The Baby Album

by Roz Denny Fox

  His bed was wide and comfortable, and his body radiated heat. Sleeping in Wyatt’s arms gave Casey the best night she could remember. She could easily make a habit of sleeping with Wyatt—if only he loved her.

  DAYS LATER, IT SEEMED that the incredible, snowy night had created a noticeable shift in Wyatt’s attentiveness. Casey couldn’t put her finger on it, but he began accompanying her to wedding shoots without her asking. Although he still changed the subject whenever she mentioned anything to do with the baby, which was disheartening.

  The second week in December, she arrived at the studio later than usual. “I forgot to tell you I had a nine o’clock appointment at the clinic this morning,” she said, before Wyatt could ask where she’d been.

  “Is there a problem? You had a clinic appointment last Tuesday.”

  “I’m going every week from now until the baby comes.”

  “Oh,” he said when Casey went straight to work on a photograph.

  “Everything’s normal,” she told him when Wyatt said nothing more. “The nurse is pleased with my weight. She says I’ve done well, but I’ll need to be careful with Christmas around the corner. Speaking of Christmas, I finally put up a tree. I imagine, late as it is, you’ve already made plans to spend the holiday with friends.”

  “No, no plans yet. Uh, I thought about inviting you to dinner.” Wyatt twisted his lips wryly. “I can’t cook anything fancy. But we could go out,” he said quickly. “We could probably still get a reservation somewhere.”

  “Mercy, I can cook. My place or yours?”

  Wyatt frowned. “I can’t ask you to spend all day in the kitchen, especially since we’ve got that Christmas Eve wedding the night before.”

  “You didn’t ask—I volunteered. I’ve thought about inviting you over for Christmas dinner ever since Thanksgiving, but we’ve been so busy. Or we can go out,” she added, because it was easy to see he was really against her having to cook. A sudden thought struck her and she snapped her fingers. “I know! What if I come to your house at, say, ten? I’ll make a stollen for breakfast. We can have that before we exchange gifts. Oh, crap! That came out wrong. I bought you a token present, Wyatt. I’m not hinting for you to buy me one.”

  He came over to where she sat at the computer, laid a finger over her mouth, then lifted her out of the chair and kissed her. When after several minutes he sat her back down, she knew her eyes were sparkling. “I already have your gift,” he said gruffly. “But what the hell is a stollen?”

  Her lips felt delightfully numb, but she managed to say, “It’s a German sweet bread. I used to make it for Dane’s family each year. The bread is glazed and inside there are raisins, nuts and bits of citrus. I wish I hadn’t mentioned Dane’s folks. They sent me a gift but all I sent them was a card.”

  “They know you’re divorced, don’t they?”

  “Yes, but until this gift came, I’d had only one letter from Dane’s mother, scolding me for not being a more understanding wife to her son.”

  “I take it if whatsizname is still off climbing mountains, then he hasn’t told them that he’s about to become a father.”

  “He’s not going to be a father,” Casey said, irritated.

  Wyatt shifted his gaze to the ceiling, as he often did when conversation turned to Casey’s ex or the baby. It frustrated her even more when his next sentence was some stupid comment about the weather.

  “Can you believe these warm temperatures, after ice in October and snow in November?”

  “That’s right,” she snapped, banging on the computer keys. “Let’s talk about the weather, but never about the fact I’m going to be a single mother in less than two months.”

  Wyatt arched an eyebrow. “I was about to ask you how patio dining on Christmas Day sounds. I know just the place. Bring your stollen for the morning and I’ll make dinner reservations.”

  Casey knew she was acting bitchy. It probably came with feeling fat and hormonal. She opened her mouth to suggest they forget dinner, since she wouldn’t be good company, but their first appointment of the day came in, ending their exchange.

  That was the last chance they had to talk. Everyone who’d booked December appointments wanted their photos before Christmas. Casey and Wyatt put in extra hours every day, often passing in the parking lot as each went a different direction.

  Two days before Christmas, Wyatt was heading out to deliver packets to three customers when he paused at the computer where Casey worked feverishly on a composite for a newly engaged couple. “It doesn’t make much sense for you to drive all the way home after the Caldwell wedding, just to drive back the next morning. Feel free to pack a bag and spend the night at my house. Or two nights. Christmas Eve and Christmas.”

