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An apple-cheeked woman looked up at their approach. Sandy-haired and in her forties, she wasn’t the clerk that Sloan was used to seeing, but her face was familiar. Sloan knew she had met her before.
“Hi, Sloan,” the woman greeted her with familiar ease. “Now I know why Trey took off like an arrow a minute ago. Obviously he caught sight of you.”
“I didn’t know he was here, either, until he walked up,” Sloan replied, stalling while she discreetly scanned the front of the woman’s blouse, searching for a name tag. But they didn’t bother with such things on the Triple C, where everybody knew everybody else.
Trey came to her rescue, slouching against the counter and resting an elbow on it. “Mark us down for a movie, Nancy.”
“Will do. By the way, that part should be here no later than Tuesday.” She retrieved a clipboard from under the counter and glanced at the title on the case. “The Searchers. Chase will like that.”
“That’s the plan,” Trey confirmed.
“So how have you been, Sloan?” The woman asked as she jotted down the particulars on the clipboard’s sheet. “I don’t think I’ve seen you out and about for a while.”
“No, I’ve been sticking close to The Homestead,” Sloan admitted.
“How’s the redecorating going? I swear the whole ranch is buzzing about it.”
“The progress has been slow but steady,” Sloan lied.
“I’ll bet you’re at the point where you’re ready to tear your hair out,” the woman guessed. “We remodeled the kitchen at our place a few years back, put in new cupboards and everything. After two weeks of living in that mess, I was in tears. Of course, it was too late to have my old kitchen back, no matter how happy I would have been to have it.”
“I think I’m at that stage right now,” Sloan admitted.
“Believe me, I understand,” the woman assured her, and Sloan suspected she really did. Strangely, she felt better knowing that. Finishing her notations, the woman announced, “You’re all set.”
“Thanks.” Sloan picked up the cassette case and started to leave.
“Sloan—” the woman began, then hesitated when Sloan turned back. She seemed to gather her courage. “Could I ask you a favor?”
“Sure.” Not sure what was coming, Sloan darted a quick glance at Trey, but he didn’t seem to have any more idea than she did.
“I know I shouldn’t ask, but—Mike will be leaving for college this fall, and Donna will be a senior in high school. Roger thinks I’m silly, but I really want to have a family picture taken while we’re still all together. And Roger absolutely refuses to drive all the way to Miles City to have one done.” Worried and uncertain, she hesitated again. “I really hate to impose on you, but—you’re a professional photographer. I thought, maybe, you might be willing to take one of us. I’ll be happy to pay you for it,” she added with a rush, as if sensing Sloan’s withdrawal.
Trey had also observed the way Sloan had tensed up in an instinctive resistance to the suggestion. Unwilling to have Nancy Taylor get the wrong idea, he came to Sloan’s defense.
“Ordinarily that would be the perfect solution, Nancy,” he began. “Unfortunately, Sloan isn’t a portrait photographer—”
Sloan immediately broke in, “What he means is, I don’t have the lights and the different backdrops that they have in portrait studios. But if all you really want is a family photo, I know I could take a really good one of all of you outside. We can make it informal, so your husband won’t have to wear a suit
and tie.”
“You’ll really do it?” The woman’s gaze clung to her.
“Of course.” Sloan smiled with confidence. “How about Sunday afternoon? Will that work for you?”
“I think so. I’ll have to check. The kids might have some plans. If they do, they can change them.” Another flicker of uncertainty crossed her expression. “Are you sure it’s all right if we don’t dress up?”
“Since we’re taking the picture outside, I think it will look more natural if you’re in casual clothes. Everyone will be more comfortable and relaxed in them, too,” Sloan assured her, then realized that wasn’t the woman’s major concern. “Don’t worry. I’ll stage everything so it will have that professional look.”
“With you doing it, I’m sure it will.” But the woman reddened a little, then smiled tremulously. “I can’t thank you enough for this, Sloan. You just don’t know what this means to me.”
“It’ll be my pleasure,” Sloan insisted. “Unless I hear from you otherwise, I’ll meet you at three-thirty on Sunday by the old barn.”
Trey searched, but couldn’t detect a note of falseness in Sloan’s voice or expression. Puzzled by her ready agreement, he said, as they walked out of the commissary, “I thought you never took portraits.” There was a subtle demand for an explanation within his comment.
“You saw her face, Trey,” Sloan countered. “She didn’t understand. To her, a photographer is a photographer. How could I turn her down without coming across like some prima donna who considered such a request beneath her? She wouldn’t have said anything, but she would have been hurt, and I’d have had a black eye. Besides,” she added, “it isn’t that I can’t take portraits, they just haven’t been my focus.”
Trey sensed there were two forces at work in her decision: her own caring nature and the need for acceptance. Not mentioning either, he simply smiled. “You made her very happy.”
