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The Baby Album
Roz Denny Fox


Could she make it picture-perfect?Casey Sinclair has no husband, no job…and a baby on the way. To pay the bills, Casey takes a position at Wyatt Keene’s photography studio. The fact that she finds Wyatt incredibly attractive is an unexpected bonus.Casey’s heart is touched by Wyatt’s loss – he’s still grieving his wife and unborn child. So she hides her own pregnancy. As Casey and Wyatt get closer, it becomes more difficult for her to reveal her secret.How can Casey tell him the truth now – just when everything she’s always wanted is in reach?







Wyatt had everything going for him, looks-wise.

If he’d been off work because of illness, Casey couldn’t tell. He was robust, tanned and all-around fit. She’d admired the ripple of muscles when he bent to change filters. From any angle he was attractive.



Not that how he looked mattered. What mattered was if he liked the photos she’d taken today.



But still, she wondered why he’d closed a studio that was producing at its peak. She’d never pry, but she was curious. What did he have to hide?



Guessing served no purpose. She just needed to dig in and do a good job. She and Wyatt could swap life stories later if they lasted as a team. Her energy would be better spent thinking about what he might say once she could no longer conceal her pregnancy.




Available in July 2010

from Mills & Boon


Special Moments





From Friends to Forever by Karen Templeton & The Family He Wanted by Karen Sandler

Baby By Surprise by Karen Rose Smith & Daddy by Surprise by Debra Salonen

A Kid to the Rescue by Susan Gable & Then Comes Baby by Helen Brenna

The Sheikh and the Bought Bride by Susan Mallery

A Cold Creek Homecoming by RaeAnne Thayne

A Baby for the Bachelor by Victoria Pade

The Baby Album by Roz Denny Fox





The Baby Album


BY




Roz Denny Fox











www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Roz Denny Fox has been a RITA


Award finalist and has placed in a number of other contests; her books have also appeared on the Waldenbooks bestseller list. She’s happy to have received her twenty-five-book pin and would one day love to get the pin for fifty books. Roz currently resides in Tucson, Arizona, with her husband, Denny. They have two daughters.


For Nakita and Savannah, ace divers,

great softball players and, best of all,

avid readers. Dream big, girls.

Reach for the stars.




Chapter One


CASEY SINCLAIR PULLED into the high school parking lot. Should she park and go in? She was half an hour early for her job interview, but hadn’t wanted to be late if there was traffic on the road from Round Rock, Texas, to Austin. She’d been hesitant—a school was an odd place to interview a photographer, after all—but the e-mail she’d received June 1st had explained that it was a working interview. Casey would take part in a photo shoot and would be paid for her time.

Eager as she was to do a good job, Casey felt like crap today. Morning sickness. Day two of it. Maybe it was payback for having deliberately left out any mention of her pregnancy in the cover letter she’d sent with her résumé. But she’d been afraid of having her application rejected on that basis. Besides, at the time she’d felt perfectly fine. Now, not so much.

Just this week, a nurse practitioner at the free clinic in Round Rock had listed several possible symptoms Casey might experience during her pregnancy, including morning sickness. Yesterday, when she’d woken up, nauseous, she’d told herself it was the power of sug gestion. When she was sick again this morning, she was forced to admit it might be for real. So all she’d eaten for breakfast were half a dozen soda crackers. And she hadn’t made any sudden moves, as the nurse advised.

Now, hours later, she still felt nauseated.

It could be butterflies because of this interview, but she had to get over it. She needed this job badly. Right before she left home this morning, someone from the electric company had called and said if she didn’t pay her bill ASAP, they’d turn off her power. She’d said she was expecting some money after today, and the rep had agreed to give her an extension until Monday.

Taking a deep breath, Casey climbed out of the twelve-year-old Honda her soon-to-be-ex-husband had left behind when he took off. No doubt Dane hadn’t thought he could sell it.

Casey eyed the almost bald tire nearest her and wondered how much longer she could put off replacing them all. Thank heavens the e-mail had said she’d receive at least fifty dollars for helping the studio owner with his team photographs. The money was more than welcome, but wouldn’t stretch far. Casey needed a regular income.

She retrieved her trusted Nikon, her light meter and her purse from the backseat, then shut the door with her hip.

She prayed for a good outcome as she walked toward the gymnasium, crossing her fingers that her stomach would settle and that she’d do everything the interviewer asked of her perfectly. She noticed parents pulling up to drop their kids at the door.

The cavernous, brightly lit space looked like all high school gymnasiums. Noise ricocheted off the high ceilings. Across the room, two men stood near the bleachers, talking and gesturing. Boys and girls in a variety of uniforms were horsing around. A few straggled in from what Casey guessed were the locker rooms.

Her attention skidded back to the men. One wore gray sweats, the other khaki slacks and a short-sleeve pullover. The second man claimed the bulk of Casey’s interest, because even as he spoke, he was busy assembling two light stands and a tripod.

Wyatt Keene. That was who Casey was supposed to meet today. The ad she’d found had given no information at all about the prospective employer. A few lines in the Help Wanted section of the Austin paper simply stated “Photographer wanted for studio portraits and off-site work. Prefer experience with weddings and family groups.”

Casey had experience.

She’d also had a week to get used to Wyatt Keene’s name, and to do a little research. There was a Keene Photography Studio listed in the phone book, which went a long way toward easing her mind about meeting a strange man in a school gym.

Tightening her grip on her camera, she headed toward the pair, hoping against hope that Wyatt Keene would be as nice as his name felt rolling off her tongue.

“Mr. Keene.” At the sound of Casey’s voice, the man holding the equipment wheeled abruptly toward her. She smiled and extended her hand. “I’m Casey Sinclair. I’m sorry I’m early, but there was much less traffic than I expected. Anyway, I always say it’s better to be early than late.”

Casey felt her smile fade under the man’s frowning scrutiny. Heavens! Was it a crime to show up early? Or did he think she was too chatty? She tended to babble when she was nervous. And boy, was she nervous. The man kept staring at her with eyes that were even blacker than his hair, and not very friendly. “Are you Wyatt Keene?” she asked hesitantly, tempering her earlier enthusiasm.

“Yes. This is Mike Granville, the coach. We’ll be taking team photos today for the yearbook. The captains have props they want to display, and Mike wants us to use trophies. Bats, balls and such. Or signs with the sport’s insignia. In the past I’ve had the captains kneel in front of their teams. I told Mike I’ll take the first photo of his soccer squads. The most difficult job will be getting the kids to stop fooling around. Otherwise, it’s standard picture-taking protocol.”

Casey opened her mouth to say she understood, but Keene went on with his instructions. “Watch me from the bleachers. You’ll see what I mean. When I’m done, you can shoot the swim team. Five or six frames ought to be enough. If I think you’ve done okay, you can photograph the varsity and junior varsity baseball players.”

He spun without another word, picked up his gear and strode across the gym. Casey heard him call out to boys and girls in soccer uniforms.

What a hard nose! Even the coach must have thought so, because he offered Casey a sympathetic glance before heading off to tell a group of noisy boys to be quiet.

The real pity of it, Casey thought, was that Keene was darn good-looking, with his angular jaw, brooding jet-black eyes and a stubbled chin that was at odds with his almost military-short haircut. She guessed he might be thirtyish. He was probably an inch over six feet, which made her feel much shorter than her five-foot-two height warranted. The photographer had the build of a natural athlete. Not too thin, muscular or bulky, but just right in her estimation.

His attitude left a lot to be desired, though. Casey ground her teeth as she hurried after him. If she hadn’t been so desperate for this job, she would’ve walked out right then.

She pulled up short directly behind Keene as he fumbled the tilt head he was screwing to a tripod. Casey grabbed for the delicate piece of equipment and their hands collided.

“What are you doing?” He all but leaped away. “I said take a seat in the bleachers where you can watch the first group shot.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, annoyed by his attitude. She slapped the tilt head into his hand and stomped off to take a seat.

Part of her fumed. But her heart also pounded at being chastised for trying to be helpful. Keene acted as if he’d rather not breathe the same air. Her stomach got all jittery again. What was his problem? She’d been counting on this job, but now…Disappointment crept in. It was patently obvious that he’d taken an instant dislike to her. Casey hadn’t the faintest idea why. She glanced down at her capris and sandals. Was she dressed too casually? She’d thought it was important to be able to move comfortably for the shoot, but maybe Keene had expected something more professional.

At her foster parents’ studio in Dallas, she’d even worn jeans on field shoots. But then, Len and Dolly Howell were good-hearted people. They’d offered to come down here and help her move straight back home with them when she’d called to let them know Dane had left her. If they had any inkling she was pregnant and almost broke, they wouldn’t wait for an invitation; they’d be here. Which was why she couldn’t tell them. Not only were both getting on in years, but they’d already helped her more than enough. It was time for her to stand on her own two feet.

