Three messages in, she got the tingle.

“Damn it,” she said under her breath as Carter’s voice hit her straight in the belly.

“Ah, hi. It’s Carter. I wonder if you might want to go out to dinner, or maybe the movies. Maybe you like plays better than movies. I should’ve looked up what might be available before I called. I didn’t think of it. Or we could just have coffee again if you want to do that. Or . . . I’m not articulate on these things. I can’t use a tape recorder either. And why would you care? If you’re at all interested in any of the above, please feel free to call me. Thanks. Um. Good-bye.”

“Damn you, Carter Maguire, for your insanely cute quotient. You should be annoying. Why aren’t I annoyed? Oh God, I’m going to call you back. I know I’m going to call you back. I’m in such trouble.”

Calculating, she decided the odds were strong in her favor that he’d already left for work. She preferred the idea of talking to his answering machine in turn.

When his clicked on she relaxed. Unlike Carter, she

was articulate on answering machines. “Carter, Mac. I might like to go out to dinner, or the movies, possibly a play. I have no objection to coffee. How about Friday, as it’s not a school night? Pick the activity and let me know.

“Tag, you’re it.”

See, it doesn’t have to be serious, she reminded herself. I can set the tone. Just having some fun with a perfectly nice guy.

Satisfied, she decided to indulge by working the first hour of her day in her pjs. Nicely on schedule, she dressed and took the consult at the main house, breezed back to her own with time to spare before her shoot.

Her message light blinked at her.

“Uh, it’s Carter again. Is this annoying? I hope it’s not annoying. I happened to check my messages at home on my lunch break. Actually, I made a point to check them in case you called me back. Which you did. I’m afraid I have a faculty dinner to attend Friday. I’d invite you but if you accepted and attended, you’d never go out with me again. I’d rather not risk it. If another night would do, even—ha ha—a school night, I’d like very much to take you out. If you’d like that, maybe we could do dinner and a movie. Is that too much? It’s probably too much. I’m confusing myself. I’d like to add, though it may not seem possible, I have asked women out before.

“I guess this makes you it.”

She grinned, as she’d grinned throughout the message. “Okay, Carter, try this one on.” She punched Call Back, waited for the beep. “Hi, Professor, guess who this is? I appreciate being shielded from the faculty dinner. Showing both good sense and chivalry has earned you points. How about Saturday night? Why don’t we start with dinner and see where it goes? You can pick me up at seven.

“And, yes, this makes you it again to confirm.”

In the best of moods, Mac switched on some music, dropped down at her computer. She sang along as she reviewed her upcoming client’s wedding shots. As possibilities and angles ran through her mind, she made notes. She clicked back through her files to see what equipment, what lighting, what techniques she’d used on the bridal portraits.

Considering the client’s olive complexion, the dark hair, the deep brown, exotic eyes, Mac chose an ivory drop. And remembering the client as just a little shy, just a bit demure, Mac decided to save what she thought could be the money shot until after she’d warmed mom-to-be up a little.

But she could prepare for it. She grabbed the phone, hitting the button for Emma as she opened the door to what she considered her prop room. “Hey, I need a bag of red rose petals. I’ve got a client coming any minute or I’d come down and steal them myself. Can you run them up here? And maybe, just in case, a couple of long-stemmed reds? They can be silk. Thanks. Bye.”

Juiced, she checked the bright pink tackle box she used for professional makeup, then switched the music to a New-Agey CD she thought suited the shoot. She was adjusting the backlight when Emma came in.

“You didn’t say what color red roses. It does matter, you know.”

“Not so much for this. And I can always manipulate them in Photoshop. Besides . . .” She walked over to take the ones Emma held. “Perfect.”

“The rose petals are real, so—”

“I’ll charge them off. Listen, since you’re here, can you stand in? You’ve got close to the same coloring, and you’re about the same height. Here.” She pushed the roses back at Emma. “Go over there, give me a three-quarter body angle, facing the window, head turned to the camera.”

“What’s this for?”

“Pregnancy shoot.”

“Oh, for Rosa.” Emma assumed the position. “Laurel did the cake for her shower last week. Don’t you love the follow-up clients? How we get to see these important scenes in their life.”

“Yeah, I do. Light’s good, I think. For the standard shots anyway.”

“What are you doing with the petals?”

“They’re for later, for the real shot—after I convince Rosa to get pretty much naked.”

