack slept, unaware that he’d curled his right hand into a loose fist to hold fast to the warmth of Heath
er’s delicate hand.

  Heather sat across from Melissa and Emma at the small table in the kitchen, watching the twins consume their after-school snack of homemade chocolate-chip cookies and glasses of milk.

  “And that’s the story,” Heather said. “Mack Marshall didn’t know about us and we didn’t know about him. But now he has found us and he’ll be here in a few minutes to meet you.”

  “He doesn’t got no kids?” Melissa said, then dunked her cookie into the milk.

  “Doesn’t have any kids. No,” Heather said. “We’re the only…family he has.”

  “Mmm,” Melissa said, nodding. “Do we have to stay in the house and talk to him for a long bunch of time? Buzzy is coming over so we can play catch.”

  “Buzzy comes over every day to play catch,” Emma said before taking a dainty bite of cookie. “Don’t you get tired of throwing a ball back and forth, back and forth, back and forth? You should think of a new game.”

  “Buzzy an’ I need to pra’tice catching with our baseball mitts,” Melissa said. “How long do I have to talk to this Mack man, Mom?”

  “We’ll see how it goes, okay?” Heather said.

  “You’re not being nice, Melissa,” Emma said. “This Mack person is our daddy’s brother. That’s ’portant.”

  “Why?” Melissa said. “Our daddy is in heaven, so…” She shrugged.

  “Mom,” Emma said, “does Mack Marshall look like our daddy did?”

  Not even close, sweet Emma, Heather thought as a mental image of Mack flashed in her mind.

  “No, not really,” Heather said. “Mack and your daddy were half brothers, remember? They had the same father, but not the same mother. That caused them to look very different, so Mack doesn’t resemble the picture of your daddy that you have in your bedroom.”

  “Are we going to ’dopt Mack or something?” Emma said, then patted her lips with her napkin.

  Heather’s eyes widened. “Adopt him? No, honey, we’re just going to get to know him a bit, that’s all, because we’re related, sort of. He’s family, sort of.” She paused. “I’m not certain that I’m explaining this very well.”