Family Treasures. Kathryn Springer

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      There was one long, supercharged moment of silence.

      “No.”

      “I didn’t think so.”

      His children still clinging to him, Devon strode toward the door to revive whoever was on the other side. Because the way the morning continued to unravel, the poor woman—and the shriek had definitely been feminine—had probably fallen over in a dead faint.

      Devon yanked the door open, ignoring the loud protests of his soon-to-be-grounded-for-life children—because according to the books, grounding was a perfectly acceptable form of discipline—and braced himself to find an unconscious woman sprawled across the welcome mat.

      It was a woman, all right.

      A very attractive, very conscious woman. Classic features. Glossy dark hair with a faint mahogany sheen. Eyes the same shade of blue as his favorite pair of jeans.

      She was standing on the porch wearing a stylish black suit paired with ridiculously high heels.

      And was holding Josh’s iguana in her arms.

      Chapter Two

      It was a good thing, Caitlin thought, that her youngest sister taught middle-school science. Because it meant Evie always had a veritable zoo of creatures living in her classroom—creatures she insisted Caitlin learn to appreciate by getting up close and personal with them when she visited.

      If not for the benefit of that prior Wild Kingdom education, the sight of the two-foot-long lizard, curled up on the enclosed sun porch next to a sleeping dachshund of roughly the same size, might have really freaked her out.

      As it was, the reptile had managed to wring a brief but embarrassing scream out of her. But that was only because the moment she’d dismissed the motionless creature as a realistic chew toy made out of some high-tech scaly fiber, it had come to life and barreled toward her as if she were a long-lost cousin. Apparently not caring that the closest kinship Caitlin could claim to a member of his species was the faux alligator-skin bag hanging in her closet.

      Not sure of the creature’s intent but knowing that one assertive move deserved another, Caitlin had bent down and simply picked it up. The lizard then draped itself comfortably over her arm and proceeded to study the gold and sapphire earring dangling from her ear.

      As she contemplated the odds of those intimidating claws not doing irreparable damage to her silk blouse, the front door opened. Judging from the expressions on the faces of the people crowded together in the doorway, she now had the honor of being the strangest creature on the porch.

      One of the little boys, a mirror image of the other, darted forward, flashed a smile more mischievous than apologetic, and took the iguana from her.

      Officially making it five—no, make that six because she probably should include the dachshund—against one.

      Caitlin turned her attention to Devon Walsh—not only the tallest one in the group but instantly recognizable by his bad-boy stubble—and felt her heart skip a beat.

      The photo hadn’t done him justice.

      Oh, his hair was on the shaggy side, and he obviously wasn’t in a committed relationship with a razor. But she’d only noticed the brooding eyes and had somehow missed the lines fanning out on either side of them. Intriguing pleats that looked ready to capture the fall-out from his next smile.

      Too bad she wasn’t going to witness that smile. Because at the moment he was scowling at her as if she were trespassing on private property.

      Maybe because you are? She thought.

      Not exactly true, so Caitlin ignored the pesky voice. After all, Devon Walsh was expecting her. And she hadn’t seen any No Trespassing signs posted, although the formidable iron-scrolled gate surrounding the perimeter of the Walsh’s yard had given her pause. For that matter, so had the house itself. The gloomy Gothic-style Victorian, sporting a coat of blistered gunmetal-gray paint and cloaked in ivy, resembled an abandoned Hollywood movie set more than a home. It looked as out of place in the tidy row of well-kept homes as an ordinary rock tossed into a jewelry box.

      Caitlin took a careful breath but before she could say a word, Devon Walsh stepped forward and propped his hands on his lean hips, effectively blocking the children from view.

      Caitlin had the strangest feeling that that was his intent.

      “Can I help you?” The question was polite even though his tone implied it was the last thing he wanted to do.

      “I’m Caitlin McBride. I have an appointment with you this morning and—”

      “I don’t think so.”

      Caitlin blinked at the terse interruption but then decided to ignore it. “I left a message yesterday, and your secretary called me back to set up our meeting.”

      Devon shook his head. “That’s a new one. You’re a lawyer, right? Vickie sent you.”

      “A lawyer? No.” Caitlin gave a choke of disbelief and glanced down at the outfit she’d chosen that morning. Not that she expected a man who wore a ratty tweed sweater with suede elbow patches to understand that a female attorney wouldn’t pair a multicolored chain-link belt with a conservative business suit. The only reason she could get away with it was because she pretended that it worked. Which, in turn, made it work. Confidence. It was her favorite accessory. “I’m an image consultant. I explained that on the phone.”

      If anything, he looked even more skeptical. “So you go door-to-door, selling makeup?”

      Caitlin bristled. She didn’t know what kind of game Devon Walsh was playing, or why he was pretending to be ignorant about their appointment, but she knew one thing. The guy needed a personality makeover more than a haircut.

      “No. I. Do. Not.” Caitlin forced the words out through gritted teeth. “Our meeting,” she emphasized the words to jog his memory, “was to discuss the essay Jennifer wrote for the contest.”

      The girl peeking out from behind Devon Walsh’s long, denim-clad leg let out a tiny gasp but her father didn’t seem to notice. Nor did he notice his children—all three of them—suddenly pull a disappearing act that would have made Houdini envious.

      Even the dachshund vanished through the doggy door.

      The wariness in Devon’s eyes turned to confusion. “Contest?”

      “The makeover contest for Twin City Trends magazine.”

      “Let me get this straight. Are you telling me that Jenny entered a makeover contest?”

      “No—”

      “Well, that’s a relief.”

      “She entered you.”

      

      Devon heard three words—Twin City Trends—and suddenly found himself wishing that Caitlin McBride was a lawyer. Because magazines meant reporters…and reporters meant publicity. And publicity? Well, that was something he’d successfully managed to avoid. Until now.

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