Single with Twins

by Joan Elliott Pickart

  Four rings…five…six…

  “What?” a groggy-sounding voice finally said.

  “Marilyn? This is Mack.”

  “Mack? What’s wrong?” the woman said. “Do you know what time it is?”

  “Oh,” Mack said. “Sorry. I didn’t think about the time difference between Tucson and New York. I woke you up, didn’t I?”

  “Well, yes, but, hey, what’s an agent for?” Marilyn said. “Do we need sleep? Of course not. We are superior beings who…why are you calling me in the middle of the night? Is your shoulder worse? You know the doctor didn’t want you to make that trip yet, but would you listen? No, not Mack Marshall. You just went ahead and…are you back in the hospital out there? Talk to me.”

  “I would if you’d give me a chance.”

  “Oh. So, okay, speak.”

  “I just want to ask you a question, Marilyn.”

  “Ask away.”

  Mack cleared his throat. “Marilyn, do you have a dream? You know, a secret wish kind of thing? Something that you’d want to be waiting for you at the end of a rainbow? A dream?”

  There was silence on the other end of the line. A very long silence.

  “Marilyn?” Mack said.

  “Whatever you’re drinking,” Marilyn said, “don’t have any more. You’re blitzed. Are you combining pain pills with booze, Mack? That’s dangerous.”

  “Damn it, Marilyn, in all the years that you’ve been my friend and agent, have you ever known me to drink too much? No, you have not.”

  “Yeah, well, you’ve never been shot before, either. A near-death experience can change a person. Personally, I think you’re drunk as a skunk. You called me in the middle of the night to ask me if I have a dream? Something I want to find at the end of a rainbow?”

  “Yes. I swear to you that I’m not drunk,” Mack said, his voice rising. “Would you just answer the question, for crying out loud?”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Marilyn said.

  Mack hooked his free hand on the back of his neck. “Very serious.”

  “Well, all right, give me a minute here,” Marilyn said. “A dream. A dream? I had one a long time ago, but… I wanted to be a mother, Mack. I wanted a baby.

  “But then I got caught up in this crazy career and kept putting off getting involved in a serious relationship with a man, and all of a sudden it was too late and…now? No, I guess I don’t have a dream anymore, not like the kind you’re speaking of.” She paused. “Why are we having this conversation at this god-awful hour?”

  “Because it’s important,” Mack said. “Don’t you think you need a dream to make the future mean something, to do more than just get by day after day? I mean, hell, Marilyn, where are we headed, where will we end up, people like you and me, if we don’t have a dream?”

  “How in the hell should I know?” she said, none too quietly. “You’re the nutcase who’s talking about dreams and rainbows in the middle of the night. What’s with you? Who are you hanging around with out there? Oh, those long-lost relatives of yours. I take it that you found them, and they’re into dreams and rainbows. Did it ever occur to you that people who live in that kind of climate have fried brains?”

  “Heather, Melissa and Emma do not have fried brains,” Mack said indignantly. “They’re the most down-to-earth, real people I’ve ever had the privilege to meet. They’re fantastic, Marilyn, they really are. What size clothes do six-year-old girls wear?”

  “Huh?” Marilyn said. “You’re shifting gears on me so fast I can’t keep up. What about six-year-old girls?”

  “Their clothes,” Mack said. “All the twins have are castoffs, used stuff. I want to buy them some new things to wear, but I don’t know what size to get.”

  “Is this Heather person the mother of these twins?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, ask her what size clothes her kids wear. I’d figure that six-year-olds wear size six, but what do I know about it? Nothing. Talk to Heather.”

  “It’s a rather touchy situation,” Mack said, absently massaging his left shoulder. “I don’t want to come across as if I don’t approve of the way Heather provides for her children. She’s doing the best she can against some tough odds and I admire her for that.”

  “Tell them they won a contest and get to go on a shopping spree,” Marilyn said. “How’s that?”

  “Ridiculous,” Mack said, frowning. “I’d like to get Heather some new clothes, too, but I don’t have a clue how to get her to agree to all this.”

