Just What the Doctor Ordered

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  The idea took root, despite her effort to shake it. Fighting it proved futile, considering the unavoidable intimacy of the dance and the impossible explanation it would require to simply stop. So, as a last resort, she let her imagination go, allowed herself to wonder if Miranda would like Ivan’s kiss. Which led straight into a question of what, exactly, his kiss would be like.

  Closing her eyes, Ainsley imagined she was her sister and only seconds away from experiencing Ivan’s kiss. It would be slow in coming—that much she knew. And tender, perhaps even tentative in that first touch of his lips to hers. Miranda wasn’t an easy woman to approach on any terms, after all. But that first brush of lips would wipe out her resistance and from there…well, Ainsley imagined that from there the kiss would deepen quickly, thoroughly, banishing inhibitions with ease. In combination, there would be the sensation of strong arms pulling her against a muscular body, the willingness of her own body to melt into his, the heady rush of timelessness. Maybe weightlessness, too. Ainsley’s palms began to sweat again and she caught her tongue darting anxiously, eagerly, feeling the subtle tremor of her own suddenly aching lips.

  “Ainsley? Are you sure you feel okay?”

  She snapped out of the dreamlike trance with a disconcerting blink and realized they were no longer dancing. “What?” she asked, the word coming out in an embarrassingly throaty purr. “W-what?” she repeated, struggling to recover her equilibrium.

  He regarded her intently, obviously concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem sort of…dazed.”

  She pushed back out of his arms, had the sudden, silly urge to shake herself from head to toe, like a dog coming inside out of the rain. “See?” she said, although she couldn’t get her mind around what she wanted to point out.

  “See?” he repeated. “See what?”

  She lifted her chin. “See, you can dance.”

  His smile seemed normal, relaxed, as if this dance had been no different than any other. Which it hadn’t been, except in her imagination. “Oh, yeah?” he teased, sounding just like one of her brothers. “Says who?”

  “Me,” she said, offering up a flippant smile, reality returning not a moment too soon. “Your little sister.”

  And that was exactly the way it was supposed to be.

  * * *

  Ainsley heard a soft footfall and recognized it as Andrew’s, a moment before he drew back the curtain and found her in the window seat of the nursery they’d once shared. If he was surprised to see her, it didn’t show. But then, the two of them had discovered this hidden alcove as children and, through the years, it had become their thinking place. The window, which they’d figured out how to unlatch when they were eight or nine, opened outward and they’d spent a lot of hours since, both together and separately, watching the sky and contemplating their personal dilemmas.

  “Hi,” Andrew said, taking his place on the opposite wall. He was almost too big to fit, although the window seat was wide, but he drew his knees up to his chest and clasped his arms loosely around them, his head turned toward the star-studded sky.

  Ainsley was in a replica of his pose, knees drawn to her chest, arms clasped around them, her eyes studying galaxies far away. It didn’t seem the slightest bit strange that he had found her in their alcove tonight. Nor did it seem odd that he would sit across from her, lost in his own thoughts, but attentive somehow to hers, too. They were brother and sister, no more alike than Matt and Miranda, yet they were closer in ways neither of them could explain. He often sensed that she was troubled before she was quite aware of it herself. She knew at times he was leaving on a trip before he’d even made the decision to go. He knew when she needed someone to listen. She knew when he needed her quiet companionship. The mysterious bond of being twins existed between them as adults as surely as it had when they were still children. And tonight, Ainsley was grateful that he’d found her, whether he’d come to the alcove because he thought she needed him there or to ponder a problem of his own.

  He inhaled a slow, deep breath of night and asked, “Got something on your mind?”

  “Maybe,” she answered. “What about you?”

  “Maybe.” He was quiet for a while. “I’m leaving for Salt Lake City in the morning,” he said. “It’s a shoot for Restaurant Review. Five featured chefs. Shouldn’t take more than three or four days.”

  “Are you taking Hayley?”

  “I asked if she’d like to go, to get some experience in food photography, but she said no. She seemed so relieved I wasn’t going to make her go, I think she almost hugged me in gratitude. But she ran into the bathroom instead and stayed in there for half an hour.” He paused long enough for his curiosity to grow into a baffled question. “Do you think I intimidate her that much? My former assistants have pestered me to death wanting to go on a magazine shoot. Any magazine shoot. If she’s that scared of me, why doesn’t she quit and work for someone else? With her portfolio, she could easily find another position.”

  Ainsley laid her head on her knees, stared at a single star until it blurred into another. “Miranda and I gave Ivan a refresher course in ballroom dancing tonight,” she said. “He hadn’t forgotten as much as he thought he had.”

  “Hayley says while I’m gone she’ll work on printing some black-and-whites for an art class she’s taking.”

  “Ivan and Miranda looked really good dancing together. They’re the right height for each other.” Ainsley couldn’t get the image of them dancing out of her head. Or rather, she kept having to haul it out to replace the memory of her own dance with Ivan.

  “Why is she taking an art class? In photography, of all things? Doesn’t she think my prints qualify as art?”

