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Family Treasures
Kathryn Springer
Image consultant Caitlin McBride is moved by the preteen's letter.Jenny fears that unless her single father looks more like a "dad," he'll lose custody of his children. Caitlin knocks on Devon Walsh's door to find a very handsome man in need of a personality makeover. He grumbles that Caitlin cares more about a person's exterior than what's inside.He shoos her away, only to appear at her office with a heart-tugging request. To do whatever is necessary to save his family. A family about to change in so many blessed ways…
“I’m here for our appointment,”
Caitlin said brightly.
“I don’t think so,” Devon answered.
Caitlin blinked at the terse statement, but decided to ignore it. She focused again on the man beside the door. “I’m an image consultant. I explained that to your secretary on the phone.”
If anything, he looked 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 of their appointment, but she knew one thing. The guy needed a personality makeover more than a haircut.
“No. Our meeting was to discuss the essay Jennifer wrote for the contest.”
The girl peeking out from behind Devon’s legs let out a tiny gasp, but her father didn’t seem to notice.
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.”
KATHRYN SPRINGER
is a lifelong Wisconsin resident. Growing up in a “newspaper” family, she spent long hours as a child plunking out stories on her mother’s typewriter and hasn’t stopped writing since! She loves to write inspirational romance because it allows her to combine her faith in God with her love of a happy ending.
Family Treasures
Kathryn Springer
By wisdom a house is built, and through
understanding it is established; through knowledge
its rooms are filled with rare and beautiful treasures.
—Proverbs 24:3–4
To Mom…who faithfully (and patiently) tweaks
my manuscripts, finds lost words and always
knows when to use “affect” instead of “effect”
(someday I’ll get it right!). You go above and
beyond the call of duty, and your encouragement
and enthusiasm keep me pressing on.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
Chapter One
Another Monday.
And if the early morning traffic jam and the ten voice-mail messages waiting for her attention weren’t enough proof it was Monday, Caitlin McBride knew she could add the three grueling hours she’d just spent shopping with the daughter of one of her clients. What should have been a fairly easy search for the perfect “little black dress” had quickly turned into a battle of wills when the teenager revealed that she did like the color black—but only as the background for hundreds of tiny skulls.
Caitlin had won in the end—she always did—but at the moment she needed to rebound with a cup of strong coffee and the piece of dark chocolate tucked away in her desk drawer.
She didn’t break stride as she swept past her assistant’s desk. “Sabrina, I have an appointment with Dawn Gallagher at Twin City Trends this afternoon. Don’t forget to leave the entries for the makeover contest on my desk before you take your lunch break.”
“Um, Ms. McBride?”
Judging from the undercurrent of misery in Sabrina Buckley’s voice, the chocolate was going to have to wait.
Caitlin paused and pivoted slowly on one stiletto heel. “Yes?”
“I’m, ah, having a little…trouble with the elimination round.”
Caitlin sighed. Why leadership seminars continued to claim that “delegating responsibility” was a positive thing, she didn’t know.
“What kind of trouble?”
“Well, you told me to divide the entries into two piles.” Sabrina gestured to the overflowing bins on her desk. “One for women who already look like models and just want to be featured in a magazine. And one for average, everyday-looking women who could potentially bring new clients to IMAGEine after their makeover.”
“That’s right. Two piles.” The toe of Caitlin’s shoe tapped against the plush carpeting. “So what seems to be the problem?”
“This one.” Sabrina held out a photograph. “It doesn’t exactly fall into either…category.”
“Of course it does,” Caitlin said firmly, retracing her steps back to the reception desk. “Let me see….”
That.
The sentence ended in something that sounded suspiciously like a gurgle.
“It’s a…man.”
Her assistant grinned. “It certainly is.”
Caitlin ignored the sudden, irreverent sparkle in Sabrina’s eyes as she studied the photo and made a swift assessment of the subject’s rugged masculine features. Fathomless dark eyes. Arrogant jaw. A shaggy mane of hair the color of espresso.
Perfect cheekbones…
“He sent in an essay?”
“Not exactly him. No.” Sabrina squirmed briefly in her chair.
Caitlin exhaled and counted to five. Out loud. And then she tried again. “But he entered the contest?”
“Not exactly him. No.”
“Sabrina—” Caitlin’s eyes narrowed.
“I’ll show you.” Sabrina’s hand disappeared into the pile of papers and she unearthed an entry form, waving it in front of Caitlin like a white flag. “You have to read this. Then it will make sense.” The young woman nibbled on the tip of her ragged fingernail. “Maybe.”
“Fine.” Caitlin felt a tension headache sink its hooks into the base of her neck as she plucked the paperwork and the photo out of Sabrina’s hands. “Let me know when my next appointment arrives.”
“Yes, Ms. McBride.”
Caitlin retreated to her office, sat down at her desk and slipped off her shoes, careful to line them up just so, before glancing at the entry that had her assistant in a tailspin.
Not that she blamed her. In the five years since IMAGEine, Caitlin’s Minneapolis-based image consulting business, had teamed up with Twin City Trends for their annual makeover contest, this was the first time they’d received an entry from a man.
She deliberately turned the photograph over to escape the intensity of those deep-set, charcoal-gray eyes.
“Now, Mr….” Caitlin glanced at the name at the top of the entry form. “Walsh. What’s your story?”
She turned the application over to skim the “in one hundred words or less tell us why you need a makeover” portion of the entry form and was surprised to find it handwritten rather than typed. And even more surprised to see the neat penmanship dominated by carefully rounded letters; the lower case ones graced with decorative, curly tails.
Okay….
Caitlin lightly cleared her throat.
As she skimmed the essay, unexpected emotion grabbed hold of her heart. And squeezed. No wonder Sabrina hadn’t known what to do with this particular entry.
She didn’t know what to do with it, either.
And Caitlin always knew what to do about everything.
“Are you kidding me, Caitlin? You can’t disqualify this entry. It’s our winner!” Dawn Gallagher picked up the entry form and read the opening lines of the essay out loud.
“‘Dear Twin City Trends Makeover Team,
My name is Jennifer Walsh. I’m twelve years old, and I’m writing to you because my dad needs a makeover…’”
“This is pure gold. Gold that happens to have a high rate of exchange at the newsstand.”
“A person has to be eighteen or older to enter,” Caitlin reminded her, wishing she’d followed her first instinct and quietly discarded JenniferWalsh’s entry form instead of showing it to Dawn. Blame it on the fact that she’d been charmed by the sweet formality of the girl’s essay and thought Dawn might be, too. She’d had no idea the style editor would insist they’d found their winning entry.
