Finn's Twins!

by Anne McAllister

  They'd stopped in front of a window with a display of Hopi kachinas in one of the shops when she heard, "There you are," from behind them.

  "Uncle Finn!" Tansy gave a gleeful shout. "You're early."

  Izzy, who had been preparing herself for five o'clock, didn't have her armor in place and, as she turned around, her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

  Finn bounded up the steps of the boardwalk toward them, his dark hair wind-tossed, his lean, tan face breaking into a smile at the girls' greetings. There was an energy in him that Izzy had never seen in another man. And when he raised his eyes and met Izzy's, she saw a light in them that drew her like a moth to a flame.

  And if you go to him, you'll get well and truly scorched, my girl, she reminded herself firmly. She al­lowed herself a polite smile, no more.

  It didn't do any good. He ruffled the girls' hair, then took Izzy by the arm and led her down the boardwalk. "I've got eight spots picked out," he said, and she heard the eagerness in his voice. "I'd like to tell the models to go hang and just shoot scenery. I saw some elk!" He was like a small boy, his enthusiasm bubbling over.

  "You've never seen elk before?"

  "I told you, I had a deprived childhood." His tone was light, but beneath it she heard the truth in what he said.

  But she simply replied, "Poor you," in the same light tone and reached up to tousle his hair. She thought that would be safe enough, but the feel of the silky strands against her fingers sent a shaft of pure longing through her. She jerked her hand away and tucked it in the pocket of her jeans.

  "Can we see elk, Uncle Finn?" Tansy asked him, hopping up and down alongside.

  He looked at Izzy, the eager light still shining in his eyes. "Want to?"

  "Oh, yes!"

  He had been right to bring the girls; Izzy saw that very quickly. The time they were spending together—looking for and finding the elk, then later, after dinner, sitting by the river, watching the sunset over the Tetons, all three of them leaning against the trunk of a tree and each other—was invaluable, bonding them in a way that all their days in New York could never have done.

  She stood a little bit apart, watching them, not the sunset, and felt a faint hollow aching deep inside her. As if they were a family and she was not.

  Well, heavens, the rational part of her argued, that was only the truth. She wasn't their family. She didn't have a family yet. She would, though, soon. With Sam.

  She needed to call Sam. He had said to ring when she got here and she hadn't done it yet. She turned and started back.

  "Where're you going?" Finn called.

  She didn't look back. "I have to call Sam."

  He muttered something under his breath and scrambled to his feet. "Come on, girls."

  "You don't have to come."

  "Yes," he said. "I do."

  The damn woman had Sam on the brain. Fletcher was all she ever thought about. How the hell could she spend all her time thinking about him when there were elk to be seen, mountains to be climbed, rivers to be fished?

  Not to mention Finn and the girls.

  It reminded him all too much of his childhood, when his foster parents had always been far more interested in their own kids than they had been in him. He under­stood it, even though he resented it. Back then being second best had been a way of life.

  It wasn't now. For this week, anyway, Izzy was going to pay attention to him!

  So he hung about all the time she was on the phone to Fletcher. He checked his watch and looked im­patient—which he was—and eventually she hung up and rejoined him and the girls on the deck of the hotel where they were staying.

  "It's getting late," she told them. "Almost nine. And by your internal clocks it's even later since we've gained two hours coming out here."

  "But it isn't even really dark yet," Tansy protested.

  "It will be by the time you're ready for bed," Izzy said, chivvying them off toward the elevator that would take them to the suite.

  It was a two-bedroom suite. The girls had one of them. No comment was made about the other. Finn rather hoped Izzy wouldn't notice until it was too late. There was a king-size bed in the other room, after all. Big as a glacier.

  Izzy had taken one look and said, "I'm not sleeping in there with you.''

  He didn't argue then. And as soon as they had tucked the girls up in bed, Finn had got a call from the catalog executive who wanted to talk to him over drinks down in the bar. He gnashed his teeth, but in the end he'd no choice but to go.