  “Miranda wasn’t very interested.” Ainsley still couldn’t figure it out. She’d been so sure that dancing together would spark an attraction. Why hadn’t Miranda fallen into the fantasy Ainsley had found so easy to conjure for her? “The landscape plans for the new center go to the crew next week and she’s afraid there will be a mistake on them somewhere. A mistake. Can you imagine our sister making a mistake?”

  “There’s a practical side to photography, you know.” Andrew’s voice was picking up an edge of irritation. “There’s artistry involved in every photo, but every photo doesn’t necessarily have to qualify as art. I have yet to even see her pick up the digital camera. You’d think she’d want to see what she can do with it. But no. She likes film. She likes to work in the darkroom. Alone.”

  “Maybe I don’t know what I’m doing,” Ainsley said. “Maybe I have no business trying to be a matchmaker.”

  “Maybe Miranda and Ivan aren’t a match,” Andrew said, his musings merging into her conversation.

  “Maybe Hayley is afraid she’s not good enough to work with you,” Ainsley said, her thoughts circling back to his problem.

  “Maybe you’re trying to do something that doesn’t need doing.”

  “Maybe you should ask Hayley what she hopes to learn from being your assistant.”

  A soft breeze blew in from the ocean, ruffled the curtains behind them.

  “I’m hungry,” Andrew said. “Let’s raid the kitchen.”

  Ainsley smiled. “The new chef will complain to Miranda, you know, when he discovers we’ve been pillaging his supplies. He seems a little on the temperamental side.”

  Andrew shrugged. “Miranda’s too busy worrying about her landscape design to think about anything else.”

  At that moment, Ainsley loved being a twin, loved having someone who could get her mind off of dancing with Ivan and sharing imaginary kisses with the man who was a perfect match for her sister.

  “That’s right.” Ainsley swung her legs down from the window seat. “And if she does ask about any missing food, I’ll tell her you must have taken it with you.”

  He grinned. “Tell her I ne
eded it for a photo shoot.”

  “You bet I will.”

  They laughed together and headed for the kitchen.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Ivan escaped the gaiety of the Denim & Diamonds gala inside and sought out a moment’s privacy on the beautiful back terrace of Rosecliff Mansion. There were several other guests with the same idea, but they seemed no more inclined to disturb his respite than he was tempted to intrude on theirs. He found a vacant spot along the terrace wall from which to admire the grandeur of Rosecliff’s night-flooded garden. He soaked in the distant, rhythmic sounds of the ocean lapping against the cliffs and inhaled the elusive scent of rain somewhere out at sea.

  Who would have thought that a native Texan, born and raised on the theory that bigger was better, would find a Texas-size affection for the smallest state in the USA? But being back in Newport, breathing in the salty air of the Atlantic, Ivan felt as if he’d come home after a long journey. He’d been away a full five years, the entire length of his internship and residency. He’d had neither time, energy nor the extra money for a visit to the East Coast and he’d told himself it was the memories he missed, believed he was simply nostalgic for the good times he’d spent at Danfair, the relative simplicity of his life before he’d plunged his energies into becoming a specialist in the field of serious pediatric illnesses.

  But now that he was here again, he could no longer deny that here was where a part of his heart had stayed all along.

  “Great night, isn’t it?” Matt joined him on the terrace, handed him a drink, shared the view of the night sky. “Although that bank of clouds looks like rain is headed our way.”

  “I don’t believe a little rain will dampen spirits tonight.” Ivan lifted his glass. “By the sound of the crowd inside, I’m guessing this fund-raiser is a success.”

  Matt shrugged. “The Denim & Diamonds gala is usually one of our better events. A couple of months ago it was the Black and White ball, which is always popular. Two months from now, we’ll have the Danville Regatta. Then there’s the Laps for the Little Ones run, the Green is Great golf tournament, and the Harvest gala in the fall. And that’s not counting the various small receptions and lunches we have in-between. It amazes me sometimes that each of the fund-raisers continue to do so well.”

  “The Danville Foundation supports one of the best causes in the world,” Ivan said. “Children. The money goes to feed them, provide medical care for them, build houses for them to sleep in and helps their families. It gives hope for the future. That’s a great exchange for the cost of a few hours of entertainment.”

  “One night in a tuxedo, surrounded by women who are panting for your attention, and you’ve changed your mind about socializing for the greater good?”

  “Not a chance. You know I’d rather be working.”

  “You are working, Ivan. You’re making a good impression and that’s an invaluable asset for the pediatric center and the Foundation. I predict we’ll receive a contribution or two from the parents of at least one eligible debutante who sees you as the answer to her prayers.”

  Ivan laughed. “I doubt that. I may be a bachelor, but I doubt many of the parents in there would think my west Texas credentials are a good match for their daughter’s.”

  “You’ve always been overly conscious of your middle-class background, Ivan. Any family represented here tonight would be crazy not to want you for an in-law.”

  He wasn’t even conscious of having the thought before he heard himself asking, “Even the Danvilles?”

  “Especially the Danvilles.” Matt turned to look at him. “Are you saying you’re interested in a long-term relationship with my sister?”

