The church filled up fast. Two of the bridesmaids got held up in traffic and were late, making everyone antsy.
Casey took pictures of the bride and her other attendants getting dressed. She was relieved to see the stragglers blow in, complaining about the worsening weather. Julie glowed like all brides. Luke was a mess of nerves, but for the most part the couple held up well during the prewedding photos.
“I set up the video camera in the church balcony like you asked,” Wyatt murmured, pulling Casey aside as the bridal party prepared to walk down the aisle.
“If you keep an eye on the video, I’ll grab the flash-less camera and sneak up behind the pulpit to get better pictures of the couple when they say their vows,” she answered.
Wyatt didn’t mention the weather, but it was on his mind. He’d glanced out front a few times and thought the sidewalk appeared slicker. Not that there was anything he could do about that now.
Julie Adison’s dad, the statesman, rose at the end of the ceremony and advised people not to linger at the church. “We want everyone to enjoy the meal and dancing at the club. Drive carefully, please. We also want everyone to get home safely.”
IT WAS GOOD ADVICE, Casey thought as she pulled into the golf club parking lot. Sleet blew in circles. She ducked her head and hurried to the shelter of the lobby. “Look,” she said, grabbing Wyatt’s sleeve when he joined her. “Your jacket and my shawl are stiff with ice just from the short walk in. How do you feel about doubling up so we can shoot the required photos faster? Let them party all night if they’d like.”
“I’m good with that. I want you to get home out of this mess before they close the highway. There’s apparently black ice. I don’t like the thought of you driving on that in the dark.”
Casey was touched by his concern. “I’ll be careful,” she promised.
The two of them set about working in tandem, the way they had at the Granvilles’ anniversary party. Casey stopped worrying that she’d pushed Wyatt into something that would make him unhappy. He seemed to be doing fine.
“Done,” she said at last, once they’d checked off everything on her list.
“Let’s go. I already made our excuses to Julie and Luke. I promised her parents proofs by Monday afternoon, so they’re satisfied, too.”
Wyatt helped Casey with her heavy shawl, then shrugged into his coat. He carried all of their equipment; Casey had the umbrella and one small bag. Once out of the front door, she slipped and almost fell down the steps to the parking lot. Wyatt quickly dropped his load and grabbed her arm, sliding a hand half around her waist to steady her. “Careful,” he said, sounding breathless. “Are you okay?”
All Casey could do was worry about whether or not he’d noticed her thickening waist.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Thanks. I’ll see you Monday.”
Taking care where she stepped, she made a beeline for her car. They’d parked next to each other. She got in to warm up her vehicle, leaving Wyatt to load their gear into his SUV. But when she turned her key, nothing happened. She tried again. There was a rattle and a series of clicks, but her car didn’t start.
“You think it’s a bad battery?” Wyatt poked his head through her open door. “Slide out a minute. Let me try.”
Casey didn’t see what he could do differently, but she got out and huddled next to the car.
He tried several times. “I’m afraid it’s definitely your battery,” he said, passing back her keys. He paused for a second, staring at the sleet gathering on her eyelashes. Then he climbed out of her car. “Lock it up. This isn’t the night to try and find anyone to fix it. You can spend the night in my guest room.”
“I sh-shouldn’t,” she stuttered through frozen lips. “Oh, all right.” She capitulated when he glared at her. “Darned car. I have an appointment next week for Roy Mitchell to do a modified overhaul. I shouldn’t have put it off.”
“Good. I worry about you driving that thing around. It’s not safe.”
Casey settled into the passenger seat and warmed her hands over the heater. Beyond that, they spoke little on the drive across town. When Wyatt turned onto his street, he found his way blocked by a large branch that had broken off a tree. Other limbs littered the frosty blacktop. Swearing, he pulled over to the curb. He slid out, went around and helped Casey climbed down. Linking arms, they walked as fast as they could along the dark, treacherous road, arriving in his foyer drenched and out of breath.
“Your room is the first on the right,” he said. “Go see how wet you are while I start a fire in the living room fireplace. We may well lose power soon.”
