The Matchmaker's Sister

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  He pondered how those two facts could exist side by side and both be equally true. He wondered if he had the courage to risk loving again, with its accompanying possibility of loss.

  But he understood that the attraction, the spark, he felt for Miranda was worth pursuing.

  And that’s what he intended to do.

  Chapter Six

  Miranda tucked her clipboard in the crook of her arm and reached forward to ring the doorbell. Beyond the door, she heard the deep tonal chimes and straightened, adjusted the strap of her purse, settled the clipboard more securely and told herself—for the millionth time—that she was not nervous. Why would she be nervous? She had come here on business. She made this type of call, did this same sort of preliminary evaluation every time she took on a new client. This was nothing new. Yes, this was Nate’s home. Yes, he had kissed her. But that was no reason to treat this any differently than she would any other job.

  She was inclined to blame her sister for this edgy feeling. Ainsley, with her crafty smiles, her artful asides, her sly glances carrying the underlying message that, as a matchmaker, she knew something had happened and that she wouldn’t rest until she discovered what. It had been three days since Miranda’s meeting with Nate at the coffeehouse. Three days in which the matchmaker’s apprentice had gone to great lengths to ferret out the details of what had happened. Three days in which she had come up with dozens of seemingly offhand questions designed to inspire a slip of the tongue, a careless admission. But Miranda had been ready for her, had been cool, calm and casually nonchalant about the nature of the meeting. Not once had Ainsley come close to getting what she was after.

  Because, of course, there was nothing for her to get.

  Miranda had thought a great deal—rather more, actually, than she’d wanted to—about Nate’s kiss and his startling declaration. She’d first decided to ignore the whole thing, send him the name of a painting contractor, refer him to another landscaper, and avoid him and the unpleasantness of having to explain why she wasn’t interested in pursuing the attraction. Or whatever it was. But upon reflection, she’d decided that looked too much as if she was afraid to pursue it. Which she wasn’t. But she wasn’t interested in a ready-made family, either. If Nate’s children were older, well, perhaps she could have seen more possibilities in letting the attraction run its course. But his children were young. And motherless. She didn’t want to raise another woman’s children. She didn’t. Been there, done that. And even if she was thinking too far ahead—after all, it had only been one kiss—there was no point in allowing a relationship to form when she knew, at some point, she’d have to end it. Or change her mind.

  Still, she’d expected a rush. A phone call, at least. Maybe the courtship ritual of flowers first, followed by an invitation to dinner. Nate seemed like an old-fashioned guy, someone who would appreciate the value of a little romancing. He did not seem like the sort of man who would first tell a woman he wanted to spend as much time with her as possible and then not follow up on it with action. But he didn’t call. No flowers arrived. No invitation was delivered. No romancing ensued.

  Which could only mean he’d either come to his senses or was giving her plenty of time to think about what he’d said and anticipate his next move. The latter was, in her opinion, a tactical error on his part, because it gave her plenty of time to rehearse a brief, no-nonsense refusal of any overture he might make. She even came up with a few firm, slightly apologetic words of closure, which she would offer if he pressed her.

  All of which merely firmed her resolve to stand her ground. Nate had issued a challenge and she had no intention of letting it go unanswered. She’d been kissed before and it had never stopped her, never sent her running for cover. Nate lived in Newport. They moved in the same social circles. He was running for, and would probably win, a seat on the city council. Avoiding him would be impossible.

  So she’d taken a couple of days to plan her strategy, then she’d phoned Charleigh Shepard and arranged this two-thirty appointment. The fact that she knew, via a chatty conversation with the painting contractor, that Nate wasn’t at home, that he was, in fact, at the coffeehouse meeting with the contractor even as she rang his doorbell, was simply good planning on her part.

  As she stretched her hand toward the doorbell a second time, there was a sudden scrambling noise on the other side of the big, wooden doors, the sound of scuffling, and then the click of the latch as it opened. A moment later, two pairs of wide brown eyes were staring at her from inside the foyer, two identical faces looked back at her, two moppets with identical freckled noses, identical pink-checked rompers and beribboned doggy ears regarded her with suspicion. “If you’re a stranger,” one of the moppets said, “you’d better leave because we can’t talk to you.”

  “Are you a stranger?” the other moppet inquired.

  “Yes and no,” Miranda answered. “If you’ll find your grandmother, she can introduce us and then I won’t be a stranger anymore.”

  This elicited consideration in the form of duplicate stares, followed by the abrupt slamming of the door. She heard the animated murmur of their voices on the other side, probably arguing over who should go for reinforcements and who should stay to guard the door. Miranda hadn’t raised a set of twins without learning something about the way they thought, and she suspected they both wanted to be the one left to defend the door. She wasn’t at all surprised when she heard them screeching for their grandmother at the top of their lungs.

  A few minutes later, Charleigh Shepard opened the door with an apology for her granddaughters’ heathen display. The twins, introduced as Kali and Kori, seemed subdued by their grandmother’s gentle scolding but Miranda suspected they were far from being swayed by it. They continued to keep a close eye on her as she and their grandmother exchanged greetings and talked about the garden project.

