“Well, you are a doctor, Ivan, and I’m sure you have a lovely bedside manner.”
“I do,” he agreed. “With six-year-olds. But my manner doesn’t necessarily translate that well with anyone over twenty.”
“Oh, come on.” She smiled widely at him. “You’re just being coy.”
Coy? She thought he was being coy? He was definitely missing something here. “What is this really about, Ainsley?”
She tried hard to look startled, as if she couldn’t imagine what he meant. “Miranda,” she said as if it ought to be obvious. “Haven’t you been paying attention?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I have.” He held her gaze, hoping she would stop beating around the bush and simply tell him what was on her mind.
But she looked away, instead, and gave a long sigh. “I probably shouldn’t have said anything about it, anyway. Just forget I mentioned Miranda at all. Okay?”
“Okay,” he agreed, not convinced he should let her off so easily.
“Matt said he gave you the grand tour the other day,” she said, nimbly switching the subject. “Did you like the center?”
“I was overwhelmed, to say the least,” he admitted readily. “It’s a great facility. I can’t think of a single thing I’d have done differently with the building.”
“There was a lot of discussion about whether or not to include you in the planning stages, but Matt wanted it to be a surprise. He thought if you knew it’d be too much of a distraction.”
“He’s right. I’d have had trouble keeping my focus on my residency if I’d known what was happening here.”
“You’ve never had trouble keeping your focus, Ivan.” She shuffled one stockinged foot against the other, making a soft shush-shush sound. “That’s why I sort of hoped you’d say no when Matt called.”
He couldn’t believe he’d heard her correctly. “You don’t want me to work for the Foundation?”
“Well, I didn’t. Not right away.” Her feet shuffled some more. “I wanted you to have some time to enjoy your accomplishment. You know, rest on your laurels for a little while.”
“I don’t know how to do that, Ainsley, and I don’t believe I want to learn. Not as long as there’s hope of helping even one child, of easing the burden for even one family. That’s the opportunity your family has offered me and this just isn’t the time to rest on my laurels, as you put it.”
“No,” she said. “Of course not. I sometimes get these silly ideas. It’s probably just as well no one pays much attention to them.” She didn’t allow him a chance to question or contradict her, but instead brightened the afternoon with a sudden flashing smile. “What did you think of the murals?” she asked, her voice as enthusiastic as her expression. “I hoped you’d like them, even if nobody else does.”
“I adore your murals,” he said. “Every last funny little creature. I didn’t know you were such a gifted artist.”
She laughed. “There are those who think my artwork is more scribbles than substance. But as long as you like them, I’m happy.”
“They’re wonderful, Ainsley. The kids will love them, I guarantee. I expect that second-floor waiting room will become a very popular spot for the patients and a cheerful oasis for their families.”
“Miranda said the creatures are weird and will only frighten the children, but Matt wouldn’t let her redo them.”
“Miranda’s wrong,” Ivan said. “These kids are fighting demons most adults can’t even imagine. They’re not going to be scared of your very imaginative drawings.”
“I never thought of it like that.” Ainsley began wadding up the bag that had held their lunch, crunching it into a brown paper clump. “Did you like the puppet theater? That was my idea, too.”
“I know. Matt told me. Another great idea.”
“You really think so?”
He smiled at her eagerness for his approval. “Absolutely,” he said. “I wish I’d thought of something like it during my residency. The kids in Phoenix would have loved puppet shows.”
“I thought it might be a good way for some of your patients to act out their emotions, too.”
“Great idea,” he said. “Maybe we can find someone—a seamstress, maybe—who can refurbish a regular puppet to look like one of your mural creatures. That could create an interesting puppet show, don’t you think?”
She leaned forward to slip on her shoes, smiling at him over her shoulder. “Let’s go for that walk, Ivan.”
“Now? Just when I’m getting creative?”
She got up as if she had springs on her feet, then reached back to grab his hand and try to pull him up with her.
A sudden tingling sensation travelled through his fingers and up his arm, unexpectedly reintroducing that odd sense of awareness. But he decided in a heartbeat that this time he wasn’t going to overthink the feeling. Whatever its source, he’d never allow it to interfere with his friendship with Ainsley. They had a special relationship and he intended to keep it that way. “What’s the hurry?” He allowed her to give his hand a couple of purposeful tugs before he leisurely got to his feet. “A minute ago you thought a walk was a bad idea.”
“That was then. Now, it’s not.” She tossed the crumpled sack into a trash container. “Besides, there’s someone I think you should meet.”
“I hope it’s the duck that ate my lunch.”
Her only answer was a sunny giggle.
CHAPTER SIX
Elton wasn’t a duck.
Ivan wasn’t quite sure what the puppet resembled, but it definitely was not a duck. Jett, on the other hand, was easier to classify. She—Ivan was guessing female because of the huge eyelashes and mop of corded yellow curls—was tiger-striped in varying shades of purple, puce and a rather disconcerting chartreuse. She had a big, bright orange beak—something like a pelican—webbed fingers at the end of each of her four spidery arms, and lips like Madonna. Big, silver hoop earrings and a flower behind her ear—or was that antennae?—defined Jett as the puppet most likely to succeed as a fashion plate. If, of course, puppets wore clothes, which these apparently had no need to do.
