Surprise Partners

by Gina Wilkins

  Scott, she thought, would have belonged to the “cool” crowd at her school. Popular, good-looking, athletic, casually charming. She, on the other hand, had been one of the “brainy” set. Serious, focused, studious, shy. She hadn’t dated much, and she’d gone to the senior prom with a boy from her group who was as socially challenged as she was. It hadn’t been a fun evening.

  High school was far behind her, of course, but it seemed that some old images lingered in the back of the mind for a lifetime. She’d been careful since then to spend time with people who were more like herself. Much less stressful in the long run, she had decided.

  “Oh, boy,” Scott suddenly murmured into her ear. “Here we go.”

  Confused, she glanced up at him. “What do you—”

  “Scott! There you are,” someone proclaimed before Lydia could complete the question.

  It didn’t take a great deal of perceptiveness for Lydia to figure out that this woman was probably Scott’s twin sister, Heather. The family resemblance was strong—same bright green eyes, dark auburn hair and single dimple. “Yes, here I am, Heather,” Scott said, undeniable affection softening the wry greeting.

  Towing a pleasant-faced man behind her, Heather bustled up to them already talking. “Isn’t this great? The turnout is wonderful, don’t you think? Have you had a chance to look at the silent auction items yet? There are some fabulous donations. Steve and I have placed bids on several things, including a really spectacular painting that would look perfect in our living room. You must be Lydia.”

  Since the last was added without a pause for breath, it took Lydia a moment to catch up. More accustomed to his sister’s rhythm, Scott answered for her. “Yes, this is Lydia McKinley. Lydia, I’d like you to meet my sister, Heather, and her fiancé, Dr. Steve Carter,” he added, nodding toward the nice-looking man who’d trailed in Heather’s wake.

  “It’s very nice to meet you both,” Lydia said, shaking their hands.

  “Scott said you’re a science professor?” Heather probed, studying her with an intensity that made Lydia feel like a specimen in one of her own labs.

  “An associate professor in the microbiology department,” Lydia confirmed.

  “Lydia’s a doctoral candidate in microbiology,” Scott added. “She’ll have her Ph.D. this spring.”

  Wanting to shift the conversation away from herself, Lydia spoke to Heather, wishing even as she did so that she was better at making small talk with new acquaintances. “Scott said you work in advertising?”

  “Yes. I’m an account executive for O’Brien, Simmons and Stern. Have you and Scott known each other long?” Heather was obviously more interested in finding out about her brother’s companion than talking about herself for the moment.

  Scott sighed heavily before Lydia could answer. “Let’s go look at the auction offerings, Lydia. That should be more fun than standing here being cross-examined by my nosy sister.” Again, there was more affection than irritation in his voice.

  Heather frowned at him. “I wasn’t being rude. I was just curious.”

  “Maybe we should go dance, Heather,” her fiancé suggested quickly.

  “Okay. I’ll talk to you two later,” Heather called over her shoulder as he pulled her away. “I’d love to have a chance to sit down and get to know you better, Lydia, when we…”

  Steve pulled her into the crowd still talking.

  Scott chuckled. “I’m not sure if that was a promise or a warning.”

  “She seemed very pleasant,” Lydia assured him, though she had a funny sense that Heather hadn’t actually approved of her at first impression.

  Scott slid an arm casually around her shoulders. “She’s a nut. I love her, but I’ve got to be honest—she’ll grill you to distraction if you let her. My sister is unabashedly nosy.”

  A bit flustered by the feel of his arm around her, Lydia started to reply, but then paused when she saw Larissa and Charlie making their way toward her. Taking a deep breath, she glanced up at Scott. “You think your sister is scary? Wait until you meet mine,” she murmured, then turned with a forced smile. “Hello, Larissa.”

