Just What the Doctor Ordered

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  Ainsley shrugged, dimples flashing, as she met his challenge and returned the ball in an easy backhand. “I’ve frustrated her efforts to reform me for so long, I think she’s finally given up. You should be careful, though. She’s always on the lookout for a new challenge and you could be it.”

  “Miranda’s not going to waste her energy on me. Why, I’d take more polishing up than that shiny little Mercedes she drives.”

  “You don’t think she has anything to do with the actual polishing, do you? Miranda commands and, voilà, shine happens.” The ball moved in a fast, steady rhythm, back and forth across the net. “Which doesn’t mean you should underestimate my sister’s energy level. She’s the quintessential expert when it comes to fixing someone else’s problems.”

  “It’s a good thing I don’t have any problems that need fixin’, then.” Ivan had to lunge to return a hard shot, but he managed to get it back with some credibility.

  Ainsley laughed as she easily bunted it back. “I may have phrased that wrong. I should have said Miranda’s a ball of fire when it comes to fixing someone else. Problems are optional.”

  Ivan was pleased to see that Ainsley hadn’t lost that cute bounciness he’d so admired in her as a child. From bouncy curls to the way she bounced on the balls of her feet, Ainsley still projected a mischievous innocence that was head-to-toe charming. At least it would be if she wasn’t roundly sinking him in this Ping-Pong match. She’d gained an attractive self-confidence in the five years he’d been gone…and he liked that. He was happy to see her finally coming into her own after all the time she’d spent in the shadow of her very accomplished siblings. Maybe the new job with IF Enterprises had made the difference. Maybe it was the man in her life—Buckley, wasn’t it?

  The thought of a man in Ainsley’s life bothered him—as it would any caring brother—and he missed the only easy shot she’d given him in the entire game.

  “Ha!” Ainsley danced a jazzy pirouette at her end of the table. “My point—and that, Dr. Donovan, is the game.”

  He retrieved the ball and laid it beneath his paddle on the table. “I’d demand a rematch, but I’m afraid you’d accept.”

  “Don’t tell me you let her beat you at Ping-Pong, Ivan.” Andrew walked into the room and shrugged off a hefty backpack. He was a tall, good-looking young man with thick red hair, an easy manner, the Danville blue eyes and a smile as lively and welcoming as Ainsley’s. “Now, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “Do not listen to him, Ivan,” she advised with a teasing twinkle in her eyes. “I’m better than he is, too.”

  Pretending to ignore his sister, Andrew began removing all manner of lenses and film rolls from the pockets of his vest and transferring them to the camera bag. “She knows no shame, Ivan,” he said. “Everyone knows, we’ve tried to teach her better manners, but she has this pathetic need to prove she’s God’s Ping-Pong gift to the world.”

  “You just can’t admit I’m better at something.” She tilted her head and gave Ivan a conspiratorial smile. “They’re all jealous of me,” she said. “Because I’m such a natural talent.”

  “It’s true, Ivan,” Andrew said as he patted his vest pockets in search of elusive film rolls. “She was born with a Ping-Pong ball in her mouth. We have the pictures of her chubby cheeks to prove it.”

  Ainsley made a face and Ivan laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Miranda entered the room like a song, lovely from every angle.

  “I just whipped the socks off of Ivan,” Ainsley announced happily. “I beat him by four million, three hundred thousand and twenty-two points.”

  “It was a mere four thousand and something,” Ivan corrected. “If we go by your scorecard.”

  “What are you saying, Doctor? That these cheeks—” Ainsley pointed to her irrepressible dimples with expressive index fingers “—would lie?”

  Ivan couldn’t help laughing. “I beg your pardon. My mistake.” He turned to Miranda. “She beat me by four million, three hundred thousand and twenty points.”

  “Twenty-two,” Ainsley happily corrected.

  “Well, that’s certainly hilarious,” Miranda said. She was blond, blue-eyed and beautiful, and carried herself with a stately grace. Her smile was breathtaking, but lacked the genuine enthusiasm Ainsley brought to every expression and occasion. In other words, Miranda had gotten all the elegance, while Ainsley had inherited the bounce.

  Ivan had always thought Miranda exquisite, with the untouchable loveliness of a work of art. She was self-possessed and assured, strong and confident. As a matter of course, her way was the right way, but he’d also known her to be generous when—if—it turned out she’d been wrong. There had been a time when she was the woman of his dreams, although he’d never had the courage to openly pursue her. In his heart, he supposed he’d felt he could never be good enough for her, and he didn’t want to risk straining his friendship with Matt.