Casey flopped down on the hard bleachers and studied the gym more thoroughly. When would the other applicants arrive? Surely she wasn’t the only person vying for this job. She’d planned to make such a stunning first impression that Keene would automatically want to hire her. Apparently she’d blown that in the first five minutes.

With her purse and camera balanced on her lap, she settled her chin stubbornly on her hands. She would show Keene she was the best person for this job.



WYATT DIDN’T RELAX UNTIL a sidelong glance revealed that Casey Sinclair had found a spot off the court. He shouldn’t have growled at her, but he’d been thrown off stride. First by her breezy warmth, but more by the touch of her hand brushing his.

He’d told Greg Moore, his best friend and business accountant, that he wasn’t comfortable with the fact that only two of the thirty applicants had enough experience to fill Angela’s shoes. The other qualified applicant had placed too many conditions and restrictions on what he wanted in a job for Wyatt to even consider contacting him for an interview. Wyatt knew it shouldn’t be relevant, but he wished his one viable candidate wasn’t so attractive. Her eyes—well, suffice it to say they drew a man in. And Wyatt didn’t need that kind of complication after the awful year he’d had.

He massaged his chest and motioned for the first soccer team to gather around. He spent a few minutes arranging the kids by height for a better composition. When he stepped behind his camera, a long forgotten burst of pleasure came roaring back. It felt good to be getting on with work he loved.

Greg had been right to prod and badger him. Wyatt had frittered away a year during which he took no paying jobs. Looking back, the busywork he’d done, like painting his house inside and out and refinishing the bedroom set Angela had wanted him to do, hadn’t given him any satisfaction. In fact, as soon as it was completed he’d advertised on Craigslist and had given the set away. Throughout that time he’d avoided his friends and drifted—until Greg said that if he didn’t snap out of his grief, he’d risk losing his house and the studio he’d poured so much money into. The studio he’d built for Angela.

Really, Wyatt had no choice but to give Casey Sinclair the opportunity to show what she could do. He needed her. According to her résumé, and the references he’d got from her previous employer in Dallas, she had all the skills he needed to get Keene Studio up and running. And that had to be Wyatt’s focus now.



COACH GRANVILLE CAME OVER and sat down next to Casey as Wyatt took shot after shot of the soccer teams. “I dread picture days,” he lamented. “The kids are antsy to get it over with. I’ve always liked Wyatt’s work. He gets the job done, and has a knack for dealing with kids. I for one am happy he’s opening his studio again. Last year I had to work with another firm. That photographer had zero rapport with teenagers, and the pictures reflected it. I can’t tell you how many calls I fielded from unhappy parents.”

Casey cut her gaze from Wyatt to the coach. “His studio’s been closed? I wasn’t aware of that. He advertised in the Austin American-Statesman. I assumed he’d lost a photographer, or that the business needed extra help.”

Granville gnawed his lip, abruptly clamming up. It was obvious he’d rather not tell her any more about Wyatt Keene. While Casey search for something to say, he bolted from his seat.

“All I can tell you is Wyatt had valid reasons for taking a hiatus,” he said. Then the coach was gone, rustling up a gaggle of boys shooting baskets at the far end of the gym.

Keene had finished with the soccer players and Casey realized he was gesturing for her to take over. She couldn’t shake Coach Granville’s comment. The studio hadn’t been open in a year. Had Wyatt Keene been ill? If so, that might account for his brusqueness. Maybe he didn’t feel well. She could definitely sympathize with that.

She left her seat, more determined than ever to do an exceptional job. Still, she was a bit concerned about working for someone whose studio had been closed for a year. Would he have enough clients to warrant paying her what she needed to support herself? Supposing she even wanted to spend eight or more hours a day around another jerk of a man.

After what she’d just gone through with Dane, it might be smarter to cut her losses and seek another job. Although she already knew jobs in her field weren’t easy to come by. It was too costly to consider opening her own studio. And it was too painful to admit her naïveté when it came to Dane. Back home in Dallas, a lot of her girlfriends had got married straight out of college. Not Casey. She’d insisted on holding out for Mr. Absolutely Right. When she met Dane a couple of years after graduating, she’d thought she’d found him.

Ha! What a joke.

She couldn’t—wouldn’t—go back to Dallas with her life in shambles, she thought as she waited for the swim team to gather. And the other jobs she’d found in the paper weren’t suitable for a woman in her condition. House painting at a new real estate development. Not with the dizziness she’d experienced these past two days. And the fumes wouldn’t be good for her baby.

She’d answered an ad for two payroll clerks. It turned out to be for a chemical company on the far outskirts of Austin. Chemical residue and odors would be bad for her child, too. Growing desperate, she’d toyed with the idea of applying to be a pet sitter for two dogs, since she liked animals. But the job didn’t pay enough to cover the cost of the gas for the thirty mile round trip to Austin every day.

This job, working for the unfriendly Wyatt Keene, matched her schooling, her experience and her interests to a T. Casey had worked in her foster parents’ studio since high school. She’d loved every second of it. Still did, she admitted to herself as she clicked several practice shots. Len Howell had taught her how to take beautiful family and wedding portraits—which was how she’d met Dane. Howell Studios had been hired to photograph Dane’s sister’s wedding, and he’d been the best man. From the outset, Dane had been oh, so charming. That first day he’d jokingly called her Pixie, since even in heels she barely reached his chin. And back then her blond hair had been styled in short, feathery wisps.

Now it badly needed cutting, but there hadn’t been enough money, she acknowledged, tugging on one of the shoulder-length strands before she started corralling the group of giggling swimmers.

As for her first assessment of Dane Sinclair, she’d been infatuated.

Glaring at Wyatt Keene’s broad back, Casey was determined not to be infatuated again. Because a handsome face and hard body didn’t make a good man. Dane had proven that. Uncharacteristically swept off her feet, Casey had leaped to accept his request for a date. They’d gone out exclusively for several months. By then she’d fallen in love. Love had changed her. Made her less serious and more impulsive. So when Dane announced one day that he’d bought a brewpub in Round Rock, Texas, from an old frat buddy, was it any wonder her heart had sunk at the mere suggestion of his leaving Dallas? Leaving her?

Even now she could hear him say, “Pixie, it’ll be a blast selling brewskis. You know how my folks are always insisting I get a job. Well, my dad’s going to buy me a microbrewery. It’s the perfect solution.”

“What about us, Dane?” she’d asked. It was still painful to recall how badly she’d wanted him to ask her to marry him then and there. Instead, he’d avoided meeting her gaze and made excuses to leave.

It wasn’t until the next day that he casually suggested she drive to Round Rock in a week or two. “To help check out my inventory. And hang out for a while,” he’d added, throwing in one of his trademark magnetic smiles.

Dane never brought up marriage. So she had. She’d been so sure that, deep down, he loved her. Groveling had been a big mistake. And here she was, having to grovel to another man. This time to Wyatt Keene—just to pay her bills. What if that proved to be an even bigger mistake?

WYATT SAT DOWN ON a bench, his eyes following Casey Sinclair’s every move as she took his place on the gym floor. He barely noticed when Mike Granville joined him. Not until the coach murmured, “For someone who looks as if she’d blow away in a stiff wind, she’s sure whipping those kids into shape.”

“She seems competent enough,” Wyatt said with a shrug.

“It helps that she’s cute as a kitten.”

Wyatt frowned. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Really? You’ve been out of commission too long. I’m a happily married guy, but that doesn’t stop me from admiring an attractive woman when I see one.”

“The only thing I care about with Ms. Sinclair is her ability to take good photographs.”

“That’s dandy, Wyatt, because it’s Mrs. Sinclair.” Mike grinned wolfishly as Wyatt gave a visible start. “Yep, that’s correct. I heard her tell Dave Welsh, the baseball captain, who was trying to hit on her.”

For the first time since the tiny woman with the killer smile had sashayed into the gymnasium, Wyatt felt the muscles in his neck and shoulders relax. Mike’s newsflash made replacing Angela with a vibrant, capable, married woman feel like less of a betrayal. The studio was in both their names, but Angela had needed the prestige of owning it. Keene’s was tied in to her sense of professional worth, which Wyatt considered sad, since Angela would’ve made a name for herself no matter where she worked. He would’ve been content to work out of their home as they had in the early years of their marriage. Angela, who’d come from nothing and grown up an orphan, had needed status, and worked tirelessly to get it. Deep down, she had fears. It was that vulnerable woman Wyatt had fallen in love with. That was the Angela he’d sworn to love and protect. But when she’d needed him most, he’d let her down. He thought it’d be difficult to see another woman in her place at the studio.

