The Complete Mackenzies Collection Read online

  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