by Karen Rigley
“Sure thing.” Toby grinned innocently up at her before burying his nose in the book.
Jami watched Toby for a moment longer, wondering if he would really stay put. He appeared quite settled, stretched out on the bed with his face in the comic book, his bare feet in constant movement to bounce the bed slightly as Jami collected her robe.
Grant Carrington stepped into the lodge kitchen, plunking the basket upon the counter top and startling Becca. “Thanks for the picnic lunch.”
“No problem. Did you enjoy your outing with Jami and her boy?”
“Actually, I did.” He winked. “She’s lovely, and I like Toby, too. It’s refreshing to see things through the eyes of a kid. Makes me realize how jaded I’ve become.”
Laughing, Becca slapped the sink with her dishtowel. “You’re a lot of things, Grant, but jaded isn’t one of them.”
“I wonder.” He automatically helped sort out the basket as they talked. “Jami and Toby make me feel like an old stuffed shirt at times.”
“You are a stuffed shirt at times. I think that pretty redhead has made quite an impression on you.”
“She certainly has.” He shook his head, puzzling over Jami’s unpredictability. “Do you know she simply closed her business to come on this vacation?” He snapped his fingers, shaking his head once more. “Closed it without a thought.”
“Maybe she didn’t have anyone to run the place in her absence.”
“She could have hired someone.”
“Maybe not.”
“Still, to close a diving shop during peak season,” Grant persisted, his jaw tightening more as he thought about it.
“I suppose you lectured her,” Becca said with a knowing sigh.
“Naturally.”
“And she got mad, right?” She wagged her finger at him.
“How did you know?”
“Jami doesn’t like to be told what to do anymore than that boy of hers does.”
Becca sliced an onion, its pungent aroma stinging Grant’s eyes. He wondered how she kept her own from tearing as she attacked the offending onion at chef speed. “If you want to get on that girl’s good side, you won’t stand in judgment of her or her decisions.”
“I don’t stand in judgment.”
“Ha!” She cleaved a second onion neatly in half, exposing its layered rings. “That’s a Texas tale.”
“You’re right that Jami got upset. Funny thing,” Grant added, “I think the kid was mad at me, too.”
“For a man who can untangle executive relations, fine-tune major corporations, or smooth a business glitch no one else can even find, you’re hopeless when it comes to personal relationships.”
“I don’t have a relationship with Jami.”
“Ha!” Becca reiterated, whacking a third onion as Grant fled from the kitchen, leaving his skeptical friend and eye-watering onion fumes behind.
Grant entered the suite, catching Jami’s unique floral scent as it lingered in the air. The door to her bedroom was closed, and he considered tapping on it, but refrained. The phone rang, and he answered, snapping, “Hello.”
“Carrington? This is Mike, the photographer.”
“Yes?”
“Just wanted to confirm the candlelight dinner shoot tomorrow night.”
“Here at the lodge?”
“Right. At seven-thirty,” Mike answered. “Will you pass the message along to Ms. Rhodes? Be sure and dress nice. CupidKey wants this to be very romantic.”
“No problem,” Grant replied, picturing Jami in a flowing silk evening gown with gardenias tucked behind her ears and a diamond necklace encircling her slender throat. He grinned to himself. Obviously, she couldn’t have packed an evening gown in those overloaded bags of hers. Could she? It would be fun to see the practical single mother dressed to the nines and without her redheaded monster in tow.
Grant tapped on the bedroom door.
Toby flung it open wide. “What do you want?”
“To talk to your mother.” Grant eyed the boy, wondering when he had turned into the enemy.
Toby pressed his mouth into a straight line and folded his arms across his clean T-shirt. “Why?”
“Grown-up business,” Grant said, glaring down at the hostile child.
“She’s in the shower. Besides, I don’t think she wants to talk to you.”
Now it was Grant’s turn. “Why?”
“You make her mad.”
“Don’t you ever make her mad?”
“Yeah, but I’m her kid and she loves me no matter what.”
Grant felt a ping in his heart at the thought of a woman who loved someone no matter what. “I don’t think your mom is still mad at me. We were going down to the lake, remember?”