Yet life moved on.

He already had Greg Moore, his wife, Brenda, and other friends saying it was time he did—professionally and personally. Today Mike Granville had hinted that Wyatt ought to be open to an attractive woman. Maybe.

His feelings definitely weren’t frozen. He’d felt a stirring the minute Casey Sinclair bounded up with her perky attitude. Finding out she was taken, however, made the thought of working with her in Angela’s domain a bit easier.

It was better this way. Because these past few months he woke up at least once a night—and often lay there, struggling to conjure up Angela’s face. What did that say about him as a husband? Had his love been that shallow? Had his marriage had cracks? Wyatt didn’t like any of the answers that popped into his head. All marriages had their ups and downs.



WHEN MIKE HAD TO GO talk to one of the parents who’d come inside to discuss his son, Wyatt was left alone with his troubling memories and his observations of Casey Sinclair.

Listening to her banter, he soon realized she had an easy rapport with the kids, and yet she made clear who was in charge. The careful way she set up her camera reminded him of Angela. Although his wife had always been a bit detached. Even intense. In spite of it her results were stellar; everyone loved her work. People recommended her to their friends, and her reputation spread. Wyatt had been very proud of her.

Would Casey’s work reflect a more casual style? Or was she casual? Wyatt watched her grow still once she had just the right pose in her viewfinder. Again similar to Angela. Except there was her teasing smile to coax the kids.

It wasn’t until Casey dismissed the last of her groups that another remarkable thing struck Wyatt. For at least ten minutes he’d been thinking objectively about Angela without all the guilt that had become second nature to him over the past year.

Letting his chin drop, he flexed his fingers as he stared at the floor. Should he be losing those feelings? Guilt returned in a rush, and he welcomed its punch. Angela had given so much for her art. She ought to be the one left behind to keep Keene Studio going. Not him.



CASEY HELD HER HEAD high as she approached the sullen man she hoped would give her a job.

“All finished,” she said, injecting a chipper note in her voice. She waited until he looked up, gestured them to the other side of the gym where both the swimmers she’d photographed and the baseball jocks were scattering.

Wyatt blinked once, as though clearing away his private thoughts, then rocketed to his feet. “I see you managed that in record time,” he said, checking his watch.

“You think I went too fast?” Casey hated sounding defensive, but darn it, that was how he made her feel. “I had a look back at the last few frames,” she said, moving in close enough so he could see as she clicked through the final photos she’d taken. “They’re pretty good if I do say so myself,” she added more confidently.

“I wasn’t complaining about your speed.” Uncomfortable with how close she’d gotten—he could detect the light, sweet scent of her shampoo—Wyatt raked a jerky hand though his short hair. He dropped to one knee and started fitting his collection of cameras in the black case that sat open on the floor next to him.

Casey cleared her throat. She wasn’t sure what to expect. Was this the whole interview? Would he tell if she was still in the running? Would he pay her for today as promised?

Shifting from foot to foot, she finally blurted, “So what happens now?”

Wyatt slowly lifted his head. “You may go if you like. There’s no need to help me pack my equipment.” His tone was as cool as the look he bestowed on her.

A faint frown creased her brow. “How should I handle printing the pictures I took? I have an old printer dock at home, but I can’t get anywhere near the quality you’ll want. Or do you not want these? Was this all a waste of time?”

“No, of course not. I hadn’t considered the printing. I guess you’ll have to give me your chip. I assume you have a spare. I can off-load the photos and have this wiped clean for you when you come in on Monday to see if there are any assignments.”

She popped out the chip and paused before dropping it in his outstretched palm. “I’m confused. Did you just offer me the job? And what do you mean, come in to see if there are any assignments? Your ad made it sound as if you needed a full-time photographer.” She paused again. “Coach Granville mentioned that your studio’s been closed. For a year, I believe. Does that mean you’re starting over, rebuilding your clientele? I’m afraid I need a steady income, Mr. Keene. Being on call won’t work for me.”

“Please…call me Wyatt. Bear with me if you will. I’ve never hired an employee before. When I ceased operations, uh, yes, approximately a year ago, Keene Studio was producing at peak. It will naturally take some time to reconnect with clients who’ve moved on to other studios. Uh…my specialty is sports photography. And animals. I don’t know if you’ve had any reason to look through ranch trade magazines. I did most of those photographs for local ranchers. Weddings, run-of-the-mill family portraits were handled by…” His voice trailed off, and his hands stilled until he hurriedly picked up more equipment, shoving things carelessly into his bag. When he spoke again, his voice was rough. “All domestic photos were done by…someone else.”

Casey waited, still unsure what he expected her to say. Was he suggesting that he outsourced weddings and portraits? Hired a freelance photographer? In that case, what exactly was he hiring her to do?

As time dragged on and Wyatt didn’t elaborate, Casey felt the need to remind him that she was still there—waiting for clarification. “When I worked at Howell Studios in Dallas, I had a full range of duties. I printed all my own pictures, as well as many shot by the studio owner, Len Howell. He trusted me to choose templates, crop, enlarge, lighten. You name it, I did it.”

“Yes, I remember you had a lot of experience, and you came highly recommended. I thought…well, my studio isn’t large. Until the business takes off again I don’t see any need for us to trip over each other. Not when I can just as easily start out doing most of the computer work myself. Those services you mentioned—cropping, enlarging, touching up—I can do those for now.”

“I see. I hope you don’t think I’m too pushy if I ask how you intend to make your business take off? Are you sending notices to former clients to let them know you’re back at work?”

“I haven’t yet, but I suppose I could send out a flyer. Do you really think enough people would pay attention?”

“I had something classier than just a flyer in mind. A beautician I know mailed four-by-six glossy postcards to previous customers when she returned to work at a new salon after having a baby. I did the photo and designed the card. We showed her working on someone at her new station. She said most of her old clients came back.”

Wyatt’s eyes lit momentarily. “It seems plausible. We…I…have a comprehensive database on everyone who used Keene Studio in the past.”

“I’d be happy to help do up a postcard. If you’d like me to, that is.”

His nod was slow to come, but just when Casey thought they were making progress, Coach Granville came back and again claimed Wyatt’s attention.




Chapter Two


“EXCUSE MY INTRUSION,” Mike Granville said to Casey as he placed a hand on Wyatt’s shoulder and drew him aside. Wyatt hung back though, and the men stopped to talk only a few feet from Casey. She wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but the coach made no effort to lower his voice.

“I’m assuming we’re finished here, Wyatt. Give me five minutes to make sure all the kids have left, and then I’ll be in my office. Stop by when you’re ready. I’ll give you a list of the parents who pre-paid for additional copies of the pictures you and Casey took today.”

“Sounds good, Mike. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Beginning Monday, Casey will be working with me,” Wyatt said with a quick glance in her direction. “I’ll probably continue to take any future sport photos you need. I thought I should let you know that my studio is going full service again. If you hear of anyone who’s looking for a photographer perhaps you could pass that on.”

“As a matter of fact, my wife’s parents are celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary at the end of this month. The other day I overheard Pat and her sister, Anna, making plans for a big blowout. If they haven’t booked a photographer yet, I’ll have Pat call the studio. Or is it better to drop by your house like I did?”

“Either. I need to get back in the habit of keeping regular studio hours. Or maybe I’ll split the in-studio time with Casey,” he added, as if in an afterthought.

Still listening, although she’d begun to collect her equipment, Casey couldn’t help feeling hopeful. Splitting studio time sounded far more promising than checking in for assignments.

Did that mean Wyatt Keene had had a change of heart? She hoped so.

The men wound down their conversation and Mike went out a back door, presumably to scour the locker rooms for any stragglers. Wyatt walked out on the court and began breaking down his tripods and folding light bars. He acted surprised to find Casey still there when he returned for the case of cameras he’d already packed.

“I thought you’d left. But I guess we didn’t set a time on Monday for you to come in. Is ten o’clock too early?”

“Ten is fine.” Casey waited, but Wyatt didn’t seem inclined to say anything more and turned to go. “I hate to sound crass,” she called, “but my understanding was that I’d be paid for helping out with your shoot today.”

“That’s right!” Wyatt dropped one case with a thump and awkwardly patted his clothing. At last he dragged a crumpled envelope out of his back pocket. “Greg gave me a check before I left his office the other day. Greg Moore. He’s my accountant,” he said by way of explanation. “Well, we’ve been best friends since college.” He broke off, looking uneasy, as if he’d shared too much personal information.

“I meant to let you know that in the future Greg will mail your paychecks. So if you move from your current address—not that you will, but if you do—he’s the one who needs that information.” Wyatt made a halfhearted attempt to smooth the wrinkles from the envelope before handing it to Casey.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She glanced down, then back up, into his eyes.

