Single With Twins

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 Heather’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.”

“Sure you are, Mommy,” Melissa said. “Mack Marshall doesn’t have a family, and found out we’re here, and we’re his family now, and he’s not all alone anymore, and we’ll talk to him ’bout dumb stuff like what we want to be when we grow up, then I’ll go play catch with Buzzy.”

Heather laughed and shook her head. “That’s fine, Melissa. I guess that about covers it.”

“Poor Mack,” Emma said, sighing dramatically. “He’s been all alone with no one to talk to for years and years and years. Lots of years, because he’s old, right? Really old. You said he’s even older than you, Mom. All alone. Poor Mack.”

Again an image of Mack took front row center in Heather’s mind and an unexpected and very annoying frisson of heat slithered down her back.

“Mack hasn’t been all alone, Emma,” Heather said. Not a chance. He probably had to carry a big stick to beat off the women who flocked around him. Mack Marshall would be alone only when he chose to be. “I’m sure he has a lot of friends in New York City. In fact, he probably knows people all over the world because he travels a great deal to take photographs.”

“That’s sure an easy job,” Melissa said. “Just take pictures of people. Maybe you should do that, Mom, ’stead of being a ’countant. Then you wouldn’t have to work so hard. Can I have another cookie?”

“No, ma’am,” Heather said. “That’s enough of a snack for after school. I want you to eat a good dinner.”

“’Kay,” Melissa said. “Well, I’m done with my milk and cookies. When is Mack going to get here?”

Heather glanced at the clock on the wall. “Any minute now. I have a feeling he’s going to be right on time.”

Mack drove slowly down the street, frowning as he swept his gaze over the small houses that were separated by very narrow driveways.

This neighborhood was even worse than he’d suspected when he’d seen it in the dark last night. Granted, the dozen homes on this dead-end street gave evidence of caring, of making the best of what was available.

But, cripe, these houses were old and so damn small. The only saving grace was the tall mulberry tree in every front yard. But the ancient trees actually made the houses appear even smaller.

He’d driven through some very rundown areas to get here, had seen teenagers hanging out on the corners, many wearing what he had a feeling were gang colors. This entire section of Tucson was crime waiting to happen.

How could Heather sleep at night, knowing she was raising her daughters in such a dangerous location? What kind of a mother would—

Hold it, Marshall. That had been a lousy thing to mentally insinuate about Heather. He was positive that Heather lived here with her girls because this was the best she could afford.

That made sense. The records he’d uncovered about Frank listed his half brother’s occupation as a gas station attendant. Not a certified mechanic, just a guy who pumped gas, he guessed. That wouldn’t have left any kind of estate to his pregnant widow.

He also knew from his hours on the Internet that Frank Marshall had been killed in an automobile accident driving while drunk. His investigative skills had turned up a copy of the police report. Some more delving had provided the information that the twins had been born about six months later.

Heather Marshall deserved a lot of credit for what she’d done on her own. She’d been young, pregnant, and faced with raising two babies alone. He’d found records of the classes she’d taken for many years, finally obtaining her license as a certified public accountant.

She worked at home, apparently, to be there for her daughters. That meant she had no group medical insurance, no retirement plan, no benefits at all that came from being employed by a large firm.

Hand to mouth, Mack thought, parking in front of Heather’s house. That was how this little family was living. He didn’t like that. He sure as hell didn’t.

Mack retrieved his parcels from the passenger seat, locked the Blazer he’d rented, then started slowly up the front walk leading to the house. The walkway was cracked in places and several chunks of cement were totally missing.

The minuscule yard was free of weeds, but was more dirt than grass, and a bald tire hung by a rope from a limb on the mulberry tree. The house itself was a rather strange shade of color…not white, not yellow, just dingy gray with no contrasting color on the trim. The roof was a multitude of shades, obviously patched many times over the years with whatever was available.

On the porch, Mack noted the empty hole in the plastic faceplate where the doorbell should have been, and rapped on the door.

