Читать книгу Family Treasures - Kathryn Springer - Страница 12

“That’s why.” Caitlin repeated Devon’s cryptic words as she fumbled with the key to her apartment. For some odd reason, her hands hadn’t stopped trembling since she’d closed up IMAGEine.

She blamed it on the drop in evening temperatures.

Mr. Darcy met her on the other side of the door, his ragged ears twitching a silent reprimand.

“Don’t blame me.” Caitlin shrugged off her coat and headed toward the kitchen. “Blame Devon Walsh. He’s the reason your dinner is late.”

The cat darted between her feet and cut in front of her, upsetting her balance and almost pitching her headfirst into the granite countertop on the breakfast bar. “We’ve talked about this before. If you kill me, there will be no one to feed you.”

Caitlin shook the contents of a gourmet can of cat food into a ceramic dish near the refrigerator and rubbed her knuckles against the sensitive spot under Mr. Darcy’s furry chin, a gesture which never failed to earn his forgiveness.

“At least one of us is happy,” she muttered, putting off her own dinner to seek solace in her favorite chair overlooking the Mississippi River. Her apartment building had been an abandoned warehouse before a developer saw its potential and converted it into a series of trendy loft apartments.

She stared down at the dark ribbon of water and tried to figure out what had happened in the past hour.

Caitlin hadn’t expected Devon to actually turn in the gift certificate for a free style analysis. The only reason she’d sent the silly thing in the first place was to make good on the first “prize” that came to mind after she’d made an executive decision to withdraw Jennifer’s entry.

A decision Dawn Gallagher was still lamenting over. Caitlin knew their second choice would work out just as well but Dawn didn’t think anyone else could compare to a “Mr. Makeover.”

Guilt tugged briefly at Caitlin’s conscience. The only explanation she’d given the Twin City Trends’ style editor was that Devon was too busy to be involved in the makeover contest. Maybe he hadn’t exactly said those words, but they had to be true. A single dad raising three kids…while writing the next great American novel.

What had she gotten herself into?

Devon didn’t really want her help. He’d swallowed his pride because of his children. And it was easy to see that the man was going to be a rebel. The “I hope you can be flexible with my schedule” comment was the first gauntlet he’d thrown down.

Caitlin picked up a tasseled pillow and buried her head in it.

“He’s not the only one with a schedule,” she complained. “I have a schedule, too. And it’s booked solid through the first of the year.”

“Cait?”

Caitlin dropped the pillow and jackknifed into a sitting position at the sound of a muffled voice behind her. “Don’t you ever knock?”

“Why should I?” Her sister Meghan grinned. “I have a key.”

“Number four on my list of mistakes,” Caitlin said under her breath.

“I didn’t think you made mistakes—what were the first three? I promise I won’t tell Evie.” Meghan flopped down on the couch and Caitlin caught a glimpse of knee-high beaded moccasins under Meghan’s long skirt.

She groaned. “Moccasins, Megs? You’re killing me here.”

“Aren’t they great?” Meghan hiked up the hem on her tiered khaki skirt to show them off. “Cade bought them for me.”

“I don’t believe it. What have you done to the poor man?”

“The same thing I’m trying to do to you.”

“Drive me crazy?”

“No, silly. Break you out of the first-born overachiever mold. Help you lighten up a little.” Meghan swung her legs over the side of the ivory leather sofa and adjusted the pillows behind her back.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Caitlin said dryly.

“Thanks.” Meghan chuckled when Caitlin rolled her eyes. “Where’s Mr. Darcy?”

“Sulking. Dinner was late.”

“Poor baby. Did you get held up by work or traffic?”

Caitlin hesitated as Devon’s face flashed in her mind. She’d only met him twice and yet somehow her memory was able to retrieve every one of his features with stunning clarity.

Meghan tilted her head, sending a mass of strawberry blonde curls tumbling over one shoulder. “Should I repeat the question?”

“Work.” As much as she hated to admit it, Devon Walsh had officially become work. What was she going to do about him? Or more important, what was she going to do with him….

“Wow.” Meghan’s voice infiltrated her thoughts.

“What?”

“You were daydreaming.”

Caitlin’s fingers curled into the pillow. “Don’t be silly.”

Meghan leaned forward, studying her with something that could only be termed as fascination. “And for a second there, you had The Look.”

“What look?”

“The Look. You know, the one a woman gets in her eyes when she’s thinking about a certain guy.”

“Please.” Caitlin vaulted out of the chair. “Have you eaten supper? Because I’ve got some leftover seafood fettuccine—”

“You. Are. Blushing.” Meghan jumped up and blocked her escape route.

“Megs—”

“Who is he? Have you told Evie—” Meghan pushed Caitlin down on the sofa and plunked down beside her. Bringing them nose to nose.

“No!” At times like this, Caitlin questioned her decision to live in the same city as her younger sibling. “Was there a specific reason you stopped over or—”

Meghan clapped her hands together, effectively drowning Caitlin out. “Oooh, that means I get to tell her.”

“There isn’t anything to tell,” Caitlin ground out. “He’s a new client. A client. That’s all. And the only reason I was—” she hated to admit it “—thinking about him was because he was the last appointment of the day.”

The last unscheduled appointment of the day. And if Caitlin would have known how it was going to turn out, she would have made sure Sabrina sent him on his merry way. Sans gift certificate!

“A client.” Meghan’s shoulders drooped. “Really?”

“Really.” Caitlin sounded so convincing, she almost believed it herself.

“Oh. Sorry, it’s just that we—” Meghan bit down on her lower lip to prevent the rest of the words from spilling out.

Not that it mattered. Caitlin could guess what she’d been about to say.

They didn’t want her to feel left out.

Both her sisters had found love within the past year and a half and their father, Patrick, teasingly took the credit for both successful matches. Even though Caitlin knew it had to be a total coincidence that Patrick’s hobby—finding lost family heirlooms—had inadvertently led to both her sisters meeting the men they’d fallen in love with.

Another reason to limit the number of visits to Cooper’s Landing! She didn’t want her father pulling her into any of his crazy schemes. Or playing matchmaker for the only single daughter left in the McBride family.

“It’s okay. Bask guilt-free in the glow of your own happiness,” Caitlin said. “You know I don’t have time for a relationship.”

“You won’t make time for a relationship,” Meghan countered. “And Mr. Darcy, as much as I love him, doesn’t count.”

“Ah, Megs—why did you say you stopped over?”

“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.