A SEAL. He wondered how much worse this could get.
“Then there’s Chance. He and Zane might as well be twins. They’re the same age, and I think their brains are linked. Chance was in Naval Intelligence. He isn’t married.” She deliberately didn’t mention what Zane and Chance did now, because it seemed safer not to.
“I wonder,” Mac murmured to himself as he steered their rented four-wheel-drive up the mountain, “why I expected you to have a normal family.”
She lifted delicate brows at him. “You’re a special agent with the FBI,” she pointed out. “There isn’t one of those standing on every street corner, you know.”
“Yeah, but my family is normal.”
“Well, so is mine. We’re just overachievers.” Her smile turned into a grin, the urchin’s grin that had laced itself around his heart and tightened the bonds every time he saw it. He stopped the Jeep in the middle of the road and reached for her. His kiss was hard, urgent with hunger. Her eyes were slumberous when he released her. “What was that for?” she murmured, her hand curling around his neck.
“Because I love you.” He wanted to tell her one last time, in case he didn’t survive the coming confrontation. She might think her family would welcome him with open arms, but he had a much better understanding of the male psyche and he knew better. He put the Jeep in gear again, and they resumed their drive up the snow-covered road.
When they topped the crest and saw the big ranch house sprawling in front of them, Maris said happily, “Oh, good, everyone’s here,” and Mac knew he was a dead man. Never mind that he’d married her before sleeping with her; he was an unknown quantity, and he was making love to their darling every night. She was the only daughter, the baby, for God’s sake. He understood. If he lived, and he and Maris ever had a daughter, there was no way in hell he was going to let some horny teenage boy anywhere near his little girl.
He looked at the array of vehicles parked in front of the house, enough vehicles to form a good parade, and wondered if they would give chase if he turned around and headed back down the mountain.
Well, it had to be done. Resigned, he parked the Jeep and came around to open the door for Maris, clasping his hands around her narrow waist and lifting her to the ground. She took his hand and led him up the steps, all but running in her eagerness.
They stepped into warmth, into noise, into confusion. A very small person wearing red overalls suddenly exploded from the crowd, racing forward on chubby legs and shrieking, “Marwee, Marwee,” at the top of her lungs. Maris laughed and dropped to her knees, holding out her arms in time to catch the tiny tornado as she launched herself forward. Mac looked down at the little girl, not much more than a baby, and fell in love. He lost his heart. It was that simple.
She was beautiful. She was perfect, from the silky black hair on her round little head to her crystal-blue eyes, dimpled cheeks, rosebud mouth and dainty, dimpled hands. She was so small she was like a doll, and his arms ached to hold her. Little kids and babies had never affected him like this before, and it shook him.
“This is Nick,” Maris said, rising to her feet with her niece in her arms. “She’s the one and only granddaughter.”
Nick reached out a tiny hand and poked him in the chest, in a movement so exactly like Maris’s that Mac couldn’t help grinning. “Who dat?” the little angel asked.
“This is Mac,” Maris said, and kissed the soft, chubby cheek. Nick solemnly regarded him for a moment, then stretched out her arms in the manner of someone who is absolutely sure of their welcome. Automatically he reached out and took her, sighing with pleasure as the little body nestled against his chest.
Mac became aware of a spreading silence in the room, of what looked like an entire football team of big men getting to their feet, menace in every movement, in the hard faces turned toward him.
Maris looked at them, her face radiant, and he saw her eyes widen with surprise at their militant stances.
He eyed the competition. His father-in-law had iron gray hair and the black eyes Maris had inherited, and looked as if he ate nails for breakfast. His brothers-in-law looked just as lethal. Expertly Mac assessed each one, trying to pick out the most dangerous one. They all looked like bad asses. The one with the graying temples and the laser blue eyes, that would be the general, and damn if he didn’t look as if he went into combat every day. That one would be the rancher, whipcord lean, iron hard, a man who faced down Mother Nature every day. The test pilot…let’s see, that would be the one standing with his feet apart in the instinctive cocky stance of someone who cooly gambled with death and never blinked an eye.