  He was out the back door and gone before Casey collected her senses. Was that an invitation to sleep with him again? Her chest constricted and her breathing became shallow. Curling up in Wyatt’s arms could cure her discontent. She shouldn’t, a little voice nagged. Since their last tense discussion, Casey had decided it was understandable for Wyatt to be a bit annoyed if Dane’s name came up. But it wasn’t okay for him to avoid the subject of her baby.

  If he had issues, she wished he’d spell them out. The further along she got in her pregnancy, the more she sensed Wyatt wanted to ignore the fact that she’d soon be a mother. For that reason, and since the weather was supposed to be clear, Casey decided she’d drive home after the wedding.

  The next day he acted surprised when she told him she intended to spend the night at home. “Okay, but it seems a waste of gas to me.”

  Several times during the Caldwell reception, Casey noticed Wyatt watching her with a brooding expression.

  He insisted on walking her to her car. “I want you to call me when you get in, Casey. I don’t care how late it is. I won’t sleep easy until I know you made it home safe.”

  “I’m a good driver,” she said, slamming the rear door after tossing in her camera.

  “No argument there.” He scraped her curls out from under her collar. “I’m worried about the others. A lot of people will be drinking tonight.” His hands lingered on her shoulders. He bent and dropped a kiss on her nose. When she leaned into him, Wyatt moved his lips to hers until they got a whistle from some young guys leaving the reception. He stepped back and opened her door. “Call me. And think about bringing an overnight bag tomorrow.”

  Driving home alone, Casey regretted her decision not to stay with him tonight.

  EARLY THE NEXT MORNING she was glad for her resolve. The Howells phoned to wish her a happy holiday. “I’m making the stollen recipe you gave me to take a friend’s home, Dolly. The dough is almost ready, so I can’t talk long. I feel fine, Dolly. Thank you for the scarf and the receiving blankets,” she said.

  After she hung up, she toyed with the idea of calling them back to tell them about Wyatt. But she didn’t, because Dolly would have questions that Casey couldn’t answer.

  PULLING INTO WYATT’S driveway a few hours later, Casey set aside her feelings of guilt. She was determined to enjoy the day and breezed into his house without any constraints. She’d phoned ahead and asked him to preheat the oven. The first thing she did was put the bread in and set the timer.

  “That stuff you’re baking sure smells good,” Wyatt said once they were settled at his kitchen table with hot drinks. “Did I mention how pretty you look in that green dress?”

  “Three times.” She smiled at him over the rim of her teacup.

  “I have something for you,” he said. “It’ll go nicely with what you’re wearing. I, ah, hope you like it.” He pulled a small wrapped package out of his pocket. Casey’s heart fluttered. She set her cup on the table to keep from dropping it.

  “I put your gi-gift under the tree,” she stammered. “As I said, it’s nothing big.”

  Wyatt pressed the package into her trembling hands. She unwrapped it with difficulty, and popped open the lid on a white leather jewelry box. Inside, nestled on white velvet, lay a gold nec
klace with a pendant of a mother holding an infant—a curly haired girl. It wasn’t what Casey expected. It was far more. Her eyes blurred with tears. Her hands shook as she tried to fasten the delicate chain around her neck, so Wyatt did it for her, then kissed her neck.

  “Do you like it?” he asked, his voice a low rumble near her ear.

  “It’s beautiful.” She cradled the pendant in her right hand. “I’ll wear it every day for luck. Luck with my delivery,” she murmured.

  “I know you want a girl. I haven’t asked, but I take it you don’t know what you’re having. Couldn’t they tell from the ultrasounds?”

  “They probably could, but I didn’t really want to know. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.” She gripped the pendant tighter. “Would it matter to you, Wyatt?”

  “It’s nothing to do with me.” He scowled, his gaze drifting to her belly.

  “I desperately need a birthing coach,” Casey blurted. “I don’t want to go alone, but I can’t afford to miss a single class.”

  “I know. Brenda’s been nagging me to volunteer,” Wyatt said. “I didn’t think you’d want a strange guy there.”

