The twins were becoming very fond of Mack very quickly.

They didn’t want to lose him, the way they’d lost the father they had never known. They wanted their mommy to tell them they could keep Uncle Mack forever, and that yearning had to be nipped in the bud. She didn’t want her daughters’ hearts broken when Mack left Tucson.

And your heart, Heather? she asked herself. When she’d hugged Mack to thank him for the beautiful vase, she’d been struck by a sense of being where she belonged, encircled in his strong, protective arms. And she’d felt the raging, burning heat of what she knew was desire, of a woman wanting a man, wanting to make love with that man.

Stop it, she admonished herself. This was ridiculous. She hardly knew Mack Marshall. Desiring him, wanting him was terrible, frightening and—

It had been many years since she’d been made to feel special and pretty and feminine….

Dear Reader,

It’s the little things that mean so much. In fact, more than once, “little things” have fueled Myrna Temte’s Special Edition novels. One of her miniseries evolved from a newspaper article her mother sent her. The idea for her first novel was inspired by something she’d heard a DJ say on her favorite country-western radio station. And Myrna Temte’s nineteenth book, Handprints, also evolved in an interesting way. A friend received a special Mother’s Day present—a picture of her little girl with finger-painted handprints and a sweet poem entitled “Handprints.” Once the story was relayed to Myrna, the seed for another romance novel was planted. And the rest, as they say, is history….

There are plenty of special somethings this month. Bestselling author Joan Elliott Pickart delivers Single with Twins, the story of a photojournalist who travels the world in search of adventure, only to discover that family makes his life complete. In Lisa Jackson’s The McCaffertys: Matt, the rugged rancher hero feels that law enforcement is no place for a lady—but soon finds himself making a plea for passion….

Don’t miss Laurie Paige’s When I See Your Face, in which a fiercely independent officer is forced to rely on others when she’s temporarily blinded in the line of duty. Find out if there will be a Match Made in Wyoming in Patricia McLinn’s novel, when the hero and heroine find themselves snowbound on a Wyoming ranch! And The Child She Always Wanted by Jennifer Mikels tells the touching tale of a baby on the doorstep bringing two people together for a love too great for either to deny.

Asking authors where they get their ideas often proves an impossible question. However, many ideas come from little things that surround us. See what’s around you. And if you have an idea for a Special Edition novel, I’d love to hear from you. Enjoy!

Best,

Karen Taylor Richman, Senior Editor

Single with Twins
Joan Elliott Pickart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Josh who has learned how to smile

JOAN ELLIOTT PICKART

is the author of over eighty-five novels. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys reading, gardening and attending craft shows on the town square with her young daughter, Autumn. Joan has three all-grown-up daughters and three fantastic grandchildren. Joan and Autumn live in a charming small town in the high pine country of Arizona.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Prologue

The air was thick with smoke from the burning buildings and had an eerie orange cast. It even tasted strange, like dirt, charred wood…and fear.

Bullets thudded into the low, block wall with a maddening tempo as Mack Marshall crouched next to the old man and woman who were clinging to each other, trembling with fright.

“Hang on,” Mack said. “The good guys know we’re pinned down back here. They’ll get us some cover fire and we’ll make a run for it.”

The couple stared at Mack with wide, terror-filled eyes. Their expressions told him they hadn’t understood a word he’d said.

Damn, Mack thought, he’d really done it this time. All the other photojournalists had pulled back. But him? Hell, no, not Mack Marshall. He had to get closer, to go for a few more pictures that no one else would get, to push his luck right to the edge. Luck, which was obviously running out very, very quickly.

He could die here. He could actually get shot full of holes and die in the dirt in this godforsaken place, his lifeblood seeping into the ground to be trampled by strangers’ feet and forgotten, as though it had never been there. As though he had never existed.

Damn, he could die here…and no one would cry because he was dead.

Mack shook his head slightly in self-disgust at his depressing thoughts, but there was nowhere to escape from the chilling truth. Yeah, sure, he had friends scattered around the world who would feel badly that Mack Marshall had finally pushed his luck too far, once too often, and had bit the big one.