  Now, suddenly, Ivan understood that this decision had had little—if anything—to do with his respect for Matt’s friendship or even his own middle-class background. It had been based on something much more fundamental. He wasn’t attracted to Miranda. Not in the way a man would have to be to romance her. She was a high-maintenance female, the kind of woman who required a slow, persistent courtship. Ivan hadn’t had the time then, and he didn’t have the interest now.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t like Miranda. He did. She was the glue that bonded this branch of the family together, the anchor that kept them from drifting into stormy seas. Whatever her dreams were now—or once had been—she’d surrendered them to a higher calling—the family. Ivan appreciated her sacrifice. He admired her management skills, her attention to detail, her willingness to be the one in charge. He enjoyed her company, her fascinating combination of brains and beauty. He considered her a friend, someone who liked him and would stand firmly in his corner in a crisis. But, with Miranda, he’d never felt the intimate and unswerving acceptance Ainsley had bestowed on him from the start.

  “Bucky just buzzed in from the front gate,” Miranda announced. She leaned down to remove a scrap of paper from the carpet, and when she straightened up, the creases in her linen slacks fell magically, perfectly, into place again. “He’ll be at the door in a few minutes. You’ll want to be there to greet him.”

  “He knows his way to the salon,” Ainsley said.

  “He’s still a guest, Baby,” Miranda reminded. “Your guest.”

  “Oh, please.” Ainsley rolled her eyes. “Bucky’s about as much of a guest as Ivan.”

  Ivan felt a surprising twinge of pique at being lumped into the same category as the unknown Bucky.

  “He’ll expect you to be there, nonetheless.”

  “I’m sure he’ll recover from that terrible disappointment.”

  “Ainsley.” Miranda pronounced her name with the authority of a sibling who’s had to stand in for a parent enough times to be comfortable in the role, to feel, in fact, that it was her obligation. “You’re a Danville. You weren’t raised to treat anyone with disrespect. Especially not the man you plan to marry.”

  Ivan’s stomach tensed. Ainsley engaged? Why hadn’t Matt told him? He’d mentioned Bucky, but had said not a word about him being her fiancé. “Whoa. Back up,” he said, breaking
into the dispute. “What’s this? I didn’t know you were making wedding plans, Ainsley.”

  “I’m not,” she replied, frowning at Miranda.

  “Yet.” Miranda smiled knowingly at Ivan. “Bucky’s a very nice young man. You’ll like him, Ivan.”

  Ivan disliked him already…for no good reason. “If he’s Ainsley’s choice, I’m sure I will.”

  “We’re only dating,” Ainsley said, her tone tight and defensive.

  Miranda’s smile was patient. “I didn’t say you were going to marry him tomorrow.”

  “I’ve never said I’m going to marry him at all.” Ainsley lifted up her chin as she spoke, but Ivan heard the thread of doubt in her voice, the underlying belief instilled in her since childhood that Miranda was always, essentially and finally right.

  “Then why are we talking about it now?” Miranda turned her attention to Andrew, who was still focused on arranging the items in his camera bag. “Drew, you really should be getting ready for dinner.”

  Ainsley rolled her eyes and wished Miranda didn’t always have to be so bossy.

  “On my way, sis,” Andrew said, continuing to do exactly what he had been doing—and would continue to do—until he was through. He couldn’t be hurried when it involved his camera equipment, and he seldom paid the slightest attention to his big sister’s nagging anyway. Not that being politely ignored would stop her from trying. Miranda was nothing if not persistent.

  “How about a friendly game of Ping-Pong, Randa?” Ainsley teased her sister with a look, then upped the ante. “I’ll spot you a thousand points.”

  “I’m not playing table tennis with you,” Miranda said evenly, moving to sit on the sofa. “You don’t play by the rules.”

  “Yes, I do. I’ll even let you keep score.”

  “No, thank you. Drew? Would you mind?”

  Ainsley caught Andrew’s eye and shrugged, resigned to the fact that she could not distract their sister from her purpose. She’d known, of course, that Miranda wouldn’t play, no matter who kept score, or how carefully. Ping-Pong or pinochle, Miranda didn’t play games anymore. Sometimes, it seemed as if her sister’s strong sense of responsibility had leeched away her ability to have fun. She needed someone—a man—to teach her that life didn’t have to be taken so seriously. To show her that relinquishing her need to control life’s every little detail could be a good thing. She needed someone—a man—to help her understand there was more to life than keeping a tight rein on her every emotion. The truth was, Miranda needed to fall helplessly, hopelessly, in love.

  And the perfect someone—Ivan—was standing right in front of her.

  But did Miranda notice? Was she even aware of how gorgeous he was? Or how his eyes were such a warm, wonderful shade of brown? Did she appreciate his smile? His intelligence? His sense of humor? His love of life?

  Oh, no. Miranda was too busy trying to move Andrew and his miscellaneous camera equipment out of the salon because clutter bothered her. She was too busy fretting over Ainsley’s reluctance to greet Bucky at the door because Miranda thought it showed bad manners. She was undoubtedly anxious, too, because Matt was late getting home and dinner might have to be delayed. Miranda didn’t need an excuse to be uptight, but that never stopped her from looking for one. Little wonder she’d recently sworn off dating. She used up all her energy worrying about unimportant details. She spent her time trying to control things that ultimately made no difference.