  Her dyed-red hair piled in an artfully messy cascade on top of her head, Larissa wore the skimpy crimson dress she had tried to talk Lydia into buying. It fit as revealingly as Lydia had imagined, barely covering Larissa’s full breasts, dipping in to show off her small waist, then fitting like a second skin against her slender hips and thighs. The skirt was cut away on the left side to show her leg from hip to ankle. On Larissa, the daring gown looked arty and trendy and chic. On someone else it might have just looked tacky, Lydia mused with a ripple of admiration for her sister’s undeniable sense of style.

  She would never have had the nerve to wear it in public herself.

  Leaning forward to accept her sister’s smacking air kiss, Lydia murmured, “You look fabulous.”

  “Thanks. So do you. Have you seen my paintings yet?”

  “No, we just arrived. We haven’t had a chance to examine everything yet.” Lydia smiled at the thin, ponytailed man in a long, straight evening jacket who stood just behind Larissa. “Hello, Charlie.”

  Her sister’s latest conquest smiled broadly, stretching the triangular “soul patch” of sandy whiskers sprouting beneath his lower lip, the only hair he wore on his angular face. “Hey, Prof. How’s it going?”

  “Fine, thank you.” She half turned toward Scott. “Larissa and Charlie, this is my friend, Scott Pearson.”

  Scott flashed Larissa one of his winning smiles. “I see beauty runs in the McKinley family.”

  “Oh, that is so corny,” Larissa groaned. Then smiled and reached up to pat his dimpled cheek with one scarlet-nailed hand. “Tell me more.”

  Lydia rolled her eyes.

  “Lydia told me a couple of your paintings are on exhibit here tonight for the charity auction.”

  “Yes. You’ll have to tell me what you think of them. But only if what you think is positive. I don’t take criticism well.”

  Scott laughed. “I’ll be sure and say only nice things, then. But from the paintings I’ve seen in Lydia’s apartment, I’m sure I’ll like them. You’re very talented.”

  “So you’ve been in Lydia’s apartment?” Larissa murmured, looking speculatively from him to her sister.

  Lydia frowned at her. “Larissa…”

  Larissa only laughed. “C’mon, Charlie, let’s go eavesdrop on the people standing around my paintings. And you can beat them up for me if they say anything unpleasant.”

  “You keep forgetting I’m a pacifist,” Charlie complained, then added with a grin, “not to mention a coward.”

  “You weren’t exaggerating, were you?” Scott murmured when Larissa and Charlie moved away.

  “About Larissa? No.”

  “The two of you really are very different.”

  “Night and day,” Lydia agreed. “But we’ve always gotten along well enough despite those differences.”

  Scott nodded. “Heather and I do, too, considering. But when we disagree, we do so passionately.”

  Amused by the wording, she laughed softly. “Larissa does everything passionately.”

  “I’d like to see her paintings.”

  “I’m sure we can find them—somewhere,” she added, looking around the crowded ballroom lined with auction offerings on the outer edges.

  He offered his arm. “Let’s snag some champagne and check everything out, shall we?”

  The first thing Lydia did when she walked into her apartment much later that evening was kick off her shoes. She wiggled her toes in the plush carpet and gave a sigh of relief. “Oh, that’s much better.”

  From behind her, Scott gave a low laugh as he carried in a rather large cardboard box. “I take it your feet were hurting?”

  “You wobble around in those tight, stiff, spike-heeled torture devices for six hours and see how your feet feel.”

  “I’ll pass, thanks. A bow tie and cummerbund are bad enough. Where do you want your lam
p?”

  Reminded of the delicately pretty, Tiffany-style lamp she had purchased at the silent auction, she turned quickly. “Sorry. I was so anxious to get out of those shoes, I almost forgot about the lamp. Just set it on the table. I’ll find a place for it later.”

  He deposited the heavy box carefully on the coffee table. “It’s a nice lamp. But heavy.”

  “I thought it was lovely. And the money went to a good cause. As did the money you spent for your purchase.”

  He patted his pocket in satisfaction. “Play-off tickets? Definitely a good cause for my money.”

  “I meant the hospital wing is a good cause.”

  Chuckling at her stern tone, he nodded. “That, too. Did you have a good time this evening?”