  “I know this isn’t the right time of year to be landscaping,” Mrs. Shepard said as she led the way down the front steps, with Miranda beside her, the twins whispering fiercely to each other behind them, “but I do hope you’ll be able to come up with some ideas that will get us on the right track for spring.”

  “I’m sure I can, Mrs. Shepard. There are actually quite a number of options for fall and winter gardens, too.”

  “Wonderful.” Mrs. Shepard walked around to the east side of the house, where a huge sycamore showed the first tinge of autumn color, a hint of flaming red that was echoed in other trees across the acreage. Close to the house, however, the shrubs and plants looked overgrown and untended, listless and forgotten. There was even one section, beside a cold, gray concrete bench, where the only shrubbery was a bramble of dead and dying bushes. In a regretful gesture, Mrs. Shepard swept a hand outward to encompass the sad state of her gardens. “I’m afraid I’ve neglected them terribly the past couple of years.” Her long, wizened fingers drifted down to touch a leggy rosebush, brushed across the fronds of a scruffy fern. “I used to tend it all myself and should have hired a gardener to take over when I lost interest, but somehow I never did. Having a lovely garden didn’t seem very important once my daughter-in-law became ill.”

  Miranda listened respectfully as she made a couple of notes on her clipboard pad and began to sketch a rough drawing of the garden perimeters and its layout onto the paper.

  “You know about Angie, I imagine,” Charleigh continued. “Newport is still, occasionally, a small town in many ways. At any rate, with Nate and the children living here now, I think it’s time to update the grounds. We’re leaving for Florida on Sunday, planning to stay the winter there, and this way I can look forward to seeing it completed when I return next spring.” She laughed softly. “You can see the devious nature of my thinking, Miranda. This way, I’ll experience none of the inconvenience but all of the pleasure.”

  We’re leaving. Plural. Miranda’s heart caught on a tiny flap of disappointment. Which was ridiculous as, if Nate left, she wouldn’t have to worry that he would be home and causing a problem fo
r her. “So you’re all going to Florida,” she said, trying to make it sound as if she thought that a grand idea. “How nice.”

  “Oh, no,” Mrs. Shepard told her quickly. “Only Maggie and I are heading for sunnier climes. Maggie is my dear friend and has worked for me so long I can’t imagine going anywhere without her. Which does mean, Miranda, that whatever you need, Nate will be happy to get for you. He may have some ideas he’d like incorporated into the gardens. The house, after all, is actually his to do with as he likes. It’s been far too large a place for me all these years, anyway. I was merely holding it in trust for a time when one of the boys wanted to make it a home for their own family. As I’m sure you know, Nicky has never had much inclination in that direction.”

  “I haven’t seen Nick in a long time, but I do remember him as being more…well, more wings than roots.”

  “You put it very nicely, Miranda. He’s a hellion, but I still have hope that one day he’ll come to his senses and settle down.” They’d reached the back of the house and Mrs. Shepard took the steps up to the terrace. Miranda followed, but the twins hovered at the base, discussing some unknown topic behind raised hands.

  “If it’s all right, I’d like to spend a little time wandering around, thinking about the best way to rejuvenate your garden.” Miranda clipped the Pentel to the top of the clipboard, smiled at Mrs. Shepard, thinking how much she liked the woman, how fortunate Nate and Nick had been to have such a mother. “I won’t be too long.”

  “Take all the time you want.” Mrs. Shepard gave permission with a wave of her hand. “And feel free to come again anytime. You don’t even need to call ahead unless you want to talk to Nate. He isn’t here much during the day…but someone will be here. Maggie and I will be gone after Sunday, but there will be a nanny or some such person to look after the children when their father isn’t home. He’s spending a lot of time lately at that building he’s renovating downtown.” She offered Miranda an appreciative smile. “He mentioned that you had been there and that you have some great ideas for his little project.”

  “As a matter of fact, I did meet with him briefly.” Miranda said it as if she had only just recalled the encounter, as if it had no more significance than any other appointment in a busy day. “In fact, I believe you set up that appointment so I could discuss the landscaping with Nate.”

  The older woman’s smile turned noncommittal. “Did I? My memory isn’t as dependable as it once was. But I do sincerely thank you for offering those suggestions to Nate. I know he needs the help. I’m very pleased, too, that you’ve agreed to take on the task of healing my garden. I’m sure you’ll do a perfectly wonderful job. Now, go anywhere you want, do whatever you need to do…and don’t let the children haunt you. They can be quite persistent at times.”

  “They won’t bother me, Mrs. Shepard.”

  “I hope not. Maggie’s gone to the grocer’s and I have to leave in a few minutes to run an errand. There seems to be some confusion over the boxes we’re shipping to Florida and I can’t get it straightened out over the phone. I won’t be gone long, and Cate is here to watch the girls. Send them inside to her if they become a problem.”

  “I’m sure that won’t happen.”