  He got back to discover Izzy in a flurry of activity, making up a bed on one of the love seats in front of the television.

  "Don't be ridiculous," he said.

  She didn't answer, just snapped out a sheet and tucked the end in along one arm of the love seat. Then she spread a blanket on top of it and plumped a pillow at the other end. "There."

  "It isn't long enough, even for you."

  "It will be fine." She didn't look at him as she spoke, just disappeared into the bedroom with the glacier-size bed and shut the door. Moments later she was back wearing, he presumed, her nightgown. She had a robe on over it, covering her from neck to toe. Finn rolled his eyes.

  Izzy settled herself on the love seat, pulled her knees up against her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

  Finn, watching her, scowled. She didn't look at him.

  He didn't move, just stood there. She didn't move, just sat there. Finally he sighed. "Sweet dreams," he muttered.

  Finn was right: the love seat was at least a foot too short for her. She told herself it wouldn't matter, that she could easily curl up and be perfectly comfortable. She was wrong.

  She tossed and turned, muttered and grumbled. She got a kink in her back, an ache in her neck, and more time than she wanted to remain aware of Finn MacCauley in the next room. She got up and paced the small living room, trying to think of Sam.

  She stubbed her toe on the coffee table in the dark and bit back a yelp.

  The door to the bedroom flew open. "What's wrong?"

  She hopped up and down, holding her foot. "Nothing. I tripped."

  "You were sleepwalking?"

  "I was not sleepwalking!" The second she said it, she wondered if she might have been better off claiming she had been.

  "Can't sleep, huh?" Finn came closer. The drapes were lined and cut out most of the light, but she didn't need to see him to know how close he was. His presence was almost tangible. She backed away, tumbled over the damned table again, this time landing on her bottom.

  "Oh, for God's sake!" Finn flicked on the light. Izzy tried to scramble up, grabbing for her robe at the same time. Finn snatched it out of her hands and tossed it aside, then put his hands on her arms. "Are you all right?"

  "F-fine. Let me go. I'll just go back to bed."

  But he didn't let her go. On the contrary, she felt herself being lifted into his arms. "Hold still," he snapped when she started to struggle. And cradling her against his chest, he carried her into the bedroom and set her gently on the bed.

  "I don't want—"

  "I don't give a damn what you want. You're sleeping here."

  "No. I—"

  "Yes." And he flipped off the light again, then flung himself onto the bed beside her, one arm going across her, pinning her down.

  "Finn!"

  "Lie still and stop panicking. You're like a skittish colt. What do you think I'm going to do to you?"

  Izzy sucked in a breath. "N-nothing. Are you?"

  His body was almost rigid next to hers. "No, damn it, I'm not." But he didn't move his arm away either.

  They lay next to each other, breathing hard, not moving at all. Seconds passed. Minutes. The feel of his arm against her breasts made her tremble. She wiggled slightly.

  His grip tightened slightly. "Does my arm hurt you?"

  "N-no."

  "Then shut up and go to sleep."

  If she hadn't been able to sleep on the love seat for thinking about him, how on earth was
she going to when his body was lying mere inches away?

  Izzy eased around onto her side, facing away from him. A mistake. He spooned his body around the curve of hers, his arm tucking beneath her breasts and pulling her back firmly against him.

  "I—Sam…" she began.

  "Screw Sam." Finn snugged her even closer. She could feel his breath against her ear. She held herself rigid, but it was hard to stay rigid for very long, especially since the warmth of his body made her want simply to snuggle back against him. She -couldn't resist any longer. Her muscles gave out; her body softened, and without even wanting to, she found herself nestling more deeply into his arms.

  "That's better," he growled.

  Something soft brushed her ear. His lips? Surely not. But the mere possibility sent a tingle clear through her. She sighed.

  And then, against all odds, she slept.

  Finn was gone when she awoke. Before she even opened her eyes, she missed the warmth of his body next to her. Instinctively she reached for him—and felt bereft when he wasn't there.

