“Please…call me Wyatt. Bear with me if you will. I’ve never hired an employee before. When I ceased operations, uh, yes, approximately a year ago, Keene Studio was producing at peak. It will naturally take some time to reconnect with clients who’ve moved on to other studios. Uh…my specialty is sports photography. And animals. I don’t know if you’ve had any reason to look through ranch trade magazines. I did most of those photographs for local ranchers. Weddings, run-of-the-mill family portraits were handled by…” His voice trailed off, and his hands stilled until he hurriedly picked up more equipment, shoving things carelessly into his bag. When he spoke again, his voice was rough. “All domestic photos were done by…someone else.”
Casey waited, still unsure what he expected her to say. Was he suggesting that he outsourced weddings and portraits? Hired a freelance photographer? In that case, what exactly was he hiring her to do?
As time dragged on and Wyatt didn’t elaborate, Casey felt the need to remind him that she was still there—waiting for clarification. “When I worked at Howell Studios in Dallas, I had a full range of duties. I printed all my own pictures, as well as many shot by the studio owner, Len Howell. He trusted me to choose templates, crop, enlarge, lighten. You name it, I did it.”
“Yes, I remember you had a lot of experience, and you came highly recommended. I thought…well, my studio isn’t large. Until the business takes off again I don’t see any need for us to trip over each other. Not when I can just as easily start out doing most of the computer work myself. Those services you mentioned—cropping, enlarging, touching up—I can do those for now.”
“I see. I hope you don’t think I’m too pushy if I ask how you intend to make your business take off? Are you sending notices to former clients to let them know you’re back at work?”
“I haven’t yet, but I suppose I could send out a flyer. Do you really think enough people would pay attention?”
“I had something classier than just a flyer in mind. A beautician I know mailed four-by-six glossy postcards to previous customers when she returned to work at a new salon after having a baby. I did the photo and designed the card. We showed her working on someone at her new station. She said most of her old clients came back.”
Wyatt’s eyes lit momentarily. “It seems plausible. We…I…have a comprehensive database on everyone who used Keene Studio in the past.”
“I’d be happy to help do up a postcard. If you’d like me to, that is.”
His nod was slow to come, but just when Casey thought they were making progress, Coach Granville came back and again claimed Wyatt’s attention.
Chapter Two
“EXCUSE MY INTRUSION,” Mike Granville said to Casey as he placed a hand on Wyatt’s shoulder and drew him aside. Wyatt hung back though, and the men stopped to talk only a few feet from Casey. She wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but the coach made no effort to lower his voice.
“I’m assuming we’re finished here, Wyatt. Give me five minutes to make sure all the kids have left, and then I’ll be in my office. Stop by when you’re ready. I’ll give you a list of the parents who pre-paid for additional copies of the pictures you and Casey took today.”
“Sounds good, Mike. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Beginning Monday, Casey will be working with me,” Wyatt said with a quick glance in her direction. “I’ll probably continue to take any future sport photos you need. I thought I should let you know that my studio is going full service again. If you hear of anyone who’s looking for a photographer perhaps you could pass that on.”
“As a matter of fact, my wife’s parents are celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary at the end of this month. The other day I overheard Pat and her sister, Anna, making plans for a big blowout. If they haven’t booked a photographer yet, I’ll have Pat call the studio. Or is it better to drop by your house like I did?”
“Either. I need to get back in the habit of keeping regular studio hours. Or maybe I’ll split the in-studio time with Casey,” he added, as if in an afterthought.
Still listening, although she’d begun to collect her equipment, Casey couldn’t help feeling hopeful. Splitting studio time sounded far more promising than checking in for assignments.
Did that mean Wyatt Keene had had a change of heart? She hoped so.
The men wound down their conversation and Mike went out a back door, presumably to scour the locker rooms for any stragglers. Wyatt walked out on the court and began breaking down his tripods and folding light bars. He acted surprised to find Casey still there when he returned for the case of cameras he’d already packed.
“I thought you’d left. But I guess we didn’t set a time on Monday for you to come in. Is ten o’clock too early?”
“Ten is fine.” Casey waited, but Wyatt didn’t seem inclined to say anything more and turned to go. “I hate to sound crass,” she called, “but my understanding was that I’d be paid for helping out with your shoot today.”
“That’s right!” Wyatt dropped one case with a thump and awkwardly patted his clothing. At last he dragged a crumpled envelope out of his back pocket. “Greg gave me a check before I left his office the other day. Greg Moore. He’s my accountant,” he said by way of explanation. “Well, we’ve been best friends since college.” He broke off, looking uneasy, as if he’d shared too much personal information.
“I meant to let you know that in the future Greg will mail your paychecks. So if you move from your current address—not that you will, but if you do—he’s the one who needs that information.” Wyatt made a halfhearted attempt to smooth the wrinkles from the envelope before handing it to Casey.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” She glanced down, then back up, into his eyes.
“You know,” he said, speaking slowly and deliberately, “it just crossed my mind that instead of driving from Round Rock to Austin every day to see about work, in the beginning, anyway, perhaps you’d rather I called you if I’ve booked any sittings.”
“So, I’m hired, but I wait until you get in touch to say there’s a job for me to do?”
“For the time being I think that makes sense, don’t you?” He gathered his cases again.
“I’m not sure. How much will I earn?”
“Greg suggested a seventy-thirty split of the fees charged for your jobs. Once we get up to speed and you take on more sittings, we can renegotiate. Is that suitable?” Appearing antsy as he waited for her agreement, Wyatt backed toward the door.
Casey caught up quickly. “I don’t know if that will work for me. I need a job that can provide me with steady income from the get-go. This check you gave me today may keep my phone and electricity from being cut off,” she said with a nervous laugh, “but it won’t pay the mortgage that’s due at the end of next week.”
Wyatt stopped halfway out the gym door. “That’s a joke, right?” He frowned in confusion. “Mike heard you tell one of the students that you’re married. What about your husband, Mrs. Sinclair? Is he out of work?”
Casey winced as she stared into Wyatt’s dark, suddenly wary eyes. The whole miserable truth about her situation was on the tip of her tongue—every sordid detail about how Dane took off with his frat buddies, leaving her pregnant and dead broke. But she felt a rock wall go up between her and Wyatt Keene, and the words died in her throat before she could speak.
“It is Mrs. Sinclair,” she managed to mumble. “Please, just call me Casey. And if you don’t mind, I’d rather we kept our private lives private.”
She tried to ignore the surprise on Wyatt’s face, and told herself she hadn’t lied—exactly. She was technically