Family Treasures. Kathryn SpringerЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.”
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.”
Chapter Three
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