Then Mac’s gaze met a pair of deadly, icy eyes. That one, he thought. That was the most dangerous one, the one with the quiet face and eyes like blue-gray frost. That one. He would bet a year’s pay that was the SEAL. But the one who moved up to stand beside him looked just as lethal, despite the almost unearthly handsomeness of his face. That would be the one in naval intelligence.
He was in big trouble. Instinctively he moved, depositing Nick in Maris’s arms and stepping in front of them both, shielding them with his body.
Six pairs of fierce eyes noted the action.
Maris peeked around his shoulder, assessing the situation. “Mother!” she called urgently, stressing both syllables as she brought in reinforcements.
“Maris!” There was utter delight in the soft voice that came from what Mac assumed was the kitchen, the cry followed by light, fast footsteps. A small, delicate woman, no bigger than Maris and with the same exquisite, translucent skin, burst into the room. She was laughing as she grabbed her daughter, hugging her and doing the same to him, even though he stood rigidly, not daring to take his eyes off the threat looming in front of them like a wall.
“Mom,” Maris said, directing her mother’s attention across the room. “What’s wrong with them?”
Mary took one look at her husband and sons and put her hands on her hips. “Stop that right now,” she ordered. “I refuse to have this, do you hear?”
Her voice was sweetly Southern, as light as a breeze, but Wolf Mackenzie’s black eyes flickered to her. “We just want to know a little about him,” he said in a voice as deep and dark as thunder.
“Maris chose him,” Mary replied firmly. “What else could you possibly need to know?”
“A lot,” the one with the quiet, lethal eyes said. “This happened too fast.”
“Zane Mackenzie!” a pretty redhead exclaimed, stepping out of the kitchen and eyeing him in amazement. “I can’t believe you said that! We got married after knowing each other for one day!” She crossed the no-man’s-land between the two battle lines, hugged Maris and turned to glare at her husband.
So he’d been right, Mac thought. That was the SEAL. It would look good on his tombstone: He Was Right.
“This is different,” said the general, a perfect clone of Wolf Mackenzie except for his light blue eyes. He, too, looked as if nails were a regular part of his diet.
“Different, how?” asked a crisp voice, and a stylish blonde stepped out of the kitchen. She pinned a sharp green gaze on the six men. “You’re all suffering from an overdose of testosterone. The main symptom is an inability to think.” Marching forward, she aligned herself on Mac’s other side. Something that was both heated and amused lit the general’s eyes as he looked at his wife.
Another bruiser, the test pilot, said, “Maris is—”
“A grown woman,” another feminine voice said, interrupting. A tall, curvy woman with chestnut hair and serene blue eyes took up a position beside the blonde. “Hi, I’m Loren,” she said to Mac. “The one who just spoke is Josh, my husband, who usually exhibits better sense.”
“And I’m Shea, Mike’s wife.” Another reinforcement arrived. She was dark haired, and sweetly shy. She stood beside Loren, crossed her arms over her chest and calmly looked across at her husband.
The two sides looked at each other, the men glaring at their turncoat wives, the women lined up protect
ively beside Mac. He was a little stunned to find himself surrounded by this perfumed wall of femininity.
Caroline gave her husband glare for glare. “Every one of us was welcomed with open arms when we married into this family, and I expect you to extend the same courtesy to Maris’s husband—or else!”
Joe considered the challenge, his pale blue eyes glittering as he cocked his head. “Or else, what?” he asked, his deep voice silky and full of something that might have been anticipation.
Silence fell in the room, even the kids were quiet as they watched their parents. Mac looked at the six women ranged on either side of him, and his face softened into tender amusement. “It’s okay,” he said. “I understand.”
“I’m glad you do, because I don’t,” Maris growled.
“It’s a—”
“Don’t say it’s a man thing,” Mary warned, interrupting, and he bit back the words.
“No, ma’am,” he said meekly.
Wolf’s dark face lightened, and his lips twitched. Those two words were very familiar to him.
Nick squirmed to get down, and Maris leaned over to deposit her on her feet. The little girl patted Mac on the knee and said, “Mac,” with great satisfaction in her tone. She trotted across to her father, holding up her arms to be picked up. Zane leaned down and lifted her, settling her on one brawny arm. “Dat’s Mac,” she said, pointing. “I wike him.”