  “Yes, very nice.” Surprisingly enough, she had. Scott had been a charming escort. He’d stayed close to her side, had seemed interested in her conversation, had made sure she didn’t feel left out when he’d talked to his friends. And he had danced with her, matching his steps to hers so well that her initial awkwardness had quickly eased though her physical awareness of him had been a bit more difficult to ignore.

  All in all, it had been the most successful date she’d had in…well, ever.

  Good thing they’d made it clear from the beginning that it wasn’t going to lead anywhere, she thought, trying not to feel wistful. She wouldn’t want to start expecting too much from this man who didn’t want a woman to interfere with his climb to a partnership. And she certainly didn’t want any man to get in the way of her career, she reminded herself. She had learned that lesson very well from a lifetime of her embittered, frustrated mother’s warnings.

  She pushed a wispy strand of hair away from her temple and hesitated, wondering what to do now. “Um…would you like a cup of coffee or something?”

  He hesitated a moment, then shook his head with a slight smile. “No, thanks. I’d better go. It’s getting late.”

  Lydia walked him to the door. “Thank you for bringing my lamp up for me.”

  “Thank you for going with me this evening. I had a very nice time—and I didn’t have to worry about Heather trying to match me up with every available woman there tonight.”

  The mention of his sister made Lydia frown a bit. Her few encounters with Heather during the party hadn’t gone any better than the first. “I’m not sure your sister liked me very much.”

  Scott’s eyebrows rose sharply in surprise. “What makes you think that?”

  “Just an impression I got,” she answered, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. “Don’t misunderstand me. She was perfectly nice. I just don’t think she particularly approved of me as your date.”

  He shook his head, looking vaguely disturbed by her comments. “I’m sure you’re wrong.”

  Lydia was not at all convinced, but it really didn’t matter since this would likely be their only date. “Probably my imagination. I’m glad you talked me into attending the event tonight, Scott. It’s the nicest Valentine’s Day I’ve spent in a long time.”

  Ever, really, she thought, though she didn’t want to give him the wrong idea by gushing too much. This had been a date of convenience, to keep their sisters at bay. There’d been nothing more to it than that.

  “I had a great time, too,” he assured her. He put his hand on the doorknob. “We’ll have to get together soon to talk about DNA again. I still have a few questions about restriction fragment length polymorphism.”

  “It’s much easier to just call it RFLP,” she said with a smile. “And I’d be happy to answer your questions any time we’re both free.”

  “I’ll give you a call.” He turned the knob, then leaned over to brush his lips against her cheek in an apparently impulsive gesture. “Good night, Lydia.”

  “Um…good night.” She was relieved that her voice didn’t squeak.

  She locked the door behind him and then sagged against it, lifting her fingertips to her tingling cheek.

  Friends, she reminded herself again. That was all either of them wanted to be. Right?

  “How long have you been seeing her? Are you serious about her?”

  Still groggy from being awakened early by his sister’s telephone call, Scott ran a hand through his hair and leaned back against his pillows, his bedsheets pooled around his waist. “You woke me up this early on a weekend morning just to grill me about Lydia?”

  “C’mon, Scott. It’s almost nine o’clock. Just how late do you want to sleep?”

  Thinking of all the nights he’d gotten by lately with little more than a couple hours rest, he sighed. “It isn’t often I get a chance to sleep in.”

  “Then I’m sorry I woke you. So, um, is anyone in bed with you?”

  “Damn it, Heather, what kind of question is that?”

  “A nosy one,” she admitted.

  “No kidding. And—not that it’s any of your business—no, there’s no one in the bed with me.”

  “Good.”

  Something in her firm response made him frown. Remembering that Lydia had decided Heather didn’t like her, Scott asked, “Why are you calling to ask so many questions about Lydia? Didn’t you like her?”

  “I suppose she was nice enough.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” he demanded in exasperation with her decidedly tepid endorsement.

  “Nothing’s wrong with her. I repeat, she seemed nice. Just—”

  “Just what?”