“Do you, uh, have a robe?” Casey’s teeth chattered. But as she watched him pass the room he’d said was hers and enter another, she hoped he wouldn’t give her anything of Angela’s. The first thing she’d seen as he snapped on the living room lamp was a photo on the mantel of a woman who must be his wife. The late Mrs. Keene had olive skin and raven hair, and looked almost as tall as Wyatt. Casey was relieved to see that she really wasn’t his type. So even if she was attracted to him, he’d never be interested in her.
“I don’t own a robe,” Wyatt said, coming back and handing Casey a thick flannel shirt instead. “It’s clean and dry. Don’t scowl. It’s the best I can do. And it’ll hang past your knees so don’t be shy. Damn, there goes our power,” he muttered as they were suddenly plunged into darkness. “Give me your hand. Here’s a flashlight I grabbed while I was in my bedroom. I think there’s wood laid in the fireplace. After you change, come out and get warm by the fire.” He snapped on the flashlight, and all Casey could think was how ghoulish they both must look in the sickly yellow light. She tried to ignore that inner voice screaming that the jig was up.
But it was no use. Supposing she could even button Wyatt’s flannel shirt around her expanding waist, there’s no way she could hide the bulge of a baby who had already begun to kick.
It was all too much. Tonight’s disaster was the final straw. Clutching the shirt and the wobbly flashlight, Casey slid down the wall to the cold wood floor. Feeling damp and chilled, she laid her head on her knees and began to cry.
CHAPTER NINE
“WHAT IS IT, CASEY?” Wyatt dropped to his knees beside her and gently stroked her back as she sobbed. “Are you hurt?”
“No. No. No.” She shook her head, apparently unable to say more.
“Then what’s the problem? I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”
She hugged his flannel shirt to her breast. “If I wear this, Wyatt, you’ll see what I’ve been keeping from you from day one.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m pregnant, Wyatt. My baby’s due in February.”
The house was so still, Casey’s tearful confession might as well have been screamed. Wyatt jerked his hand away and bounded to his feet. The beam from his flashlight bobbed wildly across the cream-colored wall. His first reaction was disbelief. Followed by a sense of betrayal and jealousy mixed with…anger. Yes, anger. He’d become possessive of her. He shouldn’t have, but it’d happened.
Casey angled her own flashlight better to see Wyatt’s face. She wanted to explain. “I knew things were wrong in my marriage. When I found out I was having a baby, I thought the news would make Dane happy, would settle him down. Instead, he said awful things and left. He’d already made plans to sell the pub and leave me.”
When Casey paused for breath, she realized she was wasting her time. Wyatt’s disbelief changed to the anger she’d had nightmares about. He thought he’d been deceived. And why not? She should have told him the whole truth from the beginning. She knew it. Had always known. Deep down, she’d known how it would all end. Just as she’d known she couldn’t let her heart be shredded again.
Struggling to her feet, she knocked into a still-stunned Wyatt as she bent to grab her dripping shawl. Flinging it around her head and shoulders, she gathered what remained of her pride. “Don’t worry about how you’re going to fire me, Wyatt. I quit.
Greg can send my last check to my home address. You can keep my camera until you upload tonight’s wedding photos.” Wrenching open the front door, she fled into the sleet-slicked night.
Wind whipped down the hall until the door closed behind her. Wyatt had difficulty making sense of what had just happened. He hadn’t processed a word after Casey dropped the bombshell that she was pregnant. He berated himself for missing the signs that now seemed obvious. The ginger tea. The shapeless clothing. More to the point—why hadn’t she told him months ago? But he knew. He wouldn’t have given her the job. My God, he’d sent her running all over town. There were risks associated with pregnancy. He knew that better than anyone. And he’d condoned her driving that wreck of a car back and forth in all kinds of weather.
His gut twisted at the thought of what could have happened. Almost simultaneously, he realized how much his personal feelings for Casey had grown over the past few months. He looked forward to her arrival at the studio every morning. She had an infectious laugh that had brought joy back into his life. In the short time that he’d known her, she’d chased away the worst of his depression. He couldn’t stay mad at her. Uncurling his fists, he said her name—to begin making amends. “Casey…”
He slowly shook himself out of his stupor. Casey wasn’t there. She’d left in a huff. To go where? And how? Her car was still at the resort.
