That Carrington Magic (CupidKey)

by Karen Rigley

  “It’s stupid.” Toby bit his bottom lip, ready to cry again. “Mom said she named me after her dad, my grandpa, but I hate it.”

  “Want to know a secret?” Grant said, pulling Toby onto his knee.

  “What?”

  “I’m not too pleased with my full name, either.” Grant enjoyed the child’s warm closeness and fresh scrubbed scent.

  “Grant Carrington’s a good name,” Toby replied, sounding confused and surprised.

  “But that’s just part of my name.” He pulled the boy closer, then glanced around as if he were about to admit a secret. He dropped his voice low. “My name is Cary Grant Carrington.”

  “That’s not so bad.” Toby put his small hands trustingly on Grant’s shoulders. “Cary’s lots better than Justice.”

  “No, it isn’t.” Grant brushed a lock of hair off Toby’s forehead. “My mom named me after an actor, and kids used to tease me. So now I drop my first name and go by my middle name.”

  “Why did they tease you?” Toby asked in awe, obviously having difficultly picturing Grant as a young boy being picked on about a name.

  “Cary Grant was a famous movie star.” Grant knew the child probably had no idea who the celebrated actor had been, so he searched for a comparison. “It would be like your mom naming you after Vin Diesel. You would be Vin Diesel Rhodes, instead of Toby Justice Rhodes.”

  “Wow!” A horrified expression rippled across Toby’s freckled face. “That’s lots worse than Justice for a middle name.”

  “You got it, buddy.” Grant grinned, pleased by getting his point across. “That’s why I go by Grant and only use the initial “C” when I write my full name.”

  “Why did your mom name you after a movie guy?” Toby asked, digesting his own narrow escape from a similar fate.

  “My mother loves movies. She did it to my brothers, too,” Grant admitted. “She named each of us after one of her favorite stars.”

  “Your dad let her?” Toby squealed in disgust, then suddenly he whispered, “Or were you like me—a kid with no daddy?”

  Grant flinched at the pain in the child’s voice. “I had a dad then, but he’s dead now. Dad used to let my mother do pretty much whatever she wanted. She’s a unique lady—being around her is like getting caught in a whirlwind.” Heart full of affection, he smiled at Toby. “My mother would like you.”

  “She would?”

  “Yes, she would.”

  “You like me, don’t you, Grant?” Toby gazed up hopefully.

  “Of course,” Grant responded, taken aback. “I think you’re great.”

  “Suzy Martin told me nobody likes me because I’m such a brat.” Tears swam in Toby’s innocent brown eyes.

  Grant ruffled the carrot-red hair. “Whoever this Suzy is—she’s wrong. I bet everyone likes you.”

  “Raven doesn’t.”

  “I don’t think Raven likes many people.”

  “She likes you.”

  “Guess that’s my problem, isn’t it?” Grant replied with a grin.

  “Yeah—yuck!” Toby agreed, high spirits bouncing back.

  Grant watched the boy, amazed by the resiliency of childhood. “You still have apologies to make, slugger.”

  “Do I have to?” Toby grumbled, dragging his sneakered feet as they returned to the lodge.

  “Yes. A man makes amends for his mistakes.” Grant tried to keep from sounding too gruff. “You know sneaking the frog in to frighten Raven was a mistake.”

  “It was fun,” Toby protested as they reached the kitchen door.

  “It wasn’t fun for long, was it?” Grant pressed, wondering if this is how fathers felt trying to reach their children.

  “Not long enough.”

  “Remember that next time.”

  Toby dug his heels in, refusing to enter the lodge. “I already told Raven I was sorry.”

  “Not sincerely.” Grant took the boy’s arm and practically towed him through the doorway. “You owe your mom and the others apologies, too.”

  “I got to tell everybody I’m sorry?” The boy acted like he was being forced into a torture chamber instead of the lodge kitchen where the heavenly scent of cinnamon and apples greeted them.

  “What do you think?”

  “All right,” Toby finally agreed as they drew closer to the dining room entry.

  “Toby,” Homer called, halting them as he shuffled up from the kitchen table. “How about a game of checkers?”

  “Sure,” Toby whooped. He glanced up at Grant to add, “After I ask Mom.”