A momentary glitter of excitement lit Toby’s brown eyes, but he scowled again. “Me and my mom can go by ourselves.”
“You could,” Grant said, suddenly challenged to persuade the boy to like him again. “But I can show you how to make a boat that actually floats.”
“Really?” Toby’s face lit with excitement.
“I can also show you the best fishing hole in the Rockies.” Grant trained his face into a nonchalant expression. “But if you aren’t interested...”
“I’m interested,” Toby chattered. “Mom will be, too. I’ll tell her when she gets out of the shower.”
“Fine. I’ll be waiting for you downstairs.”
“All right,” Toby cried, an endearing grin on his freckled face as he high-fived Grant.
“All right,” Grant replied, with a boyish grin of his own.
Grant shut the door that formed the barrier between himself and the Rhodes family. His own reactions puzzled him. A moment ago, he was looking forward to time with Jami, sans her child, and now he found himself looking forward to giving Jami and Toby a tour of the lake. Grant raked a hand through his hair, surprised at himself. It would’ve been easy to get out of the lake tour with both of them miffed at him. Instead, he wanted to take them.
Wrapped in her frayed, but comfortable pink terry cloth robe, Jami stepped out of the bathroom, rubbing her hair dry with a towel. Toby sat cross-legged on the bed, blowing iridescent bubbles with his bubble wand.
“Grant came.”
“Oh?” Jami felt her pulse skip. “What did he want?”
“To talk to you. He’s taking us down to the lake when you’re ready.”
“We can go to the lake by ourselves.”
“Mom, Grant wants to show me how to build a boat and where there’s a good place to fish.” Toby’s voice pitched high and pleading. “Please, Mom, don’t spoil it.”
To make No more effective, she had always tried to use the word only when it was necessary, and try as she might, she could not find a solid reason to refuse her son’s request. How could she explain to her child that she preferred not to be in close proximity to Grant because the man sent her emotions into a tailspin? Emotions she believed her cheating husband had killed when their marriage had incinerated. Toby’s trusting, hopeful, expression tumbled her resistance. “Okay, we can go with Grant,” Jami finally agreed. “But you have to be on your best behavior.”
“Sure.” Toby bounced off the bed and began pulling on his socks.
“Promise?” she pressed, suspicious that her son had agreed too quickly and too easily.
“I’ll be good.” Toby hopped on his right foot as he pulled on his other sock. “Have you ever made a boat?”
“Not really.”
“Have ever you gone fishing?” Toby asked, eying his mother critically.
“Once,” Jami answered uncomfortably, aware of undercurrents in this mother-son conversation.
“Only once?” Toby wailed in disgust. “I wanna be a fisherman and fish all the time when I grow up. I bet Grant fishes lots.”
“I scuba dive and watch fish under the water,” Jami reminded her son. “I’ve taken you with me several times, haven’t I?”
Toby pulled a face. “Watching doesn’t count. That�
�s not fishing.”
“It’s more fun.” Jami shook her head, wondering why she was arguing with her six-year-old. “I’d better get dressed if we’re going to the lake with Grant,” she added reluctantly.
“I need glue and some nails,” Toby announced, pawing through the empty drawers of the dresser.
Jami smiled at her son. “I’m sure that Grant will supply whatever you need for boat building.”
“Think so?”
“Yes,” Jami answered with a gentle smile.
An hour later, they stood gazing at a mountain lake, postcard perfect as rippling waters shimmered every shade of blue, from clear aqua to lavender-tinted indigo. Toby skipped to the edge of the shore and dropped to pull off his shoes and socks. “I just want to wade a minute, okay, Mom?”
“Stay right where we can see you.”
“Okay,” Toby whooped, before splashing into the water, splattering his Hawaiian shorts. “It’s kind of cold.”
She could believe that. Jami shivered slightly as the crisp pine-scented breeze puffed her denim skirt and her sandaled feet crushed a moist cool patch of wild mint. Grant stepped up behind her, sliding his large hands over her shoulders, the warmth of his touch seeping through the thin cotton of her shirt. She backed against his powerful body, lured by the sensations he ignited, swimming warm honey through her veins as she caught a whiff of his aftershave and a deeper musky scent, so blatantly male.
