Книга - The Matchmaker’s Apprentice

The Matchmaker's Apprentice
Karen Toller Whittenburg


Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Get me a date with a wonderful mate!When You're Playing Cupid…The minute Dr. Ivan Donovan saunters into her office, Ainsley Danville's got only one thing on her mind–proving her genius for sniffing out soul mates. The handsome Texan is, in her professional opinion, a marked man. As soon as she sets up his "date" with destiny–her unsuspecting sister, that is–his life as a fancy-free bachelor will be over.Don't Shoot Yourself In The Foot!Ainsley's very first match, though, is a complete catastrophe. While trying to ignite the spark of passion between her clients, her matchmaking career starts going up in smoke. Because she's fallen for Ivan herself!







“I have other plans for you,” Ainsley said

The words were out before she quite realized how much they gave away.

Ivan lifted his eyebrows. “Now, that’s an intriguing possibility.”

She gave him a blithely mysterious smile, as if she wasn’t frantically trying to figure out a way to cover her tracks. “I think so, too.”

“Let’s see…you need a burly hunk of man to move your furniture? Is that it?”

“It could be, but it isn’t, although I can see where you’d want to picture yourself as the burly-hunk kind of furniture mover.”

“I’ll be happy to show you my muscles if you have any doubts about that.”

He was teasing, she knew, but the image of him bare-chested and flexing his biceps for her inspection brought a flush of heat to her cheeks again….


Dear Reader,

Once in a while, a character appears in a bit part and winds up stealing the scene. In my last series, THE BILLION-DOLLAR BRADDOCKS, I intended Ainsley Danville to have only a walk-on role, but she charmed me into thinking she needed a story of her own. To my surprise, she wasn’t satisfied with just one. She needed at least three in order to prove she could become an extraordinary matchmaker like her mentor, Ilsa Fairchild. And that’s how this series, MATCHMAKER, MATCHMAKER, came to be written.

Harlequin American Romance novels are stories about home and family, about love, commitment and the belief that there is a happily ever after. The Matchmaker’s Apprentice is no exception. I’m privileged to have spent the past year with Ainsley, and I hope you will love her enthusiasm for life as much as I do.

I appreciate the wonderful editors whose experience and insights make these books the best they can be. I appreciate the other writers of Harlequin American Romance novels who continue to raise the bar on quality. But most of all, I appreciate you, the reader. You’re the reason books exist—you make it all worthwhile.

Thank you.

Karen Toller Whittenburg




Books by Karen Toller Whittenburg


HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

822—LAST-MINUTE MARRIAGE

877—HIS SHOTGUN PROPOSAL † (#litres_trial_promo)

910—THE C.E.O.’S UNPLANNED PROPOSAL * (#litres_trial_promo)

914—THE PLAYBOY’S OFFICE ROMANCE * (#litres_trial_promo)

919—THE BLACKSHEEP’S ARRANGED MARRIAGE * (#litres_trial_promo)


The Matchmaker’s Apprentice

Karen Toller Whittenburg






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Cindy and Cody

With best wishes for your own

Happily Ever After




Contents


Chapter One (#u338a58ff-d58b-53c9-b8d3-ab306e7d4165)

Chapter Two (#u2432ef1f-3d92-54ec-9fd8-7a1197c0e107)

Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)


Dear Diary,

It’s finally appened. I’ve met the man I’m going to marry!

I’m in love!

Deeply. Passionately. Awesomely in love with Ivan Patrick Donovan.

Ivan Patrick Donovan…. Ivan. Ivan. Ivan.

It was love at first sight for him, too. I know it was!

It happened the very minute Matt introduced us tonight. Ivan smiled at me and my heart stopped. I mean, it really stopped! I could hardly breathe. He’s so handsome! So tall! So gorgeous! His hair is blond, but darker than Miranda’s honey blond. Not reddish-blond like Andrew’s, either. And it’s way darker than mine. Ivan’s is like the sun…except deeper. Sort of brown, but with a lot of gold, too. His eyes are dark. Not black—that would be too ordinary, too…one-dimensional. They’re like the color of winter midnights—dark and mysterious and…No, winter is too cold, too frozen, too blue to describe anything about him. His eyes are more like summer nights—misty and profound and…fiery. Fiery eyes. They blazed into my very soul!! He has passionate eyes…with hidden depths. And his voice—it sent shivers right through me! It’s deep and husky—he could be on the radio if he wanted. But he’s going to be a doctor. He told me. “I’m going to medical school,” he said. Just like that. So confident. So positive. I told him I’m going to be an astronaut and he didn’t laugh. Not like Matt and Miranda did when I told them. Ivan thinks I’m smart enough to be anything I want. He didn’t say that, but I could see he believes I can do it if I want to. He shook my hand, too, like I was twenty instead of only thirteen. He smiled—did I mention how wonderful his smile is? He might have worn braces, but I don’t think so because he has this one sort of crooked tooth. Just the tiniest bit of a slant…but it makes his smile seem really real. If you know what I mean. He is more handsome even than Matt, who is plenty handsome…for a brother. And his laugh is even nicer than Andrew’s, who has the best laugh I know, even if he is my twin. Ivan acted all surprised and startled when he saw me. Well, really, I ran right into im. Andrew and me—I mean, Andrew and I—were skating in the ballroom and I was so determined to win I didn’t know anybody was there and I skated right into Ivan. Kind of hard, too. But he just laughed. Matt scolded me for not watching what I was doing, but Ivan smiled at me and I knew he didn’t think I was just a silly kid.

I think that’s when Ifell in love, but it wasn’t until Ivan said, “You’re Ainsley? Matt’s little sister, Ainsley? The way he talks about you, I was expecting an adorable little toddler, not a beautiful, young lady. Shame on you, Matt, for not warning me your baby sister is already a heartbreaker,” that I knew for certain. Me? A heartbreaker? I could have died!! My heart, my soul, my whole being just melted!! He talked to me all through dinner, too, pretending he didn’t know which fork to use or which glass and stuff like that. He said it was because he grew up on a farm and they didn’t have fancy dinners, but he was only being funny. And he liked talking to me. I could tell. And it didn’t make any difference that he’s older than me. Or that he’s in college and I’m only in seventh grade. Our hearts were made to beat as one. It’s like we knew each other in another life! And when I had to go upstairs to do my homework—I’ll never forgive Miranda for being so bossy!!!—Ivan said in his deep, wonderful voice, “I can’t tell you how glad I am finally to have met you, Ainsley.” Finally. He said it just like that. Like he knew it was our destiny to meet. Like he’d expected us to fall in love at first sight. Like it was kismet or something. Like he recognized that I was his destiny, just as I know he is mine.

I hope he comes home with Matt next weekend, too. And every weekend from now on. By the time they graduate from college, I’ll be almost sixteen. Old enough to date. Old enough to be taken seriously. Old enough to marry Ivan and live happily ever after! Forever and ever and ever….

Mrs. Ivan Donovan. Ainsley Elizabeth Donovan.

Ainsley Danville Donovan.

Ainsley loves Ivan. Ivan loves Ainsley.

Ainsley and Ivan forever.