“Lord have mercy!” Patting his empty pockets for his keys, Wyatt thought about the ice storm and the broken branches blocking his street.
Casey was out there somewhere. With fear gripping his chest, he finally found the flashlight he’d dropped on the floor, and located the car keys he’d tossed on the credenza in his entryway. Not bothering to stop for his jacket, Wyatt raced out of the house. What the hell had Casey meant, saying she quit? He forced himself to concentrate on keeping his balance on the icy asphalt.
Wyatt fully expected to meet Casey coming back. With no transportation and only a shawl to protect her from the weather, surely she’d understand that her only option was to return to his house.
But his street was abandoned. Wyatt flashed his light into the line of trees on either side in case she’d taken shelter from the howling wind.
There was no sign of her.
Ice crystals stung Wyatt’s face. In minutes, he was wet to the skin. Casey’s shawl had been soggy to start with; her flimsy shoes were only for show. Wyatt didn’t like thinking about how cold and wet she’d be by now.
He hurried down the block to the first intersection. Stopping, he wheeled one way, then another. His heart banged like drums in his ears as his breath escaped in frozen white puffs. Wyatt had no idea which street Casey had taken. And when had he seen a blacker night? No streetlights, no moon. Not a soul in sight.
Slipping, sliding, half falling, he made his way back to his SUV, gunned the engine and backed up the street, his wheels spinning. Turning around, he found a clear route back to the intersection.
Once there, he sat and drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel. He’d recently read an article in a magazine that said people tended to automatically turn in the direction of their dominant hand. He would’ve turned right, but Casey was left-handed. Wyatt had watched her work around the studio—had watched her a lot—and he’d grown used to placing her mug of tea on the left side of her computer.
Praying the article was correct, he turned left. At first, as his gaze followed the path illuminated by his headlights, Wyatt feared he’d guessed wrong. Then, he saw her. A small figure in the distance, struggling uphill against the wind. His relief was enormous until he saw her slip and go down hard on one knee.
Wyatt stepped on the gas, trying to speed to her rescue, and almost spun out. His damp hands had trouble holding on to the steering wheel.
Her fall, however, allowed him to catch up.
OVER THE STINGING, WHISTLING wind, Casey heard a car approaching. She turned to look, half hopeful, half afraid it might not be a Good Samaritan. Recognizing Wyatt’s SUV, she whipped back around, but slipped and fell again.
Sensing him as he stopped next to her, she picked herself up and did her best to look dignified as she marched along the slippery sidewalk away from him. It was a pathetic attempt, and sapped her breath.
Rolling down his window, Wyatt discovered he didn’t know what to say. He was afraid of screwing things up worse, so he got out of the car and scrambled after her. Catching her by the elbow, he brought her to a halt. “Casey, it’s twenty degrees out here. I’ll grant you I was shocked by what you told me. I acted like a jerk and I’m sorry. I…please come back to the house. We’ll dry off, get warm and talk rationally.”
“I am rational. I haven’t been until now, but I suddenly am,” she said, wiping a hand over her face. “It’s freezing. I have no right to ask, Wyatt, but will you give me a lift to my car? I have Roy Mitchell’s card in my glove box. Maybe I can talk him into coming to get me. It shouldn’t take long for him to install a new battery so I can go home. I…I need to do that.”
She was shivering so hard she was stuttering. Wyatt knew she hated to ask him for help. He saw what it cost her and was humbled. He released her elbow to grasp her hand and held on. By force of will he kept them both on their feet as he helped her downhill to where he’d left the SUV. Once they were settled inside and he’d turned up the heat, he pointed out the windshield. “Look around, Casey. The whole city’s covered in ice. I don’t want to seem like I’m bullying you, but it’s too risky to drive to the resort. Riskier still for you to drive to Round Rock tonight, even if Roy agreed to fix your car, which I sincerely doubt.”
Casey sat back in the passenger seat with a weary sigh. “You’re right. It was dumb of me to run out. I’m not usually so irresponsible,” she said, closing her eyes. “At least I wasn’t before I started working for you.”