He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and realized to his self-disgust that he was nervous. He, Mack Marshall, who had braved a multitude of dangerous war zones around the globe, was actually shaking in his shorts about the prospect of attempting to carry on a conversation with a mother and her two young daughters. Ridiculous, but annoyingly true.

“Get a grip,” he muttered, then waited for the door to open.

“He’s here,” Melissa said, jumping off her chair. “I’ll answer the door.”

“No, I want to,” Emma said, leaving the table and running after her sister.

“Wait,” Heather said, getting to her feet. “Oh, never mind.”

She was nervous, she thought, as she trailed after the girls. She’d had a difficult time concentrating on her work while the twins were in school, had glanced at the clock so often she’d felt like one of those bobbing toys that people put on the dashboards of their cars. Ridiculous.

As Heather heard a chorus of, “Hi. Come in,” she smoothed the waistband of her bright red string sweater over her jeans-clad hips and produced what she hoped was a believable smile.

“Hello, Mack,” she said as he stepped into the living room.

Oh, gracious, she thought, Mack was even better looking today than he had been last night. How was that possible? But Mack Marshall in black slacks and a navy-blue knit shirt was a sight to behold.

Her heart was beating too fast. What was wrong with her heart? Why was it doing that? Forget it. Just forget it. She had to act like a mature adult, a mother, for heaven’s sake.

“I’d like you to meet my daughters.” She placed one hand on Emma’s shoulder. “This is Emma.” The other hand plopped onto Melissa’s head. “And this is Melissa. Girls, this is Mack Marshall. Your…your uncle. Yes, that’s what you can call him…Uncle Mack.”

“Hi,” the pair said in unison.

“Hi,” Mack said, staring at them.

They were identical twins, he thought incredulously. They both had short, curly black hair, big dark eyes, the very same features and—he’d never been face-to-face with identical twins before.

They were wearing different clothes, thank goodness, which would help him to keep them straight. Emma was wearing a flowered dress and Melissa was decked out in jeans and a baseball jersey that was a bit too big for her.

“I brought you a little something.” Mack handed Heather a bouquet of spring flowers, then gave each of the girls an enormous cellophane-wrapped, rainbow-colored sucker.

“Wow,” Melissa said. “I’ve never seen a sucker this big. This is so cool. Can I eat it now, Mom?”

“I’m going to save mine forever,” Emma said. “It’s so pretty. I’ve never had such a big, beautiful sucker.”

“What do you say?” Heather said.

“Thank you,” the twins chorused.

“And I thank you for the lovely flowers, Mack,” Heather said, not looking directly at him. “Please, have a seat while I put these in water. And, Melissa, no, you can’t have any candy now. We’ll decide after dinner how much of it you can eat at one time. I’ll be right back.”

Heather hurried from the room. Once safely in the kitchen and out of view, she buried her face in the lovely flowers and inhaled their sweet aroma.

Oh, darn, she thought frantically, she could feel the sting of tears. She had to get a grip, regain control of her emotions now. Right now. It was just that she had never, not once in her entire life, been given flowers by a man. She felt like Emma…she wanted to keep them forever.

Heather opened a cupboard, remembered that she didn’t own a vase, then proceeded to half fill an empty pickle jar with water and arrange the flowers. She returned to the living room and placed the makeshift vase on the coffee table.

Mack was sitting on the sofa with a twin on each side of him, each holding their sucker and staring up at him.

He looked about as comfortable as a man waiting to have a root canal, Heather thought, curbing a smile as she seated herself in the rocker. She had the distinct impression that Mack’s experience with children was zip.

“So,” Heather said, “are you enjoying our weather, Mack? March is a lovely month here, and April will be even nicer.” Good grief, was this the best she could do? Talk about the weather? But her experience in-conversing with a worldly man such as Mack was most definitely zip. “I’ve told the girls that you’re a famous photographer.”

“Well, yes, I do take pictures of…of things,” he said, glancing at Melissa, then Emma. “Lots and lots of photographs.”

“Where’s your camera?” Melissa said.

“It’s locked in my vehicle out front,” Mack said. “I never go anywhere without it, it seems. Would you like me to take your picture?”