Mack was a helluva photojournalist, they’d say as they raised drinks in a final tribute to the reckless man who had never been without a camera around his neck and dynamic words to describe what he had seen.

Mack deserved all those awards he’d received over the years, they’d decide, filling their glasses again, but…by the same token…he sorta deserved his come-uppance too because he continually pushed his luck to the point of ridiculous and had finally paid the piper for the risks he’d taken.

Here’s to Mack. Drink up, boys… The king is dead and which one of us will be the next king? Here’s to Mack…what was his last name again?…oh, yeah, Marshall. Mack Marshall… Did you notice there was no family at the memorial service for Mack?

No one.

There was nobody there who cried.

A bullet zinged through the air above Mack’s head and he ducked even lower, cursing under his breath as he was pulled roughly from his dreary, mental ramblings.

The old couple gripped each other tighter, closing their eyes, their lips moving with whispered prayers.

“No,” Mack said, shaking the man’s shoulder. “Stay alert, be ready to run. Don’t give up now. How are you going to see the terrific pictures I took of you two if you quit on me now?

“Never let it be said that Mack Marshall didn’t take the extra step to get the perfect photograph, the one that puts him a cut above the herd. The picture that this time just might be the one that got him killed.”

The old man and woman bobbed their heads in jerky motions, willing to hang on to the sound of Mack’s deep voice, grasping at anything that hinted at hope.

Mack stiffened suddenly and narrowed his eyes.

“That’s it. Hear it?” he said. “That gunfire is from the good guys. Yeah, I can see them up on that rise, and they’re giving us cover. This is our last chance.” He crept behind the couple and gave them a push. “Run. Now. Go!”

The elderly couple ran, hunched over, moving as quickly as they could. Mack was right behind them, bending low, one hand flat on the old man’s back to propel him forward.

They had to get to that building across the street, Mack’s mind hammered. Go, go, go. Ten more feet. Five. Move, move, move. Almost there now…three feet left and they would be safe and—

A bullet slammed into Mack’s left shoulder, the force of the impact causing him to fall onto his back in the dirt. White-hot pain rocketed through his entire body as a black curtain began to descend over him.

No! his mind yelled. He’d seen the friendly hands reach out and pull the old couple into the building. He had been one stride away from escaping the danger in the street.

And now he was going to die? Here? In the dirt? He was only thirty-seven years old, and he was going to die in a village in a remote part of a country that half the people in the world had never even heard of, or gave a damn about?

He was going to die alone, knowing that when the final words were spoken over him, no one would cry?

No-o-o!

Then everything went black.

Chapter One

Two months later

Heather Marshall leaned back in the chair in front of the computer and rotated her head, attempting to relax the tightened muscles in her neck. She gave up relief as a lost cause and directed her attention to the row of numbers on the monitor.

Nodding in satisfaction, she pressed the save button, then exited the program. A moment later she turned off the computer and sighed as blessed silence fell over the bedroom, the hum from the machine stilled after another day of work.

She got to her feet and glanced longingly at the double bed that beckoned to her to crawl between the cool sheets.

“I’ll be back,” she said to the bed, pointing one finger in the air.

Leaving the cramped bedroom, she walked down the short hall to the living room, her destination the kitchen where she would pack the girls’ lunches for school the next day. The brown bags would be waiting to be grabbed from the refrigerator as the twins prepared to make their usual last-second dash to catch the school bus.

When she was halfway across the living room, a quiet knock sounded at the front door, causing Heather to stop and glance at her watch.

It was nearly ten o’clock, she thought, frowning. Who on earth would be knocking at her door at this late hour? There must be an emergency with one of her friends in the neighborhood.

Heather hurried to the door, then hesitated as she gripped the doorknob.

Slow down and think, she told herself. Granted, the people in the dozen houses on her short block looked after one another, were like a family of sorts, but that didn’t erase the fact that this section of Tucson was not the pride and joy of the chamber of commerce.

The small homes were old, the people who lived in them were low-income, struggling-to-get-by folks, just as she was. It was a high-crime area and only a dope would fling open the door at ten o’clock at night without knowing who was on the other side.

