Single With Twins

“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.