  Ivan shook his head. “I don’t know where that came from, Matt. I’ll admit that there was a time when I had a serious case of infatuation with Miranda. I mean what red-blooded male wouldn’t? She’s beautiful, smart, and what my high school buddies would have referred to as a filly with a stripe, a strip and four white stockings. For you Yankee folks, that’s Texan for a prime filly.”

  Matt grinned. “I can’t imagine anyone who knows Miranda using that particular phrase to describe her. I’m almost positive she wouldn’t find it flattering.” He sipped his drink. “So what stopped you from dating her back when you had this serious case of infatuation?”

  “I didn’t want to risk your friendship,” he said simply. “Plus I could tell she wasn’t interested.”

  “I don’t know. It’s always hard to tell with Miranda.” Matt rattled the ice in his highball glass. “I can’t believe you ever thought for a second I’d mind if you dated my sister. Maybe you should ask her out now.”

  The idea had absolutely no appeal. None. Ivan rejected the fleeting thought that dating Ainsley, on the other hand, did. “What are you?” he asked Matt with a teasing grin. “The apprentice matchmaker’s assistant? Isn’t putting two and two together Ainsley’s job?”

  “I was only thinking that if you were my brother-in-law, I wouldn’t have to worry about losing you to one of those headhunters who keep calling you with other job offers.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Connections. One of the perks of being a Danville.”

  “One of the perks of being my best friend is that I’ll tell you honestly that there isn’t an enticement great enough to lure me away from here. You’ve offered me the opportunity to do what I’ve always wanted to do—research and treatment for kids like my sister, who need a cure yesterday, not tomorrow. Believe me, Matt, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Someday this might not be all you want, Ivan.”

  “I can’t imagine that, but if it happens, we’ll talk about it then.”

  A couple came out onto the terrace and moved past Matt and Ivan into the shadows of the garden, seeking seclusion. They were so lost in their private conversation, so wrapped up in each other, they didn’t even notice the people they passed. Ivan watched them go, feeling a breath of loneliness brush across the back of his neck and spin away. “We should go back inside,” he said. “It sounds like they’re about to start the after-dinner acknowledgments and your absence, if not mine, would undoubtedly be noted.”

  Matt finished his drink. “So speaks my newest recruit to the cause of politically correct fund-raising.” He clapped Ivan on the back. “Let’s go, Doctor. If you’re sure I can’t persuade you to try your hand with Miranda, there are a couple of other women you might like to meet.”

  “I never needed your help to meet women before,” Ivan commented. “What makes you so anxious to offer your assistance now?”

  “Just think of it as me steering you toward the prime fillies, Tex. Call it a perk of being my best friend.”

  Ivan grinned and the two men left the terrace for the bright lights inside.

  * * *

  “I’m doing okay,” Scott said, although he clearly wasn’t.

  Ainsley tipped back her glass of water, taking as big a swallow as was ladylike under the circumstances. The circumstances being that she was wearing a spectacularly form-fitting evening gown of shiny, denim-blue with more silvery beads than stretch, while standing next to the bar at the Denim & Diamonds gala, listening to her cousin tell her in a soft, miserable voice for the fourth time that he was fine. Just fine.

  “It’s not been even a month, Scott,” she said. “No one expects you to be feeling on top of the world.”

  “Easy for you to say. You don’t have to listen to my father telling me what a lucky escape I had, how I ought to thank my lucky stars that girl—he always calls her that girl like she was just anybody—hightailed it before she said, ‘I do,’ and put me to the trouble of getting an annulment.”

  Ainsley sighed, wondering if she was ever going to stop feeling guilty about this. “I’m sure Uncle Edward means well.”

 
Scott sniffed, picked up a glass of sparkling water for the third time, then set it back down—for the third time—without taking a drink. “Probably.”

  “Maybe she’ll get in touch with you,” Ainsley suggested, wanting to offer words that might cheer him up. “At least offer you some explanation for what happened.”

  He hung his curly red head, his chin dipping toward his chest. “I know where she is,” he all but whispered.

  This was news. Ainsley set her glass on the bar and nodded to the waiter for a refill. Across the length of the ballroom, the evening’s MC—Jeb Strider, co-chair of the gala with his wife, Patti—was winding up the formal program by thanking everyone for their support and preparing to hand out the final award of appreciation. Many of the guests were still seated at the tables where they’d been served dinner, but several were up milling around, restless from sitting, chatting quietly with friends, waiting for the dance to begin. “Where is she?” Ainsley asked. “How did you find her? Have you talked to her?”

  Scott merely shrugged, as if none of that mattered. “She’s in Florida, or at least she was. I kept phoning her aunt, hoping to get a clue as to somewhere, anywhere, she might have gone. And the last time I called—last Thursday—Molly answered the phone.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Nothing. When she realized it was me, she hung up…and since then, I get nothing but a busy signal.”

  “But if she’s there, that means she didn’t elope with the bartender, like you thought.” Ainsley had never actually believed Molly had done any such thing, but she seriously wanted to help her cousin feel better. “That’s good, right?”

  “He could be there with her, for all I know.”

  “Have you checked to see if he’s still working at the restaurant? Have you thought about going to Florida to see her?”

  “What’s the point? I need to face reality, like Dad says. Molly didn’t want to marry me.”