Kathryn Springer - Family Treasures

And that’s why she’d decided to stay. Because whatever Jennifer’s reasons were for sending in that contest entry, Caitlin was going to make certain the girl wasn’t punished for it.

Devon picked up a piece of hose hanging out of the side of the box and spoke into it. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to put this box out with the recyclables.”

Caitlin held back a smile as his words raised a duet of muffled protests from inside the box. Devon ignored them and motioned for her to follow him. When they reached the end of the narrow hall, he stood to the side.

“It should be safe in here.”

The warmth of the room surprised Caitlin. Granted, the old-fashioned parlor, painted a soft, seashell-pink and trimmed with oak crown moldings, needed a serious update but there was a certain “shabby chic” charm to the brushed-velvet furniture and hand-hooked wool rugs scattered on the hardwood floor.

A round coffee table anchored the center of the room like the hub of a wheel with four colorful, oversized pillows arranged like spokes around it.

While Caitlin silently worked out the challenge those pillows presented to a knee-length skirt without a kick pleat, Jenny slipped into the room.

Now that the girl wasn’t hiding behind her dad, Caitlin had a chance to study her more closely. Already tall for her age, Jennifer Walsh’s final growth spurt would put her at a willowy five foot nine or ten inches. At the moment, though, she was all arms and legs and awkward motion.

Jenny’s hair, as dark as her father’s and with a natural wave she probably hadn’t learned to appreciate yet, was subdued in a long ponytail. The wire-frame glasses that had slipped halfway down her nose magnified the unusual color of her eyes.

Eyes that widened in panic when they met Caitlin’s.

Caitlin gave her what she hoped was a reassuring smile and perched on the edge of a Windsor chair next to the sofa.

“Take a seat.” Devon motioned to a pillow and Jenny hesitated. The uncertainty on the girl’s face made Caitlin’s mouth dry up.

Was she afraid of her father?

Parent and child stared at each other across the table and Caitlin discreetly fished around in her purse until her fingers closed around her cell phone. Just in case.

Devon crossed his arms. “Okay, Jenny—you’ve got some ’splainin’ to do.”

Caitlin sucked in a breath. Devon’s voice had changed. But it wasn’t angry or threatening. It sounded suspiciously like an impersonation of Ricky Ricardo from an episode of I Love Lucy.

Jenny giggled.

Devon gave his daughter a teasing wink and a smile.

And Caitlin forgot how to breathe.

Because the wink erased any remaining signs of a scowl. And the tender smile he aimed at Jenny…

Dawn had been right. Devon Walsh’s smile alone would launch a thousand subscriptions.

He reached out and tweaked the girl’s foot. “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s going on so we can get on with our day and Ms. McBride can get back to work?”

“I entered you in a…makeover contest I heard about on the radio last week,” Jenny admitted.

“As a joke, right? Did the boys put you up to it?”

“No!”

Devon frowned. “You think I need a…makeover?”

Jenny looked at Caitlin, who nodded imperceptibly. Yes, tact was the key word here.

“You…I, um…”

Caitlin came to her rescue. “Would you like me to show your dad the essay you wrote?”

The girl didn’t say so out loud, but the relief mirrored in her eyes had Caitlin reaching into her purse once again. She handed Devon the entry form.

Devon scanned the short paragraph on the back and if anything, he looked more confused than before.

“Professional help,” he muttered and glanced up at Caitlin.

She inclined her head in answer to the unspoken question.

Yes, that would be me. The professional.

“I don’t understand, Jenny.” Devon plowed his fingers through his hair. “Why didn’t you talk to me about this first?”

Jenny twisted her fingers together in her lap. “I heard you talking on the phone to Aunt Vickie,” she finally said in a low voice. “She wants to take you to court to get us back—”

“Jenny!” Devon’s gaze cut to Caitlin as his daughter rushed on.

“And she called you a…bum. I thought if you won the contest, the magazine people could help you look good in front of the judge. Then we’d be able to stay with you.”

A dozen thoughts crashed over Devon at once, immobilizing him.

Jenny had overheard his recent phone conversation with her aunt, Vickie Heath. And even though Jenny hadn’t heard both sides, somehow she’d guessed the woman’s intentions correctly. Which probably had something to due with the fact that Vickie had shown up at the airport to confront Devon the day he’d arrived to take his children home.

Not caring that her niece and nephews were huddled together within earshot, Vickie had claimed he was an unfit parent. A selfish recluse who planned to deny Jenny and her brothers the life of privilege and opportunity that Ashleigh, their mother, had wanted them to have.

If Devon remembered correctly, Vickie had also thrown the words worthless bum into the mix.

Until Vickie’s phone call, he’d assumed his former sister-in-law’s tirade at the airport was simply a release of the stress and grief over Ashleigh’s untimely death. Never in a million years had he dreamed that his ex-wife’s sister planned to contest the placement of the children.

His children.

Somehow Jenny had gotten wind of Vickie’s intentions and decided that if a judge had to choose a parent, it wasn’t going to be the guy with unfashionably long hair and faded blue jeans who didn’t appear to have a steady job.

Devon stifled a groan. By bringing Caitlin McBride, an image consultant who had a professional relationship with Twin City Trends, to their door, Jenny had complicated the situation instead of helping it. All it would take was a few careless words from Jenny or the boys and he’d have reporters camped out on the sidewalk.

Devon wasn’t about to sign his family up for that three-ring circus again.

Lord, it took so long to get the kids back. To be a family. I don’t want to lose them now.

Even as Devon sent up the silent appeal, he couldn’t think of one thing to say to Jenny that wouldn’t allow Caitlin further access to their family business. It was bad enough she’d heard the reason that prompted Jenny’s contest entry; there was no telling what Caitlin would do if she knew the rest of the story.

Their eyes caught and held over Jenny’s head.

It was time to show the lady the door. Again.

“Ms. McBride—”

She didn’t let him finish.

“One of the contest rules is that the person chosen for the makeover must be over eighteen. But because of Jenny’s well-written essay we made an exception,” Caitlin interrupted, aiming a warm smile in his daughter’s direction. “I stopped by today to congratulate you, Jenny, and let you know your entry took second place. My assistant will be sending you a gift certificate for a style analysis from IMAGEine.”

Devon gaped at Caitlin as she rose to her feet and held out her hand. To his daughter.

“Congratulations. It was nice to meet you, Jenny. And you, Mr. Walsh.”

Automatically, Devon followed her lead and extended his hand, too. After a slight hesitation, Caitlin pressed her fingers against his. He expected her touch to be as cool as her eyes, but instead the brief touch sparked a current that jump-started a part of his heart he’d thought lay dormant.

Maybe that was the part of the reason Devon didn’t realize the truth until later on in the day, when he replayed the unusual conversation that had taken place in the parlor.