Suddenly that hard, deadly face softened into a smile, and a big hand smoothed a silky tendril of hair away from her face. “I noticed,” he said dryly. “He took one look at you and turned into your slave, just like the rest of us. That’s what you really like, isn’t it?”
Her little head bobbed up and down, very definitely. Zane chuckled as he shot an amused glance across the room at her mother. “I thought you would.”
From somewhere down the hall came a baby’s wail. “Cam’s awake,” Barrie said, and immediately abandoned Mac to go to her baby.
“How does she do that?” Chance asked of the room in general. “They’re only two months old. How do you tell twins apart by their cries?”
The females, Nick included, had won. The tension in the room dissipated, smiles breaking out as Chance followed his sister-in-law down the hall, intent on finding out if she’d been right. Before he walked out he winked at Mac, in a moment of male understanding. The crisis had come and gone, because when it came down to it, the Mackenzie men were unwilling to distress their women. The women had liked Mac on sight, and that was that.
Barrie was back in only a moment, a squirming bundle in her arms. Chance followed her, expertly holding another one. “She was right,” he announced, shaking his head in bewilderment.
Mac looked at the two tiny faces, finding them as identical as if they were mirror images. It was impossible to tell them apart even by looking at them; how in hell did Chance know if she was right or not?
“Cameron,” Barrie said, indicating her burden and smiling at his skeptical look. “Chance is holding Zack.” She also carried two small, milk-filled bottles.
“How do you know?” He shook his head, still looking for any distinguishing difference in the babies.
“Cameron’s the most impatient, but Zack is more determined.”
“You can tell that in their cries?”
“Well, of course,” she said, as if anyone should be able to do the same.
Nick was climbing up on her father’s shoulder, gripping his hair for leverage. “Wook, Unca Dance,” she exclaimed, standing upright and releasing her safety hold.
Zane reached up and snagged his daughter off his shoulder. “Here, swap with me,” he said, and he and Chance exchanged kids. Zane settled the baby in the crook of his arm and took one of the bottles from Barrie, expertly slipping the nipple into the rapacious little mouth.
Chance balanced Nick on his hands, firmly holding her feet while she straightened and crowed with delight at her achievement. “Chance,” he coaxed. “My name is Chance. Chance.”
Nick placed her little hands on each side of his face, leaning close to peer into his eyes and impress him with her seriousness. “No,” she said with great finality. “Dance. Oo say it wong.”
The room exploded with laughter at Chance’s expression. He eyed the pint-size dictator in his hands, then shook his head and gave up. “Are you sure you want to marry into this family?” He directed the question at Mac.
Mac looked at Maris and winked. “Yeah,” he said.
Zane was watching him while the baby took the bottle, his calm eyes measuring. “Maris said you’re an FBI special agent,” he said, and something in his tone must have alerted Maris.
“No,” she said firmly, pushing Mac toward the kitchen. “You can’t have him. Being in the FBI is enough. You absolutely can’t have him.”
Mac found himself borne along on the tide of women, because they all wanted to discuss the wedding, but before he left the room he looked back. His gaze met Zane’s…and Zane Mackenzie smiled.
“Welcome to the family,” he said.
Epilogue
“You so pwetty,” Nick sighed, her big blue eyes rapt as she propped her elbows on Maris’s knee and stared at her aunt. The entire process of preparing for a wedding had fascinated the little girl. She had intently scrutinized everything as the women of the household had painstakingly made hundreds of tiny net bags, filled them with bird seed and tied them with ribbons. She had stood on her tiptoes, clinging to the table’s edge, and watched as Shea, who made wonderful cakes, practiced making dozens of roses from icing before decorating Maris’s wedding cake. Before long the practice roses had all borne evidence of a tiny, investigative finger. Once Nick had determined they were edible, they’d gradually disappeared, and her little face wore telltale smears.