“Chilly?” Grant asked, his velvet voice tantalizingly close to ear.
His chin rested on the top of Jami’s head, her silky hair teasing him with the sweet fragrance of fruit and flowers. Grant knew he shouldn’t draw her so close, but she enticed him like a magnet attracted nails, regardless of his intentions to keep his distance. Her soft feminine curves fit perfectly against him and he ached with a desire to connect at a more intimate level. He felt her shiver and stroked his palms down her arms, reveling in the smooth satin of her skin.
“I’m fine,” she insisted in a high breathy voice that reminded him of Marilyn Monroe. He grinned into her hair, thinking that during the peak of Monroe’s reign, the movie queen wouldn’t have had a thing on the copper-haired beauty pressed against his heart at this moment. He turned her in his arms to face him.
“Why are you shivering, if you’re not cold?” he asked, bewitched by the temperamental redhead. He hoped he had the same overwhelming effect on her as she did on him. His gaze dropped to her lips, parted, moist, and so kissable.
Jami stared up at Grant, her gaze drawn to his lips. A wicked smile curved that beautiful mouth of his as if he knew exactly why her response to him had caused her shivery reaction. Great, she grumbled to herself as she fought the sensual chill sweeping through her. She might as well be a virgin where he was concerned. No man had stirred her the way Grant Carrington did. They needed a change of topic. Fast. “I thought you were going to show Toby how to build a boat?”
“I can think of another kind of instruction I’d prefer to offer.” His voice dropped to a sexy growl, hinting at the type of lessons he had in mind.
“Uh huh—I bet.” Jami flounced up the path and out of his reach, turning back to call, “Toby’s waiting.”
Chapter 4
“Toby,” Jami called, “That’s far enough.”
Toby turned and waded back toward his mother. “The water’s too cold, anyway. Grant, can we make a boat now?”
“Certainly. Hop up and help me find a good piece of wood.” Grant reached for Toby and with a one-arm boost hefted the boy to his hip. “Climb onto my back piggy-back style. Hold tight.” Grant strode into the trees with Toby wrapped around him, the child’s bare wet legs bouncing.
Jami heard her son’s squeals and laughter. Her heart gave a sad ping. She was the only one who’d ever given Toby a piggy-back ride. Her ex-husband showed no fatherly interest in their son, so it had always been Jami and Toby, alone together, a tight family unit. She prayed that Toby wasn’t viewing at Grant as a prospective daddy. That could only bring heartache.
Toby was still giggling as they reappeared with a rough piece of pine, jerking Jami out of deep thought. “Any luck?”
“Perfect for boat carving,” Grant replied, sliding Toby gently to the ground as he handed the chunk of wood to the eager child.
“Carving?” Jami felt her mother instincts surge forth again. “You don’t intend to let my baby use a knife?”
“I’m no baby,” Toby grumbled, his freckles turning as rosy as his cheeks.
Grant chuckled. “I promise not to give Toby anything he can’t handle. Jami, you can supervise. Okay?”
“I don’t know,” she said, her gut tightening in horror as Grant drew a sheathed hunting knife from the leather bag dangling from his belt loop. She felt her stomach lurch and bones chill as the tall, dangerous Texan slid a deadly curved blade out of that sheath to glint brightly in the sunshine.
“See the fallen log by the big flat boulder, Toby?” Grant asked, waving his empty hand toward the edge of the woods. “If your mom sits on the boulder, we can share the log.”
Clutching the piece of wood as if it were a bridal bouquet, Toby trotted over to the log with her in his wake. How she wished she’d never agreed to this boat-making project. Just the sight of that knife made her feel ill.
“Are you all right?” Grant asked, as usual too-tuned into her emotional state. “You’re pale.”
She halted, glaring up at Grant as Toby scaled the log. “A child shouldn’t be anywhere near a knife like yours, let alone try to use it.”
Grant’s face turned to stone. “I learned to whittle and carve at a younger age than your son is now. I know how to show Toby how to use this safely and allow him just enough to do to feel like he helped, without endangering him.”