  “Any woman,” Marilyn said, “who is offered a trip to a clothing store with all expenses paid is going to beat you to the door to get the show on the road.”

  “Heather isn’t just any woman,” Mack said quietly. “She’s different, Marilyn, very special. She’s the one who taught her kids how to dream, because she has a dream herself. She should be bitter and angry about the way her life has gone, but she’s not.

  “I’ve never met a woman like Heather before. She’s so…I don’t know…so real, so honest, so…she’s pretty, too. Very lovely. She has the biggest, darkest eyes I’ve ever seen that mirror her emotions, and long black hair that she wears in a braid, and her features are so delicate, and when she smiles her whole face lights up like sunshine and—”

  “Uh-oh,” Marilyn said. “Me thinks the mighty has fallen.”

  “What are you talking about?” Mack said, frowning.

  “Are you listening to yourself, Mack?” Marilyn asked. “You are very smitten…now there’s a good old-fashioned word…smitten with the lovely Heather. You’ve got heart trouble, my boy. If I wasn’t hearing this firsthand, I wouldn’t believe it had happened. Mack Marshall is down for the count.”

  “You’re crazy, Marilyn,” Mack said. “Your brain obviously doesn’t function on all cylinders in the middle of the night. I like Heather very much, as a person, a woman, and respect her for what she has accomplished. But I don’t have heart trouble, as you so quaintly put it, over her. She’s not even my type. Not even close. I mean, well, sure, I’m attracted to her, and she kicks my libido into overdrive at times, but that doesn’t mean anything on an emotional level.”

  Marilyn laughed. “Yeah, right. Oh, this is a hoot. I can see the story now that will be in the newspaper. ‘World-famous photojournalist, Mack Marshall, who was voted one of New York City’s top five eligible bachelors last year, has married a lovely lass named Heather and become the instant father of six-year-old twin girls.’ Ta-da. We’ll hear the wailing of women all across the country.”

  Mack rolled his eyes heavenward. “Go back to sleep, Marilyn. You need your rest.”

  “What you need is a reality check, buster,” Marilyn said. “You’ve definitely got heart trouble. Hey, I think it’s great, I really do. I’m happy for you, Mack. I say go for it. It might mean you won’t be traveling to the hot spots around the globe like you always have, but I’ve got a publisher who is panting for another book from you. You can settle in with your wife and kiddies and put together another bestseller, from which I’ll take my percentage and go on a cruise.”

  “Good night, Marilyn,” Mack said, shaking his head.

  “Okay, dust me off, but time will prove me right. I’m serious about you doing another book, Mack. Your publisher called me again. They are offering very big bucks, and I haven’t even begun my tough negotiating number. Think about it, will you?”

  “Yeah, okay, I’ll think about it.”

  “As for Heather and the cutie-pies?” Marilyn said. “You’d better pay attention, because the writing is on the wall. ’Bye for now and good luck with the dream and rainbow bit, and if you decide to call me again, figure out what time it is here first, would you?”

  “Yes, I will. Sorry I woke you. ’Bye, Marilyn,” Mack said, then replaced the receiver.

  He stared at the telephone, a deep frown on his face.

  Heart trouble? his mind echoed. As in, losing his heart, falling in love with Heather Marshall? Marilyn was way out in left
field on that one.

  He didn’t have heart trouble in regard to Heather, he had…body trouble. He desired her with an intensity that was far beyond the norm. For some unknown reason, Heather was capable of pushing his sensual buttons as no woman he’d ever known before.

  Granted, something very strange had happened at the pizza parlor when Heather gazed at him with those incredible eyes of hers. She was a spell-weaver, had caused him to feel as though he’d been transported to a sensuous place where only the two of them were allowed to go. That had been unsettling. But Marilyn had read what he said all wrong.

  Yeah, well, what did he expect when he woke a person up from a dead sleep in the middle of the night? Her brain had been foggy, that was for sure.

  Calling his agent in the first place had been a dumb thing to do, now that he really thought about it. “Hi, Marilyn, do you have a dream?” Cripe, no wonder she figured he was drunk.

