The Baby Album

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.