  As a sister, Ainsley wanted to help. As a professional—albeit apprentice—matchmaker, she knew Miranda needed, desperately, to discover the beautiful chaos of falling in love. The right man would soften her compulsion to control all the little things in her siblings’ lives while missing the bigger picture in her own. He would transform her, make her a new woman, ease the weight of too much self-inflicted responsibility. Ainsley knew it could happen, felt in her heart it would happen…if only she could get Miranda to take one good, long look at the perfect man.

  At Ivan.

  Which wasn’t to say he was perfect in every way. Just perfect for her.

  If only Miranda could see that….

  If only Ainsley hadn’t made a promise….

  “Ivan?” Miranda, smiling, her posture model straight, her back perfectly parallel to the back of the sofa, called him to her side. “I wanted to congratulate you on your new position with the pediatric center. We’re all very pleased you accepted.”

  “I’m thrilled to have been offered the opportunity. I still can’t quite believe it. Why, I’ve hardly been able to sleep at night for pinching myself.” Ivan’s voice betrayed his deep sense of accomplishment. He perched on the arm of the sofa beside her.

  Miranda, being Miranda, casually shifted her torso just enough to avoid any possibility of physical contact. Not because she thought that Ivan would make any kind of overture, but because she unconsciously avoided touching anyone. She wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of person.

  Ainsley knew that if she’d been the one sitting next to Ivan, she’d want to be close enough to feel the accidental bump of his arm against her shoulder, to enjoy the occasional, companionable touch of his hand, to absorb the unexpected warmth, the fleeting sensation of skin skimming over hers. She loved the little “oops” expressions that so often accompanied the unintentional brush of bodies. She simply loved being close to another person and knowing, in the depths of her being, that she wasn’t alone. Maybe that was part of being born a twin. Or maybe she would have been that way regardless.

  But Miranda was different. Distant. Difficult to reach. And it was going to take more than a man—even the right man—sitting next to her on the sofa to introduce any possibilities to Miranda.

  Ainsley frowned, reminding herself—again—that there wasn’t going to be any introduction of possibilities. At least not for the next three weeks. She’d told Ilsa she could mind the business and stay out of trouble. Not one or the other. Both. Which meant no matchmaking.

  No matter how tempting the prospect.

  “We’re all excited to have you working with us,” Miranda was saying to Ivan. “Mom and Dad asked me to tell you how pleased they are, as well.”

  “Thank you, that means a lot to me.”

  The door chimes echoed faintly, and Ainsley felt the weight of expectations turn in her direction. Miranda didn’t even glance at her, but nonetheless, Ainsley obediently headed toward the foyer to do what was expected of her.

  Apparently, Andrew felt the same internal pressures because he’d gathered his things and was following her out.

  “Having Ivan here again is great, huh,” he said, slinging the bulky backpack up onto his shoulder as they walked. “Matt’s always hoped he’d come to work for the Foundation one day.”

  “I’m glad he’s back,” she said honestly, but she couldn’t help wondering how long it would be before the Foundation sucked Ivan into its vortex of selfless martyrdom. She was instantly ashamed of the thought, ashamed of thinking what his sacrifice might mean to her instead of the benefit he would bring to so many others.

  The Danville Foundation was her parents’ passion, their raison d’être, their heart and soul. Their humanitarian work was also exhausting and demanding…and more important to them than any other person or thing, more important e
ven than their children. And there were moments when Ainsley resented that. She didn’t think she could bear to see Ivan get swallowed up in the worthiness of the work, too. And yet she knew he’d lose all respect for her if he had even an inkling of how selfishly she wished that wouldn’t happen.

  She and Andrew reached the entrance hall just as Tomas—the latest in a steady stream of foreign-born household help brought to the States through the sponsorship of Charles and Linney—opened the door to admit Buckingham Ellis Winston, IV.

  “Hello there, Andrew. Ainsley.” Bucky handed off his soft-sided leather briefcase to Tomas. “Were you afraid I couldn’t find my way to the East Salon?”

  Ainsley smiled approval at Tomas, who was new to his job, thanking him with genuine warmth, before she moved forward to greet Bucky. “Miranda thought you’d want a guide.”

  “And she thought I’d want to change before dinner,” Andrew said. “So I’ll see you later.” With a fleeting wave of his hand, he took the stairs of the sweeping staircase two at a time and left Ainsley there with the man she supposed she’d marry one day out of habit.

  Bucky had given her a rush the first semester of her second year at Brown, worn down her resistance to a relationship by the end of that year and been her steady beau ever since. He was four years her senior, handsome, sweetly attentive, had a serious eye for details and, on occasion, left her wondering if love was supposed to feel so comfortable. But, on the whole, they were beautifully compatible, and their differences were complementary on practically every level. As Miranda liked to point out, Bucky provided a good balance for Ainsley’s often impetuously high spirits.

  He greeted her now as he usually did, with a brief kiss and a gentle pat on her shoulder. “Hello, Cuteness,” he said. “How was your day?”

  “Exciting,” she said, easily inserting the sparkle she knew he expected to hear in her voice. “Ivan’s here.”