“But that knife looks so wicked and so sharp,” Jami persisted, not totally persuaded. She’d never had anyone to depend on to share parenting responsibilities, and it was difficult to accept Grant’s good intentions when it came to something she felt so unsure about. She knew she must let her little boy grow up, but this was pushing it.
“A clean, sharp knife is far safer than a dull, ragged blade. Trust me.”
“I don’t know...”
“Mom! Grant!” Toby hollered at them. “Hurry.”
Grant’s gaze pinned Jami. She swallowed a lump in her throat and nodded. Even in her distress, she was conscious of an unspoken trust between them. She knew Grant would protect her child, and the poor kid rarely enjoyed any male bonding. She must let Toby do this, but she would be right there, regardless.
Grant straddled the log, his lanky jean-clad legs stretched on either side as he faced Toby. He had gorgeous legs for a man, Jami remembered. She found herself staring at those same legs she had seen bare and glistening when all he’d worn was a towel slung low around his hips. She closed her eyes, visualizing in greater detail his hard muscular calves and thighs, even the fine golden hairs that lightly fuzzed his ankles, but gradually receded to a slight dusting from knees to his upper thighs. If a man could have beautiful legs, Grant certainly did. No pale, skinny sticks. Just sinuously masculine, bronzed, and sleek as a diver’s.
She opened her eyes as she heard Toby ask Grant if they could build a pirate ship. Grant’s deep chuckle rumbled through her veins as he answered, “This piece of wood isn’t big enough. How about settling for a tiny boat?”
Toby appeared disappointed, then grinned. “That’s okay. Mom says it’s smart to start little when you learn something. Right?” he asked, turning his huge brown eyes on his mother.
“Right,” Jami mumbled, recalling Grant’s hunting knife. Why couldn’t they begin with a teeny pocketknife?
Grant’s gaze met hers, as if he read her mind—and not about a knife. “Sometimes small is best—sometimes not.”
He began shearing and shaving the rough bark of the wood, its distinct pine scent drifting over to Jami as she took a seat on the flat-topped boulder a few feet away. Grant’s strong, sure hands skillfully wi
elded the blade, wood chips dropping away as the rough form of a boat took shape.
“That’s really cool,” Toby said in awe. “Better than a pirate ship.”
“Well, not too many pirates sailed mountain lakes here in the Rockies.” A curled wood chip flew out, just missing Toby’s chin. “Scoot back, partner. If I wound you, I have to contend with Captain Mom, and I hear she’s tough.”
“Mom’s a pussycat,” Toby assured Grant, obediently scooting backwards. “If pirates didn’t come here, I guess there’s not any sunken treasure in Frost Lake.”
“You never know where you’ll find a treasure, Toby. Pirates weren’t the only ones who hid their booty. So did gold miners, trappers, and probably a few fishermen.”
“Really?” Toby blinked up at Grant in excitement. Jami nearly groaned aloud as she watched her son’s fertile imagination swim into full-speed.
Grant had no idea what havoc he just triggered. Toby searching the lake for buried treasure would be a real nightmare. Everyone knew the first rule of parenting was think before you speak. Of course, Grant wasn’t a parent. Had never been a parent; and probably had no desire to ever be a parent. Why did that thought make her so sad? Jami shook her head in disgust. Whether or not Grant Carrington ever wanted to be a daddy was none of her business.
“Now it’s your turn to help with the hard stuff.”
Jami’s breath stuck in her throat as Grant pulled Toby close so that both males straddled the log, the boy nestled in front of the man. Grant placed the knife handle into her son’s palm. Jami felt woozy as his large hand closed securely over Toby’s.
“We need to detail the bottom into just the right angles to float properly. Cut, curve, slice. See how nicely we’re shaping the boat bottom?” Toby nodded, keeping his eyes glued to the blade, flashing silver as it carved wood. “Now the other side.”
Watching Grant’s sure hand guide every movement, Jami let out a slow breath. He could have told what he intended instead of scaring her. Why did the man have to be so impossible?
“We’re done. Show our masterpiece to your mother, then we’ll test our vessel to see if it’s water-worthy.”