She went to the front window and peered through the drapes, clucking her tongue in disgust as she saw that the light had burned out—again—leaving her tiny front porch in total darkness. There was definitely something faulty in the wiring in that socket that caused the bulb to burn out within a few days of being replaced.

The knock was repeated.

Heather went to the door. “Who is it?”

“Mrs. Marshall?” a man’s voice said. “Heather Marshall? I realize that it’s late but I saw your lights on and…I was wondering if I might speak to you? It’s really very important.”

Heather narrowed her eyes and planted her hands on her hips.

“Are you selling something?” she said. “At ten o’clock at night? I’m not interested, thank you.”

“No, no, I’m not a salesman,” the man said. “Look, my name is Mack Marshall. I’ve been trying to locate you for weeks and now that I have I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to speak with you. Did you catch my last name? It’s Marshall. We’re related…kind of. I’ll explain everything if you’ll open the door.”

Marshall? Heather thought, frowning. Mack Marshall? And he was claiming to be related to her? That was nuts. Her husband, Frank, hadn’t had any relatives. No one. Like her, he’d been alone in the world, just one more thing he’d claimed meant they were to be together.

“You have the wrong Marshall,” Heather said. “My husband has no family. Good night, Mr. Marshall. I hope you find who you’re looking for.”

“Wait,” the man said. “Your husband’s name was Frank. This is obviously as much of a surprise to you as it was to me, but I’m Frank’s half brother. I didn’t even know he existed until a few weeks ago. Then I discovered he died nearly seven years ago, but that he left a wife and children. I’ve been searching for you ever since. Please, Mrs. Marshall, won’t you let me speak with you?”

Frank had a half brother named Mack? Heather thought incredulously. Was this some kind of scam? Oh, that was silly. What was this Mack Marshall person going to scam her out of? Her millions?

Mmm, she thought, pressing one fingertip to her chin. What to do? What to do? Mack Marshall had piqued her curiosity, that was for sure. It wasn’t every day—well, night in this case—of the week that a long-lost relative popped up out of the woodwork.

Why hadn’t Mack Marshall known until now that he’d had a half brother? And by the same token, why hadn’t Frank been aware of Mack’s existence?

Mmm. The safest thing to do would be to tell this Mack guy to come back in the morning, when she wouldn’t feel as vulnerable as she did now when it was pitch dark outside.

Right, Heather thought dryly. That would result in a long night of tossing, turning and the piling up of unanswered questions regarding the mystery now standing on her porch.

“I give up,” she said, then opened the door a crack to peer out.

Darn, she thought. That decisive action had accomplished nothing more than to give her a glimpse of a tall person barely silhouetted in the darkness.

“I’ve frightened you, haven’t I?” The man said. “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Marshall. I’ve waited this long to talk to you so I’ll come back in the morning, if that’s all right. It certainly wasn’t my intention to make you uneasy about letting me into your home. Is there a time tomorrow that would be good for you to speak with me?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Heather said, flinging open the door. “Come in. But, I swear, if you’re selling something, you are out of here.”

“Fair enough,” the man said, stepping into the living room. “I really appreciate this.”

Heather closed the door, then turned to look up at Mack Marshall.

This man, she thought, feeling her heart do a strange little two-step, could not possibly be related to Frank. This man was without a doubt the most ruggedly handsome, well-built specimen of the male species she’d ever seen in her twenty-seven years on this earth.

Oh, mercy, look at the square cut of his jaw, the straight blade of his nose, lips that were perfectly proportioned to his other features and…hair. Hair that was thick and black and needed a trim, and eyes that were so dark she could hardly discern the pupils.

His broad shoulders filled out the pale blue dress shirt opened at the neck, and his long, long legs were encased in nice-quality gray slacks, and—

Nope. No way. This Mack Marshall, or whoever he really was, couldn’t possibly be Frank’s brother, half or otherwise. Frank had been hardly taller than her own five-foot-six, and he’d gained weight just looking at a piece of cake, resulting in a large bulge that covered his belt within a few months of their marriage.