  “I want you. You’re not a stranger. Please, Wyatt. I know it’s a lot to ask.”

  Out of the blue, he rested a hand on her stomach. “I—I…let’s get married,” he stammered.

  Casey’s world tilted. “Why?” she asked, trying to keep him in focus. More than anything she wanted Wyatt to say he loved her. She willed him to say the words, even though she was afraid he might see the longing in her tear-filled eyes.

  “I, uh, told you before. I want kids. I’ve always wanted a big family. I have this house and…”

  Crushed, Casey stepped away from him and bumped into the stove. Her joy drained out of her. She really, truly, wished she could accept. Wished they could be a family. But no words of love had crossed Wyatt’s lips.

  Obviously she hadn’t been what Dane wanted in a wife. But she’d be darned if she’d walk into another one-sided marriage. “I wasn’t begging for a husband, Wyatt, only a labor coach.”

  She could barely handle looking at him, and was hugely relieved when the stove buzzer went off announcing the stollen was done. She quickly grabbed the oven mitts, and hid her face as she bent to pull the bread from the oven.

  PUZZLED BY CASEY’S ANGRY movements, Wyatt went to the cupboard for the plates. It was painfully obvious that more than the stollen had cooled. In spite of the heat from the oven, there was a decided chill in his kitchen.

  They managed to get through the rest of the day, though it wasn’t easy. Wyatt thanked Casey several times for the leather carrying case. She did the same after he treated her to an expensive dinner, during which they hardly spoke. The hotel dining room was decked out with groupings of white trees that glittered icily with silver bells only adding to the atmosphere. Thankfully, the drive back to Wyatt’s house was short. He hadn’t hung a single decoration, which told Casey a lot when she stopped to think about it.

  “I’ll be your coach if you still need one,” he said abruptly as they stood beside her car. There was no chance she’d agree to stay over now.

  She straightened after putting her overnight bag in the backseat. “Don’t go out of your way. I can ask Dolly Howell to come down from Dallas.”

  “Six weeks is a long visit and you said her husband isn’t in great health. I want to do it, Casey,” Wyatt insisted.

  “Fine, but if you faint or throw up, don’t blame me.” With that she left.

  THEY KEPT BUSY AT WORK for the next few days, again staying out of each other’s way. So much so that Casey had to leave a sticky note on Wyatt’s desk giving him the date and time of the first class. He never responded, so when she went to the specified room in the basement of the hospital, she wasn’t at all sure he’d show up. But in fact he beat her there. They sat next to each other, careful to keep their shoulders from touching.

  A freckle-faced nurse named Tori Evans breezed in, greeting each woman individually. She had folders with the forms each mother had filled out. Casey had added Wyatt’s name as her coach on Monday. When Tori asked if he was the baby’s father, Casey regretted having to say that he wasn’t.

  “Coaches, relax,” Tori said with a grin. “The goal of birthing classes is to increase each woman’s confidence in her ability to give birth. By the end of these six weeks, the moms will learn how to respond to pain in ways that facilitate labor and increase their comfort.” She stepped to a TV set at one end of the room. “I know you’re all nervous about the birth process, so we’ll get through the hardest part first. Tonight we’ll watch a video of real deliveries, and our next sessions will be worry free.”

  Casey turned toward Wyatt. “You don’t have to do this.”

  He said nothing, but settled more firmly into his uncomfortable metal chair.

  Halfway through the video, Wyatt glanced at Casey and noticed her face had gone pale. Without a word, he reached for her clenched fists and eased them apart. “Who’s the nervous one now?” he whispered in her ear.

  She tried to pull away, but he linked his fingers with hers. When the video was over, Tori chatted with the coaches as each couple left the room. “Welcome,” she said to Wyatt. “You did well tonight. Better than some who ducked out. Casey, you seemed very tense. Don’t worry. You’ll find it easier to relax after Wyatt learns the massage techniques.”

  Casey sputtered, then lowered her head and dashed down the hall. Wyatt ran to catch up. “What was all that about?”

  “Massage? I can’t believe Tori said that. She knows you’re not my husband.”