Ainsley had brought him to this downtown studio, housed in an old public park building and operated by local artists as a cooperative workshop and gallery, to introduce him to the puppets. All six of them. All destined for the puppet theater at the pediatric center. None of the puppets were the snuggly, big-eyed creatures portrayed in her imaginative murals. No, these characters were more like alien life forms who had chosen body features at random from a variety of earth’s species. The puppets—named Elton, Jett, Dodge, Belle, Beau and Hugh—were fascinating works of art and, yes, distinctly charming in their own weird and wacky kind of way.
“Hullo, Dr. Donovan,” Elton drawled, coming to lumbering life through Ainsley’s low-pitched voice and manipulating hand. “Would ya mind scratchin’ my ear?”
Ivan grinned. “Which one?”
Elton, who possessed not one, not two, but three colorful sets of elephantine ears, guffawed. “Any one will do, thanks.”
Ainsley patted the puppet’s anteater snout and switched characters, picking up the flamboyant Jett. “Well, hello there, Doctor.” Jett’s purring voice was more giggle than femme fatale, more Gracie Allen than Mae West. “Is that a stethoscope in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”
Ainsley turned the puppet toward her, frowning down at the blond moppet as if surprised by the character she’d created. “This one is incorrigible,” she said, lifting her eyes and her smile to Ivan. “If we ever get her eyelashes batting properly, she’s going to cause trouble. I tried to warn Ryan—he’s the artist who designed her—but by then it was too late. Jett already had him under her spell.”
As if to confirm this, the puppet’s ridiculously long eyelashes blinked
down and then up in what could only have been a wink, and Ivan couldn’t keep from laughing. “These are wonderful, Ainsley. How did you manage to do this? I mean, these are really professionally done.” He paused. “That didn’t come out right. What I was trying to ask is did you do these yourself?” Frowning, he stopped himself again. “Okay, that isn’t what I meant, either. I know you’re amazingly talented, but…” He pursed his lips. “Great job, Ainsley,” he finished.
“I had help,” she said, coming—belatedly—to his rescue. “I went to the design school and asked for volunteers, then persuaded the co-op to let us use this space. When all was said and done, there were five students who stuck it out from concept to completion, and a rotating group of local artisans who helped with ideas and materials. They all came through with flying colors, as you can tell. The puppets are a thousand times better than I ever even imagined they could be.”
He was amazed and dazzled by her ingenuity, and her persistence in getting the puppets from idea to two-dimensional life. Although why he should be caught by surprise was a mystery. In the past, Ainsley had often been a source of wonder and pleasant jolts of surprise. From her constantly changing selection of future vocations to the simple wisdom she sometimes voiced with startling insight, she had always managed to fascinate him in one way or another.
But these puppets, along with the mural and the obvious thought she’d put into the projects, touched him in a way nothing else ever had. Maybe it was because the puppets showed, in a special way, her deep understanding of, and compassion for, the children who would soon populate the research center. Young patients who faced life-threatening illness needed fantasy and frivolity more than most. Their lives were overly full of bitter realities and escape wasn’t easy to come by…even for half an hour. Ainsley might consider this simply her way of making a contribution, but Ivan believed it was more than that. These well-crafted puppets would form a chain of laughter and cheer that would touch patients and their families, and probably the staff as well. Ainsley had somehow intuited that there was a void, a niche, that her idea could fill.
“Thank you, Ainsley,” he said simply. “This is a magnificent gift.”
She blushed, understanding all he hadn’t said…as she always seemed able to do. “We’re working on a wheelchair for Hugh,” she said, indicating a puppet whose distinguishing features were a compressed nose like a bulldog’s and a head of wavy green grass. “And some type of leg braces that can be put on and taken off easily. The students are fabulous at coming up with new ways to use conduit and plastic tubing, all of which was generously donated through the efforts of the co-op group. You’ll be amazed at how little actual money we spent on these guys.” Her fingers smoothed Elton’s stringy black bangs. “I imagine there are other physical conditions the puppets could exhibit that might help your patients in role-playing, but the wheelchair and leg braces were just the most obvious.”
“That’s a really good idea,” Ivan said. “Would it be okay for me to meet the volunteers sometime and make a few suggestions?”
Her smile signaled her pleasure. “Are you kidding? They’d love to meet you. I’ve told them what an all-around great brother you are and how you worked so hard to become a pediatric specialist because of your little sister, and how much you were going to appreciate their efforts. When’s a good time for you? Evenings or maybe sometime this weekend?”
“Let’s do it one evening next week. You choose which one. This weekend, I’m afraid, my dance card is pretty full. Matt’s insisting I attend the Denim & Diamonds gala even though he knows socializing isn’t my strong suit. I’m going to have to spend all day Saturday practicing my lines.”
“Your lines?”
Schooling his expression into a wistful regret, he quoted, “‘Would you mind sitting this one out? My tango isn’t what it used to be. Old football injury, you know.’” He grinned. “Think that’ll work?”
