“Drink delivery,” a voice said.
Heather and Mack jumped at the sudden intrusion, quickly pulling their hands apart to rest below the table. A teenage boy stood by their table holding a tray with a pitcher of soda and four glasses.
“Thanks,” Mack said, the gritty quality of his voice echoing in his ears.
As the boy placed the pitcher and glasses on the table, Mack cleared his throat and shifted slightly in the booth, willing his aroused body back under control.
Heather Marshall, he thought, was pushing his libido buttons…big time. He’d been consumed with desire when she pinned him in place with those gorgeous dark eyes of hers.
If any other woman had looked at him the way Heather just had, he’d read that message as a “Go,” and the evening would conclude with making love.
But this was Heather and he knew, just somehow knew, she didn’t have a clue that desire had shown in her dark eyes, that her lips had been slightly parted, just waiting to be kissed, that there had been a flush to her cheeks caused by the same heat that had consumed him.
No, Heather wasn’t like the women he knew. Not even close. Despite the fact that she’d given birth, she was an innocent, a very unworldly woman, who didn’t play the game, nor know the rules.
So, he was going to have to be noble, not take advantage of Heather, even though he wanted her with an intensity that was far beyond anything he could remember experiencing before.
He’d seen the passion in Heather’s eyes, but did she realize that she desired him? Was she even aware of what was happening between them? Surely she knew. But then again, it had been many years since she’d been married to his half brother, and he had a feeling there had been no time, nor inclination on Heather’s part, to date anyone while scrambling to provide for her daughters.
Damn, this was getting rather depressing. Heather Marshall could very well desire him as much as he did her, and not even know it. To take advantage of what he’d seen in her eyes, on her face, would put him in the same category as Frank.
“What are you scowling about?” Heather said as the waiter walked away.
“Oh…nothing,” Mack said, producing a small smile. “Heather, I’m honored that you trust me enough to have told me about your past. I know you felt you had to tell me so I could better understand the twins, but…thank you.” He paused. “What do the girls know about their father?”
“Very little,” she said. “I’ve kept it simple because lies have a way of multiplying. I told the girls that their daddy was a very nice man, that I’m sorry they never had a chance to know him, and gave them a picture of him to keep in their room. Thankfully they’ve asked very few questions about him.”
Mack nodded, then tilted his head to one side to look past her. “That’s our number for the pizza. I’ll be right back and I’ll collect the girls when I come.”
As Mack walked away, Heather sank back in the booth and placed her hand on her heart for a moment.
Something strange happened when she’d looked into Mack’s dark eyes, she thought. It was as though they’d been transported to another place, out of the pizza parlor, and into a mist that had virtually crackled with sensuality.
Had Mack been as suffused with raging, burning desire as she had? Did he want her the way she wanted him? Was he viewing her as a woman, not just as the mother of Emma and Melissa?
Oh, that was a silly thought. She was falling prey to Mack’s masculine magnetism only because it had been so long since she’d been in close proximity to a man. Mack was probably so accustomed to being with any woman of his choice that someone with her lack of sophistication was having no effect on him whatsoever.
That was a comforting conclusion, Heather thought. It was a tad hard on the ego, but it was safe, would definitely help her to move past her overreactions to Mack and enable her to place him firmly in the role of the twins’ uncle where he belonged.
And this whole scenario was becoming so confusing and complicated it was exhausting.
“I lost every game I played,” Melissa said, sliding into the booth and picking up her precious mitt.
“Me, too,” Emma said, sitting across from her sister. “I was blasted into bits by the evil monsters in the spaceship.”
Mack placed two pizzas on the table, then settled next to Emma in the booth.
“Nothing like some violent fun games to play,” Heather said, smiling. “That’s enough of those for one night. Mmm. That pizza smells delicious.”
“Dig in, ladies,” Mack said. “You see before you one pizza with just cheese and one with everything on it except the little fishies.” He filled the glasses with soda. “There. Is everybody happy?”
“Yep,” Melissa said, reaching for a piece of the pizza with the multitude of toppings.
“Yep,” Emma echoed, then took a bite of a cheese-only slice Heather had placed on her plate.
“And you, Heather?” Mack said, looking at her intently. “Are you happy?”
Mack wasn’t asking her opinion about the pizza, Heather thought. He was, she somehow knew, doing a survey on her life in general. He was assuming, she supposed, that no one living how she did, where she did, could possibly be content. Well, she had news for Mr. Marshall.
“Yes,” she said, lifting her chin. “I’m very happy, Mack.”
Mack nodded slowly. “Mmm. You’re very positive about that?”
“Very,” she said.
“Oh, no,” Melissa said. “I spilled soda on my new shirt.”
Heather tore her gaze from Mack’s, picked up a napkin, and wiped the soda from the front of Melissa’s Garfield shirt.
“It won’t stain, sweetie,” she said. “I’ll wash it in time for you to wear it to school on Monday.”
“’Kay,” Melissa said, then took another bite of her pizza.
That wasn’t a new shirt Melissa was wearing, Mack thought, frowning. It was slightly faded and he could see a darn on one of the sleeves.
