“I have no idea.”
“Bethany’s been going out with my cousin Ryan. But last time I saw him, he was planning to break up with her.”
“Maybe his feelings went deeper than he thought.”
“From what Ryan said, that doesn’t seem likely.”
“If I wanted to land Hollis as a client, what advice would you give me?”
“Wear garlic.” He smiled at my expression. “But if you handle her right, she’d be a good client. What Hollis would spend on a wedding could probably buy Ecuador.” He looked at my champagne glass. “Would you like another?”
“No, thanks.”
He drained his own glass, took mine, and went to set them on a nearby busing tray.
“Why don’t you do weddings?” I asked when he returned.
“It’s the hardest job in photography, except for maybe working in a war zone.” He smiled wryly. “When I was starting out, I managed to land a position as a staff photographer for a West Texas quarterly. Modern Cattleman. It’s not easy trying to get an ornery bull to pose for a picture. But I’d still rather shoot livestock than weddings.”
I laughed. “When did you first take up photography?”
“I was ten. My mom sneaked me off to a class every Saturday, and told my dad I was working out to get ready for Pop Warner football.”
“He didn’t approve of photography?”
Joe shook his head. “He had definite ideas about how his sons should spend their time. Football, 4-H, working outside, all that was fine. But art, music… that was taking it too far. And he thought of photography as a hobby, but nothing a man should try to make a career of.”
“But you proved him wrong,” I said.
His smile turned rueful. “It took a while. There were a couple of years we weren’t exactly on speaking terms.” He paused. “Later it worked out that I had to stay with Dad for a couple of months. That was when we finally made our peace with each other.”
“When you stayed with him, was it…” I hesitated.
His head bent over mine. “Go on.”
“Was it because of the boat accident?” Seeing his quizzical smile, I said uncomfortably, “My sister looked you up on the Internet.”
“Yeah, it was after that. When I got out of the hospital, I had to stay with someone while I healed up. Dad was living by himself in River Oaks, so it made the most sense for me to go there.”
“Is it hard for you to talk about the accident?”
“Not at all.”
“Can I ask how it happened?”
“I was fishing with my brother Jack in the Gulf. We were heading back to the marina at Galveston, stopped near a seaweed mat, and managed to hook a dorado. While my brother was reeling it in, I started the engine so we could follow the fish. Next thing I knew, I was in the water and there was fire and debris everywhere.”
“My God. What caused the explosion?”
“We’re pretty sure the bilge blower malfunctioned, and fumes built up near the engine.”
“That’s awful,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah. That dorado was a five footer at least.” He paused, his gaze flickering to my mouth as I smiled.
“What kind of injuries —” I broke off. “Never mind, it’s not my business.”
“Blast lung, it’s called. When the shock waves from an explosion bruise the chest and lungs. For a while I couldn’t work up enough air to fill a party balloon.”
“You look pretty healthy now,” I said.
“One hundred percent.” A wicked glint entered his eyes as he observed my reaction. “Now that you’re all sympathetic… come dance with me.”
I shook my head. “I’m not that sympathetic.” With an apologetic smile, I explained, “I never dance at an event I’ve planned. It’s sort of like a waitress seating herself at a table she’s supposed to be serving.”
“I had two operations for internal bleeding while I was in the hospital,” Joe informed me gravely. “For almost a week, I couldn’t eat or talk because of the ventilator tube.” He gave me a hopeful glance. “Now do you feel sorry enough to dance with me?”
I shook my head again.
“Also,” Joe said, “the accident happened on my birthday.”
“It did not.”
“It did.”
I lifted my gaze heavenward. “That’s so sad. That’s…” I paused, fighting my better instincts. “Okay,” I found myself saying. “One dance.”
“I knew the birthday would do it,” he said in satisfaction.
“A quick dance. In the corner, where as few people as possible can see.”
Joe took my hand in a warm grip. He led me past sparkling groves of potted trees and palms, back to a shadowy corner behind the orchestra. A sly, jazzy version of “They Can’t Take That Away from Me” floated through the air. The female singer’s voice had an appealing rough-sweet edge, like broken candy.
Joe turned me to face him and took me in a practiced hold, one hand at my waist. So this would be a real dance, not a side-to-side sway. Tentatively, I placed my left hand on his shoulder. He pulled me into a smooth pattern, his movements so assured that there could be no doubt about who was leading. As he lifted my hand to guide me into a twirl, I followed so easily that we didn’t miss a step. I heard his low laugh, a sound of pleasure at discovering a well-matched partner.