the man was, he was quite good-looking, Phaedra thought as she spun the lens into focus, snapping a quick shot and then a second. The trio seemed quite friendly with one another, clearly enjoying the events playing out in the center of the arena. And then, as if his radar had sounded an alarm, the man suddenly looked up, his gaze shifting directly toward her as if he knew she was staring at him. Phaedra lowered her camera abruptly, feeling as if she’d gotten caught with both hands in the cookie jar, her palms overflowing with her favorite oatmeal-raisin treats. She pulled her hands through the length of her hair. The moment was slightly unnerving.
From the ground below, Phaedra suddenly heard her name being called, the sound of it startling her from her thoughts.
“Phaedra? Is that you? Phaedra Parrish!”
Glancing below, she caught sight of the red-haired white man waving wildly for her attention. His own cameras hung down against his side as he struggled not to drop them. Phaedra’s eyes widened brightly, the familiar face warming her spirit.
“Hooper!” Phaedra squealed, waving back. She eased her way down from the bleachers to move to the man’s side.
With his mane of fire-engine-red hair and the pipe that hung from his mouth like an appendage, Hooper Mars was a welcome sight, looking more like a lumberjack right out of the thick of a deep forest than the award-winning photographer that he was. Hooper’s brilliant smile put Phaedra instantly at ease. As she stepped off the last plank, the man wrapped her in a deep bear hug.
Her mentor in art school, Hooper was single-
handedly responsible for Phaedra changing her major from creative writing to photography. The two had become fast friends, he challenging her creative spirit and she excelling beyond his expectations. Phaedra’s successful career had only been rivaled by his.
“Watch the camera!” Phaedra laughed, lifting the device above her head as she hugged him tightly.
“Nice equipment,” Hooper responded, eyeing her Canon 5D Mark II full-frame camera with its long telephoto lens.
Phaedra adjusted her Lowepro camera backpack against her shoulder. “Thanks. What are you doing here?” she asked, surprise still ringing in her tone.
“Working. You?”
“Not working!” Phaedra said with a smile.
“So, what brings you all the way to Dallas and to here of all places?”
Phaedra hesitated, her shoulders shrugging skyward. “I was just passing through town before I head to my next gig in Thailand and I heard about the rodeo. Thought I’d stop by to check it out. See what I might be able to shoot,” she said, hoping she sounded believable.
Her friend nodded his understanding. “I was really sorry to hear about your mother, Phaedra. She was a really sweet lady.”
Phaedra took a deep breath and forced her mouth into a slight smile. “Thanks, Hooper. And thank you for the flowers! I really appreciated you thinking of me.”
“Hey, what are friends for?” the man said. There was a sudden rush of noise behind them as the audience cheered something going on in the center of the arena. Both Phaedra and Hooper both turned to stare as a horse and rider went through their paces.
“I should be shooting this,” Phaedra said absently, her gaze shifting for a split second toward the stands and the men who were still sitting in observation.
“Speaking of shoot, I loved that LeBron James layout you did for Sports Illustrated. Creative, challenging, technically proficient. That was some nice work, woman. That shot where you had him hanging upside down from the basketball hoop was seriously dope!”
Phaedra turned her attention back to her friend. “Thank you! It was fun to do and LeBron was a dream client. So, what are you working on here?”
“I’m here to shoot the wedding.”
Phaedra eyed him curiously. “What wedding?”
“The Stallion wedding. I’m the wedding photographer.”
Phaedra laughed. “I didn’t know you did weddings.”
Hooper shrugged. “I usually don’t, not in a good long time, but I bend the rules for my very special friends. The bride,” he said, lifting his eyebrows, “is Joanne Lake. We were roomies for a short time back in Cali when she was going to art school and I was aspiring to make movies.”
“I didn’t know you made movies.”
Hooper laughed. “It was a very short porn career because I was very short.”
Phaedra shook her head, laughing with him. “So, this Joanne Lake is getting married to one of the Stallions?”
“Yep!” Hooper nodded. “The youngest brother, Luke Stallion. Great guy! They make a nice couple.”
Phaedra felt her heart skip a quick beat. Knowing where she fell in the lineup of Stallion offspring had been a point of angst for her mother. During their short tryst, James Stallion had been married, the truth of that coming as a complete surprise. Although he’d been separated from his wife during the time they were together, the revelation of his marital connection had not sat well with the matriarch. James returning to his wife and three older sons had been earth-shattering, completely devastating Arneta’s world. Now here Phaedra was, discovering that her younger brother was about to be married. She took a deep breath, holding it for a brief moment before blowing the air out slowly.
“Hey,” Hooper said suddenly. “What are you doing tonight? You interested in working?”
Phaedra lifted her eyebrows questioningly. “What do you need?”
“I have an assistant who will be helping me, but I could always use another photographer. You interested in working? I mean, since you already have your equipment with you.”
“At the wedding?”
“The wedding and the reception. You game?”
Taking another quick glance toward where the Stallion men were seated, Phaedra suddenly saw opportunity where none had existed before. Unable to resist, she took note of the handsome stranger one last time, then without a second thought nodded, her answer emphatic. “Yes!”
* * *
Joanne Lake stood in the center of the room, a hand fanning in front of her face as she tried to catch her breath.
“I swear,” she said, breathing heavily, “I’m so nervous that I can’t breathe!”
Marah laughed, moving to the young woman’s side. “I felt the same way when John and I were married,” she said, remembering the moment as if it had just happened. “Just take a deep breath, hold it and relax. Everything is going to be perfect.”
“Absolutely,” Joanne’s mother, Lillian Taylor, echoed as she slowly laced the back of her only daughter’s wedding gown. “Everything will be beautiful, ma fille chéri,” the woman said, the warm lilt of her deep French accent comforting.
Tears misted in Joanne’s eyes as she took in her image in the mirror. The