October 31

Dear Diary,

I can’t believe I just found this old diary again. And on Halloween, too! Spooky, huh? I thought I’d lost it forever, but there it was in my closet, stuck in that stupid Cinderella backpack I used to carry in junior high. I can’t believe I was such a total airhead back then. Cinderella!!! Can you believe I was ever so drop-dead dumber than dumb? The backpack was probably Miranda’s idea of a great birthday gift. Or Matt’s. They’d like to think of me as a little girl forever and ever and ever. They hate the fact that I’m a grown-up. But I’m in high school now and Andrew and I will be fifteen on our next birthday. Sooner or later, Miranda and Matt will have to stop treating me like such a baby. They don’t do that to Andrew…and he’s only an hour and twenty minutes older than me. When he says he’s going to be a professional photographer, they fall all over themselves to encourage him. Of course, he’s talented. I’m not saying he isn’t or that he shouldn’t be a photographer because he’ll be really, really good at that. I’m his twin. I know these things. It’s just that when I say I’ve decided I’m going to be a professional matchmaker everybody just laughs and reminds me that I said I wanted to be an astronaut when I was thirteen and an engineer when I was eleven, and a fairy godmother when I was six. Miranda likes to points out that I’m not really suited to any of those positions, although a lot she knows about it. I could be suited to be an engineer or an astronaut if I wanted to. But I want to be a matchmaker! Which is the same as a fairy godmother, when you think about it, and that’s what I’ve really always wanted to be. I just said I wanted to be other things so Matt and Miranda wouldn’t tease me, so they’d encourage me like they do Andrew. But they never take me seriously, no matter what I do. And the thing is, I know I’ll be good at being a matchmaker. I just know it! Matt says I shouldn’t worry about a career, that I’ll have plenty of time to decide once I get to college. I’m not even sure I want to go to college. I already know the important things about being a matchmaker. I believe in Love and Romance and Happily Ever After. All my friends ask me for advice about their romantic interests. I’m good at giving advice. I really, really am. I’ll be a great matchmaker and someday I’ll have my own office—with a view—and the business will be called F.G. (short for Fairy Godmother, except I won’t tell Miranda and Matt what it stands for!) Matchmaking. Then they’ll think twice about calling me “Baby.” Ugh.

I used to be able to talk to Ivan about stuff like this, but he’s gotten so serious since he’s in med school and he never has time to play Ping-Pong with me when he does come to Danfair…which is not very often anymore. I don’t know why I thought I was in love with him, anyway. He’s just like a brother and teases me almost as much as Matt and Andrew. And he looks at Miranda like she’s ice cream. Maybe I’ll make them my first assignment as a matchmaker. Ivan and Miranda. Ha! It would serve them right if I got them together and they ended up married. Then they’d have to stop teasing me about wanting to be Cinderella’s fairy godmother. Then they’d have to admit I know what I’m doing. Then I’ll find somebody for Matt and he’ll have to admit I’m a good matchmaker. And Andrew…well, he is my twin. He may not need much help.

Oops, gotta go. A whole group of us are going trick-or-treating and then to a party at Sabrina’s house and I think Collier might try to kiss me tonight. I haven’t decided yet if I’ll let him. I’m off….

P.S. Don’t get lost again, okay?




Chapter One


Discretion was not Ainsley Danville’s strong suit.

Which was why she was standing at the back of the Newport Presbyterian Church—the second of three bridesmaids who were all wearing silky poufs of lavender organza—and waiting for the wedding coordinator to cue her entrance. Ahead of her, a bower of roses lined the doorway like a dowager’s perfume, thick and thorny with fragrance. Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” gushed from the pipe organ in a waterfall of chords, beckoning the bridesmaids forward and down the aisle. The flames of a hundred candles lent an eerie glow to the dark interior of the old church, lighting a sure path to disaster.

Ainsley clenched the nosegay of pink rosebuds in her hands and watched as her elder sister, Miranda, the first bridesmaid, started down the aisle. Ainsley craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the groom. If he had any sense, he’d be halfway to Canada by now. But no. There he was, her cousin Scott, looking slightly less geeky than usual, so hopeful and eager to see Molly, his bride, it was heartrending. He was about to make a terrible mistake. Ainsley knew it in the depths of her matchmaker’s soul. And it was her fault.

She had wanted to be a matchmaker for as long as she could remember. Well, actually, she’d started out wanting to be everyone’s fairy godmother. While other little girls dreamed of being Cinderella, Ainsley had practiced waving her sparkly plastic wand and sending the transformed Ella off to the ball, where she would meet the man of her dreams…a prince who would fall madly, instantly in love because he’d been cunningly placed in her path by her wise fairy godmother. That was the way happily ever afters really happened.

Ainsley had suspected it for years, long before she began reading everything—nonfiction, fiction, biographies, cultural histories—anything with even a slight relevance to the art of courtship and marriages. She’d weathered her family’s teasing and a lot of snickering from friends. But a matchmaker is what she wanted to be and, as if her own fairy godmother had arranged it, she had discovered a mentor in Ilsa Fairchild of IF Enterprises, an elite, very selective matchmaking service located in Providence. Just a hop, skip and jump from Newport. Ainsley had invested her considerable energy into lobbying for a position at IF, and to everyone’s amazement—even a little to her own surprise—Ilsa had taken her on as an apprentice.

Ainsley couldn’t have been more excited. Or more enthusiastic. Finally, she was going to have a career of her own. Finally, she was going to be a bona fide matchmaker. Finally, her overprotective brothers and sister would have to stop treating her like a baby and admit she was capable of so much more than being “cute.” The position with IF Enterprises was perfect in every way and it suited her to a tee.

Except for her ongoing struggle to keep a lid on her enthusiasm.

If only she’d been discreet and told people her job was in personal relations, as Ilsa had advised her to do. If only she hadn’t informed the family, bragged, in fact, that she’d taken an apprenticeship with the most exclusive matchmaker in New England. If only she’d kept her mouth shut about IF Enterprises and her dream-come-true job, then she wouldn’t be standing at the back of a church right now watching her cousin prepare to marry the wrong woman.

“Ainsley…?” The wedding coordinator—a largish woman in a purple smock—hissed at her to get her attention. “You’re next. Remember…left foot first. Count your steps just as we practiced.”

But Ainsley had no recollection of last night’s rehearsal. She’d been too busy trying to think of some way to sabotage the wedding and stop the marriage from taking place. Obviously, no good plan had occurred to her because here she was, about to imitate the rhythmic steps that had taken Miranda three-quarters of the way to the altar already.

Miranda had paid attention last night.

Miranda always paid attention.

Miranda did everything to perfection. If she’d wanted to stop this wedding, none of them would be here now.

“Ainsley!” The coordinator hissed at her again, propelling her under the rose bower with a firm hand on the back of the organza bustle. Ainsley nearly stumbled, but caught herself and took the first fateful step—with her right foot. “Left foot!” The coordinator’s whispered reminder had her switching rhythm in midstride and coming even closer to losing her balance. If she’d thought that falling flat on her face would do anything more than merely delay the bride’s entrance, she’d go sprawling here and now. She looked back over her shoulder and saw Molly, in her bridal white, hovering in the bride’s room doorway, looking excruciatingly nervous, but committed.

So the marriage was going to take place, despite Ainsley’s misgivings. She’d done all she could, had said as much as she dared, had hinted at her doubts—as a professional and a loving cousin—to both Scott and Molly with no results. She hadn’t confessed her part in the matchmaking, but she had tried to explain her concern to her siblings. As the three of them typically did, they’d discounted her qualms and assured her there was nothing to worry about. Scott and Molly were perfect for each other. Two peas in a pod. Two nuts in a shell. Two bugs in a bottle.

Which, of course, was the problem.

There was nothing for it now, but to hope they would have a brighter future than she could imagine for them. So as the music swelled around her, Ainsley put a smile on her face and did her own version of the bridesmaid’s shuffle—step-pause, step-pause—letting her hips sway just a little under the yards of shimmering lavender organza.

Miranda, who looked stunning as always, had reached the front and was making her final turn. Eldest brother Matt was standing tall and straight next to Scott. He smiled encouragingly at Ainsley as she reached the midway point. Andrew, Ainsley’s twin, stood next to Matt, looking handsome, but uncomfortable in his tuxedo. He winked at her and her heart sank all over again. Even Andrew didn’t understand why this match was so wrong or why she was so worried about it.

But no one would listen to her and now it was too late. It had been too late from the minute she’d set up that first, disastrous introduction of possibilities for Scott. Or more probably, it had been too late from the moment she’d confided excitedly to him that she was working for IF Enterprises and he’d asked her, begged her, to set up a match for him.

And she had.

Despite Ilsa’s cautioning her from the start that she needed to learn some basic tenets of matchmaking before taking on any clients. Despite knowing on one level or another that she was acting on impulse as much as intuition. She’d been certain, though, that she knew the right woman for Scott. Bubbly, extroverted and warm, Shelby would have been the perfect foil for Scott’s shy, introverted and intellectual self. Ainsley had been positive that once the two met, the result would be an instantaneous attraction and a match truly made in heaven.