  “Ask your mamma if you can eat your dessert in here with Homer,” Becca suggested, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “It’s Apple Betty.”

  “What? No Apple Becca?” Grant quipped, drawing a scowl from Becca, confusion from Toby, and a chuckle from Homer.

  “I’ll ask my mom,” Toby said, hesitant. “But I’m not sure she’ll let me. She’s kind of mad.”

  “Apologize first, then ask,” Grant recommended, remembering Jami’s fiery temper and his own experience being on the wrong side of her anger.

  “Good man-to-man advice,” Homer seconded, waiting at the arched entry as Grant and Toby crossed through to the dining room table where Jami sat with the Hammersmith sisters and the professor.

  “I’m sorry everybody,” Toby offered in a shy voice as he stared down at the floor. “It was bad to bring the frog to supper and scare Mrs. McGuire.”

  “Apologies accepted, young man.” Professor Tolaski leaned back in his chair to peer thoughtfully at Toby.

  “Livened up dinnertime,” Dottie responded with a cheery smile, her wise eyes twinkling.

  “Raven must learn frogs are an important part of our ecology and nothing to be squeamish about,” Doris contributed, acting no more bothered than the other two as she nibbled away.

  “Honey, you still must apologize properly to Raven.” Jami pushed away her dessert dish as she watched her truculent, ruddy-faced boy.

  “I promise I will tomorrow. Don’t make me go to her room to say I’m sorry.” Toby sprang to his mother’s side, clutching her shirt sleeve. “Please, Mom. I think she’s a witch and might try to cook me like in that story.”

  “‘Hansel and Gretel?’” Jami exclaimed in surprise. Toby wasn’t fond of the widow, but a witch? Now Raven certainly had acted—ah, witchy at times.

  “Don’t be silly, Toby,” Dottie said, crumpling her napkin and tossing it next to her plate. “There’s no place to cook anything in our rooms.”

  “That woman is a bit frightening, though,” Doris sympathized, folding her napkin into a neat square and carefully positioning it by her plate.

  “Raven puts me in mind of another bird,” the professor stated in monotone fashion. “A far deadlier bird than the raven—a cassowary. The cassowary can kill or cripple a person with one swift kick of its razor-sharp claw.”

  “Oh, my!” Dottie’s hand flew to her mouth. “I think we saw a cassowary once. Naturally we kept our distance.”

  “We did?” Doris asked with a puzzled expression.

  “You went birding in Australia and New Guinea?” Professor Tolaski queried with obvious doubt and strong sarcasm. “That is the natural habitat of cassowary.”

  “Actually, no,” Doris said, appearing very uncomfortable. “Maybe we saw the cassowary at the zoo.”

  “Yes, at the zoo,” Dottie quickly conceded.

  Grant stood watching the exchange with a smile curving his lips. Jami caught his gaze to return his smile, then she spotted Toby shuffling his feet in a nervous manner that warned her the child wanted something. “What is it, Toby?”

  “Can I eat my apple stuff in the kitchen with Homer? He wants to beat me at checkers again.”

  “Okay. If you promise to apologize to Raven tomorrow.” Jami kissed his cheek. “Maybe you’ll win at checkers this time.”

  “Not unless Grant helps me. Homer’s real smart.”

  “So are you, partner. You don’t need my help, just some practice.” Grant pat
ted Toby’s head and gazed at him so affectionately that Jami’s breath caught in her throat.

  She bit her lip, tasting her berry lip gloss now flecked with cinnamon from dessert. Her son was bonding with Grant Carrington, and she had no idea how to stop it. Or prevent the heartache such a futile attachment would bring.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Grant requested, his gaze shifting from Jami and Toby to encompass the others. “I have things to attend to, so I’ll skip dessert.”

  The professor nodded and Dottie and Doris waved him off. Only Jami appeared disappointed. Maybe he should have stayed to keep her company?

  He chided himself for the wishful thinking. Jami didn’t want his company. Maybe he’d go for an evening swim in the lake and cool off. A day spent in such close proximity to the woman, while posing for all those romantic shots had simmered a slow burn inside him that had nothing to do with temper. And everything to do with Jami’s irresistible allure. Being with her felt so right, but she deserved more than he could offer. She deserved commitment. She deserved the forever kind of love, he concluded as he entered the upstairs suite alone. What could a die-hard bachelor offer such a woman? Certainly not a relationship. Not the suitable kind.