  “Go to bed,” Mack said, getting to his feet to head for the bedroom. “Get some sleep, Marshall, before you do some other fool thing.”

  A short time later, Mack shifted on the mattress to find a comfortable place for his aching shoulder, and willed himself to ignore the nagging pain.

  Damn, he thought. He had a whole day to fill tomorrow, wouldn’t see Heather and the twins until the evening when he arrived at their door with the take-out Chinese food he’d said he would like to bring.

  The girls were spending the morning down the street with someone they called Grandma Hill, so that Heather could work on income tax returns. This was her busiest season, she’d explained, and she put in long hours. In the afternoon, the twins were going to a birthday party and Heather would keep plugging away on the computer.

  She worked so damn hard, Mack mused as sleep began to creep over his senses. And for what? So she could live in a place the size of a postage stamp and buy her kids used clothes?

  No, it was more than that. Heather knocked herself out so there would be pennies to put in the piggy. She scrambled for every dime because Heather Marshall had a dream.

  And that seemed to make all the difference in the world.

  Heather placed the large envelope on top of two others, then gave the stack a satisfied pat. She leaned back in the chair where she was sitting in front of the computer and stretched her arms above her head, rotating her neck at the same time.

  She’d completed three tax returns today, she thought, allowing her hands to fall into her lap. The work had just zoomed along with no problems, no glitches, no questions she had to telephone the clients about.

  She’d been aware through the hours she’d spent at the computer that she was in an upbeat mood, had even found herself humming a peppy tune at times.

  Heather frowned, got to her feet, then crossed the short distance to the bed and sank onto the edge.

  She knew why she’d felt so light-hearted all day, she thought, staring into space. There was no sense denying it; she’d only be running from the truth if she did. She’d been a happy camper since waking that morning because she was looking forward to the evening, and the arrival of Mack Marshall.

  Well, that was understandable. Wasn’t it? Sure. Mack was nice to be with, and it was fun watching and listening as he interacted with the girls. He very often got caught off guard by her little chatterboxes.

  Nice try, Heather, she told herself. There was more to her sense of anticipation about the coming evening than just witnessing Mack with the twins. She herself wanted to be with Mack, to hear his laughter, to see his smile, to bask in the wondrous sense of her own womanliness that he evoked whenever she was with him.

  “Oh, dear,” she said, pressing her hands to her cheeks that felt suddenly warm and flushed. “This is not good.”

  Well, is wasn’t bad, either, really. She’d figured out why she continually overreacted to Mack. And her conclusions were sound. It wasn’t Mack himself who caused her heart to race and heated desire to swirl within her. It was simply a matter of…supply and demand. There had been no supply of men since the twins had been born, and her body was demanding to explore her femininity, which had been in cold storage for years.

  But…

  It was Mack Marshall who caused her to feel so special. It was Mack whom she desired, wished to make love with, although that would never happen. It was Mack’s laughter she wanted to hear, his smile she wanted to see, his aroma she wanted to inhale and savor.

  No, now stop it. She’d feel this way about any man who had appeared out of nowhere and spent so much time with her and Melissa and Emma.

  Wouldn’t she?

  “Quit thinking, Heather,” she said out loud as she got to her feet.

  She had this all analyzed and was comfortable with her conclusions. She’d just confuse herself if she started questioning her own logic. Enough of this.

  But why had she mentally changed her plans four times about what she would wear tonight to eat Chinese food in her own kitchen? Why had she quit work early enough to be able to wash her hair so it would look its best? Why was she counting down the minutes until Mack would arrive at the house?

  Oh, darn it, why was she asking herself these frightening questions? She was going to grab hold of her supply-and-demand theory and hang on to it for dear life before she scared herself to death.

  “Got it,” she said with a decisive nod.

  The twins were watching television when Heather entered the living room, the contents from the goodie bags they’d received at the birthday party they’d attended spread out in front of them.

  “I’m going to take a shower and wash my hair, my sweets,” Heather said. “Don’t eat any more of that candy you got because Uncle Mack is bringing us Chinese food for dinner.”

