Family Treasures. Kathryn Springer

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      The question was, why?

      “Would I be correct in assuming you didn’t know anything about the contest, Mr. Walsh?” Caitlin’s question tugged Devon back to reality. And scraped against his senses. Somehow her husky, bluesy voice didn’t match up with the stylish clothes and cool demeanor.

      Devon didn’t let himself dwell on the intriguing contradiction. Not when his relationship with Caitlin McBride was only destined to last another fifteen or twenty seconds. Tops.

      “Oh, you’d definitely be correct about that.”

      “And that you don’t have a secretary?”

      “Two for two, Ms. McBride. I’m sorry you wasted your time coming here this morning. And now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get to the bottom of this.” Devon forced a polite smile, started to close the door and suddenly discovered Caitlin McBride standing next to him in the foyer.

      “Good idea.” She smiled up at him. “I’m a little curious myself.”

      Devon blinked, wondering if he could blame his momentary lapse in homeland security on the scent of Caitlin’s perfume—a rich blend of exotic spices that definitely packed a punch to the senses. Or maybe it was her smile. The one that warmed up the indigo eyes like sunlight on water.

      Get a grip, Walsh. Somehow she’s involved with the media.

      “No offense, Ms. McBride, but this is a family matter.”

      “A family matter I received a personal invitation to when Jennifer entered you in the makeover contest.”

      Makeover contest.

      Devon winced at the reminder while silently scrolling through his options. If he told Caitlin to leave, it was possible she’d turn up again with reinforcements. That had been his brief but memorable experience with the press in the past. She might claim to be an “image consultant” but it didn’t mean she wasn’t employed by the magazine. Or that a single headline wouldn’t disrupt his life. Again.

      Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Devon decided to take the old adage to heart. And because he couldn’t figure out which category Caitlin McBride belonged in, he decided to let her stay.

      All he had to do was get Jenny to admit she’d entered him in the contest as a practical joke and Caitlin would be on her way. To find another victim.

      “Roundtable meeting, Jenny,” Devon bellowed as he passed the staircase. “Parlor. Five minutes.”

      He strode down the hall, surprised that Caitlin managed to match him step for step in shoes jacked up by pencil-thin heels. And even though she stared straight ahead, Devon had the strangest feeling she was taking in everything around her.

      Great.

      Devon was well aware the house had its shortcomings, but he still considered it an answer to prayer. Proof that God wasn’t silent and far away but close and listening. And real. That the ramshackle Victorian needed a lot of work hadn’t bothered him. And even though it would have sounded strange if he tried to put words to it, from the moment Devon had glimpsed the For Sale sign in the knee-high grass behind the fence, he’d felt an immediate kinship with the house.

      After he’d signed the papers and accepted the overwhelming task of remodeling it room by room, the project had done more than fill long hours. It had started the healing process.

      Not something the average visitor would understand or even appreciate. And he wasn’t going to apologize for the multitude of little things that still needed attention…

      Devon sent Rosie’s rawhide bone spinning out of the way with a discreet kick and then noticed the innocent-looking cardboard box positioned against the wall just outside the parlor door.

      His lips twitched. Subtle, the twins weren’t. Thank goodness.

      Lately, they’d started to act out scenes from the book he’d been reading to them after supper. A book that happened to be an action-adventure novel—loaded with peril and cool gadgets—about Matt and Marty Ransom, teenage brothers on a quest to find their missing father while staying one step ahead of the resident villain.

      Without even auditioning for the part, Devon had been drafted into their reenactments and cast in the role of evil Dr. Chamberlain. Over the past two days, he’d found a miniature tape recorder hidden in his medicine cabinet and the bedroom doorknob dusted with something Devon guessed was a homemade version of “fingerprint” powder. He even stumbled into an ingenious trap made out of paper cups and shaving cream.

      Devon was thrilled. For two boys whose lives had been scheduled down to the last second of the day, their imaginative play over the past few weeks had been a major breakthrough.

      Not that he could begin to explain all that to the woman walking beside him. He slanted a glance at Caitlin McBride and saw her lips flatline as she stepped delicately over the misshapen bedroom slipper that Sunny and her favorite partner in crime, Rosie had been wrestling over that morning.

      No, Caitlin McBride wouldn’t understand. And because he doubted she’d find a shaving-cream bomb humorous, he paused before approaching the box.

      “Wait here for a second.”

      Caitlin blinked. “You’re kidding me, right?”

      Apparently not. Because instead of answering her question, Devon sidled up to an ordinary cardboard box as cautiously as a bomb-squad tech. Caitlin’s back teeth ground together. She was convinced the man was deliberately trying to drive her crazy in an attempt to get her to leave.

      Not that it wasn’t tempting. But she’d made the decision to stick around a split second after Devon had smiled politely and tried to shut the door in her face. And only one thing had prevented her from admitting defeat and calling the runner-up in the contest.

      Jenny.

      When the girl had peeked around her father, Caitlin had had a flashback of herself at the tender age of twelve. Confused. Hopeful. Scared. A bundle of conflicting emotions reflected in that pair of large copper-brown eyes.

      My mom is gone and my Dad needs some advice on clothes. He thinks he looks okay but he could use some help from a professional….

      The rest of Jennifer’s earnest essay had replayed in Caitlin’s mind. She couldn’t deny that Jennifer’s father did need both help and advice but she had a feeling he wasn’t the type of person who would accept it graciously.

      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.”

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