  Grant glanced at the drawer where he had replaced the Cupid key the night before, when he had glued the flap securely and slid the envelope to the back. On a foolish impulse, he’d thrown a golf shirt over the package before closing the drawer. How his brothers would taunt him if they knew.

  Still, Cupid had tormented him all night, haunting him with disturbing dreams of the golden cherub aiming love arrows at Jami, and at him. His mind overflowed with images, captured like freeze-frame photos, until he had leapt from bed and thrown his pillow at the dream-catcher on the wall. Toby’s grizzly bear nightmare would have been less upsetting.

  Grant changed into his swim trunks and grabbed a towel. A brisk swim in a mountain lake at twilight was just what he needed, and he intended to push his body to exhaustion. Tonight, he promised himself, neither Jami nor Cupid would invade his dreams.

  Downstairs, Jami entered the kitchen to find a full-blown game of Monopoly going strong, instead of the expected checkers. Becca and Nell had joined in the fun and all four sets of eyes turned to Jami as the foursome chorused, “Hi!”

  “Want to play with us, Mom? Becca’s helping me, and we’re winning.” Toby’s cheeks were flushed and his hair tousled. He leaned forward on his elbows to study the board as if he could read every word and understand every symbol.

  “No thanks, tiger.” Jami felt a surge of pride watching her little boy acting so grown-up. “Maybe I’ll go upstairs and write out a few postcards.”

  “Why don’t you wander down to the lake?” Becca suggested, playing banker for Homer as she talked. “It’s lovely on summer evenings.”

  “Then I can stay here longer. Please, Mom?” Toby begged, rolling the dice with a clatter onto the kitchen table, then grinning as Becca helped him count the spaces aloud.

  “Put on a suit and have a dip,” Nell suggested, slowly sorting colorful play money and handing it to a giggly Toby as she landed on his hotel.

  “It’s the perfect time of year for a swim,” Homer persuaded with a wink.

  “I can tuck this young tyke into bed after the game,” Becca offered as Toby carefully placed his money into piles of pink on pink, blue on blue, green on green and yellow on yellow. Apparently, he was winning.

  “Go enjoy yourself, dear,” Nell added, gnarled fingers twisting her wispy white hair into further disarray.

  “A swim does sound lovely,” Jami acquiesced, extremely tempted. Even though her complexion kept her from sunbathing, she had taken like a mermaid to water when she was a child. In retrospect, Jami realized her love of water was the main reason she’d invested in Dive-a-Wave with the money she had inherited from her parents. Pushing sad memories away, she focused on her contented boy. He appeared happy and not too sleepy.

  Jami had been itching to go swimming in Frost Lake since her arrival, and with Toby occupied, this was the perfect opportunity. A solitary evening swim sounded wonderful.

  Chapter 10

  Thoughts dwelling on how well Grant had defused the frog scene at dinner, Jami wandered along, lured by the alpine peacefulness and serenaded by an evening chorus of insects and bird songs. Inhaling the thin, pine-scented air, she chose the short lower trail and reached the lake quickly. She rounded the last bend, pausing to stare as Frost Lake reflected like lavender glass in the purpling mountain twilight.

  Jami chose the place where Grant had carved Toby’s boat, but the lake there was too shallow for good swimming. She headed up the shoreline until spotting a deep cove notched into woods. Wonderfully secluded, cool and inviting. She dropped her terry cover-up and beach towel onto a flat-top granite rock and slipped off her sandals before carefully picking her way to the edge of the grassy bank. For a moment she just sat, dangling her legs to drag her toes through the chilly water.

  A hand closed around her ankle. With a startled cry, Jami jerked her foot free, the sudden lurch toppling her into the lake. She somersaulted headfirst into the water, plunging into the icy depths inches from whatever had grabbed her. Panic flowed over her, along with the fishy water. She knew better than to go swimming alone. The rule had been drummed into her head since childhood, yet here she was alone in an isolated mountain lake with someone or something.