Maris’s gown held her absolutely enthralled. The long skirt, the lace, the veil, everything about it entranced her. When Maris had tried it on for the final fitting, Nick had clasped her hands under her chin and with shining eyes had said, “Oo a pwincess!”
“You’re pretty, too, darling,” Maris said. Nick was her flower girl. Zane had muttered about inviting disaster, and since Nick wasn’t quite three years old, Maris was prepared for anything, including an outright refusal to perform her role. At the rehearsal the night before, however, Nick had strutted down the aisle with her little basket of rose petals and proudly strewn them, aware that every eye was on her. Whether she would do so when watched by a huge crowd was another question, but she was undeniably adorable in her long, blush pink dress, with ribbons and flowers in her silky black hair.
“I know,” Nick replied matter-of-factly, and left her post at Maris’s knee to return to the mirror to admire herself. It was something she had done every five minutes since Barrie had dressed her.
Barrie and Caroline were the acknowledged fashion mavens of the Mackenzie family, and they had taken over the arrangement of Maris’s hair and the application of her makeup. They were astute enough to keep things simple, rather than overwhelming Maris’s dainty face and frame with big hair and layers of makeup. Barrie had finished her hair and retired to a rocking chair to nurse the twins before the ceremony started. She supplemented their feedings with a bottle, but breast milk kept them contented longer, and she didn’t want to have to feed them again in the middle of the reception.
Mary had quickly realized that the Mackenzie house, as large as it was, simply couldn’t hold the crowd that was invited to the wedding. Because Christmas was on a Wednesday, the church in Ruth had held its Christmas service on Sunday, freeing it for the ceremony. The nine-foot-tall Christmas tree still stood in the corner, its multitude of white lights twinkling. Holly and evergreen needles still decorated the windowsills, filling the church with a wonderful aroma. White lights outlined the arched doorway, the windows, the sanctuary and the steps leading up to it. Rows of white candles lent their mellow glow to the church. None of the overhead lights would be on, but the tree, the Christmas lights and the candles combined to give the set
ting a magical aura.
This was Christmas Eve, a time when most of the occupants of Ruth would normally have been at home either having their private celebrations or preparing for them the next day. This year they were attending a wedding. From the private room off the vestibule Maris could hear the swell of noise as more and more people arrived.
Mary stood quietly, a sheen of tears in her slate blue eyes as she watched her daughter prepare for her wedding. It didn’t matter that Maris and Mac were already married; this was the wedding that counted. This was her beloved daughter who looked so delicate and beautiful in her silvery white gown, a color that turned Maris’s pale, ash brown hair to a darker shade of silver. She remembered the first time she had seen her daughter, only seconds old, so tiny and lovely and already staring around with big, solemn black eyes, her father’s eyes. She remembered the tears that had sheened Wolf’s own black eyes as he’d taken Maris in his arms and hugged the little scrap to his chest as if she were the most precious thing he’d ever seen.
There were thousands of other memories. Her first tooth, her first step, her first word—predictably, “horsie.” Maris sitting on a pony for the first time, her eyes huge with delight while Wolf kept a protective arm around her. Maris, a little shadow dogging her father’s footsteps just as her older brothers had done. Maris in school, fiercely joining in any fight the boys had gotten into, her little fists flying as she rushed to their defense, utterly ignoring the fact that the boys were twice her size. Maris sobbing when her old pony had died, and her radiant joy when, the next Christmas, Wolf had given her her first “real” horse.
There had been Maris’s first date, and Wolf’s scowling, prowling nervousness until his baby was safely back under his roof. One of Mary’s favorite memories was of Zane and Josh and Chance pacing along with their father; if Joe and Mike had been there, they would have been pacing, too. As it was, the poor boy who had been so brave as to take Maris out had been terrified when the four Mackenzie males met them on the front porch on their return and had never asked her out again. They had gotten better about it over the years, but Maris must have forgotten her first date or she wouldn’t have been so surprised at their reaction to Mac when she’d brought him home. Men. Mary loved her men, but really, they could be so overbearing. Why, they liked Mac, once they’d gotten over their bristly protectiveness. If Maris didn’t watch out, Zane would have Mac recruited into whatever it was he and Chance—