guest room for Isabelle, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure. Which things are hers?”
“The black suitcase and carry-on are mine. We’ll just leave them in here for now. The two red suitcases and the purple footlocker hold Isabelle’s things. Barbara Houston’s daughter helped me pack Isabelle’s favorites. I told her to dispose of the rest however she saw fit.”
Caitlin took hold of the handle of a wheeled red suitcase. “Point me toward the guest room.”
He had already hefted the small footlocker off the floor. “This way,” he said over his shoulder.
The house was set up with a split floor plan—master bedroom and bath on one end, kitchen, dining room, den and living room centrally located and two smaller bedrooms and a bath at the far end. The doors were all open.
Caitlin noted that Nathan had arranged one of the spare bedrooms as an office with a desk, filing cabinets, bookshelves, computer system and other basic office equipment. It looked very much like the office she had set up in her two-bedroom apartment.
He had done very little decorating in the guest room. The furnishings consisted of a bed, a nightstand, a dresser and a chest of drawers in a warm-toned wood that might have been maple. A blue-and-green plaid spread covered the bed and a beige ginger-jar lamp with a matching shade sat on the nightstand. White blinds covered the single window; there was no curtain to soften the effect. A couple of generic, framed landscape prints hung on the white-painted walls. It was obviously a room that was rarely, if ever, used.
Still holding the footlocker, Nathan paused just inside the doorway. “Doesn’t look much like a little girl’s room, does it?”
“No,” she admitted, “but it has potential. It’s a good size, and the furniture is nice.”
“Thanks. It’s the furniture I had in my room when I was a teenager. Mom donated it to me when I set up housekeeping on my own. She wanted to redecorate her place, anyway.”
She released the suitcase and turned slowly in the center of the room. “All you need is a new bedspread, throw pillows, curtains and some colorful framed posters for the walls. The built-in bookshelves are perfect for holding books and toys.”
“It sounds like you know just how to fix it up for her.”
She frowned warily. “Now, wait a minute. I was only making a few suggestions, not volunteering to decorate.”
“But, Caitlin, there’s no one else to help me,” he said, giving her one of his well-practiced, hopeful-puppy smiles. “I can hardly ask my mother or sister, and what do I know about decorating for a little girl?”
“You should have thought of that before you brought one home with you.”
When he only kept smiling at her, she sighed and called herself a sucker. “Okay, fine. Maybe I could give you a hand—not that I’m guaranteeing results. I’m no decorator.”
“Maybe you could take her shopping in the morning, let her pick out a few things she likes?”
“Oh, I—”
“I have to go talk to my mother,” he cut in quickly. “I really need to break the news to her before someone else calls her. I can’t take Isabelle with me, obviously, and this isn’t something I can tell Mom over the phone.”
“In other words, you’re asking me to baby-sit while you talk to your mother.”
He shrugged, and his expression was sheepish. “I don’t have anyone else to ask.”
She wished he would quit saying that. She was his business partner, nothing more. It wasn’t her responsibility to help him set up a household after making a rash decision that was guaranteed to estrange him from his family.
Because she was feeling stressed and a little defensive—not to mention exhausted from one of the toughest work weeks she’d ever dealt with—she launched into that lecture she had been trying to avoid. “You understand that this is the way your life is going to be if you go through with this? Baby-sitters and family problems and changing your whole
“Sure. Which things are hers?”
“The black suitcase and carry-on are mine. We’ll just leave them in here for now. The two red suitcases and the purple footlocker hold Isabelle’s things. Barbara Houston’s daughter helped me pack Isabelle’s favorites. I told her to dispose of the rest however she saw fit.”
Caitlin took hold of the handle of a wheeled red suitcase. “Point me toward the guest room.”
He had already hefted the small footlocker off the floor. “This way,” he said over his shoulder.
The house was set up with a split floor plan—master bedroom and bath on one end, kitchen, dining room, den and living room centrally located and two smaller bedrooms and a bath at the far end. The doors were all open.
Caitlin noted that Nathan had arranged one of the spare bedrooms as an office with a desk, filing cabinets, bookshelves, computer system and other basic office equipment. It looked very much like the office she had set up in her two-bedroom apartment.
He had done very little decorating in the guest room. The furnishings consisted of a bed, a nightstand, a dresser and a chest of drawers in a warm-toned wood that might have been maple. A blue-and-green plaid spread covered the bed and a beige ginger-jar lamp with a matching shade sat on the nightstand. White blinds covered the single window; there was no curtain to soften the effect. A couple of generic, framed landscape prints hung on the white-painted walls. It was obviously a room that was rarely, if ever, used.
Still holding the footlocker, Nathan paused just inside the doorway. “Doesn’t look much like a little girl’s room, does it?”
“No,” she admitted, “but it has potential. It’s a good size, and the furniture is nice.”
“Thanks. It’s the furniture I had in my room when I was a teenager. Mom donated it to me when I set up housekeeping on my own. She wanted to redecorate her place, anyway.”
She released the suitcase and turned slowly in the center of the room. “All you need is a new bedspread, throw pillows, curtains and some colorful framed posters for the walls. The built-in bookshelves are perfect for holding books and toys.”
“It sounds like you know just how to fix it up for her.”
She frowned warily. “Now, wait a minute. I was only making a few suggestions, not volunteering to decorate.”
“But, Caitlin, there’s no one else to help me,” he said, giving her one of his well-practiced, hopeful-puppy smiles. “I can hardly ask my mother or sister, and what do I know about decorating for a little girl?”
“You should have thought of that before you brought one home with you.”
When he only kept smiling at her, she sighed and called herself a sucker. “Okay, fine. Maybe I could give you a hand—not that I’m guaranteeing results. I’m no decorator.”
“Maybe you could take her shopping in the morning, let her pick out a few things she likes?”
“Oh, I—”
“I have to go talk to my mother,” he cut in quickly. “I really need to break the news to her before someone else calls her. I can’t take Isabelle with me, obviously, and this isn’t something I can tell Mom over the phone.”
“In other words, you’re asking me to baby-sit while you talk to your mother.”
He shrugged, and his expression was sheepish. “I don’t have anyone else to ask.”
She wished he would quit saying that. She was his business partner, nothing more. It wasn’t her responsibility to help him set up a household after making a rash decision that was guaranteed to estrange him from his family.
Because she was feeling stressed and a little defensive—not to mention exhausted from one of the toughest work weeks she’d ever dealt with—she launched into that lecture she had been trying to avoid. “You understand that this is the way your life is going to be if you go through with this? Baby-sitters and family problems and changing your whole
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