  “I hope not. They can occasionally be quite incorrigible. Kali? Kori? Best behavior.” Mrs. Shepard called out the instruction to the girls, who were clustered like a two-player football huddle at the foot of the stairs. They looked up at their grandmother, all innocence, then returned immediately to the huddle when she entered the house. Miranda regarded the twins for a moment, wondering what they were discussing with such energy, thinking it probably had little if anything to do with her. She flipped to a fresh page and began making notes even before she reached the bottom of the steps, where she walked past Kali and Kori on her way around the house to the side garden.

  Their observation was furtive at first, but quickly grew bolder. Their whispers got louder, their giggles more frequent, and they became very noisy shadows, darting behind shrubs, ducking out of sight if Miranda so much as glanced in their direction. She figured it was best to let them approach her—or not—at their own pace, and went about her work, sketching out the garden and grounds, pretending to be unaware of their keen surveillance.

  Then, without warning, the rules of the game changed; they were at her heels and the inquisition had begun.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Where do you live?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Why are you writing things down?’

  “What are you drawing?”

  “What kind of pencil is that?”

  “Do you have a little girl?”

  “Do you like Popsicles?”

  “What’s that called?”

  “What’s a weed?”

  “Why do people have gardens?”

  “How do you make a garden?”

  “Do you have a goldfish?”

  “Why do fish float when they die?”

  “Do you like pink eye shadow?”

  “Why is your hair that color?”

  Their curiosity appeared endless, their questions seemed a constant natural spring bubbling up and out of them. Miranda answered each and every inquiry with patient good humor, remembering when Andrew and Ainsley had been quiet only while asleep, remembering her childish frustration at their never-ceasing babble, recalling her ever-present worry that something terrible would happen to them before her parents returned and her sometimes horrible wish that it would. She had been too young for the responsibility she’d assumed, too fearful of disaster not to take it on. No one had ever said she should be the surrogate parent, and to this day, she didn’t know if her parents fully realized that’s what she became in their absence.

  Matt, Andy and Ainsley knew. They’d resented her for it at times, she knew, but mostly they’d allowed her to take charge, depended on her to make the decisions, to bear the burden of responsibility. Matt, being two years older than Miranda herself was, had gone along with her directives when it suited him and did what he wanted when it didn’t. But the twins…They had needed her. Sometimes overwhelmingly. Sometimes not so much. It was a miracle, Miranda thought, that the four of them had managed to grow up with their relationships intact, that they not only recalled their odd childhood with affection, but with genuine nostalgia.

  She could take credit for that. Her sacrifice had made Danfair a home; her resolve had kept the family from disintegrating. She didn’t fault Charles and Linney for their commitment to a great cause. But she didn’t feel they deserved great praise for their choices, either. They’d chosen to have children, then relegated them to the background of their lives, providing for every need except the most important…their presence.

  Angie Shepard would have given anything to be present for these two perfect little girls, Miranda thought, but life hadn’t given her that option. Maybe that’s why Miranda didn’t mind the barrage of questions. She understood what it was to be left behind. She knew sometimes little girls simply needed someone there to answer.

  “How come some flowers stink?”

  “Where’s your house?”

  “Have you ever been on a rolla coaster?”

  “What makes the wind blow?”

  “Do you know how to make pancakes?”

  “You want us to get you a Popsicle?”

  At one point in their chatter, Miranda glanced up and saw a young girl watching from the nearby veranda. She was slightly built, no longer a child, but not quite a young woman yet, either. Her hair, a wild tangle of vivid artificial color, pulled up into a spiky ponytail on one side of her head, was meant to draw attention, to intimidate. Her eyes were a startling, stunning blue-green, her gaze both wary and watchful. But what struck Miranda instantly was the defiant tilt of the chin and the slightly stiff set of the shoulders, a stance that signified both loss and responsibility. She understood that posture, knew without a shared word that Nate’s oldest daughter was taking on a role not rightfully
hers. Her sympathy went out to the girl. Perhaps because Cate had lost her mother. Maybe just because she’d come outside to check on her sisters.

  The twins caught sight of her. “Cate! Hey, Cate! Guess what we’re doing?”

  The girl, Cate, grinned and was immediately a different person. “I know what you’re doing,” she answered confidently. “You’re bothering the landscaper.”

  “Nana said we could,” one twin defended their action.

  “You can come and bother her, too,” offered the other. “She doesn’t mind, do you…” A frown creased the child’s freckled nose. “What was your name?”

  “Miranda,” Miranda said. “And you—” she looked up at Cate of the oddly colored, off-center ponytail “—must be Kali and Kori’s big sister.”

  “I’m Cate,” she replied as if that were admission enough.

  “I’m happy to meet you, Cate.” Miranda dropped her gaze back to the clipboard, reached into the pocket of her jacket for a measuring tape, knowing teenagers talked if and when they wanted to and usually in reverse correlation to any adult attempt to engage them in conversation. Pulling out the tape, she measured the width of a stone bench, its distance from the walkway, its angle from the house, and jotted the figures on her pad. As she straightened, she caught a glimpse of the twins pointing at her as they jumped up and down and tried to mouth some mysterious, and wildly exaggerated, message to their sister. Miranda’s glance slid to Cate, who was frowning earnestly at the girls, cautioning them to stop with a roll of her eyes and the up-and-down jerk of her eyebrows.