The Matchmaker's Sister

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  “You don’t know what’s happening with your own wedding, Ainsley. So I doubt very seriously you have a clue as to what’s actually happening in my life.”

  Ainsley’s smile faded and Miranda felt badly for snapping at her. But for her to sit there and say she didn’t care about the wedding was too much. Especially after all the work they’d already put into it. And wanting to talk about Nate, which Miranda had no intention of doing, was just simple avoidance. Another way to ignore the details that needed attending to. Nate was fun. She liked being with him. Maybe a little more than she’d planned, but that was neither here nor there. And did not merit discussion.

  “You might be surprised to discover I do have a clue,” Ainsley said, sitting forward as her expression turned serious. “Contrary to your apparent belief that I wander through life totally self-absorbed, I actually do care what happens to you and want you to find that special someone to share your life. I think maybe Nate is that someone. But I’m only guessing, of course. Because you never share the details of your life. Not with me. Not with Matt. Not with Andrew. You just go off and fall in love without a word to your brothers or your sister. The three people who would genuinely like to share some part in your happiness.”

  “There is nothing to share, Ainsley. I didn’t go off and…and fall in love, as you put it. I’d tell you if my…friendship…with Nate was something lasting, but it’s not. It’s just a…”

  “A fling?” Ainsley offered. “You don’t have flings, Miranda. You don’t have affairs. You barely even bother to date anymore. Suddenly, Nate comes along and you’re different. You’re wearing a secret little smile, you’re distracted, you forget to remind me to call the caterer. I think that’s great. You deserve to be happy. You deserve a man like Nate. I just wish you didn’t feel you have to hide what’s happening from me. I’m your sister. I’m happy for you.”

  “That’s nice, but—”

  “Don’t treat me like a child, Miranda. I can see for myself that you’re in love with him, whether you’ll admit it or not. I know his children adore you already. I can totally see you running their lives as efficiently and lovingly as you’ve always run ours. But I’d love to hear all that from you. The details of how you feel, how excited you are, how scared you are at times. I’d love to listen to you ramble on about him the way I ramble on about Ivan. I’d like to think my opinion mattered to you. I do have one, you know. I’m a matchmaker, Miranda, and I’m good at it. I just wish you could see that and let me help you sometimes instead of feeling as if your only role in my life is to rescue me every time I make a mistake.”

  Miranda was shaking inside, sifting through the torrent of words for the few that had knotted in her stomach. “I’m not in love with Nate Shepard,” she said firmly, feeling it was important to be clear on that point first. “And I certainly have no intention of running his life or the lives of his children.” Another thought—one that had occurred to her before but that came back stronger this time. “Did you do this, Ainsley? Did you set up this…this match for me?”

  For once, Ainsley didn’t make any attempt to explain. She got to her feet and stood, her usual saucy attitude concealed behind a look that seemed almost…mature. There was a sparkle of possibilities in her eyes, a new confidence in the arch of her eyebrows. “I’ve got to go back to work,” she said evenly. “As hard as it may be to believe, I actually have clients who pay me to help them find love. Not everyone, Miranda, stumbles blindly into the best thing that ever happened to them.”

  Miranda had a pithy answer for that. She knew she did. She just couldn’t remember it at the moment, and so Ainsley walked out of her office unchallenged.

  For a long time afterward, Miranda sat there, frowning, trying to make sense of it, trying to decipher fact from fiction. Ainsley had an active imagination. She always had. That’s all this was. A combination of imagination and prewedding jitters. She was getting married and she felt scared of leaving home, afraid that Miranda would no longer be there to handle the details of her life anymore. That’s what this was about. Anxiety over leaving the security of home. Trying to put Miranda on the defensive was just a ploy—probably an unconscious one—an attempt to worry about something other than the major step into adulthood she was about to make. That’s what this was about.

  And Ainsley had a right to be upset. For over a month now—and if she were truthful, she’d admit it had been since the first day she’d walked into the coffeehouse—Miranda had neglected her real life in favor of a fantasy life. She’d abandoned responsibility…as her parents had done throughout her life. Except that they had a legitimate reason, a higher calling.