And she hadn’t necessarily been wrong. Just unfortunate in where she’d set up that initial meeting. A bit unlucky with the timing, and tardy in stepping forward to rectify the mistake. Scott wound up at the wrong table in the restaurant and, within an hour, was head over heels in love with a quiet mouse of a woman named Molly…instead of meeting Shelby as Ainsley had intended.

Two unbelievably short months later, here they were, Scott and Molly, about to be married.

Two-thirds of the way down the aisle, Ainsley realized how few guests had actually shown up to witness the ceremony. Of course, there’d never been any question of the wedding being anything other than small. Molly didn’t have family, except for her ancient Aunt Beatrice, who was too elderly to travel but who’d sent the couple an enormous soup tureen shaped like a swan. Even Miranda had wondered aloud what use Molly and Scott would have for a soup tureen, since neither of them had any friends. Well, at least, not any close friends, which was why the bridal party consisted of Scott’s four cousins and his two younger sisters.

Another reason this match was all wrong, Ainsley decided as she reached the front and made her final turn, was that the bridal party was out of balance. There was one more bridesmaid than groomsmen. Miranda had tried to fix the problem because she disliked odd numbers, but Scott’s father—who wasn’t that happy about the wedding to begin with—had declared quite firmly that he wasn’t paying for some stranger’s tuxedo just to even out the bridal party. Scott had said he didn’t care, and Molly had agreed because she and Scott agreed about everything.

Which was the main reason this marriage was a bad idea.

Two people shouldn’t expect to be everything to each other. But Molly and Scott seemed to believe it was possible…and perfect. Neither of them possessed much in the way of social graces, so there was little hope either of them would expand the social circle of the other. They were both shy. Both inhibited and unassertive. Between them, they possessed barely an ounce of backbone.

Scott and Molly had too much in common. Ainsley could see that very clearly. While she wouldn’t go so far as to predict that happiness was an impossibility for them, she could not believe it was very likely, either. They’d grow bored with each other, stifled in the narrowness of their lives.

Ainsley was only an apprentice matchmaker, but she knew there was a reason opposites attract. She understood that familiarity could, and often did, breed contempt. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that this marriage wouldn’t set the world on fire…or, more important, either one of its counterparts. But no one other than Ainsley seemed concerned.

Then again, she was the only one who knew what a mismatch she’d inadvertently put together. She was the only one who felt guilty for bringing about this ill-fated romance.

Emily, the older of Scott’s two sisters and still young enough to consider her curly red hair a curse, looked worried as she reached the end of the aisle. “Molly tore her dress,” she said to Ainsley in a whispered aside as she stepped into the maid of honor’s place. “She stepped on her train.”

A bad sign.

Ainsley looked toward the entrance, where Claire, Scott’s baby sister, was starting her walk down the aisle, scattering rose petals over the carpet. Claire was also a redhead and, at eleven, too old really for the role she was fulfilling with such exaggerated care…dropping two petals on this side, three petals on that side. Molly had wanted a flower girl and there was no one else. The ring bearer—Molly had wanted one of those, too—had been easier to find. They’d borrowed Calvin Braddock, the five-year-old son of Bryce and Lara Braddock, who, if not close friends of either Scott or Molly, were at least considered friends of the Danville family. Ainsley could see Cal’s white-blond cowlick darting back and forth behind the purple smock of the wedding coordinator, who seemed to be trying to keep the boy from dashing down the aisle.

The music was too loud at the front of the church to hear what was happening at the back. Ainsley was surprised to see a sudden collective stir of activity. The congregation—at least, the dozen or so Danville relatives seated in the first few rows—grew restless and began turning around in the pews to see what was going on. Even Scott, who’d spent the entire processional so far staring anxiously at his shoes, looked up.

“I got to tell the groom somethin’!” Calvin’s little-boy voice broke through the lull between the final chords of Pachelbel and the opening chimes of Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus.” “She told me to tell him!”

Cal pulled free of the wedding coordinator’s grasping hands and ran, tuxedo tails flying, down the aisle, dashing past Claire in a move that knocked her off her feet and scattered her rose petals in one thick, damp clump. “She ’loped!” Calvin shouted as he caught sight of Scott at the altar. “The bride ’loped!”

Scott went pale with alarm, but it was Matt who moved forward to calm the ring bearer and ask for a more coherent explanation.

“Catch your breath, Calvin,” Matt said soothingly. “And start from the beginning.”

Cal obediently sucked in a huge gasp of air, his bright gaze darting toward Scott. “Miss Molly,” he said in a rush. “She told me to tell you she’s sorry, but she ’loped.”

“Eloped?” Matt questioned, articulating the word carefully. “Are you saying that Molly eloped?”

Confirming the interpretation with a vigorous nod, Calvin repeated the message excitedly. “She ’loped with Mad Mack in the Mackmobile.”

SITTING ON A LOW RISER under the bridal bower, Ainsley plucked at the pouf of organza bunched around her like a lavender nest and felt guiltier by the second. Calvin’s startling announcement still reverberated in the church sanctuary, picked up by one person after another after another, repeated in a confusing hum of overlapping voices.

She eloped? With a cartoon character?

Mad Mack? Are you sure that’s what he said?

She must’ve had an emergency. Why else would she run off like that?

He said Mad Mack, I’m telling you.

How can the bride have eloped if the groom’s still standing up there?

Mad Mack? The bride eloped with someone called Mad Mack?

That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.

The bridal party of sisters and cousins had stood restlessly for a few awkward moments, not knowing where to look or what to do. Then, one by one, they settled on the altar steps or found a seat in the front pews. And there they sat, awaiting instruction or dismissal, without a clue as to what action—if any—might be appropriate. Matt, being the oldest of the cousins and the best man, had immediately gone to the back of the church, where he could be seen firing brusque questions at Phyllis while he paced from the vestibule doorway to the empty bride’s room and then outside to the front church steps, where he stared at the street. Inside the sanctuary, the clatter of conversation rose and fell in hushed waves. Whispered questions quickly took on an indignant tone and grew louder, becoming quietly outraged that anyone—especially a woman without connections, or much in the way of beauty, brains or personality to recommend her—would offer such an insult to Scott Danville. The entire Danville family, for that matter. Every wedding guest present was, after all, either a member of the Danville clan or a close friend of the family since Molly came, basically, unencumbered with kith or kin.

The clamor stuttered suddenly into a moment’s awkward pause just in time for everyone to hear Uncle Edward’s vehement instruction to his son. “Forget it. You are not going after her, Scott. She just jilted you, for heaven’s sake. You! A Danville. Clearly, the woman is insane. You can’t possibly want her back even if you knew how to find her, which you don’t, and which I wouldn’t let you do, if you did. She’s gone,” he said angrily. “And I say, good riddance!”

Ainsley glanced down the riser to watch Scott, flushed with humiliation, hurt and anger, give up the struggle like a balloon with a slow leak. She knew the moment the reality hit him full in the heart—Molly was gone!—and he sank like a stone to sit, slumped and stunned, with his head in his hands, devastated, desolate and without a shred of hope to hold on to. In her whole life, Ainsley had never seen more eloquent body language. Even his vividly red hair seemed to have lost its light and become nothing more than a listless covering on his head.

This was her fault. Ainsley knew it all the way to the tips of her lavender-painted toenails. She didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to see herself as the spoiler, but there it was. Molly’s baffling departure wasn’t quite so much of a mystery to Ainsley as it was to everyone else. Unexpected and surprising? Yes. In a million years, Ainsley wouldn’t have predicted Molly’s last-minute dash from the church. But now that it had happened…?

Well, she could think of a possible explanation, a plausible, probable interpretation, one glaring moment at last night’s rehearsal dinner when the apprentice matchmaker had, once again, forgotten the importance of discretion and opened her mouth before engaging her brain.

Obviously, she was still several lessons short of being the prudent, discerning matchmaker she wanted, and was determined, to become.

“I realize this joyous occasion has taken a somber turn, Ains, but you look unaccountably gloomy. What gives?” Handsome as a god, with a smile that quite simply made the world a brighter place, Andrew dropped down to sit beside her, bustling the yards of organza out of his way and fixing her with a persistent, you-may-as-well-tell-me look.

