Kathryn Springer - Family Treasures

“I didn’t,” Meghan said brightly. “But since you brought it up, fettuccine sounds good.”

“Great.” Caitlin hopped to her feet again and escaped to the kitchen, grateful for the distraction.

She loved her sister dearly but she didn’t want to talk about Devon Walsh. She didn’t want to think about Devon Walsh. There’d been no daydreaming. No look.

Meghan followed, Mr. Darcy draped over her arm like a trendy purse. “So, this guy…what’s his name?”

Caitlin shot her a suspicious look. “Devon Walsh. Why do you ask?”

“Does he have a pocket protector? Thick glasses?”

“Meghan!” Caitlin choked back a laugh.

Humor backlit Meghan’s eyes, making them appear more green than gray. “Black socks and sandals?”

“You’re terrible.”

“But am I right?”

Not even close, Caitlin thought, as her traitorous memory instantly downloaded a series of images of Devon Walsh.

“Not every guy who comes to IMAGEine is a nerd, you know.”

“Uh-huh.” Meghan didn’t look convinced. “So that means he’s a stuffy exec who wants a raise.”

“Someone like Cade?” Caitlin asked wickedly.

“Cade isn’t stuffy.” Meghan paused. “Not once you get to know him anyway. Now, answer the question.”

“Was there a question?” Caitlin stalled, banging pots and pans together in a pathetic attempt to distract her sister. Or better yet, maybe she had some cookies—Meghan’s weakness—stashed somewhere.

“If your new client isn’t a nerd or a suit, what’s he like?”

Caitlin could tell she wasn’t going to be able to avoid the conversation. Not without making Meghan suspicious as to why she was avoiding the conversation. “Long hair.” Clean. And silky. “Five-o’clock shadow.” The stubble did kind of work for him, though. “Dark eyes.” Surrounded by laugh lines, although she hadn’t seen much evidence of a sense of humor.

Caitlin had a flashback of his Ricky Ricardo impersonation and smiled to herself. When she glanced at Meghan, her sister had a thoughtful look on her face.

Warning!

“He hired me for a simple style analysis.”

“So, there’s potential.”

“Absolutely not,” Caitlin said firmly. “He’s a writer, so he probably has the brooding, tortured artistic temperament…no offense, Megs…and I’m pretty sure we don’t have a thing in common—”

“Um, Cait?” Meghan interrupted her gently. “I wasn’t talking about that kind of potential. I meant potential in a professional sense.”

Caitlin blinked. “Of course you were. Because anything else would be ridiculous. A man who thinks suede elbow patches are still in style—” Caitlin realized she was rambling. Rambling! For the second time that day it felt as if the ground had suddenly shifted beneath her. The first time, of course, being when she’d walked into the reception area—in her stocking feet—and found Devon waiting for her….

Stay in control, Caitlin.

“I’m sure I have some Oreos. Somewhere.” Caitlin launched a search-and-rescue mission in the pantry. Searching for cookies, rescuing herself from Meghan’s knowing look.

“Take your time. I’m, ah, going to slip out and make a quick phone call.”

Caitlin took one look at the mischievous sparkle in her sister’s eyes and stifled a groan.

Of course she was.

“Watcha doing, Dad?” Brady and Josh’s heads popped up over the back of the couch.

Devon didn’t quite know how to answer the question.

Pacing? Dreading the next hour while looking forward to it at the same time? Because the contradiction that he was looking forward to seeing Caitlin again while knowing he shouldn’t be looking forward to seeing her was making him…pace.

“Do you remember Ms. McBride? The lady who came over to talk to Jenny last week?”

Josh nodded. “She’s the one who picked up Sunny.”

The awe in his son’s voice rankled. “She did scream.”

“But she picked her up anyway.”

“Very cool,” Brady chimed in.

Devon decided not to debate the issue. When it was two against one, a person had to choose his battles wisely.

“Anyway, Ms. McBride is coming over this morning to help me—” Devon paused, unsure how to describe why Caitlin was coming over.

“She’s going to ask him some questions so he’ll know what clothes look best on him.” Jenny stepped out from behind the drapes.

Devon hadn’t known she was there.

“Thank you.” He winked at his daughter, who offered a hesitant smile before glancing away.

Devon tried to hide his disappointment at her response.

The boys, who’d been three years old when Ashleigh had taken them to Europe, had fewer memories of him than Jenny, yet they’d started to relax in his presence. To seek out his company.

But his daughter…she remained a mystery.

The counselor Devon had talked with had encouraged him to give Jenny the time and space she needed to grieve her mother’s death. Devon got that. But even though his parental instincts were a bit rusty, he had the feeling other emotions lay buried beneath the veneer of sorrow in his daughter’s eyes.

Devon had no idea what would unlock the secrets in Jenny’s heart. And until recently, he’d started to doubt he was the right person for the job.

The night after Vickie had called, threatening to contest the custody arrangement, Devon had lain awake for hours. Not planning a legal strategy but wrestling with the reality that the kids, especially Jenny, might be better off with living with their aunt.

After all, his children knew their Aunt Vickie better than they knew their own father. Ashleigh and Vickie had always been close. So close that Ashleigh had hired her sister as her personal assistant when her modeling career began to take off. They’d traveled together. Spent holidays together. While Devon had to be content with long-distance phone calls and letters, Vickie had had the advantage of frequent visits with the children; knowing what went on in their day-to-day lives.

The boys, Devon had reasoned, might choose to stay with him, but Jenny would probably benefit from a woman’s influence in her life. A woman would understand her emotions….would know what an adolescent girl needed.

He’d been praying for wisdom and guidance ever since Vickie’s phone call. And just when Devon had almost convinced himself that his children would be better off with someone they knew and loved—not a man who was almost a stranger to them—there’d been a breakthrough.

We want to stay with you.

We. Plural.

While he couldn’t deny the glimmer of hope that Jenny’s simple statement had created that day, Devon also couldn’t deny there was a truckload of irony in the situation. The makeover contest hadn’t only revealed Jenny’s feelings. It had brought Caitlin McBride into their lives.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang.

Caitlin tried to focus on what Jenny was saying, but the closer they got to the parlor, the more wobbly her ankles felt. And wobbling in three-inch heels just wasn’t…safe.

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