Melissa had been so excited about her new shirt when he’d arrived at the house, but these kids, and possibly Heather too wore secondhand clothes.
That wasn’t the way it should be. They were Marshalls, part of his family, and they deserved better than having wardrobes of other people’s castoffs. He was going to do something about it. Somehow.
“Did you think about your dream yet, Uncle Mack?” Emma said, bringing him from his thoughts. “You know, the one you don’t got?”
“Don’t have,” Heather said. “It’s probably difficult to think about a missing dream when a person is on vacation, Emma. Uncle Mack will no doubt have better luck at finding his dream once he goes home to New York City. Right, Mack?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Mack said. “I’ll still be the same person, whether I’m here in Tucson or back in New York.”
Heather narrowed her eyes and leaned slightly forward. “But you are only in Tucson for a few weeks. Right? You’ll be able to think better in your own home after you leave here…soon.” She paused. “Right, Mack?”
“Oh!” Mack nodded. “Yes. I’m on vacation. I’ll need to return to work…soon.”
“You can take pictures anywhere,” Melissa said. “You could buy a house and live in Tucson forever if you wanted to.”
“He doesn’t have enough money for a house, Melissa,” Emma said, “and he doesn’t even have a dream piggy to save for one. Besides, Mommy said maybe Uncle Mack doesn’t want a house. Do you want a house, Uncle Mack?”
“It probably wouldn’t be a good idea,” Mack said. “I wouldn’t be there enough to mow the lawn and keep everything looking nice.”
“You should quit going away all the time,” Melissa said. “If you had a house, you could get a dog. That would be so cool. We’re going to get a dog when we buy our dream house, aren’t we, Mommy?”
“Yes, we are,” Heather said. “We’ll go to the pound and get a cute, small dog.”
“Sounds good,” Mack said. “When I was a boy, I really wanted a dog. I w
as going to name him Butch. But…” He shrugged.
“How come you never got your dog named Butch?” Melissa said.
“I lived with just my father,” Mack said, “and he…well, he didn’t like to stay in one place for too long. We moved to a lot of different cities while I was growing up, and it’s pretty hard to have a dog when you keep packing and going.”
“Oh,” Melissa said. “I wouldn’t like that. You had to leave your friends all the time and go to a new school and…no, that’s not good at all. That’s terrible, just terrible.”
“I got used to it,” Mack said. “Actually, Melissa, it wasn’t terrible because I still don’t stay in one place for long and I’ve had a lot of practice at traveling because of how I grew up. Some people just don’t—can’t—put down roots and I’m one of them.”
“What does that mean?” Melissa said. “Put down roots? Like a tree?”
“Well, yes, sort of like a tree,” Mack said, nodding. “A tree stays where it’s planted, where its roots are. People do that, too, but I don’t.”
“How do you know you wouldn’t like to have roots like a tree,” Melissa said, “if you never tried it?”
Mack opened his mouth, closed it, then chuckled. “The FBI could use this kid, Heather. She’s a tough interrogator.”
“Believe me,” Heather said, smiling, “I’m well aware of that. Emma is the same way. You might as well give up and answer her question. How do you know you wouldn’t like to have roots like a tree if you’ve never tried it?”
“Well,” Mack said slowly, “I’ve been moving around for thirty-seven years, ladies, and I believe it’s rather late in the game for me to change. I’m just not capable of having roots like a tree.”
“Terrible,” Melissa said. “Just terrible.”
“Don’t you get sad having to say goodbye to everybody all the time?” Emma said. “I would be so-o-o sad, and lonely, and I’d cry, and cry, and cry.”
“So would I, Emma,” Heather said quietly, looking at her daughter. “I wouldn’t want to be living a life of goodbyes. I’ve had enough of those already.”
“Maybe you could make having roots like a tree your very own dream, Uncle Mack,” Emma said. “Then you wouldn’t have to say goodbye all the time, and be sad, and lonely, and stuff.”
“But I don’t get sad and lonely and…” Mack started, then his voice trailed off.
A vivid image of being sprawled in the dirt, bleeding, thinking he was going to die alone in that godforsaken place flashed in his mental vision and a chill coursed through him, causing a cold fist to tighten in his gut.
“Well, things are different now,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. “I’ve found all of you. I have a family. If I’m on the other side of the world and start to get lonely, I’ll just think about the three of you and I’m sure I’ll feel much better.”
“If we’re your family,” Melissa said, reaching for another slice of pizza, “then you shouldn’t leave us. You should stay with us forever and ever. That’s what families are supposed to do.” She sighed. “But they don’t. Buzzy’s daddy went to live with another mother, and our daddy died, and…people just don’t follow the rules about families one little bit.”
“Maybe that’s ’cause not everybody knows what the rules are,” Emma said. “We could teach you the rules about staying with us forever and ever, Uncle Mack, and then you could have roots like a tree.”
“Well, I…” Mack said.
“Emma,” Heather said, “Uncle Mack has said that he just isn’t the kind of person who stays in one place for long. We have to respect that. Everyone is different, and just because they don’t think like we do, it doesn’t make them wrong. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“No,” Emma said, frowning. “Families should stay together forever and ever, and that’s that.”