But Ainsley couldn’t confess. Not yet. Not even to her trusted twin. “In case you haven’t noticed, our cousin is devastated.”

“Can’t argue with you there. But since you were completely convinced Scott was marrying the wrong woman anyway, I thought you might see this as some form of divine intervention. Even if it is a little difficult to envision Mad Mack in the deus ex machina role.”

“I never even heard of Mad Mack,” she said with a sigh. “Much less a Mackmobile.”

“You should spend more time watching cartoons,” Andrew suggested. “Mad Mack is a part-man, part-machine superhero and the Mackmobile is the coolest car on television. Well, at least it’s the coolest animated car on the Cartoon Stars channel.”

“You obviously have too much time on your hands.”

“Me and Calvin,” he agreed. “He’s five and I’m still five at heart.”

Ainsley offered a frown, although she adored her twin for trying to cheer her up with his silliness. “I feel awful about this, Drew. Even though I never thought Molly and Scott were a match made in heaven, I never wanted him to suffer. Especially not because of me and my big mouth.”

“You do not have a big mouth.” Andrew slipped an arm around her shoulder and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “Your tongue may run like an outboard motor at times, but proportionally, your mouth is the perfect size for your face.”

She nudged him with her elbow. “This is serious, Andrew. Don’t make jokes.”

“I can’t help myself, Ainsley. The bride eloped with Mad Mack. That’s a little difficult to take seriously.”

“Try,” she urged him, although truthfully, she wished she could see the humor in the situation. Any humor at all.

“Okay,” he said, “but I can’t promise a non-serious remark won’t slip out from time to time.”

“Just so it doesn’t happen here and now or any time Scott is around.”

He nodded, rested his forearms on his knees, clasped his hands together and let the resulting loose knot of fingers rock up and down, up and down, as he contemplated the here and now. “Do you think we’ll still get to have the wedding feast?”

She lifted an eyebrow. “I imagine dinner will be canceled.” He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “And, please, don’t ask Uncle Edward if you can make yourself a plate for later.”

“Seems a shame to waste all that food. And the wedding cake. Maybe I should take the cake to the studio, take a few pictures for the old Danville scrapbook.”

She lifted the other eyebrow and he went back to contemplating. “No, you’re wrong, Ainsley. Uncle Edward won’t cancel dinner. He’ll want to finish the day on an up note.”

“As opposed to a sour note?”

“As opposed to letting a part-man, part-machine superhero triumph over a Danville. You know, I always thought there was a hint of Bad Belle in Molly.”

“Bad Belle? Let me guess. She’s Mad Mack’s girlfriend?”

“Good guess. Imagine a bosomy brunette with super powers and a big black motorcycle.”

“I’m never letting my kids watch cartoons,” Ainsley said.

“Too bad we can’t put Scott in front of the television now. A little time with Bad Belle and he’d feel a lot better.”

“That’s not funny. And even if a stupid cartoon could make him feel better, it won’t make me feel one bit less guilty.”

“Oh, come on, Ains. This isn’t your fault. You can never really know the truth of what’s inside another person. There’s no way you could have guessed Molly would rather take a ride in the Mackmobile than get married today.”

Ainsley caught the advice in his teasing, knew he was telling her she couldn’t take the blame for today’s events. Her siblings, and especially her twin, had always been right there when something in her life went awry, ready with assurances that she—the angelically cute baby of the family—wasn’t at fault, shouldn’t feel guilty, couldn’t truly be to blame for whatever had happened.

But she wasn’t a baby anymore. Despite her family’s reluctance to allow her to grow up, she had. She was, whether they wanted to believe it or not, an adult. And she had no intention of absolving herself from the guilt she rightfully felt. She hadn’t wanted Scott and Molly to marry. She still thought she was right about their chances of finding true happiness together. But she hadn’t wanted her beliefs to cause them unhappiness, either.

She deserved a hefty chunk of responsibility for today’s fiasco and she deserved to feel gloomy that her first attempt at matchmaking had been a complete and utter disaster.

Andrew, however, would never allow her to admit her guilt to him, so she tapped his arm with her bridesmaid’s bouquet. “Let’s talk about something else. Tell me about your date.”

“What date?”

“Your date to the wedding. Jocelyn? A petite brunette? In a pink dress? Where did you put her?” She glanced out at the pool of somber faces, looking for the young woman Andrew had introduced earlier as his date.

“Fifth row, left. In the middle.” He glanced in the general vicinity of the brunette and smiled. “I’d go sit with her, but she’s wearing pink and you know how that clashes with my hair.”

He was the only redhead in their branch of the family and his hair was, in Ainsley’s prejudiced opinion, his second-best feature. It was strawberry-blond, a rich reddish-gold, and thick, with just enough curl to give it great body and texture, and just enough length to identify him as a nonconformist. He didn’t have freckles or the pale, ivory skin of most redheads, either, and his athletic, outdoor tan was a perfect foil for the blue, Danville eyes…Andrew’s best feature of all. He was better looking than Matt, although not technically as handsome. Ainsley, being his twin, might have been slightly prejudiced in his favor, but as she adored both of her brothers, she couldn’t imagine it made much difference either way.

“Do you ever think about getting married, Drew?” she asked, his pet name giving the question a serious lilt and the expectation of a truthful answer.

“Good grief, no,” he said, sounding at least seventy-five percent honest. “I’m planning to live a long, happy life.”

She laughed under her breath. “Marriage increases a man’s lifespan by a good ten or fifteen years. Didn’t you know that?”

“I said ‘long, happy life.’ There’s a difference. Besides, even if I was inclined toward a monogamous, committed relationship, where would I find a woman who’d willingly put up with my nomadic schedule?”

“Maybe if you dated someone more than once or twice, you’d come closer to finding someone who keeps as weird a schedule as you do.” He was always off chasing photographs, leaving on the spur of the moment, staying gone until he was ready to come home, getting up at dawn to catch the perfect angle of light, camping out for a month, waiting for the full moon or no moon or a sliver of moon or some distant star—whatever he needed in the picture he’d visualized in his head. “Maybe you ought to try dating another photographer.”

He grinned. “Not interested. It’s all I can do to get along with my photography assistants, and you and I both know they only tolerate my artistic temperament because I pay them big bucks to do it. I’m looking for a new assistant, by the way.”

“I thought you just hired one.”

He shrugged. “She left before lunch on her first day of work.”

“Maybe you should hire male assistants.”

“I have. I’m an equal opportunity employer, but it’s mostly females who answer my ads. Consequently, I usually have a female assistant.”

“Do you want me to find someone for you?”

“I don’t think so, Miss Matchmaker.”

“Apprentice,” she corrected. “I’m only the matchmaker’s apprentice.” Obviously not a very good one, either.

“All the more reason for me to advertise for an assistant in the newspaper. No offense, Ains, but you’d hook me up with some romantically inclined Cinderella and I’d have to fire her for mooning over me instead of doing what needs to be done. Don’t give my lack of an assistant another thought. Please.”

She’d never set up an introduction of possibilities for Andrew and some “romantically inclined Cinderella.” She might make her share of mistakes, but she wouldn’t make that one. “All right,” she agreed with a smile. “I’ll keep my recommendations to myself.” She nodded toward the fifth row, left, in the middle. “Go talk to your date. She’s starting to look neglected.”

He stood, believing he’d fulfilled his mission of cheering up his twin sister. “I think I’ll show her the exit and see if I can interest her in dressing up as superheroes for the duration of the evening. She’d look good in one of those outfits, don’t you think?”

Ainsley pretended to consider. “As long as the color doesn’t clash with your hair.”

Just then, Uncle Edward stepped up onto the dais and cleared his throat. “Thank you all for waiting,” he said. “And thank you for your support today. While I can’t ask you to join us for the celebratory reception originally planned, I’m extending a heartfelt invitation for each of you to join us for dinner and dancing and whatever else we decide to do in order to put aside our—” he glanced down at Scott’s defeated and despondent slump “—disappointment.” Then, gesturing toward the doors, Uncle Edward bent down and offered his son a comforting pat on the shoulder.