“You know,” he said, speaking slowly and deliberately, “it just crossed my mind that instead of driving from Round Rock to Austin every day to see about work, in the beginning, anyway, perhaps you’d rather I called you if I’ve booked any sittings.”

“So, I’m hired, but I wait until you get in touch to say there’s a job for me to do?”

“For the time being I think that makes sense, don’t you?” He gathered his cases again.

“I’m not sure. How much will I earn?”

“Greg suggested a seventy-thirty split of the fees charged for your jobs. Once we get up to speed and you take on more sittings, we can renegotiate. Is that suitable?” Appearing antsy as he waited for her agreement, Wyatt backed toward the door.

Casey caught up quickly. “I don’t know if that will work for me. I need a job that can provide me with steady income from the get-go. This check you gave me today may keep my phone and electricity from being cut off,” she said with a nervous laugh, “but it won’t pay the mortgage that’s due at the end of next week.”

Wyatt stopped halfway out the gym door. “That’s a joke, right?” He frowned in confusion. “Mike heard you tell one of the students that you’re married. What about your husband, Mrs. Sinclair? Is he out of work?”

Casey winced as she stared into Wyatt’s dark, suddenly wary eyes. The whole miserable truth about her situation was on the tip of her tongue—every sordid detail about how Dane took off with his frat buddies, leaving her pregnant and dead broke. But she felt a rock wall go up between her and Wyatt Keene, and the words died in her throat before she could speak.

“It is Mrs. Sinclair,” she managed to mumble. “Please, just call me Casey. And if you don’t mind, I’d rather we kept our private lives private.”

She tried to ignore the surprise on Wyatt’s face, and told herself she hadn’t lied—exactly. She was technically Mrs. Sinclair. Her divorce wouldn’t be final for a few weeks. And if Keene seemed to want her married, so be it. For all she knew, he had a jealous wife at home who demanded that kind of assurance.

She needed this job more than she’d ever needed anything. There’d be time to make a full confession after they’d worked together for a while. After Wyatt saw how competent a photographer she was.

Maybe she didn’t seem quite as competent now, with her sweaty hands slipping nervously along her camera and purse straps. Casey chewed the inside of her lip and held her breath. She knew she’d been abrupt, even a little rude, and she wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d changed his mind about hiring her.

He didn’t do that. In fact, he seemed relieved when he said, “A professional relationship suits me just fine. Tell you what, since money is an issue and I can’t afford to lose you over something so simple, I have a plan. Your suggestion of notifying my old customers makes a lot of sense. Go ahead and come into the studio on Monday at ten. I’ll have a complete list of former clients ready. I’ll pay you to put together and send out the type of postcard you mentioned. Do you have a computer?”

“It’s not state of the art, but yes.”

“Well, if your equipment can handle it, I guess you can do a postcard at home. It’ll save you the gas. I’ll have Greg cut a check for supplies. That’s the best I can do until orders start rolling in.”

“I’ll take it,” Casey said, grateful she wouldn’t have to give up the job before she’d started. Still, the lump in her throat got bigger instead of going away. She hated lying to her new boss—even by ommission. It niggled her into blurting, “I’d never expect to be paid for doing nothing. I promise I’ll give you fair work for fair pay.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Wyatt said stiffly as he held the door open wider and motioned for her to pass. After it slammed behind them, he issued terse directions on how to reach Keene Studio.

Casey took in the information, still gripping the envelope with the check. She walked quickly to her car without saying goodbye. She worried that if she didn’t get away, she might be sick on his shiny black boots and ruin everything they’d just agreed to.



WYATT STARED AFTER CASEY’S departing figure, and tried not to be concerned about what he was getting into as he loaded his gear into the back of his Subaru Forester. The woman seemed to be a bit odd. But certainly cute, as Mike had pointed out. Which had nothing to do with why he was hiring her. Wyatt couldn’t find one thing wrong with how she’d interacted with the kids, or with the glimpse he’d gotten of her pictures. And yet doubts about working with her swirled through his head.



CASEY HAD BARELY CLEARED the parking lot and turned the corner when her nausea made her pull over. She was thankful the clinic nurse had suggested carrying bags with her for the next few weeks in case morning sickness extended into all-day sickness.

Lord, she hoped it wouldn’t. If she could manage to survive on a partial wage until Wyatt’s business escalated, she might be able to get through the morning sickness without having to face too many clients, she thought as she waited for her nausea to fade, and for the shakes to recede.

Casey knew it wasn’t wise to remain parked so close to the school. Her new boss might pass and stop to see what she was doing. She needed a service station with a bathroom. No way could she drive all the way back to Round Rock with this taste in her mouth.

Determined not to worry about what she’d do if this morning sickness kept up, she pulled away from the curb and stopped at the first gas station to appear.

After sponging her face and rinsing her mouth, she actually began to feel human again. Casey found three broken crackers in a plastic bag at the bottom of her purse. She ate the pieces slowly, then couldn’t resist, and ripped open the envelope with the check. A hundred dollars. She squeezed her eyes shut with relief. Something to add to Wyatt Keene’s plus column—he was generous.

Driving home, Casey allowed her mind to drift back over the day. As well as generosity, Wyatt had everything going for him in the looks department. If he’d been off work because of illness, she couldn’t tell. He was robust, tan and all around fit. She’d admired the ripple of muscles when he bent to change filters. From any angle he was attractive.

Not that how he looked mattered. What mattered was if he liked the photos she’d taken today.

Since she was no longer nervous about being interviewed, Casey had time to ponder some of the unanswered questions she had about her new boss. Why had he closed a studio that was producing at its peak? She’d never pry, but she was curious. Or maybe it shouldn’t concern her.

But he seemed to jump right on her request to keep their private lives separate. What did he have to hide? Had he been in jail? The thought burst into her head.

Maybe he’d been in rehab for an addiction of some kind.

Stop jumping to conclusions, she warned herself sternly. In this case, guessing served no purpose. She just needed to dig in and do a good job. She and Wyatt could swap life stories later if they lasted as a team. Her energy would be better spent thinking about what he might say once she had to tell him she was pregnant and would need time off when she had her baby. A boss would have every right to be annoyed with an employee for not mentioning that during an interview.

Casey pressed a hand to her still-flat stomach. She needed time. Time to save money to buy a few baby supplies. And pay for the delivery. At the clinic, her exams were free, but there would be a fee at the hospital. All she could do now was hope for a lot of work and several months to squirrel away some savings.

The only thing for her to do was work hard on each job, and stay out of Wyatt’s way as much as possible.



IT WAS AFTER TEN Monday morning before Casey managed to stop throwing up long enough to shower, dress and haul herself out to her car. She felt worse than a cat dragged backward through a knothole. Probably looked like it, too.

Her stomach still felt awful as she drove up the on-ramp to the highway. Her cell phone rang unexpectedly. She pulled over to the shoulder and fumbled the phone out of her purse. She couldn’t imagine who’d be calling. “Hello,” she snapped, louder than necessary.

“Casey? It’s Wyatt Keene. Where are you? I thought you were going to be here at ten.”

“I’m on my way. Traffic,” she added hastily. “In the future I’ll have to allow more time for it.” She glanced in the rearview mirror and made a face because she realized her tone had been too harsh. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bite your head off,” she said, trying to sound pleasant. “I pulled off the road to take your call. I thought maybe it was an emergency.”

“No, nothing like that. I don’t mean to rush you, but I just got a call from a horse breeder I worked for a couple of years ago. Bill Morrisette. He wants me to come out to his ranch and photograph a horse he plans to advertise at stud. It’s quite a drive to his spread—I figure it’ll take three hours. I told Bill I’d check with you, then let him know when I’ll be there. He needs to groom the stallion—you know, gussy him up for pictures. Take your time. Drive safely. There’s no huge rush or anything.”

Casey thought about the directions he’d given her to the studio. “I should arrive in twenty minutes. Twenty-five at the most.”

“Okay. I have a set of keys to the studio for you. I was wondering…I know we said you’d work on the notices at home…but since Bill phoned here, maybe other clients will, too, given that the number’s still in the phone book. If you don’t mind holding down the fort, we may pick up a few more jobs even before our notices go out. You’ll be paid for the hours, of course.”

“Sure, no problem. Will you have a minute to show me how your calendar’s set up? I know how we booked appointments at my foster parents’ studio, but yours may be different.”

“Is that who I spoke with in Dallas? The man who gave you glowing references was your foster parent?”