  “Do I like Chinese food?” Melissa said.

  Heather laughed. “I have no idea. You’ve never had it before.” She paused. “Answer the telephone if it rings while I’m in the shower, please, and take a message if necessary.”

  “’Kay,” Melissa said. “I sure hope I like Chinese food.”

  “I’ll like it,” Emma said.

  “How do you know you will?” Melissa said. “If I’ve never had any, then you’ve never had any.”

  “I’ll like it because Uncle Mack is bringing it,” Emma said. “He wouldn’t ask us to eat something that is yucky, Melissa. Uncle Mack just wouldn’t do that.”

  “Oh…yeah,” Melissa said slowly. “You’re right. ’Kay, I’ll like Chinese food just fine, too.”

  “There is definitely hero worship taking place in this house,” Heather said.

  “There’s what?” Melissa said.

  “Never mind,” Heather said, spinning around. “I’m going to wash my hair.”

  Half an hour later Heather emerged from the bathroom in the hallway wearing black slacks and a black-and-gray striped top. She’d blown her hair dry and it tumbled in waves to the middle of her back. She’d broken the rubber band from the end of her braid when she’d undone it, and was heading down the hall toward the kitchen and the box of rubber bands that were in a drawer.

  When she entered the living room, she stopped so suddenly she teetered for a moment.

  “Mack,” she said, then glanced quickly at her watch. “I didn’t expect…you’re early.”

  Mack got to his feet, his gaze riveted on Heather.

  “I know I am,” he said. “I hit it lucky at the Chinese restaurant and didn’t have to wait long to… Your hair is beautiful, Heather. I wondered what it would look like if you allowed it to fall free instead of braiding it and…an ebony waterfall. Sensational.”

  “Thank you,” Heather said softly, hardly able to breathe. “I was on my way to get a rubber band for the end of my braid because I broke the one that—”

  “No, please,” Mack said, raising one hand. “Don’t braid it tonight. Leave it just as it is. Please?”

  “Yes, all right,” she said, then took a much-needed breath.

  Beautiful? she thought incredulously. Her hair was beautiful and
sensational? An ebony waterfall? Her hair? She never gave two seconds thought to it. It was just hair. Beautiful? Well, gracious, fancy that.

  “Well,” she said, hoping her voice was steadier than it sounded as it echoed in her ears, “are we ready to eat Chinese food?”

  “We’ll like it,” Emma said to Mack.

  “Yep, we will,” Melissa said. “We’ve never had Chinese food before but we’ll like it just fine.”

  “You’ve never eaten Chinese food?” Mack said, looking at one twin, then the other. “That’s amazing. Well, good. Great. This will be a first for you then. An experience you’ve never had before. I, um, I had a brand-new experience myself today.”

  “What was it?” Melissa said.

  “Heather,” Mack said, “we can heat the food in your microwave in a bit, if that’s all right with you. I’d like to share my new experience with all of you first.”

  “Certainly,” Heather said, sitting in the rocking chair.

  If there was ever a time for some smooth talking, this was it, Mack thought as he sat down on the sofa between the twins. He had to present this right, because he was liable to find himself sent packing if he blew it.

  But how in the hell was he supposed to concentrate on what he was about to say when he was consumed with pulsing, heated desire for Heather Marshall? Her hair. That glorious hair had knocked him for a loop. Oh, man, he wanted to sink his fingers into it, pull it forward, watch it slide like dark, silken threads over Heather’s bare breasts and—

  “Uncle Mack?” Melissa said.

  “What!” he said much too loudly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to yell. My mind wandered for a minute there.”

  “No-o-o-o problem,” Emma said. “That happens to old people. Grandma Hill says her mind goes for a walk around the block without her sometimes and she has to wait until it gets back so she can remember what she was going to say.”

  Mack chuckled. “Well, as a member of the old people set, I appreciate your patience and understanding.” He cleared his throat. “Now, then, where was I? Oh, yes, I was going to share my new experience with you.”

  “Yep,” Melissa said.