Andrew looked at Ainsley. “See you at the buffet tables,” he said and walked over to offer Scott a few words of encouragement before heading for the fifth row, left, and Jocelyn, who welcomed his approach with a wide smile and a tinge of pink blush on her cheeks.

And for probably the first time since Ainsley had become the matchmaker’s apprentice, the possibility of a romantic match didn’t even cross her mind.




Chapter Two


“Molly left Scott waiting at the altar and eloped with a cartoon character?”

The way Ilsa phrased it, the way her voice modulated the question into a simple inquiry, didn’t make Ainsley feel any better. If anything, having to relate the whole sorry story on a sunny Monday morning while sitting in Ilsa’s elegant office made it seem a thousand times worse. “It wasn’t really Mad Mack.” Ainsley stopped, realizing how ridiculous that sounded. “But, of course, you know that.”

Ilsa was patient—a trait Ainsley had run up against numerous times since she’d begun her apprenticeship six months ago—and she simply folded her hands on top of the polished cherrywood desk and waited.

Ainsley began again. “What we know is that Molly bolted out the front doors, jumped into a black sports car—which must have looked like the Mackmobile to Calvin—and was gone. Phyllis—she’s the wedding coordinator for the church—was so upset. She’s never had a bride elope before. At least not with someone other than the groom.”

“Molly didn’t leave a note?”

Ainsley shook her head. “No, and if she was having doubts, Scott didn’t have a clue. But then he never does.” Ainsley made a face. “He’s my cousin and I’m awfully fond of him, but he’s never been adept at reading emotions. Not even his own.”

“This must have been quite a shock to him.”

“He’s convinced himself she ran away with some guy who was a bartender at the restaurant where they met. Where Scott and Molly met, I mean. But I can’t really see her striking up a conversation with a bartender, much less running away with him.”

“It does seem an unlikely scenario,” Ilsa acknowledged. “On the other hand, IF Enterprises deals in possibilities and it’s been my experience that what seems impossible is sometimes exactly what happens. What I find more interesting is why she decided not to marry Scott…and why at the very last minute. The way you’ve described her, that does seem out of character.”

“It was my fault,” Ainsley said, blurting out her guilt in a rush and without an ounce of forethought. “It’s all my fault.”

Ilsa smiled. “How could Molly’s decision be your fault?”

Ainsley hadn’t meant to confess. When she’d walked into the office this morning, she’d had no inclination to own up to her part in the wedding fiasco. She didn’t want Ilsa to be disappointed in her, for one thing. She didn’t want to get fired, for another. But mostly, she didn’t want anyone else telling her she wasn’t responsible when she knew in her heart she was. “I set up the match,” she said, unable to prevent the misery of the past two days from welling up in her voice. “I know I wasn’t supposed to do any matchmaking until you gave me the okay. I know I’m only an apprentice and that I haven’t learned everything I need to before I start taking clients. But Scott’s a cousin. I didn’t think of him as a real client.”

She paused, briefly hoping Ilsa would just fire her on the spot so she wouldn’t have to confide the rest, but Ilsa didn’t say a word. “It was more like a…a favor,” Ainsley continued, feeling the words doubling up on her tongue, knowing she talked too much, too fast, when she was nervous. But there were mitigating circumstances in this case and she wanted Ilsa to understand. “I never meant to tell anyone—well, no one other than Miranda and my brothers—that you’d hired me as your apprentice, but with Scott, it just sort of slipped out. He pestered me about finding a match, begged me to set him up with someone who might want to have a relationship with him. He has a wonderful heart, but on the surface he’s your ordinary goofy, geeky type, the kind of guy women never give a second glance. I doubt he’s had more than a dozen dates in his entire life…and he’s nearly thirty.”

“Self-conscious, ill-at-ease, lacks confidence and consequently tries too hard.” Ilsa nodded. She understood the problems of a lonely heart.

“Yes,” Ainsley agreed, latching onto the sympathetic image. “On top of that, he’s never figured out how to handle social situations with any polish, so he routinely avoids them and spends way too much of his time in his lab studying the mating habits of bugs…or something equally unromantic and boring. His work is practically all he ever talks about, though, so when he pleaded with me to set up an introduction of possibilities for him, I couldn’t say no.”

“Naturally, you wanted to help your cousin.”

“Yes, and I just happened to know the perfect woman for him. You know Shelby Stewart, right? Well, she is exactly what Scott needs. She’s bubbly, fun and very different from him. Her personality would be such a complement to his. She’d bring out his sense of humor—he honestly does have one—and force him into social situations where he’d have to pull himself together. She’d put some sparkle in his life, and Scott is exactly the sort of man she needs, too. He’d help her organize her life—she’s been something of a wild child, you know—and provide her with some stability. He’d be good for her. She’d be good for him. They’d be good together. I just knew in my heart they’d be a perfect match.”

Ilsa’s expression remained interested, but neutral, so Ainsley stopped trying to justify her reasoning and rushed on with her confession. “To make a long story short, I set up a ‘chance’ encounter a couple of months ago. On Valentine’s Day. Except somehow, Scott wound up at the wrong table and met Molly by mistake. It was a fluke. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong table, wrong match…and it’s all my fault. If it hadn’t been for me, Scott would never have gone anywhere near The Torrid Tomato—it’s not his kind of place, at all. Too trendy and fun, if you know what I mean.”

An arching of eyebrows indicated Ilsa did know the place and what Ainsley meant.

“The truth is, Scott would never have been there if I hadn’t set up that introduction of possibilities with Shelby. He’d certainly never have noticed Molly if I hadn’t told him to keep an eye out for opportunity as he walked in. I wanted him to be thinking about something other than how uncomfortable he felt, you see, but I guess he took that to mean he was supposed to come in and start looking for Ms. Right. I don’t know what he was thinking. He was supposed to see me and come straight over to where I was sitting with Shelby. Then I was going to make an excuse to slip away for a couple of minutes and let them get acquainted. But he walked through the door and zeroed in on Molly, who was sitting all alone at a table for two back in the far corner. I still don’t know how he happened to see her, much less why he decided to walk over and introduce himself. I mean, he’s not normally brave. And I don’t know how she happened to catch his eye. She’s so shy and quiet, so timid and reserved…so much like Scott. Who would have imagined she’d invite him to join her for dinner? Or that he’d propose to her only a couple of days later?” Ainsley paused, knowing even as the words left her mouth that she should have imagined at least the possibility of something going awry. A good matchmaker would have thought out more than one scenario before she ever set up the initial encounter.

But she hadn’t.

The silence stretched and Ainsley finally forced her eyes up to meet Ilsa’s, made herself look for the censure she was sure she’d find.

Ilsa’s expression reflected only a thoughtful curiosity.

“You warned me to be cautious,” Ainsley said. “You told me to learn the basics, to be patient. But I completely ignored your advice because I was so certain Scott and Shelby would hit it off…and now it’s all a big mess. Scott is devastated. The whole Danville family is in an uproar. Uncle Edward has declared Molly will never be welcome in his home, so even when—if—she comes back, Scott won’t be able to forgive her without upsetting everyone all over again. It’s an awful situation and it’s all my fault.”

Ilsa, a master at interpreting even the slightest slip of the tongue, sat quietly for a moment. “Do you know why Molly ran away from her wedding, Ainsley?”

Time to face the consequences and divulge the worst truth of all. “She ran away because I said she was the wrong match for Scott.”

Ilsa blinked. “You said that to her?”

“Not those exact words.” Ainsley felt sick with regret. “And I said it to everyone present at the time, not directly to her.”

“When did this happen?”

“At the wedding rehearsal Friday night.”

“You told a couple, in front of their family and friends, and on the day before their wedding, that you considered their match a mistake?” Now there was astonishment in her voice, a startled surprise, a hint of dismay even her refinement couldn’t disguise. “Why would you do that, Ainsley?”

“I didn’t mean to. I tried to finesse my way out of the question, but Scott wouldn’t let it go. He wanted to tell everyone I was responsible for matching him up with Molly…as if I’d want people to know I’d put together such a mismatch. I reminded him that he’d promised to keep my secret. That he’d sworn he’d never reveal my part in the setup, not even to the woman I’d matched him with. But at the rehearsal, he was like a little kid, so excited and emotional and wanting everyone to understand how happy he was. There was a lot of champagne flowing, which didn’t help matters, and suddenly, he stood up and told the entire gathering he and Molly owed their happiness all to me and that they were going to name their first child after me.