Wyatt said nothing. He concentrated on conrolling the SUV on the slick, downhill stretch of road. Faced again with the blocked street, he got out and muscled the huge branch aside, clearing enough space to drive on the shoulder. A spot where he could maneuver around smaller broken branches. He navigated the stretch slowly and eventually made it home. Punching his garage door opener, he swore when it didn’t work. He climbed down and opened the door by hand, then drove in out of sleet that had begun to freeze on his windshield.
After rounding the Subaru to open Casey’s door, he said, “The power is likely to be out awhile, but I’m betting there’s enough hot water left in the tank for you to warm up with a shower. I’ll change my clothes after I start that fire I promised you.”
The entrance from his garage led to the kitchen. Casey stopped just inside the door. “I feel awkward coming back here, Wyatt.”
“Awkward or not, there’s no sense in either of us catching pneumonia. There’s a bath connected to the room I showed you. I, ah, believe the flannel shirt is still in the hall where you dropped it. I have sweats, but you’d swim in them.” He handed her a flashlight. “Go on,” he said gently. “I want to bring in extra wood for the fire.”
Her shoes were wet, so she left them by the garage door and made her way barefoot down the hall.
Wyatt watched her until the flashlight’s beam disappeared. He welcomed the darkness. A hundred unexpected emotions attacked him. The first was guilt at having a woman other than Angela spending the night in his home.
In the months after his wife’s death, he had painted away her influence on every room. Angela had liked hanging pictures of herself everywhere. He had cleared out all of them except for one he’d left on the mantel. As for their baby, he hadn’t kept a single reminder. He’d carted bags full of things to Goodwill, including the baby gifts Angela’s friends had given her at lunch the day she died. After seeing the first one, a rattle, Wyatt had left the others wrapped. The very thought of Casey being pregnant sent waves of fear shuddering through him.
Kicking himself into action, he went out to gather an armload of wood. He heard the shower running as he knelt to put a match to the dry kind
ling already set up in the fireplace. Once the first thin flame caught and the wood began to crackle, he stood and gazed at Angela’s photograph. He found it hard to believe that thinking about her didn’t hurt as much as it had a few months ago when Greg suggested reopening the studio. Nor did the house feel half as lonely tonight, he thought, as he went to his room and stripped off his wet clothing. For the past year he’d tried to understand why it had felt so lonely. Angela had spent most nights working late at the studio.
Even though he went to change several minutes after Casey’s shower shut off, Wyatt emerged before she did. It had grown so quiet in the guest room he wondered if she’d fallen asleep. Or was she hiding in there, avoiding the talk he’d suggested?
He was back in the living room, putting another log on the fire, when he sensed her presence. Replacing the poker in its rack, he got to his feet, and saw Casey peering around the door frame. In the flickering firelight, Wyatt saw that she was wearing his old flannel shirt. It barely buttoned over her rounded belly, but he pretended not to notice.
Casey gestured with a soggy bundle. “I left most of my clothes hanging in the bathroom to dry. If I may, I’ll set my shoes by the fire. It’s possible they’ll survive, although the soles are in danger of disintegrating. If you’ll point me in the direction of your laundry room, I’ll throw my, uh, undies in the dryer for a few minutes.”
“I’ll do that. You come sit by the fire.” Wyatt shook out an afghan lying on one end of the couch, as a means to entice her.
She wasn’t swayed. “I’d ra-rather, uh…You don’t need to take care of my personal things.”
“I’ve done lots of laundry in my life, Casey, some of it even ‘personal.’ But suit yourself. The washer and dryer are behind bifold doors at the top of the stairs.” He pointed the way, and Casey turned and skittered right up them. Wyatt couldn’t resist admiring the flash of bare legs as she climbed, holding her flashlight. Shapeless as his old shirt was hanging on her small frame, the hem hit her midthigh and left a tempting length of pale leg exposed. As much as Wyatt liked how Casey looked, the sudden curl of heat below the belt told him he probably ought to focus on something else. That was when he realized he’d been so busy ogling Casey’s cute backside, he’d forgotten the power was out.
The Baby Album Page 14