True, Frank had had very dark eyes, but his hair had been brown and thinning. He’d been rather good-looking, in a pleasant, ordinary sense, and he could be extremely charming when the mood struck but—

Heather folded her arms beneath her breasts and tapped one foot.

“The jig is up, Mr. Whoever You Are,” she said. “You don’t look one bit like Frank Marshall, not even close. I don’t know what you’re attempting to accomplish here, mister, but it isn’t going to work. I’d like you to leave my home. Now.”

Mack Marshall raised both hands in a gesture of surrender, then lowered his left hand to his side. He removed his wallet from his back pocket with his right hand and flipped it open.

“Take a look at my identification,” he said. “New York driver’s license, press card, voter registration, credit cards, the whole nine yards. I am Mack Marshall and your late husband was my half brother. I have a folder full of documents in my vehicle if you’d like more proof.”

“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 herself 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 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.

Emma wiggled off the sofa and picked up her sucker. “I’m going to put this in a special safe place in my part of the bedroom, Mom. I’m keeping it forever, you know.”

Heather glanced quickly at the flowers. “Yes, Emma, I know.”

“’Bye, Uncle Mack,” Emma said. “Don’t forget now. We’re gonna help you find your dream.”

“I won’t forget,” Mack said, smiling at her. “And I thank you for that, Emma, I really do.”

“No-o-o-o problem,” Emma said, then left the room, cradling the sucker in her arms as though it were a baby doll. Mack took a deep breath and let it out slowly, puffing his cheeks and shaking his head.

“I’m exhausted,” he said, chuckling. “That was the most amazing conversation I’ve ever taken part in in my entire life.” He paused. “Heather, your daughters are wonderful, absolutely fantastic.”

“Thank you,” she said, dipping her head slightly. “I rather like them myself.”

“But how do you keep up with them? I mean, their minds never stop, and they’re so honest and real, just tell it like it is. They’re completely different, aren’t they? Even though they’re identical twins their personalities are like day and night.”

“Oh, yes,” Heather said, laughing. “Emma is very ladylike and tries to be so prim and proper all the time, and Melissa is my tomboy. They do keep me on my toes. I love them so much, Mack. I simply can’t imagine my life without them.”

“Mmm,” Mack said, nodding. “It would seem that I’m to have assistance in getting a dream for myself.”

“Well, be forewarned that Emma won’t forget about that. Once she gets something in her mind, it’s there to stay until she deals with it.” Heather frowned. “You really don’t have any hopes and dreams?”

“Until today,” Mack said, “I never thought about it. But, well, no, I guess I don’t.”

“Just humor Emma for a while on the subject,” Heather said. “We place a great deal of emphasis on our dream to have our own home. I realize now that Emma and Melissa assume that everyone has, or should have, a dream, too, but I have to admit that I agree with that philosophy.”

“Why?”

“Because a dream gives you a purpose, a goal, a whimsical sense of a magical time yet to come. A dream provides hope when you’re trying to survive, just make it day to day.”

Heather sighed. “Never mind, Mack. I’m not certain you can understand all this, because your lifestyle is so very different from ours. If you want something, I imagine you can go out and buy it as the mood strikes.”

“Well…”

“Please don’t think I’m doing an oh-poor-us routine here, because I’m not. It’s just that we’re from such different worlds that I’m not certain we can connect on any level. That wouldn’t be your fault, nor mine, it would just be the way things are. You’re welcome to visit us, if you choose, while you’re on vacation here in Tucson, but I don’t expect we’ll find a common ground while you’re in town.”

“Oh, that’s not true, Heather,” Mack said, looking directly at her. “We’ve already connected on a couple of things.”

“Such as?”

“Your daughters have staked a claim on my heart that feels great. It really does. I may grow old before my time just trying to keep up with them during a conversation, but I like them very, very much.”

“Well, that’s one,” Heather said, smiling. “You said a couple of things.”

Mack nodded. “It’s come to light that I don’t have a dream, and this—” he swept his right arm through the air “—is the place where I’m going to get the help I need to find one.”

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