“Needless to say, it was an awkward moment and before I realized how it would sound, I blurted out that if I’d had anything to do with it, he’d be marrying Shelby Stewart, not Molly.” Ainsley winced at the memory. “The minute I saw the look on Molly’s face, I knew she realized I’d never intended for her to meet Scott, that I’d meant him to meet Shelby instead, no matter what he believed.”

“Scott told her you’d set up that initial meeting at the restaurant?”

“Probably the first words out of his mouth.” Ainsley shifted in the chair. “He’s even worse at discretion than I am.”

“Perhaps it would have been better if you’d kept your own counsel,” Ilsa said, her smile unexpectedly gentle. “But Ainsley, I don’t see how you can take the blame for everything that happened. Your only true mistake was in concluding the outcome of your introduction of possibilities was the wrong one.”

“Please don’t try to make me feel better, Ilsa. Scott and Molly aren’t simply a bad match. They’re totally wrong for each other.”

“You seem so certain about that.”

“If you spent five minutes with my cousin, you’d be certain, too.”

Ilsa considered that, as she checked her watch. “You’ll discover, Ainsley, if you continue your apprenticeship, that an introduction of possibilities is fraught with…well, with possibilities.”

“Is one of those possibilities my unemployment?”

“What?”

“Are you going to fire me?”

“Of course not.”

“But I did the very thing you asked me not to do, the one thing you cautioned me about.”

“You’re guilty of trying to predict the future, Ainsley. That’s hardly the crime you’re trying to make it out to be. We all do it from time to time. Unsuccessfully, for the most part.”

“You wouldn’t have made this kind of mistake. You know you wouldn’t have.”

“I’ve made my share of mistakes, Ainsley. I still make them. Look at Peter and Thea Braddock. I was certain my intuition was leading me astray with them. While it worked out to be a true love match in the end, I’m still convinced that my part in it was misguided at best.”

“They’re perfect together.” Ainsley couldn’t believe Ilsa had any lingering doubts about the match. “Besides, I felt the same connection between them that you did. I encouraged you to put them together and, as they say, ‘all’s well that ends well.”’

“We did close the Braddock files rather successfully, didn’t we?” Ilsa’s slow smile hinted at the depth of her own successful romance with James Braddock, the father of Peter, Bryce and Adam. Ilsa had made matches for all three of James’s sons the previous year. Now she was rediscovering a happiness she hadn’t known was possible. Ilsa hadn’t married James as yet, but Ainsley thought it wouldn’t be long. And Ainsley herself deserved some credit for that romance, since she’d personally encouraged, prodded and pressed Ilsa to give James a chance.

“Maybe you would have set up the possibilities differently for Thea and Peter if you had it to do over again,” Ainsley said. “But the result is still a love match. Thea and Peter will only be happier together as time goes on. That wouldn’t have happened for Scott and Molly. They’re too much alike.”

“Many wonderful marriages are built on similarities and shared interests, Ainsley. Having a great deal in common is usually an asset in a relationship. Look at your parents. They’re a perfect example.”

Ainsley’s parents were the perfect example of having so much in common there wasn’t room for anything else, but of course, she couldn’t say that. Not to Ilsa. Not to anyone. “If Mom and Dad weren’t so totally dedicated to their work for The Danville Foundation, I’m not sure they’d have anything at all to talk about.”

Ilsa laughed. “Four wonderful children might warrant an occasional conversation.”

Ainsley wasn’t sure her parents realized they had children. They’d been gone nine or ten months out of every twelve for as long as she could remember. There could be no argument that The Danville Foundation dealt in noble causes or that its work was necessary and courageous. No one would ever accuse Charles and Linney Danville of being selfish, or of putting anything—not even their own family—above their commitment to their calling. For all practical purposes, their life’s work had required that Matt, Miranda, Andrew and Ainsley be orphans so that less fortunate children in other parts of the world could be saved from hunger, disease and disasters.

But as she’d always done, Ainsley shook off the feeling she’d been cheated somehow in the parenting sweepstakes. It was an unworthy thought and made her feel heartily ashamed of herself every time it bobbed to the surface. She returned her attention to Ilsa. “If my parents ever had a difference of opinion about anything, it probably would make headline news around the world. They even finish each other’s sentences.”

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing. I imagine Charles and Linney have had to depend on each other much more than most couples because of the nature of their work and the dangerous situations they’re often faced with. For them, having that innate understanding of each other could very well be a matter of survival.”

“I didn’t mean it in a negative way,” Ainsley said, hastily covering her tracks. “I’m just saying that if one of my parents had come to you as a client, you’d never have put them together as a couple.” She didn’t believe her parents would have married in the first place, much less stayed married for thirty-five years, if not for their absorption in, and dedication to, their humanitarian work. But she’d only voiced that opinion once, a long time ago, when she’d announced to her siblings her belief that Charles and Linney did not belong together. To say Matt and Miranda had given her a serious scold was putting it mildly. “You’d have chosen someone very different for both of them. You know you would have, Ilsa. I know you would have.”

“Perhaps,” Ilsa said with a smile. “Which doesn’t mean I’d have been right. The business of making matches is nothing if not subjective, Ainsley. I bring my own prejudices into it, just as you will. Despite your intentions for him, Scott fell in love with Molly. And even if, as you claim, they are too much alike to ever find a true happiness, that’s their discovery to make. You need to remember that we, as matchmakers, are merely facilitators of romance, not the judge and jury of whether or not the match will be successful. Once you’ve set the possibilities in motion, your role is to step back and observe what happens.”

Ainsley smiled for perhaps the first time since the wedding. Or rather, the non-wedding. “So do you think I should set up another introduction of possibilities and hope that this time Scott will sit down at the right table and fall in love with Shelby?”

“Absolutely not,” Ilsa said firmly. “Let your cousin work this out for himself. He will, believe me. Fortunately, as it happens, I have plenty of research to keep you busy while I’m away.”

“You’re going away?”

Ilsa’s smile held intimations of a sweet secret as she picked up a stack of files from the corner of her desk and offered them to Ainsley. “For two whole weeks. Maybe longer.”

“You’re going away?” Ainsley repeated as she took the files, the sheer weight of them telling her she could be busy putting together the necessary information for a very long time. She could hardly pretend she didn’t get the message. “By yourself?”

“James and I are taking a Mediterranean cruise. He’s managed to schedule some time off between training his replacement in Colorado and taking up his new position with Braddock Properties, so we’re stealing away for some R&R.”

“Wow,” Ainsley said, her spirits rebounding with their normal enthusiasm. “I’m impressed. Any chance you’ll put the man out of his misery and marry him before you return?”

Ilsa’s smile deepened. “You never know what might happen,” she said, then relented. “We’re having a small, family wedding before we leave.”

“Then what are you still doing here? Go home and plan a wedding.”

“What a lovely thought,” Ilsa said warmly. “I believe I’ll do just that.” She slipped the strap of her bag over her shoulder and came around the desk. “We’re leaving Friday, so you can reach me at home until then. After that, I’ll call you every few days just to make sure you haven’t run into any problems.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Ainsley said as they walked out together, the idea of being in charge at IF Enterprises for almost three weeks percolating with possibilities. “I can manage the office, and with all this research to do—” she indicated the file folders in her arms with a lilting shrug “—you know I’ll be too busy to even think about doing any more match-making on my own.”

“I’m counting on that,” Ilsa said, walking purposefully in the direction of the lobby.

Ainsley turned toward her own office, promising herself—and Ilsa in absentia—that she would stick to that resolve, no matter what.

Pushing the door inward with a bump of her hip, she paused for a second to appreciate the exquisite thrill she felt every time she entered this room. Her own office. And it had a view. Not so magnificent as the view of Newport Harbor that Matt saw every day through the windows of his office. Nor as pristine and pretty as Miranda’s view of the botanical garden which bordered her office, also in the Danville Foundation building, which provided untold inspiration for the landscapes and interiors she designed with such a detailed eye for color and space. Certainly not the sort of view Andrew claimed, even though he had little use for an office at all. His photography kept him outdoors or in his studio darkroom, and even Ainsley would have been hard pressed to say which he preferred.

