The Baby Album. Roz Fox Denny
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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