Copyright © 2010 by KG MacGregor
Bella Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 10543
Tallahassee, FL 32302
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechani-
cal, including photocopying, without permission in writing from
the publisher.
Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper
First Edition
Editor: Katherine V. Forrest
Cover Designer: Stephanie Solomon-Lopez
ISBN 10: 1-59493-168-2
ISBN 13:978-1-59493-168-0
Acknowledgments
This part of the book can be the most challenging to write,
not because it’s hard to acknowledge others, but because it’s hard
to do so adequately. I’m going to give it a try just the same.
Thank you to my editor, Katherine V. Forrest, for reminding
me of the vast difference between a manuscript and a story. It
isn’t at all hyperbole to tell you that without her help, this book
would not have made it to press.
I wish also to thank my friend Tracy Van Zeeland, a
commercial photographer in Appleton, Wisconsin. She was
more than generous with her expertise, not only on the technical
and artistic aspects of photography, but also on the ins and outs
of running a studio business. Though she managed to mitigate
some of my ignorance, I asserted poetic license in some places, so
please know that any errors are mine.
Thanks as always to Karen, who picked over my carelessness
in the final drafts, and to all the staff at Bella Books for putting
out a beautiful book. A special nod to editorial director
Karin Kallmaker, whose dedication to lesbian romance is an
inspiration.
Finally, I owe my deepest gratitude to my partner Jenny, my
rock in everything I do.
About the Author
A former teacher and market research consultant, KG
MacGregor holds a PhD in journalism and mass communication.
Infatuation with Xena: Warrior Princess fanfiction prompted her to
try her own hand at storytelling in 2002. In 2005, she signed with
Bella Books, which published the Goldie Award finalist Just This
Once . Her sixth Bella novel, Out of Love , won the 2007 Lambda
Literary Award for Women’s Romance, and the 2008 Goldie
Award in Lesbian Romance. In 2009, she picked up Goldies for
Without Warning (Contemporary Romance) and Secrets So Deep
(Romantic Suspense).
KG divides her time between homes in Miami and Blowing
Rock, North Carolina. When she isn’t writing, she’s either on a
hiking trail, a golf course, or if she’s really lucky, a cruise ship.
Please visit her at www.kgmacgregor.com.
Chapter 1
“I don’t suppose I could talk you into trading shoes.”
Leonora Westcott eyed the bride’s beaded white stilettos
and her own Mephisto flats. “Not a chance. The only way you’re
getting these is off my cold, dead feet.” She stepped from behind
the camera to arrange Eva Pettigrew and her six attendants for
their portrait. The Pacific Ocean shimmered in the late afternoon
sun behind their perch on the terrace of the Ritz Carlton at Half
Moon Bay. “But I have a box cutter in my bag if you girls want to
saw off those heels.”
The bridesmaids—youthful and lovely in powder blue
chiffon—wore spiked heels that thrust their breasts forward and
their rears back. Some of Leo’s feminist friends would have decried
the look as sexist objectification of women, which made her feel
a tad guilty for appreciating it so much. As long as she looked
through her camera’s eye, no one would catch her ogling.
“I saw Todd about an hour ago,” said the maid of honor, an
Asian woman named Lon. “He looked like roadkill. Jason said
they poured Maker’s Mark down his throat till four o’clock this
morning.”
going to sleep together. And I do mean sleep.” The soft June
breeze whipped a strand of brown hair across her brow. “Okay,
which one of you has the hairspray?”
The girl nearest the door broke ranks. “I’ll get it.”
Leo had seen Todd firsthand two hours ago on the bluff,
where he had gathered his bleary-eyed groomsmen for a short
series of casual photos. Only one of the men had managed to
tie his bow tie correctly, but she had lent a hand to the others
before sending them off to greet and seat the guests. Eva wanted
casual poses like Todd’s also, but her grandmother had insisted
on the traditional series for the formal wedding album. Leo was
doing her best to accommodate both, snapping off candid and
lighthearted images whenever the opportunities arose.
Eva closed her eyes while her attendant sprayed a stream of
the sticky product onto her bangs. “How many bottles of this
have we gone through?”
“This is our third.”
“When I drop my veil, it’s going to feel like I’m wearing a
space helmet.”
“I’m afraid the wind’s going to be a lot worse down by the
gazebo,” Leo said, taking over the task. Though her short black
hair rarely got more than a brisk rub from a towel, she knew all
about the virtues of hairspray, and makeup too. Helping people
look their best for photos was part of her job, which she had
been doing for over thirty years. Women as naturally beautiful as
these didn’t need much help, but weddings always brought out
the quest for perfection, whether in style or ceremony.