“If you talked to Len Howell, then yes. He and his wife, Dolly, own the studio. She mostly keeps the books and answers phones. I know it seems sketchy having him vouch for me, but I majored in photography at college. Besides, Len and Dolly wouldn’t risk their reputation giving me references I hadn’t earned.”

“I wasn’t criticizing. I—Wow, you’re touchy. He did give you high marks, but I judged your work myself. I didn’t mean to imply anything negative.”

“I am touchy,” Casey said hoarsely. “And it’s important you don’t blame the Howells if I screw up on this job. They’re good, decent people.”

“Okay, I believe you.”

Casey caught a trace of humor in Wyatt’s tone. “Um…I’ll climb down off my soapbox. If that’s all,” she said with less force, “I’ll get back on the road.”

“Right. By the way, I’ve printed the pictures we took Friday. You’ll get a chance to see them before I send them out.”

“How are the ones I took?” she asked, holding her breath.

“Good. Great, in fact. Overall, they’re better than those I shot of the soccer squads,” he said, sounding a little chagrined.

Oops. Casey wasn’t sure it was smart to show up her boss right off the boat.

“It’s okay,” Wyatt added hastily. “Friday was the first time I’ve touched a camera in ages. It’s understandable I’d be rusty.”

“I imagine so. Listen, traffic is picking up. If you want to be home from that ranch before dark, I’d better get going.”

With a murmured “So long,” Wyatt clicked off.

Casey put away her phone, musing again that this man certainly ran hot and cold when it came to conversations. He’d been a whole lot friendlier over the phone than he’d seemed in person.



THE STUDIO, A LOW-ROOFED, brick-and-brown-sided building, sat between two gravel parking areas on a pleasant street lined with green, leafy trees. Casey didn’t know what they were, just that they weren’t pecans, like those in her front yard. She found the parking strip assigned to Keene Studio and pulled in.

She was prepared to have to knock to get in, but the door was unlocked, and she stepped into a small, but well-appointed waiting room. All four walls held sample photographs. A good variety, Casey thought after a quick appraisal. The smell of photo paper, the beautifully matted and framed prints, reminded her poignantly of Len and Dolly’s studio. For the first time since she’d left Dallas to follow Dane, Casey suffered a stab of homesickness so acute it gave her pause.

When she glanced up, she found Wyatt standing in the doorway behind a counter. Over his shoulder she glimpsed familiar signs of a work area. It had been too long since she’d been in one.

To hide her nostalgia, Casey turned back to the wall of photos, all bearing the Keene logo in gold foil. There were portraits of families in various settings. There were several weddings, some formal, others less so. The photographed animals ranged from domestic pets like cats and dogs, to a potbellied pig, a huge yellow snake, and of course, bulls, broodmares and stallions. Casey skipped over several action sports pictures in black and white to study an eleven-by-fourteen photo of a craggy-faced man seated on a tractor. His dog, a brown-and-white spaniel, sat proudly on his lap. “What great detail,” Casey murmured in appreciation.

“My father,” Wyatt said crisply.

On closer inspection, Casey could see the resemblance. She glanced around at Wyatt, expecting him to say more, but he motioned abruptly for her to follow him into the back room.

She stepped beyond the curtain into a compact work space with all the necessary equipment for a full-service studio.

“Before I take you on the grand tour, here are keys to both doors.” He handed them to her, then pointed out desks, computers, printers and racks of software. Wyatt reached through another curtained doorway and snapped on a light in the room beyond. “This space is set up for taking indoor pictures. That’s basically it, except for a bathroom down the hall. I told you it was cramped quarters,” he said, walking Casey out to the workroom. Stopping at one of the desks, he picked up two manila folders. “I made labels for the families of the kids we took pictures of Friday. The ones who preordered copies. Mike noted the team next to each name. Would you slip the pictures into these envelopes and slap on labels? If you can operate a postage meter, stamp them and take them to the post office. It’s on the northeast corner of this street.”

“I can do that.”

“You listed design experience on your résumé. I found some glossy card stock in the storeroom I think might work for the announcements we discussed. Must’ve been left over from a holiday open house we held here after we bought this building. Oh, and in this folder are names and addresses of all our old clients.”

He frowned so fiercely, Casey didn’t dare ask who the we might be.

“Is this your appointment calendar?” she asked, moving over to an erasable whiteboard hanging on one wall. The date showing was June of the previous year. Most of the day squares were filled and quite a few seemed double booked. The majority were weddings, but there were other events, too, like bridal showers and birthday parties.

Wyatt stepped between her and the board. He grabbed an eraser hanging from a chain, and with short, angry strokes, cleared the writing. Including the month and year. When everything was gone, he let the eraser fall. “I don’t expect you’ll have any calls for appointments while I’m gone. If you do, there are paper calendars by each phone. Use those, or leave a note on that desk.” He pointed to the smaller of the two desks that sat opposite one another in the middle of the room. “I need to get going. Any questions, jot them down and we’ll go over them later. There’s no need to stay until I get back. Let me know what time you leave, and check both doors on your way out to be sure they’re locked.” Grabbing the black bag that sat beside the exit, he left without another word.

She heard the door slam, and let the tension seep from the room before she released her own tightly held breath. “Phew, whatever I did to trigger that, I hope I don’t do it again,” she muttered. She unconsciously curved one hand over her stomach. It had started to churn as she watched Wyatt obliterate the writing on the calendar.

One thing had been clear from the appointments she’d seen, Keene Studio had been very, very active before it closed down. She wondered once again what had caused Wyatt to take such a long hiatus from a thriving business.

Maybe she ought to ask him outright. Wasn’t it natural to be curious? But he’d probably resent her questions. Better just to forget it. Because if she let her mind run wild, heaven knew what expectations she’d come up with.

Instead, she set about taking care of the chores he’d left for her. It was busywork, and that calendar, along with the comments Wyatt had made, bothered her. The collective we, for one thing. For another, on Friday he’d said he specialized in animals and sports events, so someone else did the weddings and family portraits.

Ninety-five percent of the appointments on the whiteboard had been weddings. If Wyatt wasn’t scheduled to take those pictures, then who was? Especially when he’d specifically said he’d never hired an employee before her.

Something didn’t add up. Casey paused in the middle of stuffing the envelopes, and rubbed her temples. Trying to figure out her new boss was too confusing.

She finished labeling the envelopes and gathered them up. On her way out to the post office, she paused in the waiting room.

With Wyatt gone, she was able to make a more leisurely circuit of the display photographs. The bridal shots were some of the best she’d ever seen. In no picture did the background detail detract from the main subject, a mistake too many amateur photographers were prone to make. Couples could pay thousands of dollars to have their special day preserved, only to be disappointed in the results. No, Casey couldn’t find a flaw in a single Keene portrait.

Which led her to wonder why the photographer no longer worked with or for Wyatt.

But she wasn’t being paid to analyze her employer or his freelancer. The pictures she’d taken Friday of the swim and baseball teams were excellent, too.

Deciding the mystery might have to remain a mystery, Casey locked the door and ran the stack of envelopes to the post office.

On her way back, she noticed that it was barely two o’clock, so she decided to stay until at least four-thirty or five to start designing an announcement for the studio’s reopening.

She hadn’t been away from the office more than ten minutes, was surprised to see the phone’s message light blinking when she let herself back in.

When she checked, the call turned out to be a hangup. “Shoot, I probably missed the one and only appointment.”

What if it’d been Wyatt, checking up on her? After that she could barely concentrate on the announcements. She didn’t want him thinking she was slacking off the minute his back was turned. But he’d told her to mail the photos…

As she searched the clip art files for a welcoming image for Wyatt’s former clients, she was startled by the phone ringing.

Casey almost fell in her haste to pick up the extension on the other desk.

“Hello,” she squeaked. Then, hoping to sound more professional, she added, “Keene Photography Studio.”

“Is this Casey Sinclair?” inquired a woman with a soft, melodious voice.

“Yes. Who is this, please?”

“Brenda Moore.” Casey didn’t recognize the name, so she was grateful when the woman added, “I’m Greg Moore’s wife. Greg is Wyatt’s best friend and accountant. I bet Wyatt hasn’t even mentioned us. Typical.” Her laugh was infectious.

“Actually,” Casey said, “he did mention you. If you’re calling to ask about my tax withholding form, I filled it out and dropped it at the post office today.”

“Oh, no. I stay out of Greg’s business. I have my hands full at home raising our two-year-old triplets.”

Casey’s gasp was audible. “Sorry,” she said hastily. “I’ve photographed twins that age. Wiggly, squirmy, each running in a different direction. Three must be hugely challenging. Rewarding, too,” she said quickly, not wanting to insult her boss’s friend. “I only meant they must keep you busy.”

“They certainly do.”

