- -
- 100%
- +
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.”