  Miranda didn’t. She’d chosen a long time ago, even before she was old enough to make such a choice, to take on the role of designated parent. Someone needed to do it and so she had. And now that her role was changing, maybe she felt a little scared herself. But that was no reason to rush out and find another family whose lives she could, as Ainsley had put it, totally run. She didn’t want that. She wanted to be free. She wanted to know what that felt like. She didn’t want the responsibility of other lives. She didn’t.

  And she wasn’t in love. She would have known. This…these feelings she had were simply the afterglow of a strong physical attraction, an outgrowth of Nate’s easy companionship. She didn’t want to be in love with him. So therefore, she wasn’t. She was in control of her emotions. And she meant to keep it that way.

  She’d had a plan going into this. Now she’d simply have to make a plan to end it.

  Right after she called Katherine, the caterer, and begged for a reprieve.

  It wasn’t what she wanted to do, but it had to be done. Someone had to be the rock.

  “DAD!” Kali, red plaid ribbons flying, raced to the back room of the coffeehouse, where Nate was putting storage shelves together.

  “Dad!” Kori, red-and-white polka-dot ribbons bouncing against her dark hair, was barely a step behind. “The truck is here.”

  “The truck is here!” Kali repeated. “With the furniture! Call Miranda! Quick! Tell her to get here fast!”

  Nate laid aside his electric screwdriver and got to his feet, grinning at the girls’ excitement. A few weeks ago, they’d wanted nothing to do with the coffeehouse. But that had been before Miranda suggested they set up a play area for the children who would accompany their parents out for a cappuccino. He owed her big-time for that idea. “What do we need Miranda for?” he teased. “She’s not going to unload the furniture. The men in the truck will do that.”

  Kori slipped a fisted hand to her waist, which reminded Nate of the way Angie used to show mock impatience. Kali rolled her expressive eyes, also resembling her mother. “Miranda has to tell you where to put the stuff, Dad,” she said.

  “That’s right, Dad,” Kori echoed. “How else will we know where it goes?”

  “Maybe I know where it goes. Ever thought of that?”

  Their foreheads creased in identical frowns. “No,” they answered in unison as they grabbed his hand—one apiece—and tugged him out of the storeroom. “Come on, Dad. Call her. Call her now.”

  It was amazing, when he thought about it, how quickly Miranda had become a part of his life. The Kays were completely enamored of her and were constantly thinking of things to ask her, making plans that included her. Will and Cate behaved more cautiously, but then they were more interested in themselves at any given moment than in what their dad had going on.

  And what he had going on was special. He knew that, even if they didn’t. He didn’t mind sharing…a little…but he had no intention of making his courtship a family project.

  Kali and Kori stopped tugging on his hands and gave him identical stern looks. “Call her, Dad.”

  He would have, gladly. Except that he’d already phoned Miranda once today and he’d been able to tell by her voice that she was under stress. The details of Ainsley’s wedding, probably, accounted for the cool tone. He wished he could do something to help, wished mostly t
hat she’d let him help. But Miranda hadn’t quite grasped the idea of sharing responsibility yet. That might take some time.

  And still the twins were waiting for him to make the call.

  “Miranda said she’d come to the coffeehouse as soon as she finishes with the landscape crew. I’m sure she’ll be here any minute.” He put a hand at their backs and herded them toward the front door. “In the meantime, you two watch from over here while I supervise the unloading.”

  But Miranda still hadn’t arrived an hour later when the chaise longues sat, wrapped in plastic, and the black-and-white-tiled bar had been securely situated inside the outline Miranda had taped out on the floor. She was so precise about things like that. Plan your work, work your plan. That was her motto. More like a creed, really. He loved that about her. But then he loved just about everything about her. No point in denying it. He was smitten. Truly, deeply. He knew it to be true every time he saw her or heard her voice or simply thought about her. Which he did a lot.