With that, Casey heard Brenda cover the receiver and order someone to put down the dinosaur and stop hitting his brother. For several seconds Casey’s ears were filled with sounds of stereophonic crying.

“Mrs. Moore. Brenda,” she finally said loudly, “Wyatt’s not here. He’s photographing a horse for a customer and will be gone most of the day. I’ll be glad to leave him a message for you. By the way, did you try earlier? I missed a call when I ran to the post office.”

“That was probably me. But it’s not Wyatt I want. It’s you. Greg’s birthday is in a few weeks. I thought it would be nice to give him a photo of me with the boys. They’re growing so fast. The snapshots we took when they were babies don’t even look like them anymore. Would you be able to come to my house this week? The boys will be easier to handle in a familiar place.”

“Uh, wouldn’t you rather have Wyatt? I mean, since he knows you and your boys.”

“Truly? No. Wyatt hasn’t popped the cap off a camera since…well, it’s been too long. All his friends are delighted he’s going back to work. But having a portrait done for Greg’s birthday has been on my mind for a while. So when Greg told me Wyatt hired you, I thought it was perfect. Will you come?”

“If Wyatt okays it. This is my first day on the job. Frankly, I’m not sure how much booking Wyatt wants me to do. We haven’t really sat down and talked about my duties.”

“According to Greg, Wyatt needs all the clients he can get. Greg asked if I’d pass the word among our friends. There are a dozen or so couples who hang out together. We’re all University of Texas alumni, so we go back a long time. Of course, our group did include Wyatt and Angela.”

“Wyatt and who?”

A low hiss like a slow leak from a punctured balloon came through the receiver. Then silence. After an awkward moment, Brenda sighed in exasperation. “Hasn’t Wyatt told you about Angela? Mercy, he had to know her name would come up now that you’re taking her place at the studio. Leave it to a man to avoid unpleasant tasks. Listen, tell Wyatt that you’re coming to my house tomorrow at ten to photograph Eric, Emmett, Elliot and me. Is that okay with you, Casey? We’ll start with coffee and get to know each other.”

“If Wyatt wants me to take the assignment, I will, Brenda. Otherwise…”

“Fiddle-de-dee. It’s a paying job, so why would he mind? And promise me you won’t sit around stewing about Angela. I swear, men can be so obtuse. Oh, I don’t need to tell you. I heard you’re married. Yikes, I’ve gotta run. One of the boys fell, trying to bounce on the couch.” Brenda rattled off her address so fast, Casey barely had time to jot it down before the woman hung up.

But all at once her stomach pitched like it had earlier at home before she lost her breakfast. This time she managed to make it to the small bathroom Wyatt had pointed out in his quick tour. She held a wet paper towel to her face until the nausea passed.

Obviously Angela-of-no-last-name had taken those gorgeous photos hanging in the waiting room. It wasn’t very nice of Brenda Moore to drop such a bombshell, and then tell Casey not to stew. Who wouldn’t? Casey resolved she’d reserve judgment on Brenda. Wyatt had clearly fibbed when he said she was his first employee. Why? Why not admit he was replacing someone?

After that, Casey couldn’t focus. She decided she’d do better at home. Dashing off a note informing Wyatt of the appointment, she left both her home and cell numbers and said to call her if he didn’t want her going to the Moores’. Then she saved the announcement design she’d worked up to a disk, boxed the card stock, and took Wyatt’s list of former customers.

Halfway to Round Rock, she made up her mind that if Wyatt nixed her shoot with Brenda Moore, she’d dig deeper and find out everything there was to know about Angela.




Chapter Three


CASEY MISSED WYATT’S CALL the next morning. She’d gone to the store to replenish her supply of crackers, and he phoned her home number, not her cell. In his message, he sounded okay about her doing Brenda Moore’s photos. “Offer her a fifteen percent courtesy discount. I like to do that for friends,” he’d said.

It was a kind gesture. Casey hadn’t made any friends since she’d been in Texas. Most of the brewpub’s customers were guys—not that she’d had time for friendship anyway. Two of Dane’s buddies lived in the area and the three of them socialized while she ran the pub. Now she saw how isolated she’d become. It’d be great if she and Brenda Moore hit if off.

She’d worked until 2:00 a.m. finishing the cards for the reopening of Keene Studio. They looked great—bold black lettering on the gilt-edged cards Wyatt had found.

She went to bed confident the notices would go a long way toward rejuvenating Wyatt’s business. Unfortunately, sleep evaded her. She tossed and turned and finally got up at five, only to be hit by the worst nausea yet. Crackers didn’t help, nor did the ginger ale recommended by the nurse who answered the clinic hotline. When nothing eased her anguish, she cursed her ex-husband. Technically not quite ex. Her court-appointed lawyer said she had to give Dane time to contest the divorce. As if he would. The hard truth was that Dane had never wanted a wife.

Casey still felt ill when it came time to leave for Brenda’s. Her stomach protested as she climbed into her car. And why not? All she’d been able to keep down were a few crackers. She tucked a packet of them in her camera bag. If she didn’t need them, maybe they’d work to bribe the Moore triplets to sit still and smile.

The nurse on the hotline today had reiterated that morning sickness usually went away by the end of the third month. “Please, Lord, let it be sooner, like today,” Casey mumbled as she followed Brenda’s directions.

She found the street easily, but a closed gate blocked her path. Brenda hadn’t mentioned that she lived in a gated community. Rolling down her window, Casey managed a smile for the guard who stepped out of the security booth. “I’m here to see Brenda Moore.”

“Right,” the man said as he handed Casey a clipboard to sign. “If you’re from Keene Studio, Mrs. Moore is expecting you.”

Struck by a fresh wave of nausea, all Casey could do was nod. She was grateful the man took a minute to point out the shortest route so she could recover her composure. Her queasiness had subsided by the time Casey pulled up to a white, two-story home shaded by mature trees and surrounded by a manicured lawn. She parked to one side of a driveway that led to a three-car garage. The Moores might be best buds with Wyatt, but Casey let go of any notion that she and Brenda might become friends. It was obvious they traveled in different spheres.

She grabbed her camera bag and a few props and hurried up the steps to ring the doorbell. Prepared to wait, Casey jumped when the door was quickly thrown open by a harried-looking, slender brunette who held a shy-eyed boy on one hip. The woman grasped the shirt collar of a second tousled child. A third, identical to the other two, clung to her thigh, his big blue eyes glossy with tears.

“Casey Sinclair from Wyatt’s studio, I presume?” the woman said. “Please forgive us for being a mess. Believe it or not, we were picture perfect ten minutes ago. Then Elliot dumped two of my newly potted African violets on the living room carpet. Hadley, our old pug, kicked dirt all over the place. The boys had to be bathed again. Plus the dog.” Stepping back, Brenda ran a hand through her hair. “I must look a sight by now.”

“You look fine.” Casey stepped into a high-ceilinged entryway and shifted her equipment to shut the door behind her. She smiled at the boy with the most tears. He peeked at her, then quickly withdrew behind his mother.

“That’s Elliot, today’s troublemaker. Usually he’s the quietest,” Brenda said, rolling her eyes. “It’s probably a good thing I suggested you and I start with coffee. The boys weren’t pleased with a second bath, and this way they’ll have a few minutes to play and recover from their crying fits. Then they should be in a better mood for picture taking.”

“Wow, I hope I don’t have three at once. I couldn’t manage,” Casey blurted.

Brenda arched an eyebrow. “It’s a trial at times. Anyway, welcome to an average day at the Moore household zoo.” Easing down the boy she held, Brenda introduced him as Emmett. “And this is Eric. Boys, this is Ms. Sinclair. She’s going to take our picture for Daddy. But she and I are having coffee first, so you three can play for a bit.” She prompted the boys to wave to their guest before shooing them into a room filled with toys.

With the triplets occupied, she led Casey to an alcove where a small wrought-iron table was already set for coffee. A tray of sweet rolls sat in the center. “Take a seat and help yourself to a Danish,” Brenda said, pouring a cup of aromatic black coffee and holding it out to Casey.

The strong scent hit Casey like a brick. And the sight of the gooey rolls made her stomach curdle. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she jumped up. “Excuse me,” she said, doing her best to stifle a gag. “Please—I need a bathroom.”

With concern on her face, Brenda rushed her to a small, well-appointed bath off the entry. She stepped out and pulled the door shut to give Casey privacy.

Never more embarrassed, Casey lost what little was in her stomach. The ordeal lasted only a couple of minutes. After splashing her face with water and patting it dry, she peered sheepishly out the door. “I’m so sorry. You must think I have some nerve coming to your house ill. I promise, I’m fine. Nerves, probably. The coffee was…overpowering. I’ll pass on that, I think. But you go ahead. I…have a snack in my camera bag.” She knelt and retrieved her crackers.