  “No, I’m not,” he said shortly. “But you still need a coach. Do you want me to stay or not?”

  Casey let three other couples go past before she kicked at a loose floor tile and said, “Yes. Yes, thank you.”

  Wyatt wisely left it at that. Their next class wasn’t until after the new year, so they had a few days’ hiatus.

  ON NEW YEAR’S EVE, Wyatt and Casey both attended the party at Lou and Wes Bailey’s house, but drove separately. Somehow word had spread that Wyatt was partnering Casey at her classes. Greg Moore pulled him aside early in the evening and handed him a beer. “A toast to a new year. To getting on with your life. Brenda’s been asking, since you’re doing childbirth classes with Casey, does that mean there’s something more going on with you two—maybe something more romantic? I guess we’re wondering.”

  “I asked her to marry me. Christmas Day.” Wyatt stared glumly at his drink. “I thought I was reading her right, but she turned me down flat. She acted upset.”

  “Being pregnant can make a woman totally irrational over the strangest things.”

  “I thought she’d want to be married before the baby comes. I want her and the baby to be my family,” Wyatt stressed. “I told her I wanted us all to be together. At least I think I did,” he mumbled, setting his untouched beer on the counter. “Truth is, Greg, I’m afraid to put my heart on the line again.”

  “You’ve got it bad, Wyatt. If you love her, you’ll have to try harder to convince her.”

  Greg’s mention of love rattled Wyatt. He’d loved Angela and their speck of an unborn baby. His heart had been broken when he’d lost them. Then Casey came along, and his pain eased and eventually went away. He cared a lot for her—for her welfare. Right then it hit him—the weight in his chest was love. He would love her and want to be her husband even if there was no baby. Boy, he’d bungled it the other day, and now he had to figure out how to tell her. She’d gotten good at not being alone with him. He’d just find a way to do it right.

  WYATT BOUGHT A RING the second week of January. He carried it around with him as he spent his days at work showing Casey how much he cared about her. He ran all the errands, and carried the props she needed to the sitting room before she requested them. He even checked out the locations of the off-site jobs, and didn’t schedule Casey for anywhere she’d have to lug her equipment up stairs.

  One blustery day toward the end
of January, Casey packed her camera bag for a wedding she’d planned to shoot alone, only to discover Wyatt getting ready to join her. She spun on him, and shouted, “Stop it! Stop it, Wyatt. You’re smothering me. I’m not a hothouse flower. I’m a grown woman and I can take care of myself.”

  Hurt, Wyatt lashed out. “You’re a woman who’s almost nine months pregnant. This wedding is all the way in Spring Prairie—halfway to Houston. Going there alone is too risky. Where’s your cell phone? On the charger, right? You’ve got to be more careful. Dammit, you know how badly things can go wrong.”

  “The doctor and P.A. say I’m fine. Don’t mix me up with Angela, Wyatt.” Casey stormed off, but her words hit him like a slap. He hadn’t thought about Angela since New Year’s Day. Only Casey. Who massaged her back and legs in class? Who listened to the nurse talk about possible complications? He did, and Casey should have been paying attention, too.

  ON THE FIRST DAY OF February, Wyatt stood at the counter in the studio, cropping photos he’d taken at a dog show. Once again, like as many times lately, he was trying to work up the nerve to get down on one knee and offer Casey his love, his name and the ring—and cut through the icy barriers she’d erected since Christmas.

  She sat at the computer in back printing pictures she’d taken the day before of a brand-new baby and mom. The subjects made her weepy, but Wyatt was afraid to offer comfort in case she bit his head off. Maybe this wasn’t the best time, he thought, patting his pocket to make sure he still had the ring.

  The front door suddenly opened. An older couple and a man about Wyatt’s age walked in, letting a brisk wind blow through the studio. Wyatt threw an arm across his photos.

  At the sound of the bell and Wyatt’s curse, Casey came out from the back.

  Wyatt sensed her behind him, heard her quick intake of breath and turned to look. “Casey?” He slipped an arm around her waist, thinking she’d gone white enough to faint.

  Her eyes were glued to the group at the counter. “D-Dane. Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair,” she said in a strained voice. “W-what are you doing here?”