Not that she was an expert on modern weddings. Early in
her career she had shot hundreds, enough to know the standard
vows by heart, but the Pettigrew-McCord affair was her first in
three years. The last one had been extravagant as well, held in
the Japanese Tea Garden of Golden Gate Park in San Francisco,
featuring the daughter of one of her corporate clients, a giant in
the computer industry.
Most of her work these days consisted of magazine layouts,
publicity photos for celebrities and corporate honchos, and even
the occasional gallery exhibit. She had reached the pinnacle of her
professional dreams, thanks to good fundamentals, perseverance
and a handful of lucky breaks. On the rare occasions when she
accepted a wedding assignment, it was usually for friends or clients,
and more often than not she waived her five-figure fee. Such
was the case today, since she was here as a favor to her longtime
friend, Maria Long, one of the finest studio photographers she
knew and a close friend of the bride’s family. Maria had broken
her leg in a bicycle accident and didn’t trust anyone else to give
her friends the caliber of work she had promised. Though it
meant rescheduling a two-day magazine shoot
in Tucson, Leo
was happy to do it and knew Maria would have done the same
thing for her.
She stowed the spray bottle out of the camera’s view and
gestured toward Eva’s brow. “If you try to push that out of your
eyes again, it’ll break off in your hand.”
“That’s what I call hold.”
It was also what Leo called picture perfect. She raised her
Extech light meter to Eva’s cheek as the sun caught the soft box
and cast an almost effervescent light upward. “Hold that pose
right there. Could I ask you ladies to step out of the frame for
just a moment?”
She stepped behind her tripod and drew a deep breath.
Chapter 2
October 1986
Leo took the index card from a freckled boy with a missing
front tooth and matched his name to her list. “Nate Freeman.”
“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out,” the third grader whistled
cheekily as his friends guffawed.
Rolling her eyes, she guided him to the front of the rural
backdrop and positioned his hands atop a faux split-rail fence.
“Keep your feet on those feet, please,” she said, indicating the
yellow shoe prints on a mat on the floor. She had gone through
her detailed instructions for school pictures when the class
little mind once their teacher vanished and left them under her
supervision.
“All right, Nate. Stop looking at that pretty girl in the red
dress and look at me instead.” The children within earshot
hooted as Leo clicked the shutter to capture a blushing smile.
Nate’s parents were going to love that photo.
“I wasn’t looking at Alisa,” he protested.
“I wouldn’t blame you one bit if you did.” She shot Alisa a
wink that caused the girl to grin with obvious pride. “Now move
along to the back of the other line. Who’s next?”
One by one, she worked the crowd of eight-year-olds like a
comic in a lounge act, pulling out all the stops to get the right
reaction, the perfect expression. She loved the portrait side of
photography, which constituted the bulk of her business. From
the time she was twelve years old she had worked alongside
her father in the studio learning what he considered the most
important mechanical aspects of photography—lighting and
composition. But what mattered most with commercial portraits,
he had said, was making people happy with how they looked on
film.She had cut her professional teeth on school pictures,
hundreds upon hundreds of children every fall all over the
Monterey Peninsula, using each sitting to hone her skills. That
had been her father’s idea, a training tool so she would be ready
to take over the business upon his retirement. Instead, it had
become a principal source of revenue while she struggled to
maintain the studio after her father’s sudden death six years ago.
Fresh out of community college where she had studied business
administration, she had been forced at twenty years old to put
her education to practice in the support side of the studio—
marketing, finance and administration. Thanks to steady jobs
like this one, Westcott Photography had weathered her father’s
death, and she now had the chance to focus more on her craft.
“Alisa Workman.” Leo guided the girl in the red dress into
position and returned to peer through the viewfinder. “All right,
say…cheesy sneeze.” She snapped the portrait as Alisa laughed at
the silly phrase, and got another keeper.
Though she shot hundreds of identical photos in a single
week, each was important to her. For most kids, these formal
sittings were the benchmarks of their childhood. They would line
the walls of their homes and fill the wallets of proud aunts, uncles
and grandparents. They were permanent, enduring reminders of
progress toward adulthood.
“That one won’t come out,” a boy taunted from the line.
“Nate already broke the camera.”
Leo shot him a scolding look, but he had turned away to laugh
with his friends. Too bad she didn’t have an assistant, someone to
help pose the children and keep them in line while they waited.
