Single With Twins. Joan Elliott Pickart

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