Brenda’s eyes shone with sympathy. “How many months pregnant are you?”

“Oh, no…” Casey lowered her hands and quickly realized she was rubbing her stomach.

“Let me fix you a cup of ginger tea. Ginger works wonders to combat morning sickness.” Brenda escorted Casey back to the breakfast nook, where she whisked away the rolls and removed the coffee carafe.

“I—I…” Casey struggled for something to say while watching the wife of her new boss’s best friend fill a teakettle. Her pregnancy was so new, she’d assumed she’d have at least a couple of months on the job before anyone—like her boss—needed to know. “No, it’s just anxiety, really.” She tried again. “This is my first assignment.”

“When I introduced the boys I heard you say you hoped you wouldn’t have three at once. Besides, I was an ob-gyn nurse for eight years before I quit to have my kids. I’ve developed a sixth sense for spotting early signs.”

Casey sighed. “I, uh, haven’t told Wyatt I’m pregnant. I know I should have at the interview, but I was afraid he wouldn’t hire me. You’ve no idea how much I need this job.” She pursed her lips. “My husband…oh, this is more difficult than I’d imagined.”

The kettle whistled, and soon the spicy scent of ginger filled the room. Frowning slightly, Brenda set steaming mugs on two place mats. Sitting, she motioned for Casey to take the chair opposite. “Is he unemployed? Your husband?” She gently squeezed Casey’s hand.

Casey could have resisted anything but genuine sympathy. Her shoulders slumped. “Our divorce is pending. It’ll be final in a couple of weeks. I didn’t mention that in my interview, either.” She angled her chin defiantly. “I wasn’t trying to be sneaky. I didn’t think that part was relevant. It’s just…been a horrid few weeks.”

“I’m sure. Do you want to talk about it?”

Casey hesitated, but Brenda coaxed her story out. In some ways, it was a relief to finally confide in someone.

“I can’t believe he walked out the same day you announced your pregnancy. What a creep. No wonder you’ve developed morning sickness.”

“I’ll understand if you tell Wyatt about this. After all, you three are friends. It’ll be obvious, anyway…before long. I suppose it was foolish to hide the truth until I could prove myself and put enough money aside to have my baby. I think I’m being measured against some invisible standard Wyatt’s not sharing with me.”

“Angela,” Brenda said crisply, wrapping both hands around her mug. “She’s the invisible standard, I’m sure. You’re not the only one who’s held things back. Wyatt has, too.”

“Is Angela the one who took the gorgeous pictures in the waiting room? I don’t get it, though. At my interview he said I was his first employee.”

“Angela was Wyatt’s wife and business partner. She was never an employee. They got married right out of university.”

“Oh, wow!” This information seemed incredible to Casey.

Brenda held up a hand. “Wait. We need to talk, but let me check on the boys. They’re being too quiet.”

Casey sat contemplating this new information until she returned.

“Did she, uh, did Angela dump him?” Casey asked. Dane’s defection was still raw, so she could easily imagine how upset Wyatt would be if the same thing had happened to him. It would also explain why he hadn’t been able to face working for a year.

Brenda grimaced. “Yesterday, I spoke out of turn on the phone, and I felt guilty all night. Wyatt needs to tell you about Angela himself. But I truly doubt he will. And if I were you, I’d want the scoop.”

“I do, if it helps me understand him. That’s if he even speaks to me again after finding out that I didn’t tell him I’m going to have a baby in eight months.”

“It’s better that you didn’t. He probably wouldn’t have hired you.” Brenda took a deep breath. “Angela didn’t leave him. She died last year—and she was pregnant.”

“Oh, no! How awful.”

“It was very sad. They waited to start a family until Angela thought the studio was solvent. Losing her and the baby together was a double tragedy for Wyatt. All his friends are delighted to see he’s getting back to work.”

“How did she die?”

Brenda picked up her cup, then set it down. “I should’ve kept my mouth shut and let Wyatt tell you when he was ready. But if I don’t, someone else will think you know, and they’ll bring up Angela’s name.”

“If his old clients know the story, you’re probably right. If he has me stay, somebody’s bound to mention her, especially if she took their previous photographs.”

“Right. Okay, so Wyatt had always wanted a family. Angela…not so much. She was very focused on her career. She once thought she might be pregnant, but it turned out to be a false positive. A group of us women met regularly for lunch and in May last year she told us she wasn’t seeing a doctor again. She wanted to do a home test instead. Wyatt was bouncing-off-the-walls happy when that test was positive. He wanted her to cut back her work schedule immediately.”

Casey sipped her tea, unconsciously pressing a hand to her stomach. She didn’t know what was coming, but it obviously hadn’t ended well.

“Wyatt also wanted Angela to see a doctor right away. So did I. They’d still need to confirm the pregnancy and start her prenatal vitamins if nothing else, given how she skipped meals and worked really long hours. But it was almost June, peak wedding season. Angela sometimes had two weddings booked a day. And she could be stubborn. She claimed she felt fine, so she put off making an appointment.”

“What happened?” Casey pressed.

“Angela told Wyatt to get off her back, that she’d see the doctor in July. He stopped hounding her, but still offered to adjust his schedule to help her. Angela refused. She insisted they both keep to their respective schedules so they’d have more money to set up a nursery with designer furniture. She had a difficult childhood, so it was a big deal to her to be able to afford the best. And Wyatt would’ve given her the moon if she’d asked for it.”

“I’ve sensed that about him—that he’s generous.”

“He definitely is. And he took on more of the in-studio work. By mid-June Angela had lost weight, and was acting really crabby. Wyatt started insisting she see the doctor. To keep him from harping on it, she finally called, but couldn’t get in until the next day. About then, we women convinced her to take a couple of hours off and meet us for lunch. She finally relented. But she forgot she had a rural wedding booked. Because the wedding couple planned to arrive at their ceremony in a hay wagon, Angela asked Wyatt to take the job. Wyatt’s always been really good at photographing animals and she just wasn’t.”

“Did she have a car accident on the way to lunch?”

Casey was desperate to finally hear what had happened to her new boss’s wife—what had turned him from the caring man Brenda described to the scarred, grumpy one she’d encountered.

“No. Although that might have been more merciful. Wyatt left around ten to drive to Driftwood. Angela met us for lunch at noon, at her favorite restaurant. I should have picked her up, but I went ahead to deck the table out in pink and blue streamers. We’d decided to make it a surprise celebration. The lunch started out well, but before anyone’s food came, Angela complained of abdominal cramps. Gracie, another friend, grew concerned enough to phone the OB. The nurse said Angela needed to come in right away. We all wanted to drive her. She said it was probably gas and that we shouldn’t interrupt our lunch. Angela had trouble accepting help from anyone—even when she really needed it.” Brenda’s voice faded, and for a second, she was silent.

Casey reached over and gripped her hand, feeling tears gathering in her own eyes. “Don’t go on. It’s enough to know it ended terribly.”

“Yes. The OB was thirty minutes away. Fifteen minutes after she left us, Angela called 911 saying she was cramping so badly she couldn’t drive. Paramedics found her pulled over on the side of the road. It was already too late. She’d suffered an ectopic pregnancy and her fallopian tube had burst. She’d also miscalculated how far along she was. The E.R. doctor said she was nearer twelve weeks than the eight she thought.”

“I don’t know a lot about ectopic pregnancy. Is that always fatal?”

“No. A lot depends on the time, the fetus size. In Angela’s case, she hemorrhaged so severely the doctors couldn’t save her.”

“Poor Wyatt. I see why he closed the studio. He must’ve been dealing with an enormous amount of guilt.”

“He pulled back from friends and everything. We’ve all been so worried. He quit going to the studio and wouldn’t see any of us. Greg finally barged in to have him sign some checks, and found Wyatt in a remodeling frenzy. Greg’s secretary, Mary, had to phone all Wyatt’s clients and cancel the bookings. I know he felt guilty for being out of town, but there wasn’t anything he could’ve done…” Brenda’s voice trailed off.

“Even so, it makes me feel worse for not telling him about my pregnancy up front. It’s going to be a hundred times more difficult to tell him now.”

Brenda nodded. “But you know, Casey, you won’t start to show for another few months. In any other circumstances, I wouldn’t advise keeping something like this a secret, but Wyatt’s just opening up again. Would it hurt to keep quiet for a while? At least until you guys get the studio back on its feet.”

Casey shrugged. “I guess not. Though at my height, I may show sooner than other women.”

“True. I showed really early because I was carrying triplets. I took pains to buy clothes to disguise my baby bump. I still have them packed away. You’re welcome to them if you want them. Staying on with Wyatt would give you time to put some money aside—even if you decide to leave once he finds out about the baby.”