“No,” Melissa said.

“Oh,” he said, then cleared his throat.

“Do you have a house?” Emma said.

“A house? No, I have an apartment that I rent in New York City. I’m not there too much of the time, though, because I travel a great deal taking photographs.”

“Oh-h-h,” Emma said, nodding. “We rent our house, too, but we have a dream piggy. Maybe if you got a real job, instead of just playing with a camera and stuff, you could get a dream piggy, too, and get a house.”

“Emma,” Heather said quickly, “being a photojournalist is a real job, a very difficult one, in fact. Mack has won a great many awards with his photographs.”

“But Uncle Mack doesn’t have enough money to buy a house, Mommy,” Emma said. “He needs a dream piggy.”

“What’s a dream piggy, Emma?” Mack asked.

“Well.” Emma set the sucker very carefully next to her on the sofa, then folded her hands in her lap. “You see, when you want something more than anything else in the whole wide world…that’s your dream. Me and Melissa and my mommy want to have our very own house, buy it, not rent it and everything, and fix it up real nice, and have enough bedrooms for everyone to have their very own, and we save all our pennies and stuff in our dream piggy, ’cause someday we’re going to have our dream. Our house. Get it?”

Mack nodded slowly. “Got it.”

“So!” Emma continued. “You could get a house, too, but you gotta have a dream piggy first so you have a place to put your pennies.”

“I’ll certainly give that some serious thought,” Mack said. “I appreciate your telling me about a dream piggy, Emma. I didn’t know such a thing existed.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “You didn’t? Wow. Well, now you know, so that’s okay.”

“Not everyone has the same dream, Emma,” Heather said. “Maybe Mack doesn’t want to own a house.”

“Buzzy doesn’t care if he has a house,” Melissa said. “His dream is to be the bestest baseball player in the whole wide world.”

“What’s your dream, Uncle Mack?” Emma said, gazing up at him.

“I, um, well, Emma, I…” Mack stopped speaking and sent a pleading look at Heather, who just smiled at him pleasantly. “I guess I don’t have a dream.”

Emma’s little hands flew to her cheeks. “You don’t? Oh, that’s terrible. That’s really, really terrible. My mommy says that dreams are ’portant, ’cause they’re magic, and they help you work harder and never give up no matter what, and…and stuff. Right, Mommy?”

“That’s right, Emma,” Heather said, smiling at her warmly.

Emma reached over and patted Mack on the knee, causing him to jerk in surprise.

“Don’t worry, Uncle Mack,” Emma said, “we’ll help you find a dream for yourself. Okay? We will. I promise. So don’t be sad that you don’t have a dream right now, ’cause we’re going to fix that. If it’s the kind of dream that needs pennies, we’ll need to get you a dream piggy, too.” She patted Mack’s knee again. “Just don’t be sad. Okay?”

A strange warmth along with a foreign achiness in his throat suffused Mack as he looked at Emma and saw the sincere concern on her little face. He nodded, not certain he was capable of speaking at that moment.

A loud knock sounded at the front door and again Mack jerked in surprise.

“Buzzy,” Heather, Melissa and Emma said in unison.

“Can I go play ball now, Mommy?” Melissa said. “Please?”

“Yes, you may,” Heather said. “You know the rules. You stay in our front yard, or Buzzy’s.”

“’Kay.” Melissa slid off the sofa, placed her sucker on the coffee table next to the pickle jar holding the flowers, then ran to the front door, flinging it open. “Hi, Buzzy. I’ll get my mitt. Guess what? We got a new uncle, who didn’t know we were here, but now he does, and he brought me the biggest sucker that was ever made.”

“Cool,” a voice said. “Can I have a lick of your sucker?”

“Maybe. I’ll be right back.”

Melissa ran across the room, down the hall, then returned moments later with an obviously very worn baseball mitt.

“Melissa,” Heather said as the little girl zoomed past her. “Say goodbye to Uncle Mack.”

“’Bye,” Melissa said, then left the house, yanking the door closed behind her.