  He hadn’t expected to fall in love again. Angie had assured him he would. She’d told him she was in favor of it. She’d made him swear he wouldn’t let a misguided sense of loyalty to her memory keep him from claiming happiness whenever it found him. Life, she had often reminded him, was too short to spend in regrets. He realized now what a gift she had given him by offering her blessing long before he’d had any reason to believe he’d ever want it. Angie had always had amazing foresight. For all he knew, she could have orchestrated his first encounter with Miranda, pulled some heavenly strings to make sure the right woman caught his attention.

  More and more, he was sure that Miranda was the right woman. He realized she wasn’t convinced he was the right man, but it was early days yet. And he was a patient man. Older, too, and willing to let her discover in her own sweet time that she was in love with him. Experience had taught him that some things were worth the wait.

  He just hoped it would happen soon.

  MIRANDA HAD HER PLAN firmly in mind when she walked into the coffeehouse. She was late. Over an hour late and hadn’t a single excuse to offer. Except that she had dreaded this moment all day and put it off as long as she could.

  “Miranda! Miranda!” Her name doubled as the twins barreled across the room to greet her with a low-slung hug. “Wait’ll you see the new furniture. Wait’ll you see what we’ve done.”

  They were like duplicate tornadoes, little funnels of energy and excitement, flinging themselves into the moment with pure abandon, welcoming her into their day without reservation, whether she wanted to be there or not. They reminded her of Ainsley and Andrew at a similar age. Except that she had been too young then to appreciate the special set of warm feelings that came with being important to a pair of seven-year-olds. She wondered how long they would miss her after today and hated that she had ever let herself grow attached to them. Or them to her. She didn’t want children. She didn’t want to be the designated parent to another set of twins. And Nate had two sets. Four children who wanted a mother. Even a poor facsimile of one.

  Better to make the ending swift and pain them all as little as possible.

  “Miranda.”

  Nate’s voice flowed over her like a beloved song, offering his welcome in the sound of her name and a husky pleasure that promised a more intimate greeting offstage. She steeled herself to look at him, telling herself she was not in love with him. Not yet. Not immune to the possibility, maybe, but not there yet, either. She still had time to walk away unscathed. Free and clear.

  “We thought you’d never get here,” he said and his smile changed her opinion. Not free. Not entirely. “The girls have been dying to know where you want the chaise longues. They’re especially fond of the red one. I’m rather partial to the yellow.”

  She cleared her throat. “I…we need to talk,” she replied quickly, before she lost her nerve. “Alone.”

  A frown creased his forehead and vanished into a smile. “The most frightening words a man ever hears from a woman are we need to talk. Did you know that?”

  She shook her head, telling herself she could get through this if he just didn’t touch her.

  “Well, it’s true,” he continued. “On the other hand, I like that alone part you’ve added.”

  She had to do this. No matter how much the thought of it made her sick at heart. “Nate, I…look, this isn’t easy for me, but I know it’s the right decision.”

  His smile began to fade. “This sounds serious. Maybe you should hold on to those words until we are alone.”

  “Miranda! Look at us! We made a tent!”

  Across the room, the twins had crawled under one of the chaise longues, using the plastic as a tent. They wanted her attention and would be back in an instant to claim it. Now was not the time for serious discussion. Except…there was nothing to discuss. “I’m not going to see you anymore,” she said evenly, wondering how she could sound so certain when her whole body trembled, when it felt as if the world was spinning down around her.

  His eyes held hers…gravity in the midst of chaos. “Now you’re scaring me,” he said, his hand reaching up to brush her cheek, sending a familiar longing thrilling through her and denying in a gesture what she’d spent all day convincing herself was true. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t not do it. But it had to be now. She had to convince him now. Before the poignant touch of his hand persuaded her she was making an awful mistake.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t see you anymore.”

  His other hand came up to settle persuasively, firmly, on her shoulder. “It isn’t that easy, Miranda. I won’t let it be that easy.”

  “Miranda!” The twins yelled again. Outside, a horn honked. Then another. A bell jangled. The door opened. The clutter of the outside world swept in. Somehow she managed to keep breathing.