Despite the fact that her view was blocked by another office building and showed only a sliver of sky, Ainsley had no desire to change a single thing about her office. She loved it, wall to wall, ceiling to floor, furniture, accessories, everything. She loved being able to say, “I’ll be in my office.” She liked knowing there was a place for her to go, work for her to do, somewhere she was needed and appreciated.

She liked being taken seriously, too…even if her first matchmaking attempt hadn’t done much to project that image. Ilsa didn’t seem to feel she’d permanently damaged her potential, though, so she was still on track to prove herself to her siblings. She would show them she was as serious about her career as they were about theirs. She wanted them to see her as an equal, an adult, and more than just their baby sister. As often as not, they still called her Baby, a nickname she disliked, but one that they considered affectionate and cute, despite her numerous complaints on the subject.

She’d win their respect yet, and make them proud of her…or die trying. She would.

For the time being, however, she’d concentrate on the research, just as Ilsa had asked her to do.

Ainsley’s phone buzzed and she hurried toward the desk so she could answer it. “Yes, Luce?” she said into the speaker.

“You have a guest.”

A guest. A client, maybe. Excitement bubbled up inside her. “Be right out!”

Dropping the files onto her desk, Ainsley headed for the reception area and her guest, hoping it wouldn’t turn out to be Bucky. The last time he’d dropped by her office, he’d sweet-talked her into taking the rest of the day off to help him shop for his mother’s birthday gift. As if she could just come and go as she pleased. As if her job wasn’t that important. As if he wouldn’t just buy a Hermes scarf for his mother’s birthday as he’d done every year for the past four years he and Ainsley had been dating.

It was true that Bucky wasn’t particularly original in his gift selections, although no one could fault his thoughtfulness in remembering special dates. Even occasions that most men wouldn’t consider worth remembering—like the four-month anniversary of their first dance or the two-year anniversary of their first kiss—were marked in his PalmPilot.

That was one of the things she liked about Bucky. He was steady, cautious and organized—three qualities she sometimes wished she had herself. She and Bucky had things in common, of course, but it was their opposite traits, the contrasts in their personalities, that made them a good match. Maybe a lifetime match. Ainsley hadn’t exactly decided about that possibility yet.

But the man standing by the front desk chatting amiably with Lucinda wasn’t Buckingham Ellis Winston, IV.

And the thrill that went through Ainsley at the sight of him was nothing like what she felt for Bucky…or anyone else.

“Ivan!”

He turned in time to see her fly across the lobby, smiling her delight as she launched herself into his arms. “What are you doing here? When did you get into town? Why didn’t you let us know you were coming?”

Ivan laughed as the words poured out of her in a rush and she wrapped him in a warm and enthusiastic hug. The first time he’d met Ainsley, she’d been a cute little thing on the verge of gawky adolescence, with a handful of freckles across her nose, a mouthful of braces on her teeth and some remarkably big ideas. He’d been twenty, determined, driven and very much aware of the difference between his background and that of the Danville clan.

Unlike Matt Danville, his college roommate, who’d been destined for the Ivy League since birth, Ivan had gotten into Harvard on a wing and a prayer. And it took every dollar he could scrape together to stay there. His parents couldn’t help much at all because his younger sister’s illness had wiped out what little they’d ever managed to save. Emma had died several years ago, just shy of her twelfth birthday, but the accumulated bills still had to be paid, so Ivan applied for a combination of scholarships, grants, loans and work-study assistance, and received enough to make Harvard possible. But there wasn’t any extra money for trips home to Texas during school holidays, and even less for weekend entertainment. Ivan knew it was a fluke that he and Matt had wound up as roommates, but they’d quickly become the best of friends, providing opportunities for which Ivan would be forever grateful. Matt had invited Ivan to join him for weekends at Danfair, the Danville’s ancestral home. He’d been included in trips to their beach house on Cape Cod and treated like a member of the family on many holidays and special occasions when Matt’s parents, Charles and Linney, were home for a visit. And that was only the beginning of the opportunities he’d been given freely because of his friendship with Matt. Not the least of which was the opportunity to be Ainsley’s extra brother, as she had dubbed him from the start.

“I just happened to be in the neighborhood,” he said, his voice falling into the old teasing patterns he’d always used with her. “Matt told me you’ve started a new career, so I had to come and see what you’re up to this time.”

She drew back, her hands still clasped loosely, affectionately, on his forearms. “Matt knew you were coming to Providence and he didn’t tell me?”

Ivan laughed. “I guess that means he didn’t tell you I’m going to be working just down the road from you, either.”

“You’re kidding! You got a position with the Providence hospital?”

“Better than that.” Ivan couldn’t keep the pride from his voice. In all his dreams of making a difference in the world, he’d never thought he’d be granted such an opportunity so soon. “Matt’s asked me to head up the new pediatric research center for The Danville Foundation. I’ll oversee treatment for the children with serious illnesses and work closely with the research team to develop the best regimen of therapy and medications for each patient.”

A flicker of dismay dimmed her smile for a moment, but it was so quickly gone he decided he must have imagined it. Ainsley was happy for him. She was always happy about everything. “That’s great,” she said, and although he might have wished for a bit more enthusiasm in her voice, her dimples showed and her blue eyes shone with excitement. “We have to celebrate! You have to come to Danfair tonight for dinner. And don’t even think of saying no.”

Ivan didn’t have the heart to tell her Matt had already extended a similar invitation. “You know I never pass up an offer of a free meal.”

She tilted her head, giving him a sassy smile. “Oh, it’s not free,” she said. “It’s going to cost you lots and lots of information. You have to tell everything you’ve been doing and the real reason you haven’t been back to Rhode Island in five whole years.”

“That’ll be a short conversation. I’ve been in Phoenix, doing my internship and residency. In all that time, I’ve had less than three weeks off, none of it longer than thirty-six hours at once. That’s the story.”

“Do not think for half a second I’ll let you off with that. No one works so hard they can’t find a single second to make a phone call or send a postcard. Give it up, Donovan. I have a sixth sense for these things, and I’m sensing a demanding woman and a lurid romance tucked away in those years somewhere.” She frowned suddenly. “You didn’t get married and forget to tell me, did you?”

“Oh, no, ma’am,” he said in his best and most exaggerated Texas drawl. “I’ve had no time for romance…lurid or otherwise. Being a doctor takes a big lot of energy and you know I’m nothing if not totally focused on my work.”

“Your best and most exasperating quality,” she said fondly.

The receptionist cleared her throat. Loudly. She was obviously anxious to be introduced.

“Lucinda.” Ainsley obliged. “I’d like you to meet Ivan. Dr. Donovan, this is our receptionist and all-around right-hand, Lucinda Reilly.”

He offered a handshake. “I’m happy to meet you, Lucinda.”

“Likewise, I’m sure,” she replied, darting glances at Ainsley as she let her hand linger in his. “You should probably know I’m highly susceptible to cowboys and doctors.”

Ivan hadn’t had a serious relationship for a long time, but he recognized an overture when it shook his hand. “If only I’d brought my lasso or my stethoscope,” he said.

“Don’t be fooled, Luce.” Ainsley took Ivan’s arm. “He’s no match for you when it comes to flirtation.” She looked up at him, raising her eyebrows in mock warning. “Stay away from her, Ivan. She’s the kind of woman your mother warned you about.”

“Hey, no fair,” Lucinda protested good-naturedly. “I didn’t even get to ask him if he likes to dance.” Her saucy I’m available smile winged his way once again. “I’m a sucker for any guy who knows his way around a dance floor, too.”

“Or any other kind of floor,” Ainsley said. “Don’t trust her, Ivan. She’ll only break your heart.”

Ivan grinned, liking Lucinda’s naughty-but-nice routine and loving the suggestion that Ainsley—even in jest—thought he needed to be protected from her. “I’m the original klutz on the dance floor,” he said with an air of regret. “Never even learned how to hokeypokey.”