  “I’m not sure she’s right for you. Nothing personal against her, of course, but the two of you just seem ill-matched. I have a feel for that sort of thing, you know. Some of my friends say I’m almost psychic when it comes to relationship stuff. I know how stubborn you are when it comes to fix-ups, but there’s this really great woman I think you should meet. She’s funny and sweet and—”

  “I don’t get it,” Scott broke in impatiently. “What’s wrong with Lydia? I would have thought she’d be exactly the type of woman you would pick for me.”

  “Well…no, not really.”

  “Why not?”

  “You want me to spell it out? To be honest, she reminded me of Paula. I thought she was a bit too cool. Restrained. Our friends know how to cut loose and have fun, and I’m not sure Lydia does. I’ve always wanted you to find someone who adores you and isn’t too reserved to show it.”

  Scott thought Heather was being ridiculous. Apparently, she wanted him to be with a woman who was bubbly, demonstrative and worshiped the ground he walked on. His sister didn’t want him to find a mate; she wanted him to get an Irish setter. Which would be fine with him, he reminded himself. He wasn’t looking for a mate anyway. Hell, he didn’t even have time to commit to a pet for now.

  “So what do you say, Scott?”

  “About what?”

  “My friend Julie. Will you let me introduce you to her? I could invite her to the thing at the ranch next week and—”

  “No.”

  “You could at least meet her before you reject her. It’s going to be all couples at the ranch—even Cameron said he would probably bring someone. It’ll be casual and comfortable and fun—a perfect time for you to spend an evening getting to know Julie. I can—”

  “No, Heather. If I choose to bring someone to Shane’s gathering next weekend, I’ll find my own companion.”

  “You can be so stubborn,” Heather grumbled, a pout in her voice.

  “And you are being deliberately irritating. I’ve told you I don’t want you to play matchmaker for me, and you haven’t listened. I’m serious this time, Heather. I’m tired of it. I want it to stop.”

  “But—”

  “No argument,” he said flatly, swinging his legs to the side of the bed. “At first it was sort of funny watching you running around in circles trying to find me a girlfriend. I’m used to your occasional harebrained obsessions, but this one’s gone far enough. It ends now, okay? No more fix-ups. No more ‘accidental’ meetings. No more ambushes. No more begging me to go on blind dates with your friends.”

&n
bsp; “I was only—”

  “I know you meant well,” he said more gently. “You and Steve are deliriously happy and you want me to share your good fortune. I appreciate it, but I’m perfectly content concentrating on my work right now. You’ve got a wedding to plan—yours, not mine—and a future to anticipate. Focus on that for now and let me worry about my life, will you?”

  “If that’s what you want,” she muttered.

  “Trust me, it is.”

  “All right. Fine. I won’t interfere again.”

  The promise was made stiffly, letting him know that she was a bit miffed with him. He could deal with that as long as he could be assured that she would stop trying to marry him off.

  “So, did you and Steve have a good time last night?” he asked, keeping his tone light and encouraging.

  “We had a wonderful time,” she answered, still rather subdued.

  “Did you get the painting you bid on?”

  “Yes, we did.” Her usual enthusiasm slowly returning, she added, “It’s really gorgeous. It was painted by an artist who uses only her first name—Larissa. I had a chance to speak with her very briefly during the event and she’s really interesting. She’s—”

  “Lydia’s sister,” Scott inserted. “Larissa McKinley.”

  There was a brief pause, and then Heather said bluntly, “No way.”

  “It’s true. We spent some time with Larissa and her companion, Charlie.”

  “Larissa and Lydia are sisters? Biological sisters?”

  “As far as I know. Lydia acknowledges that they are very different, but they seem to be close for the most part.”

  “I never would have guessed. They really are so very different….”

  Scott had the impression that Heather was mentally comparing the sisters and finding Lydia lacking. For some reason, that annoyed him. Heather hadn’t really given Lydia much of a chance; they’d had the occasion to speak only two or three times during the busy evening. He was sure Heather would like Lydia if she got to know her better.

  It only bothered him so badly because it seemed unfair to Lydia for Heather to form such an erroneous snap judgment, he told himself.