She needed this job more than she’d ever needed anything. There’d be time to make a full confession after they’d worked together for a while. After Wyatt saw how competent a photographer she was.
Maybe she didn’t seem quite as competent now, with her sweaty hands slipping nervously along her camera and purse straps. Casey chewed the inside of her lip and held her breath. She knew she’d been abrupt, even a little rude, and she wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d changed his mind about hiring her.
He didn’t do that. In fact, he seemed relieved when he said, “A professional relationship suits me just fine. Tell you what, since money is an issue and I can’t afford to lose you over something so simple, I have a plan. Your suggestion of notifying my old customers makes a lot of sense. Go ahead and come into the studio on Monday at ten. I’ll have a complete list of former clients ready. I’ll pay you to put together and send out the type of postcard you mentioned. Do you have a computer?”
“It’s not state of the art, but yes.”
“Well, if your equipment can handle it, I guess you can do a postcard at home. It’ll save you the gas. I’ll have Greg cut a check for supplies. That’s the best I can do until orders start rolling in.”
“I’ll take it,” Casey said, grateful she wouldn’t have to give up the job before she’d started. Still, the lump in her throat got bigger instead of going away. She hated lying to her new boss—even by ommission. It niggled her into blurting, “I’d never expect to be paid for doing nothing. I promise I’ll give you fair work for fair pay.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Wyatt said stiffly as he held the door open wider and motioned for her to pass. After it slammed behind them, he issued terse directions on how to reach Keene Studio.
Casey took in the information, still gripping the envelope with the check. She walked quickly to her car without saying goodbye. She worried that if she didn’t get away, she might be sick on his shiny black boots and ruin everything they’d just agreed to.
WYATT STARED AFTER CASEY’S departing figure, and tried not to be concerned about what he was getting into as he loaded his gear into the back of his Subaru Forester. The woman seemed to be a bit odd. But certainly cute, as Mike had pointed out. Which had nothing to do with why he was hiring her. Wyatt couldn’t find one thing wrong with how she’d interacted with the kids, or with the glimpse he’d gotten of her pictures. And yet doubts about working with her swirled through his head.
CASEY HAD BARELY CLEARED the parking lot and turned the corner when her nausea made her pull over. She was thankful the clinic nurse had suggested carrying bags with her for the next few weeks in case morning sickness extended into all-day sickness.
Lord, she hoped it wouldn’t. If she could manage to survive on a partial wage until Wyatt’s business escalated, she might be able to get through the morning sickness without having to face too many clients, she thought as she waited for her nausea to fade, and for the shakes to recede.
Casey knew it wasn’t wise to remain parked so close to the school. Her new boss might pass and stop to see what she was doing. She needed a service station with a bathroom. No way could she drive all the way back to Round Rock with this taste in her mouth.
Determined not to worry about what she’d do if this morning sickness kept up, she pulled away from the curb and stopped at the first gas station to appear.
After sponging her face and rinsing her mouth, she actually began to feel human again. Casey found three broken crackers in a plastic bag at the bottom of her purse. She ate the pieces slowly, then couldn’t resist, and ripped open the envelope with the check. A hundred dollars. She squeezed her eyes shut with relief. Something to add to Wyatt Keene’s plus column—he was generous.
Driving home, Casey allowed her mind to drift back over the day. As well as generosity, Wyatt had everything going for him in the looks department. If he’d been off work because of illness, she couldn’t tell. He was robust, tan and all around fit. She’d admired the ripple of muscles when he bent to change filters. From any angle he was attractive.
Not that how he looked mattered. What mattered was if he liked the photos she’d taken today.
Since she was no longer nervous about being interviewed, Casey had time to ponder some of the unanswered questions she had about her new boss. Why had he closed a studio that was producing at its peak? She’d never pry, but she was curious. Or maybe it shouldn’t concern her.
But he seemed to jump right on her request to keep their private lives separate. What did he have to hide? Had he been in jail? The thought burst into her head.
Maybe he’d been in rehab for an addiction of some kind.
Stop jumping to conclusions, she warned herself sternly. In this case, guessing served no purpose. She just needed to dig in and do a good job. She and Wyatt could swap life stories later if they lasted as a team. Her energy would be better spent thinking about what he might say once she had to tell him she was pregnant and would need time off when she had her baby. A boss would have every right to be annoyed with an employee for not mentioning that during an interview.
Casey pressed a hand to her still-flat stomach. She needed time. Time to save money to buy a few baby supplies. And pay for the delivery. At the clinic, her exams were free, but there would be a fee at the hospital. All she could do now was hope for a lot of work and several months to squirrel away some savings.
The only thing for her to do was work hard on each job, and stay out of Wyatt’s way as much as possible.
IT WAS AFTER TEN Monday morning before Casey managed to stop throwing up long enough to shower, dress and haul herself out to her car. She felt worse than a cat dragged backward through a knothole. Probably looked like it, too.
Her stomach still felt awful as she drove up the on-ramp to the highway. Her cell phone rang unexpectedly. She pulled over to the shoulder and fumbled the phone out of her purse. She couldn’t imagine who’d be calling. “Hello,” she snapped, louder than necessary.
“Casey? It’s Wyatt Keene. Where are you? I thought you were going to be here at ten.”
“I’m on my way. Traffic,” she added hastily. “In the future I’ll have to allow more time for it.” She glanced in the rearview mirror and made a face because she realized her tone had been too harsh. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bite your head off,” she said, trying to sound pleasant. “I pulled off the road to take your call. I thought maybe it was an emergency.”
“No, nothing like that. I don’t mean to rush you, but I just got a call from a horse breeder I worked for a couple of years ago. Bill Morrisette. He wants me to come out to his ranch and photograph a horse he plans to advertise at stud. It’s quite a drive to his spread—I figure it’ll take three hours. I told Bill I’d check with you, then let him know when I’ll be there. He needs to groom the stallion—you know, gussy him up for pictures. Take your time. Drive safely. There’s no huge rush or anything.”
Casey thought about the directions he’d given her to the studio. “I should arrive in twenty minutes. Twenty-five at the most.”
“Okay. I have a set of keys to the studio for you. I was wondering…I know we said you’d work on the notices at home…but since Bill phoned here, maybe other clients will, too, given that the number’s still in the phone book. If you don’t mind holding down the fort, we may pick up a few more jobs even before our notices go out. You’ll be paid for the hours, of course.”
“Sure, no problem. Will you have a minute to show me how your calendar’s set up? I know how we booked appointments at my foster parents’ studio, but yours may be different.”
“Is that who I spoke with in Dallas? The man who gave you glowing references was your foster parent?”
“If you talked to Len Howell, then yes. He and his wife, Dolly, own the studio. She mostly keeps the books and answers phones. I know it seems sketchy having him vouch for me, but I majored