Heather glanced heavenward. “Let’s change the subject.” She paused. “But you girls have got to remember that Uncle Mack will be leaving soon.”
“Well, fine,” Emma said, folding her arms over her chest. “But when Uncle Mack leaves, I’m going to cry. So there.”
“I’ll cry with you, Emma,” Melissa said, nodding. “I will.”
I won’t, Heather thought. The only reason she would cry when Mack left would be if he was taking her heart with him. And that wasn’t going to happen.
Chapter Five
Late that night Mack sat in a lounge chair on the balcony outside his hotel room, his feet propped on the metal railing. He had the small throw pillow from the sofa in the suite tucked behind his left shoulder, which was throbbing like a painful toothache. He’d taken two aspirin and was waiting for them to kick in before he even attempted to get some sleep.
Despite his physical discomfort, he was emotionally contented, filled with a sense of well-being that was rather unfamiliar but definitely welcome. And he knew the source of this new inner peace…Heather, Melissa and Emma.
Mack swept his gaze over the sky, amazed at the brilliance of the multitude of stars twinkling in the heavens. He couldn’t remember when he’d stopped long enough to drink in the sight of nature’s gifts such as a star-studded sky on a clear, cool spring night. He was aware of the beauty now only because Melissa and Emma had made wishes on the stars when they’d left the pizza parlor.
Heather, Melissa and Emma, he mentally repeated. His family.
Mack chuckled softly as he replayed in his head the conversation with the female Marshalls about trees and roots, and knowing the rules of being a family.
The twins pinned him to the wall when he least expected it, leaving smooth-talking Mack Marshall scrambling for a response to the questions they whipped on him.
They were really something, those little heart-stealers, so open and honest, just said whatever was on their complicated, six-year-old minds.
And Heather? Ah, yes, lovely Heather. She was as open and honest and as real as her daughters.
Mack frowned and shifted slightly on the lounge, attempting to find a comfortable position.
Heather sure had had a rough life, he mused. Really tough, and his half brother, Frank, had been a louse from the word go. But Heather wasn’t bitter, or hard, didn’t have an angry chip on her shoulder. She was simply…Heather, and he liked her very, very much.
Did you think about your dream yet, Uncle Mack? You know, the one you don’t got?
“No, sweet Emma,” Mack said out loud, then sighed wearily. “I don’t think I know how to dream anymore. The last dream I had was probably wanting that dog, ole Butch, and that never came to be.”
Strange. Heather and the twins had so little materialistically, yet they were obviously happy in the world they’d created for themselves.
And they knew how to dream.
They would have their own house someday, and were working toward that dream, that goal, a penny at a time, placed in their dream piggy. There was a rainbow in their future with their very own home nestled in the pot instead of gold.
“And you, Marshall?” he said, looking up at the sky again.
He had money to burn, bought whatever he wanted when the mood struck, settled for nothing less than top-of-the-line, first-class all the way.
He was good, very good, at his chosen profession and had the awards to prove it, along with the fat checks that testified to making it to the big time.
But was he happy? No, not really. Was he unhappy? No, not really. He just…existed, he guessed, went from one place to another doing his thing, not really dwelling on his state of mind, or taking inventory of his life.
But now, because of Heather and her daughters, he knew a glaring truth about himself.
He didn’t know how to dream.
There wasn’t a rainbow in his future, there was just more of the same and, oh, man, the years ahead seemed to be spread in front of him in a dark, cold, empty nothingness.
“Ah, hell, Marshall,” he said, dragging his hands down his face. “Give it a rest.”
He’d been i
n such an upbeat mood when he settled into the lounge out here and now he’d bummed himself out to the max. Yeah, well, he was tired, just didn’t have his usual stamina back yet. And he was sick to death of being in pain. He just wanted his shoulder to heal and be done with it.
There was nothing wrong with his life, or his future. He could write his own ticket. The constant pain was wearing him down, that’s all.
So what if he didn’t have a damn dream? Just because two little girls had decided he needed one didn’t make it an etched-in-stone thing he was sadly lacking.
The majority of people in the world probably didn’t have a dream, for Pete’s sake. They just…existed, plugged away one day at a time. But were they happy, those multitudes of faceless human beings? Were they happy, the way Heather and Melissa and Emma were? He doubted it. He seriously doubted it.
“Hell,” Mack said, leveling himself to his feet. “I’m definitely depressing myself.”
He picked up the throw pillow and went into the large living room of the suite, closing the sliding-glass door behind him. He narrowed his eyes as he scrutinized the area, shaking his head as he determined that the living room was nearly as large as Heather’s entire dinky house.
He didn’t need all this space to roam around in…alone. He’d automatically requested a suite when he’d made his hotel reservations without a second thought. Because, by damn, he was Mack Marshall and nothing but the best would do.
But hot-shot Marshall didn’t know how to dream.
“Damn it,” Mack said, tossing the pillow onto the sofa, “knock it off.”
He started toward the bedroom, hesitated, then spun around and returned to the sofa to sit and pick up the telephone receiver. He punched in a series of numbers and drummed the fingers of his free hand on the end table as the ringing on the other end of the line began.
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