The Baby Album

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.