“Old football injury?” she repeated. “You told me you never had time to play sports.”
“Well, yeah,” he admitted. “But they won’t know that.”
She conceded the point with a nod. “True, but isn’t it going to be a little awkward to ask a woman to dance and then tell her about your, uh, injury?”
“Good point. Maybe I’ll wait until the women ask me to dance, then give them the line.”
“I can think of a couple of women who might take the initiative, but around here the old school of wait-for-the-man-to-ask is still the preferred method of getting a date…or a dance.”
“Hmm, I can see I may need to rethink my plan.” He ran his hand across his jaw, pretending to contemplate the possibilities. “Any ideas?”
“How about this? You dance a few dances, then sit out a few. That way, you won’t get caught fibbing and everyone’s happy.”
“Except for the women who are unwise enough to take me on as a dance partner.”
“Being a great dancer is not necessarily the main requirement in enjoying a dance, Ivan. What woman in her right mind isn’t going to be thrilled to be in your arms, not to mention being the focus of your attention for the whole length of a song?”
“The ones with sore feet?”
She dismissed his concerns with a shake of her head. “You’re intelligent, handsome and conversant, Ivan. Believe me, I could give you the names of a couple of men I avoid like the plague, even though they’re excellent dancers.”
“Bucky?” he suggested before he could stop himself.
“I don’t avoid Bucky,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Although sometimes I’d kind of like to.” A frown whisked across her face and vanished into a smile. “Besides, Ivan, I know your secret.”
This surprised him. “You do?”
“Uh-huh. I know you can dance, but for some reason you don’t want to.”
“I can Texas two-step,” he acknowledged. “And I’m not a complete loss in the country line dances, but put me in a penguin suit in a ballroom and watch out, Mabel…I’m nothing but elbows and left feet.”
“Nonsense,” she said succinctly. “You’ve spent too much time studying Gray’s Anatomy and not enough time studying what’s important to the opposite sex. Don’t forget who you’re talking to here. I remember when you used to dance with me all the time.”
“Not all the time. Only occasionally and only when you were a kid and too young to notice that I didn’t know what I was doing.”
Ainsley cocked her head, mischief lighting her eyes. “You’re just being stubborn.”
“Realistic,” he said.
“Stubborn,” she repeated. “And I can prove it. I’ll teach you to dance, if you really think you need lessons.”
He shook his head. “Not enough time before the gala.”
“You see? Stubborn.”
If she’d been anyone else, he might have been embarrassed by this discussion, not to mention his lack of grace on the dance floor. But this was Ainsley and her confidence merely made him smile. “Okay, I’ll give you a crack at me, but I warn you, your toes will suffer for your persistence.”
“I’ll take my chances,” she said, offering her hand to seal the deal.
He took her hand and gave it a crisp shake and then, suddenly, didn’t want to let go. Her hand was small in his and delicate. And he wanted to hold on to it. Maybe forever.
But he didn’t.
“So, how soon do we start these tango lessons?” he asked.
“Tango? For someone with a serious lack of confidence in his Fred Astaire persona, you’re suddenly pretty ambitious, aren’t you?”
“Aha. Now who’s trying to waffle out of this deal?” He teased her with a grin, telling himself—again—that he’d only imagined that instant of attraction, that moment when holding her hand had felt just this side of heaven. “But we’ve agreed, Ms. Danville. Yo
u’re going to teach me what you know about the art of ballroom dancing, up to and including the dreaded tango. No backing out, now.”
Her expressive eyes regarded him thoughtfully as a certain slyness crept into their bluer-than-sapphire sparkle. “You know the person you really need as a partner is Miranda.”
“Why? So it can be her feet I step on instead of yours?”
“No, because she’s a much better height for you.”
“What does height have to do with dancing?”
“Trust me,” Ainsley said. “I know what I’m doing.”
* * *
“Please?” Ainsley leaned in, her hands cupping the front edge of the desk in her sister’s office, her expression coaxing, her tone persuasive. “You know you want to.”
Miranda never rolled her eyes, but she had a look that managed somehow to convey the same impression. “I’ve never noticed that Ivan had any particular problem dancing,” she said. “He probably doesn’t want to attend the event and is using that as an excuse. I can’t see how an hour of practicing dance steps with me will do anything to change his mind, and it will certainly put me behind schedule.”
Miranda hated getting behind schedule, but Ainsley thought she needed to loosen up a little, throw her day-timer to the wind now and again. Even if she only tossed it a few inches into the air at first. “It’s only one evening, Miranda. An hour or so. What if he really is self-conscious about his skills? He says the only dances he remembers how to do are the two-step and some line dances.”
“Line dances?”
“Country western. No partners. More wahoo than waltz.”
Miranda never sighed, either, but the resigned way she laid her pencil on the landscape drawings in front of her got the idea across. “I have a lot of things to do this evening, Ainsley. Tonight is my last opportunity to go over the final landscape designs for the pediatric center. I want them to be perfect before the crew goes in next week.”
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