  Fool, she called herself and hopped out of bed. There was a note on the dresser. We're shooting by the river. I'll leave the car. Bring the girls down after you've eaten.

  Imperious, aren't you? Izzy thought. No would you please or if you'd like to. Just Bring the girls.

  But maybe he wasn't being imperious, just realistic. She knew quite well that wherever he was the girls would want to be. She wanted to be there, too.

  The girls hurried through breakfast.

  "He really said we could come?" Tansy demanded.

  Izzy showed them the note. "But you've got to stay out of the way. And don't pester."

  "We won't," Pansy promised.

  "We never pester," Tansy said solemnly.

  Izzy rolled her eyes. The girls giggled.

  Finn was crouched behind a camera, but he looked up at their approach. "Come here."

  The girls scampered over. He reached into the camera bag at his feet and pulled out two small point-and-shoot type cameras, then handed one to each of his nieces.

  "You've got to help me out," he told them. "I'm shooting the main shots, but they're planning to use some candid ones as well. I don't have time to do that, too. Nor do I have six hands. So I'm hoping you'll help me out."

  The girls stared at him, their eyes like saucers. "Really?" Tansy said.

  "They won't use anything that's not good, mind you. But if you get some good shots, well… you might be getting your first photo credits."

  "Wow," Tansy breathed.

  Pansy bit her lip. Izzy could see the doubt written on her face.

  Finn must have seen it too. "You don't have to if you don't want to," he said gently.

  "I want to," the little girl said stoutly. "It's just…I'm not very good.''

  Finn lifted her chin with his finger so that she looked up to meet his gaze. "You're good enough for me."

  Izzy wanted to hug him. Pansy did. And when Finn looked up and met Izzy's gaze with a smile of his own, her heart did a little dance.

  "Hurry up, Finn. I'm freezing!" one of the models whined from the canoe, where she sat wearing shorts and a T-shirt and trying to look glamorous and athletic at the same time.

  Finn dragged his gaze away from Izzy and went back to work. She felt privileged; she got to spend the rest of the day looking at him.

  It was dangerous. Playing with fire. Yet she couldn't seem to stop herself. And it wasn't as if she was doing anything with him, for goodness sake! She was just looking. Window-shopping.

  After all, she defended herself, they had slept together all night and they hadn't done a thing!

  That ought to mean something, oughtn't it?

  It didn't mean what she hoped it meant—that she was indifferent. In reality, it meant she was letting her guard down, getting overconfident about her ability to resist him.

  She allowed herself to relax and enjoy watching him shoot by the river. She didn't even resist when he waited for her to share the bed with him that night. She cuddled close and savored every moment of those hours she spent in his arms. That night and the next and the night after that.

  She wasn't being unfaithful to Sam, she assured herself. She hadn't done anything!

  Except give Finn her heart.

  There was no denying it, no pretending it wasn't so. It was.

  She didn't know precisely when she realized it. Perhaps she'd known it all along. Since she'd come.

  Perhaps that was why she'd come.

  She had spent the week fighting it—pretending she was using the time to get sick of Finn. But all the while she'd been watching him, basking in his attention, snug­gling nightly in his arms, she'd only really been doing one thing—lying to herself.

  But now, faced with the idea of going back to New York tomorrow—of packing her things and saying goodbye to him, she couldn't lie any longer. She'd fallen in love with him.

  What about Sam? Didn't she love Sam?

  Once she'd thought she had. Maybe, in a way, she still did—the way a sister loved a brother, the way one friend loved another dearly.

  But not the way she loved Finn.

  She watched him now, crouched on the riverbank with the girls. He'd spent the week involving them in his life, alternately teasing them and teaching them, becoming slowly but surely for them the father they'd never had.

  Was that why she had fallen in love with him? Or was it something more?