If only the teachers would stay with them, but no. They dropped
their students off at the media center and disappeared. And most,
like Mrs. Tyler right now, took their sweet time coming back.
“Nate loves Alisa,” the children sang.
“I do not!”
Even towering over them at five-nine, she didn’t seem to
intimidate them in the least. They grew louder by the minute,
pushing and shoving in line, and popping one another with the
complimentary plastic combs she had handed out when they
first arrived. To make matters worse, another class was coming
through the door.
“All right, kids. Settle down. I’d appreciate it if you’d stand
quietly by the door and wait for Mrs. Tyler.” Her pleas for calm
had no effect. She could barely hear herself speak above the din
of simultaneous conversations. Managing unruly kids was not in
her skill set.
“Excuse me, what is your name?” A quiet voice—an adult
voice—came from the doorway.
Leo whirled to see a young woman approaching the third
graders, focusing on Alisa, who hadn’t caused any trouble at all.
The woman, petite and slightly built with wavy brown hair past
her shoulders, looked barely old enough to be a teacher, but
she exuded an amazing aura of authority. Leo thought Alisa was
going to be scolded by mistake and was about to intervene when
the class suddenly grew silent.
“Alisa Workman,” the girl replied shyly.
“I really like the way you follow directions, Alisa. I bet Mrs.
Tyler is very proud of you.” At once, the other third-graders
turned forward and straightened their line. “It’s especially nice
the way you keep your hands to yourself and listen to Miss…”
She turned to Leo and flashed a brilliant smile.
“Westcott.” Leo watched numbly, captivated by the way the
woman had taken charge.
“To Miss Westcott. I wish you were in my class, Alisa.”
So she was a teacher after all, and apparently a respected
one. Without raising her voice, she had brought the ruckus to a
halt. Every single student in Mrs. Tyler’s class seemed to want to
please her.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Mrs. Tyler is late.”
“I’ll be happy to wait with them if you want to start on my
group. I’m Claudia Galloway, by the way.” The woman held
out her hand. “I’m doing my internship with Miss Irwin this
semester.”
She took the offered hand. So she was Sandy Irwin’s intern—
that explained why she looked so much younger than the other
teachers, twenty-two at the most. Leo couldn’t wait to talk with
Sandy again and ask her all about this Miss Galloway. “I’m Leo
Westcott.”
“I know.” She stepped away from the children and lowered
her voice. “I have a message for you from Sandy, which is to stop
in later and say hi if you have the chance.”
“Yeah, she and I are good friends.” Leo instantly worried that
she shouldn’t have offered that. Sandy usually kept her personal
life private at school. “I know a lot of the teachers because I’ve
been shooting here so long. I have a studio in town.”
“Westcott Photography? That gray Victorian on Van Buren
Street?”
“That’s the one.”
“I sometimes cut through Van Buren on my way home. I love
all those old houses along there, especially yours. Maybe if I stop
by sometime you’ll let me peek inside.”
“Sure, I’ll give you a tour of the whole place.” Leo couldn’t
believe the invitation had come out of her mouth, and to a virtual
stranger no less. She was glad to show off her studio, but rarely
invited people upstairs to her private quarters.
Mrs. Tyler suddenly bustled into the media center. “Sorry
I’m late,” she said unconvincingly.
“It’s all right. I was just admiring the way Alisa leads your
class,” Miss Galloway said. “And I’m really pleased to see what
good listeners they all are.”
“Too bad I don’t have more like her. They can’t behave
themselves, no matter what I threaten them with.” No sooner did
she disparage her class than the whispering and fidgeting started
again. “See what I mean?”
Leo watched in astonishment as the class filed out noisily
behind their frazzled teacher. Over her shoulder, she could see
Miss Irwin’s class standing quietly as they waited to have their
pictures taken.
“That was…I don’t know what it was. How did you do
that?”
Miss Galloway winked at her and smiled. “We all have our
tricks.”
“Can you teach me that one? I don’t have a clue how to handle
these kids, and all the teachers keep running off and leaving me
on my own.”
“Not much to it, really. Sandy and I expect our boys and
girls to behave like Alisa.” She tipped her head in the direction
of the retreating class. “And Mrs. Tyler expects her class to
misbehave.”
“Which is exactly what they did when she came back.” Leo
looked again at Sandy’s class, astounded by the contrast between
the two groups. “You’re a magician, Miss Galloway.”