“Rosa?” Emma gave an eye-rolling laugh. “Good luck with that.”

“You know her, right? I mean before she was a client. The wedding gig came through you. Your third cousin once removed or something?”

“My mother’s uncle’s cousin-by-marriage’s granddaughter. I think. But yeah, I know her. I know everyone, and everyone knows me.”

Could be a stroke of luck, Mac calculated. “Can you stick around for a while? You could help put her at ease.”

“I can give you a little time,” Emma decided after a check of her watch, “mostly because I’m dying to see how you try to get her undressed.”

“Don’t say anything about it,” Mac said quickly when she heard the knock on the door. “I need to guide her toward it.”

Mac’s first thought on opening the door was

Wow! Look at the shape. And her mind shot off in various directions on how to exploit it, showcase it, intensify it as she drew Rosa inside.

Having Emma there served as a plus; nobody put people at ease quicker than Emmaline.

“Oh, Rosa, look at you!” All warmth, all welcome, Emma lifted her hands. “You’re gorgeous!”

With a quick laugh, Rosa shook her head while Mac took her coat. “I’m enormous.”

“Gorgeously. Oh, I bet you can’t wait. Let’s sit down for just a minute. Have you picked out names?”

“We keep thinking we have, then change our minds.” With a little whoosh of breath, her hand on the mountain of her belly, Rosa eased into a chair. “Today it’s Catherine Grace for a girl, Lucas Anthony for a boy.”

“Wonderful.”

“You don’t know the sex?” Mac asked.

“We talked ourselves out of it.”

“I love a surprise, don’t you? And it’s exciting to have Mac photograph you now.”

“My sister nagged me into it. I guess, at some point, I’ll appreciate looking back and seeing myself looking like I swallowed a hot air balloon.”

“You’re beautiful,” Mac said simply. “I’m going to show you. Why don’t you stand up here so I can take some test shots? Do you want anything first? Water? Tea?”

Rosa pulled a bottle of water out of her purse. “I drink like a camel, pee like an elephant.”

“Bathroom’s right over there, any time you need it. And any time you just want a break, say so.”

“Okay.” Rosa levered herself out of the chair. “Is my hair all right? This outfit? Everything?”

She’d pulled her dark hair back in a tail—very tidy. Mac intended to fix that. She’d chosen simple black pants and a bright blue sweater that skinned over the mountain. They would, Mac thought, start there.

“You’re fine. Just test shots. See the tape on the floor there? Stand right on the X.”

“I can’t even see my feet.” But Rosa moved to the mark, stood stiffly while Mac checked her light meter.

“Turn to the side, head toward me. Chin up a little, not that much. Yes, put your hands on the baby.” She glanced toward Emma.

Picking up the signal, Emma got up to wander behind Mac. “Have you set up the nursery?”

Emma kept Rosa talking, made her laugh and Mac took the first Polaroid. She rubbed it on her thigh to speed the developing, then, opening it, walked to Rosa. “See? You’re beautiful.”

Rosa took the print, stared. “I may be enormous, but I sure look happy. It’s really pretty, Mac.”

“We’re going to do even better. Let’s try a few in that same pose.”

Warming up now, Mac noted as she chatted Rosa up along with Emma. She tossed in quick directions. Tilt your head to the right, shift your shoulders. Halfway through she handed Rosa one of Emma’s long-stems, tried shots with the flower as a prop.

She got a full roll of what she considered very nice, very ordinary pregnant woman shots.

“Let’s try something else. A different angle, a different top.”

“Oh, I didn’t bring another top.”

“I’ve got something.”

Rosa patted her mound. “You couldn’t possibly have anything that would fit me.”

“It’s not about fit. Trust me.” Mac pulled a plain white man’s shirt out of the prop room. “We’re going to leave it unbuttoned.”

“But—”

“The contrast of the sharp lines of the shirt against the round curve of your belly. Trust me. And if you don’t like the look, no harm.”

“Oh, that’ll be fun.” Emma poured out enthusiasm. “Baby bumps are so cute.”

“I’m at thirty-eight weeks. The bump is Mount Everest.”

“It’s a beautiful shape,” Mac told her. “And you have great skin. The tone, the texture.”

“It’s just us girls,” Emma reminded her. “I’d love to see how it looks. The lighting’s so pretty, so flattering.”

“Well, maybe. But I’m just going to look fat.” Reluctantly, Rosa pulled off the sweater.