  She loved watching him work. He saw things in people that no one else saw. Another photographer might simply have tried to make the clothes look good. Finn made the people look good. He encouraged them to have fun, to be themselves—and while they were, he caught their joy.

  He caught hers, too, without her even knowing it. She'd thought he was just taking background bits for the catalog and snapshots to put in an album with the girls' efforts to commemorate the trip when they were back home.

  Maybe he had. But he'd also taken photos of her.

  She found them late that last afternoon. He'd gone back out to take some makeup shots, and had left them on the desk, arranged in an almost haphazard fashion, as if he'd been comparing one Izzy to another. Izzy, not expecting to see any of herself, stared at them, amazed.

  He'd caught her dreamy-eyed and wistful one night as she'd sat watching the girls toast marshmallows in a camp fire. He'd caught her breathless and laughing when she'd tipped the canoe and come up soaking wet. He'd captured her pensive and cheerful, serious and silly, smiling and looking as if she'd lost her very best friend.

  She knew exactly when he'd taken that last photo. It was the time she'd seen him playing with the girls on the lawn, happy together as a family—and she'd felt her eyes begin to sting and her throat to ache. Finn had glanced up and waved at her to come and join them.

  She'd taken half a step, then stopped and shook her head. She'd wanted to—oh, God, how she had wanted to—but she had no right. She'd turned blindly away and went to catch the lift to the top of the ski run. There was no skiing in the middle of the summer. But the lift ran anyway, taking tourists high into the Tetons so they could experience the view.

  She'd gone to seek that view, to gain some distance, some perspective. She'd seen nothing but the scene playing in her mind. Finn and the girls. A family together—without her.

  She didn't remember the tears rolling down her cheeks, but Finn had caught them there. Had he followed her up the mountain? He must have. He'd never said a word.

  Had he known what she was thinking? Had he sus­pected she'd fallen in love with him? She hoped not.

  It was the last thing he would want. He'd taken the twins because he had to, and now he'd grown to love them. They were his nieces. She was nothing to him, had no claim on him. He wasn't going to grow to love her.

  She didn't want him to. She wanted love, yes. But love that came out of joy, not out of duty.

  She wanted the impossible.

  Don't, she cautioned herself. Oh, don't. But it was too late.
She already had.

  She set the photos down on the desk again and drew a steadying breath. It wouldn't do to go all weepy. She'd spoil what little time they had left.

  It wasn't much. Tomorrow they would be on their way back to New York. The next day Rorie would start work so that Izzy could go to Sam.

  She knew now that she wouldn't be going to Sam-except to explain. She'd be going back to San Francisco, older and wiser and in love with a man who would never love her.

  But she had today—tonight. She'd better make a few memories to take with her when she went.

  He came in when there was scarcely any daylight left. And when he finally returned to the suite, he looked worn out. There were dark circles under his eyes and deep lines bracketing his mouth. Izzy wished she had the right to go to him and rub his shoulders or massage his back.

  He barely looked at her. "I'm going to grab a shower."

  When he came out twenty minutes later, she expected he'd collapse on the bed and leave her and the girls to fend for themselves. She could take them down to the cafeteria, she supposed. They wouldn't mind.

  But he had put on a clean pair of jeans and was but­toning a fresh shirt. He had shaved and his dark hair, damp from the shower, was neatly combed. Still, there was a tight, intense expression on his face, the skin stretched tautly over his cheekbones.

  "I'll call room service," he said. "What do you girls want to eat?"

  "Room service?" Tansy and Pansy's eyes got wide. "Really?" They pored over the menu and made their decision with little help from Izzy.

  "I'll just have soup and a salad," she said when he went to call down the order. She wasn't feeling hungry in the least. But when the order came, her soup and salad weren't on it. Nor was anything for Finn.

  "What—" Izzy began, but there came just then a knock on the door.

  Finn opened it and ushered one of the models into the room. Izzy's heart fell to her feet. Of course he'd want to go out at least once while he was here. She could hardly expect him to spend every night with her and the girls.