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 palm. “I’m confused. Did you just offer me the job? And what do you mean, come in to see if there are any assignments? Your ad made it sound as if you needed a full-time photographer.” She paused again. “Coach Granville mentioned that your studio’s been closed. For a year, I believe. Does that mean you’re starting over, rebuilding your clientele? I’m afraid I need a steady income, Mr. Keene. Being on call won’t work for me.”
“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