“That makes sense. And it’s kind of you to offer, but there’s no way your clothes would fit me. I might be able to alter them, but you may need your maternity clothes again.”

“Not a chance. Greg and I decided three kids are plenty. We’re not having more. Besides, I’m a fair hand with a sewing machine. I’m trying to think if any of my outfits couldn’t be altered. I’m sure they can all be made to fit you.”

“So…you think I shouldn’t tell Wyatt I’m pregnant even after I start to show? I don’t know, that seems deceitful.”

Brenda shrugged one shoulder. “You said you need the job, and I know Wyatt needs you. I’m not suggesting you never tell him—just wait until he’s had a chance to get comfortable working with you. It might not even take too long. You have a really nice, calm demeanor. The perfect fit for Wyatt.”

“I need to give this some serious thought, Brenda. And maybe you should withhold judgment on how perfect I am until after I photograph you and the boys.”

“Then let’s get this show on the road. Are you feeling better? Your stomach, I mean.”

“You know…I am. The ginger tea helped. I’ll have to buy some on my way home.”

“Take some of mine when you go. I’ve got lots.”

“That’s so kind.” Casey felt relieved after their talk. She understood Wyatt’s gruffness now. Plus, it was good to get a few things off her chest. Casey sensed a rapport developing with Brenda that she hadn’t expected. It would be lovely to have someone to confide in.”

“Let me go dress the boys in something suitable,” Brenda said. “If you help me keep them corralled, I’ll change my blouse and run a comb through my hair, and we’ll be set for pictures.”

“Why don’t I take a few candid shots of them playing? I need to check my meter against the lighting anyway, so that’ll give you a few minutes to yourself.”

“I could hug you. I’ll see if I have matching outfits that still fit them, other than the ones they and the dog got dirt all over.”

“It might go more smoothly if we include him in the pictures. I find that kids often act calmer around a favorite pet,” Casey said as they moved from the kitchen to the living room.

“What a great idea. Hadley was Greg’s dog before we got married. Greg would be touched to see him in the photos.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do. Oh, you have a brick fireplace. Great backdrop. I brought some silk squares to drape over your couch. I’ll hold off to see what goes with the outfits you pick out. I generally try a variety of backgrounds, but I lean toward natural, subtle textures. We can shoot several and see what suits you.”

“So far everything you’ve mentioned sounds great. I’ll probably want copies of every shot. Goodness knows what I’ll do with them all.”

“If the boys have grandparents, a nice photo of the kids alone would make a terrific gift.”

“Greg’s parents live in Florida, and they’re always begging for pictures. My mom doesn’t live so far off. Just a couple of hours away, in Kerrville, so she sees the boys pretty often. Still, I imagine she’d like a wallet photo to show her bridge group. Oh, and Greg’s mother’s birthday is the week after his. When will you have these ready for me to look at? I’ll need to drop by the studio without Greg knowing.”

“Wyatt’s probably going to do the finishing work. He said he would until the studio gets busier. I hope that’s soon. One of my favorite things about photography is helping clients select the best shots.”

“I’ll tell Wyatt I want you to help me.”

“No, don’t. He might think I instigated it.”

Brenda left then, and Casey bustled about checking the light. After the triplets and Brenda were ready, she put Hadley in the middle, petting him and made faces to make the boys giggle. “Perfect,” she murmured. “Brenda, you’re photogenic. I predict your husband and your family will absolutely love these pictures.”

“At this rate I’ll have to get a loan to pay for all the copies I’m going to want. I hope Wyatt knows what a gem he has in you, Casey. I wouldn’t have thought about including the dog in the photos. Details like that are what make you an invaluable partner.”

“Employee,” Casey hastened to say. “Don’t use the term partner around Wyatt, please. That would surely remind him of Angela, and I wouldn’t want him to think I was trying to take her place.”

Brenda started to comment, but was interrupted by Casey’s cell phone. “It’s Wyatt,” Casey hissed. “I wonder what he wants.”

“Take the call and see,” she said drily.

Casey felt her nervous jitters return. “H-Hello,” she stuttered.

His voice boomed out through the phone. “Is everything all right at the Moores’?”

“Fine. Why?”

“The note you left said you were meeting Brenda at ten. It’s two o’clock now. If you’re going to take this long on every appointment, I’ll have to adjust our schedule.”

He spoke so loudly that Brenda no doubt heard. She grabbed the phone from Casey. “Wyatt, it’s Brenda. One of your darling godsons dumped two pots of African violets all over the carpet. The boys and Hadley had a grand old time playing in the dirt just before Casey arrived. No, it wasn’t funny. It meant the lot of them needed hosing down and the living room needed vacuuming. So it’s our fault the appointment’s run late. Don’t be chewing out poor Casey. She handled the delay like a pro. We’re almost done. But remember, this is a surprise for Greg. I’m buying an eight-by-ten for his office, a bigger one for over our fireplace, and different poses for Greg’s folks and my mom—at Casey’s suggestion. You’re lucky to have found her, Wyatt. She’s a keeper.”

There was silence, then Casey heard him say, “Tell her to stop by the studio before she goes home.”

With a self-satisfied smile, Brenda clicked off and passed Casey the phone. “Under all his growl, Wyatt’s sweet. Remember that, if he snaps. But don’t let him walk all over you, either.”

“I won’t,” she said, dropping down to fit her equipment back in her camera case. “If I can get past feeling so sorry for him for his loss. And if I can quit feeling guilty over lying to him.”

“It’s not lying. The way I see it, you’re saving him from making the bigger mistake of letting you get away. You know what? Legally, he can’t let you go because of your pregnancy. And knowing Wyatt as I do, I honestly don’t think he’d do that even if it hurts him to think of Angela when he sees you pregnant.”

Casey hugged Brenda. “I’m so glad you were my first assignment. Guilt’s been eating me up. You have a gift for putting things into perspective.”

“You deserve a break, and Wyatt deserves a chance to get back on his feet,” Brenda said, walking her to the door. “If you need me to smack that jerk ex-husband of yours, I’d be happy to.”

“I should have listened to my girlfriends. They tried to warn me not to trust him.”

“Don’t make excuses for the bum. Guys like that aren’t entitled to any.”

“You’re good for my ego. Next time I feel down, do you mind if I call you?”

“Not at all. Hey, why don’t I dig out that box of maternity things tomorrow, and we’ll set a date to go over them when I come to see my proofs. Out of Wyatt’s earshot, of course.”

The triplets toddled up and Casey dropped a kiss on each curly head. “I hope I have just one baby, Brenda, and that he or she is as cute and as healthy as your boys.”

“Thanks. I forget sometimes how cute they are. Incidents like this morning notwithstanding.” She laughed and the women said a final goodbye.



THE JOY CASEY FELT at making her first potential friend carried over, allowing her to sweep into the studio with a new bounce to her step. She set one of four boxes of announcement postcards on the counter. “I finished these last night, but I didn’t want to mail them until you had a look,” she told Wyatt as he emerged from the back room.

“You got them all done? Weren’t there about a thousand clients on that list?”

“Twelve hundred or so.”

Wyatt pulled one card from the box. “These look fantastic,” he said. “You must have worked all night on them.”

“That’s the way I am. Once I start a project, I like to see it finished. I probably only worked until midnight. And very likely I would’ve been up anyway.”

“A night owl, huh? Boy, I can relate.”

Casey felt her throat go dry. She swallowed hard and glanced away. He had no idea she knew why he spent sleepless nights. It made her feel ten times guiltier for knowing.

Wyatt seemed to have reached his limit for idle chatter. He cleared his throat and returned the card to the box. “Get them in the mail. I have an appointment in half an hour with a professor from the agriculture program at the University of Texas. They’ve sold the beef the students raised, but apparently have two promising young bulls they’d like to advertise in a stock magazine. It’ll take a little while, so I won’t be back here today. Please lock up when you leave. Forward any calls to my home. I wrote down how to do that, and left the note on my desk.”

“If you’re not coming back to the studio, should I print the photos I took for Brenda Moore?”

“I’ll do them tomorrow. You probably haven’t used my type of digital darkroom software.”

“I’ll bet I can figure it out. I used quite a few different programs in Dallas. I started working for the Howells when I was in eighth grade. And Len liked the latest, greatest innovations, too. Dolly teased him that they were going broke buying new stuff.” Thinking about the Howells sent a ripple of nostalgia through Casey.

Wyatt eyed her speculatively. “You certainly stuck with one job a long time. What made you leave it and move to Round Rock?”

Casey was sorely tempted to spill her guts. But remembering Brenda’s advice, she said simply, “I got married.” As she expected, Wyatt backed off from remarking on anything personal.




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