Family Treasures

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.

Caitlin McBride wouldn’t have bothered to set up an appointment to meet with them if Jenny had come in second place. They would have received a polite letter of congratulations, accompanied by the gift certificate she’d mentioned, and that would have been the end of it.

Jenny had won the contest.

But for some mysterious reason, Caitlin had walked away.

“You have a warm skin tone, so that means you want to choose clothing from this color palette.” Caitlin spread some swatches out on the table for her client to look at. “Something on the order of this gold satin would be perfect for the dress you’ve been looking for to wear to your anniversary party.”

“I don’t know.” Maxine Butterfield fidgeted with the enormous jade elephant dangling from a gold chain around her neck. “What about pink? People always compliment me when I wear pink.”

Caitlin resisted the urge to demand names and phone numbers. “I’ll drape a piece of this fabric around your shoulders and you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Caitlin saw the light on the telephone blink out a rapid SOS from Sabrina Buckley.

“Excuse me a moment, Mrs. Butterfield.”

Maxine smiled and immediately reached for a swatch of pink suede as Caitlin walked back to her desk.

“Sabrina, I’m with a client right now so—”

“He’s here.” Sabrina cut her off with an excited whisper.

“Who’s here?”

“Him.”

“You have to be a little more specific.”

“Him. Mr. Makeover. From the contest. You know…the guy you said has awesome cheekbones. Devon Walsh.”

“He’s in the office?” Standing next to your desk? Listening to every word you just said about awesome cheekbones?

And it wasn’t even Monday.

“He wants to see you.”

Caitlin’s heart skipped a beat. Over the past week, she’d tried to put the whole episode with the Walsh family out of her mind. It hadn’t been easy. Because for some odd reason, in the rare moments when Caitlin’s thoughts weren’t focused on her clients, they kept returning to Devon Walsh like a compass needle irresistibly drawn to the north. And she couldn’t forget the stricken expression on his face when Jenny told him why she’d entered him in the contest.

We’ll be able to stay with you.

Caitlin firmly pushed the memory aside. IMAGEine was her business, she reminded herself, not the Walsh family.

“He just poured himself a cup of coffee.” Sabrina kept up a whispered play-by-play. “Now he’s looking at the before-and-after photos on the wall.”

And he can still hear every word you’re saying.

“Tell Mr. Walsh that I’m booked solid for the next three weeks but if you check my calendar, you might be able to pencil him in after the etiquette class a week from Wednesday.”

“He said he doesn’t need an appointment.”

Caitlin blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Of all the nerve. Only her immediate family, consisting of her father and her sisters, Evie and Meghan, had permission to bypass standard office protocol.

“Everyone needs an appointment.”

“He said he doesn’t need an appointment because he has a gift certificate.”

A gift certificate.

The one she’d asked Sabrina to drop in the mail the day after she’d been at the Walsh’s. The one she’d promptly forgotten about because she assumed it would end up lining the bottom of an iguana cage.