  “Hey, what does a fellow have to do to get a cup of coffee in this town?”

  The voice was familiar, deep and resonant, and went through Miranda like a memory she couldn’t quite place.

  “Uncle Nicky! Uncle Nicky!”

  The girls were out of their tent and throwing themselves into the embrace of a tall, spectacularly handsome man. Nick Shepard. Nate’s brother. The first man—boy—Miranda had fallen in love with. She had been crazy about him once, briefly. Who would have thought she’d be so happy to see him now? If only for the interruption he caused, the respite he provided. She turned from Nate to Nick with a good deal more enthusiasm than she felt.

  “Nick,” she said, forcing a false vibrancy into her voice. “Nick Shepard.”

  He stopped hugging his nieces and focused his dark, matinee-idol eyes on her, his smile shifting smoothly into a practiced and perfected charisma. “Miranda?” he said, rising slowly to his feet. “Miranda Danville?”

  She managed a nod, which he seemed to take as shyness, because his smile shifted again, became coaxing, cajoling. A smile she imagined his soap-opera fans knew very well. “Now this,” he said in a voice meant only for her, “is what I call a welcome-home party.” He came forward, never taking his eyes off her, making her the focus of his whole attention. “Hello, Miranda.” And he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, as if they were old and dear friends, separated only by the time it took to reestablish their history. His lips butterfly-brushed her skin, a move both friendly and seductive. All within the span of a heartbeat. He stepped back, still smiling down at her and, somehow—she didn’t know how he’d accomplished it—he was holding her hands…both hands, clasped warmly, firmly, in the cradle of his palms. “Hi, Nate,” he said casually, but his eyes still held Miranda’s.

  “Nick,” Nate responded. “What a surprise.”

  Not an especially pleasant one, it seemed to Miranda. But then, that could be the circumstances. In Nate’s view, this could hardly be a welcome interruption.

  “Had a few days off. Thought I’d drive up to check out this coffeehouse deal I’ve been hearing about and hang around for the grand opening this weekend.” He surveyed the
room, letting Miranda’s hands go free a second before she would have freed them herself. “Your taste has improved, bro,” Nick said. “This place actually looks trendy. You may be on to something here.”

  “Uncle Nicky, come see our tent.” Kori pulled on her uncle’s hand.

  Kali tugged on the other. “Come see the toys Miranda bought.”

  “In a minute, kiddos.” His smile kept them all within his orbit, even when he spoke to Nate. “Where’s my nephew? Is he as tall as I am yet? And the lovely Cate…where is she?”

  “They’re still at school. Cate’s in drama. Will’s at wrestling practice. I’ll pick them up in—” Nate checked his watch “—about thirty minutes. Are you staying at the house?”

  Nick’s laughter was deep, rich, full of nuance…and Miranda knew he was giving her a sample of countless years of voice lessons. “Where else would I go?” he said with another on-camera smile. “Home is where the heart is, you know.”

  “Great.” Nate slipped a hand against the small of her back. “Miranda and I are going across the street for a cup of coffee. Entertain your nieces for a few minutes.”

  Miranda panicked. She didn’t want to talk. She wanted to escape now before he convinced her they had a future. All of them. Him and his two sets of twins. “I can’t,” she said, moving pointedly away from his touch. “I have an appointment. About the wedding.” She turned to Nick, pretending she had no hidden agenda. “My baby sister is getting married. A week from Saturday. Maybe you’ll stay in town long enough to come to the wedding.”

  He misread the invitation. She saw it in the interest that flashed in his eyes, the hint of satisfaction that crept into his smile. It all came back to her—the ease with which he’d charmed her teenage self, the way he’d played her emotions, kept her unsure and adoring. She realized now he’d been a good actor then. But he was a whole lot better now. “I would love to come,” he replied. “Love to. Where’s your appointment? I need to pick up a few things at the store before I go up to the house. Can I give you a lift? I’ve got the Aston.”