Ainsley pointed a silencing finger at the receptionist. “Do not even think what you’re thinking,” she said. “And he is much too innocent to hear it said aloud.”

Lucinda laughed. “He doesn’t look innocent,” she said, reverting to a precisely professional voice as the phone rang.

“Oh, but he is.” Ainsley tugged on his arm. “Come on. I want to show you my office. Can you believe it? I have an office!”

“So your brother mentioned.” Ivan winked at Lucinda as he happily allowed Ainsley to lead him away. Busy on the telephone, the receptionist still managed to reply with a saucy wave of her fingers.

“And it has a view.”

“Matt also mentioned the particularly stunning view.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Oh, what does Matt know? He thinks I’m still six years old and playing Barbie Goes to the Office.”

He’d almost forgotten how cute she was. Even at thirteen, with braces on her teeth and a body that was gangly and awkward, Ainsley had been captivating. Silver-blond curls, blue eyes, dimples and an infectious giggle put her firmly in the adorable little sister category. Ivan had never known exactly why she’d so readily adopted him as a beloved older brother. Maybe it had been because Andrew often went traveling with their parents that year, while she’d been left behind to “improve her studies.” Or because Matt had gone to college and wasn’t there every day to fill the role of big brother. Or because Miranda was absorbed in her last year of high school and was impatient with the burden of being both mother and sister to them all. Probably it had been all of those reasons put together, plus more.

Whatever the reason, Ainsley had told Ivan—after he’d visited Danfair only a few times—that he would be her extra brother, and that’s the way she’d treated him ever since. It was a role he’d accepted with particular delight, teasing her as he would have teased his own kid sister, Emma, had she lived to be thirteen.

“You look very…professional,” he said to Ainsley, realizing that she did look quite grown-up in her azure blue suit, filling it out in a way he did not want to notice. He suddenly caught himself assessing the length of her skirt with a critical eye and checking the deep V of her blouse. She was showing a bit too much skin in both directions, but—extra brother or not—he knew better than to point it out. “This is a different, uh, style for you, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t think knickers and Little Mermaid T-shirts were quite right for meeting with clients.” Her dimples made another appearance. “I know it’s difficult for you and Matt to believe, but I’m not a little girl anymore.” She stepped inside a large, lovely room and flung out an arm to encompass it all. “This is it. My office.”

He took his time, walked about, looked carefully at the little touches that made this space distinctively hers. The photographs—all shapes, all sizes, all in heavy silver frames. The candles, scenting the room while casting a warm glow over the expensive furnishings. The not-quite-neat stacks of files on her desk. The colors—sunny, bright and cheerful. All of it reflected the exuberance of Ainsley. And yet, it was definitely a woman’s space, and not what he’d expected at all.

“I like your office,” Ivan said. “What do you do here?”

“Matt didn’t tell you?”

“He said I should ask you. So I’m asking. What do you do here at IF Enterprises?”

“Me, personally, you mean?” She was stalling, something he’d seen her do only when she was nervous and wanted to say one thing, but thought it more prudent to say something else.

“Yes,” he answered with a smile. “You, personally.”

“Personal relations,” she answered in a sudden rush. “It’s like public relations, only on a more, uh, personal level. It’s kind of hard to explain, but we do a lot of networking for people.”

The only occupation that came to Ivan’s mind involved résumés and high-level employment opportunities. “So IF Enterprises is some kind of elite employment agency?” he asked. “Matching a prospective client with the perfect position?”

“Something very much like that.” She gestured toward the window. “Notice the view? It’s really spectacular at this time of day.”

It was a vista of solid brick, with a sliver of sky thrown in for effect. “Spectacular,” he agreed. “I knew Matt was jealous the minute he mentioned it.”

“My poor brother,” she said with a husky giggle. “He doesn’t even try to hide his envy anymore.”

Ivan turned from the window and leaned back against it, feeling at home in a way he hadn’t since he’d left New England for the southwest. “What do you have to do to get a view like this?” His glance strayed to the haphazard piles of manila folders on her desk. “Whatever it is, it must involve a lot of filing.”

“Actually, Lucinda does the filing. My job, at the moment, is mostly research. I’m Mrs. Fairchild’s apprentice.”

“Apprentice?”

“More of an assistant right now,” she explained. “But once I’ve learned the techniques, I’ll be taking clients, too.”

Clearly, she was proud of herself for landing this position, for having this office, the stick-your-head-out-the-window-and-look-up view of the sky. And he couldn’t help but be proud of her, too, because she was so pleased with herself. He remembered all the times she’d confided her plans, wanting—needing—someone to listen and take her aspirations seriously. Matt, Miranda, even Andrew, had never seemed able to do that, so Ivan had been happy to be the “big brother” who listened and encouraged her to be whatever she wanted to be. He supposed, in their odd little family, her real siblings needed Ainsley to stay the baby, because it was important for them to feel they could protect her from the responsibilities they’d taken on too young. And as grown-up as she looked right now, there was still an air of innocence about her, a pure pleasure in her accomplishments. It was at moments like this that she reminded him of his sister, except that life had always sparkled in Ainsley, whereas in Emma it had never quite taken hold. “I’m happy for you,” he said, approval in his voice.

“Thanks,” she said, pleased. “I knew I could count on you to understand. Matt and Miranda—even Andrew, sometimes—think this is just another phase I’m going through and that I’ll change my mind about making it a career. But I really love working here and, Ivan, I’m good at it, too.”

“I never doubted it for a moment.”

She smiled as she leaned against the desk and crossed her arms at her waist, her legs at the ankles.

She’d always been a petite little thing, but there was a serious amount of leg showing between the hem of her rather short skirt and her trendy little shoes. Ivan had never before noticed the length of her legs, or the lovely shape of them. He’d never realized she was so…curvy, either. It had been several years since he’d seen her, true, but she shouldn’t have changed this much. Ainsley had grown up. Funny that he was so suddenly struck by that obvious fact. He’d have to get used to the idea that Baby had blossomed. Somehow just the thought made him uncomfortable.

“Matt said your folks are in Chile now.”

She nodded. “They were supposed to come home for the wedding, but there was an earthquake and they needed to stay on.”

“Wedding?” He didn’t understand the swift clutch of emotion in his stomach. Surely if she’d gotten married, someone would have told him. “Whose wedding?” he asked casually. “Anyone I know?”

“Our cousin, Scott. Uncle Edward’s son,” she said…and Ivan was immediately, inexplicably relieved. “I don’t know if you’ve met him or not. He’s something of a loner.” The corners of her mouth dipped into a rueful frown. “He still is, I guess, since the bride took off before the wedding and hasn’t been heard from since.”

“Wow. That must be hard for the family. Especially you.”

Her head came up and a startled look flashed in her eyes. “Me? Why especially me?”

“Because you’re so empathetic, always concerned about other people and their problems, always wanting to fix whatever’s wrong.”

“Oh,” she said, relaxing. “You and I have that in common, don’t we, Ivan?”

“We have a lot of things in common, Ainsley. Not least among them our passion for Ping-Pong. I do plan to beat your socks off tonight both before and after dinner. I’ve been practicing.”

“So have I.” She accepted his teasing challenge with a little toss of her curls. “And I was better than you to begin with. However, since it’s your first time at Danfair in five whole years, I’ll consider taking it easy on you.”

“Oh!” He put a hand to his heart as if wounded. “Now there’s a double-dog dare if I ever heard one. Don’t even be thinking you’ll let me win. I’ll whip you fair and square, young lady, and don’t you forget it.”

She laughed, a pure and wonderful sound that made him feel warm all through. “I was merely thinking I’d give you a fighting chance, but if you’re determined to be soundly defeated, far be it from me to deny you the humiliation.”

He laughed, too, so glad to be in a place that felt so much like home, with someone who welcomed him with such open arms. “I’ll look forward to our match, Ainsley.”

“Me, too.”

She had a smile worth the trip from Arizona, and he hoped she never stopped smiling at him.

“Guess I’d better leave you to your research,” he said, moving to the doorway. “I sure don’t want to be blamed if you don’t get all your work done.”





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