THE LIGHTING in the old clapboard church was incredible. Michelle moved around the chapel, her cameras whirring as she recorded the wedding digitally and also on film. Of the four weddings she’d photographed so far on this assignment for Bride Magazine, this one was the best—at least photographically speaking. The magazine had offered florists across the nation a free ad for alerting the magazine to the most unusual wedding, and Michelle made a mental note to send Bloomers Unlimited a thank-you note. This wedding was fantastic.

      She had no clue if the bride and groom loved each other or had a chance at “happily ever after.” The truth was, she didn’t care. What mattered was capturing the image—that perfect blend of light, composition and human emotion, where one picture told the entire story.

      As she moved along the west wall of the church, flanking the bride, Michelle noticed the best man giving her the evil eye. In fact, he looked as if he was going to step out of his role as Confederate attendant to the groom and confront her. Had she not been so focused on her work, she might have found that idea a tiny bit thrilling. He was the antithesis of the men she knew in New York. He was rugged and self-contained, and for some reason, she thought of the old black-and-white reruns of Marshal Dillon on Gunsmoke. Too bad he was eyeing her like she was a horse thief he meant to hang.

      She tried to ignore him, but his steely gaze made her uncomfortable. Yes, she was an interloper at this wedding. What she offered this soon-to-be wife was something most brides would kill for—a featured photo essay in Bride Magazine.

      Michelle used only natural light, so the flash wasn’t an issue during the ceremony. Yet when she caught a glimpse beneath the bride’s veil, she saw a young woman clearly in despair. It made Michelle uneasy, but she continued to do her job. Heck, if Iggy Adams, her editor-in-chief, couldn’t talk the couple into signing a release to use the photos, they wouldn’t be used. No one wanted a lawsuit.

      When the groom lifted the veil, the purest light filtered in through a loft window, and Michelle snapped a photo that every photographer waits a lifetime to get. The groom bent to kiss the bride, and then it was over.

      Michelle sighed, wishing she actually knew this couple. But she’d never met them. As part of the deal she’d cut with Iggy, she had no responsibility to inform the bride and groom about the photographs. The whole idea of catching the bride and groom unaware—while it had yielded some of the best wedding photographs she’d ever seen—was still a bit strange. But that was Iggy’s problem. All she had to do was show up and get the pictures. Iggy would handle the sticky details.

      Speaking of moving on down the road, she had another wedding to shoot. It was time to book out.

      She picked up her camera bag and took long strides toward the exit, almost stumbling over a black cat, who stared up at her as if he had something to say.

      “Hey, kitty.” She bent to stroke his sleek fur, but his gaze never wavered. He watched her. Not critically, but with curiosity. Well, she’d always heard that curiosity killed the cat. Too bad she didn’t have a way to take this black beauty home with her to the Big Apple. He had the attitude and demeanor of the perfect roommate.

      When she walked outside, she was amused to see that the cat followed her. Maybe he didn’t have a home. She gave him a critical once-over. He was certainly well-fed and cared for. He had loving owners somewhere, but why was he attending a wedding?

      At the car, she popped out the digital memory card and stuffed it in her jacket pocket. She rewound the film in the other camera, put a sticky label on it and also put it in her jacket. As she reloaded her cameras and began to store them in the cargo bay of her car, the cat began to rub against her ankles and purr.

      “Excuse me, ma’am.”

      She turned to face the lean man who’d been in the wedding. His chiseled features were ruggedly handsome, and his assessing gaze made her feel as if her blouse was unbuttoned. “Yes?”

      “I’m afraid I can’t let you leave here with those photographs,” he said. His soft drawl belied the deadly sincerity in his eyes.

      Michelle pushed her long red hair back. “My boss will be in touch to get all the necessary release forms.”

      “Your boss?”

      “Iggy Adams, with Bride Magazine. We’re doing a feature article on brides in out-of-the-way places. Blakely State Park down here in Spanish Fort, Alabama, is pretty darn out of the way.”

      “I’d like the film and the digital memory cards, please.”

      The man was made of ice. He acted as if she’d held up a bank or something.

      “That’s not going to happen.” She started to slam the cargo-bay door when the cat jumped in. She reached in to remove the cat, and the man put his hand on the door, blocking her.

      “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you have to give me those photographs.”

      Whoever he was, he was trained to show no emotion. He acted as though he were asking for a piece of gum. “Those photographs are my property,” she said coolly. “Now, if you want a court case, try to take them.”

      “No, ma’am. We don’t want a court case at all. I just want those pictures. You had no right to take them.”

      “Look, I agree that the whole idea of photographing the wedding without notifying the bride and groom is a bit strange, but so far, every couple has been thrilled to be in Bride Magazine. The bride and groom will have total say over which photos are used.”

      “You don’t understand.” The man’s jaw tensed as he spoke. “Those photographs won’t be used at all.”

      She took a breath. “Iggy won’t use them if the couple refuses to sign a release. That’s between them and the magazine. But Iggy paid me to come here. I’ve spent at least a week of time, not to mention airfare and hotels. I’ve got to take something back to show for the expense.”

      She was out of breath when she finally