  She blinked her eyes open underwater trying to orient herself on which way was up, before kicking her way to the surface. The churning water swirled dirt, plants, and debris to make visibility murky and distorted. A dark unidentifiable shape swam toward her. Terror clogged her throat, tempting her to scream, but she knew an underwater scream would be a silent, water—gulping futility.

  When human hands clamped her arms, Jami fought fiercely to free herself, ignoring the pressure ache in her lungs. Implacable strength forced her to surface, locked in the assailant’s steel grip. Still struggling as her face burst into the atmosphere, she took deep, gulping breaths of oxygen. Her eyes fluttered open to stare into familiar midnight blue eyes set in a face she was beginning to know as well as her own.

  “Grant Carrington, were you trying to scare me to death?” Jami choked, her blood pressure pumping as wildly as the adrenalin surging through her system.

  “Not intentionally.” He flashed those beautiful, maddening lips into a heart-stopping grin and slid his hands caressingly from her wrists up her arms. “You’re strong for your size, Red.”

  Jami felt a blush heat her cheeks as she remembered where her knee had aimed during their struggle. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

  “Fortunately, I’m efficient at evasive action. Being underwater helps.” Amusement crinkled tiny lines around those arresting eyes as he gazed down at her.

  Water streamed from her tangled mass of hair, dripping over her shoulders and down her neck. Tension thrummed between them as his gaze intensified, his pupils flaring inky black. She became conscious of how intimately close they remained, their bodies entwined and submerged, legs interlocked, her smooth, naked thighs rubbing against the rougher, hairier skin of his thighs. Her stomach and sensitive breasts pressed against his bare chest, the heat of his flesh penetrating the flimsy stretch fabric of her one-piece swimsuit.

  Her palms pushed at his shoulders, trying to force some distance between them and halt the sensual onslaught of his overpowering masculinity.

  “You can let go of me now,” she told him, her voice sounding high and breathy to her own waterlogged ears.

  “You shouldn’t go swimming alone.” His rough velvet tone vibrated through her, speaking of a danger that had nothing to do with the lake waters swishing around them.

  “You were swimming alone,” she argued, trying to tamp down her too female response to his blatant maleness.

  “I’m experienced,” he countered, as she tried to untangle her legs from his.

  “So am I.” Her cheeks fired as Jami suddenly realized she’d fall
en for his bait by the wicked gleam in his eyes. “At swimming,” she lamely added.

  A deep rich chuckle rumbled through his chest. She remained close enough to feel the vibration as he drawled, “I adore experienced women.”

  Before she could protest, Grant’s warm mouth captured her own, his lips moving deliciously over Jami’s to steal her breath, along with her willpower. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste, scent, and feel of him. Her body curled into his, cool water washing over them as their heated skin seared together. Jami realized she was drowning, not in the lake, but drowning in the mind-numbing sweetness of his kiss, swirling deeper and deeper into a vortex of desire—and possibly of no return.

  Someone crashed through the woods. A female voice calling for Jami filled the night air. Jami hastily drew apart from Grant and swam to the bank, with Grant right behind. As she scrambled onto the grassy embankment, self-consciously aware of her soaking swimsuit clinging to her curves, Dottie, or Doris, dashed out from the trees. Unless the sisters were together, the differences between them were barely noticeable.

  “Jami,” the woman gasped, leaning against a tree trunk. “Thank goodness, I found you.”

  “Is it Toby? Is he all right?” Jami exclaimed, tugging on her terry cover-up and stuffing her wet feet into her sandals as she grabbed her towel.

  “Toby is fine, but I can’t say the same for Becca. She’s having fits, and bubbles are overflowing the patio.”

  “He didn’t...?” Jami’s hand flew to her mouth in consternation.

  “He did.” The retired schoolteacher gazed at her sympathetically, as if she understood Jami’s frustration.

  “But Toby was with Homer and the family,” Grant objected, a towel now slung over his shoulders as he stood dripping wet and sexy. “How did the boy get away to put suds in the hot tub?”

  “He snuck Becca’s dish soap.” Dottie smiled sadly, her dimple-creases carving twin lines in her round face. “It’s my fault. Doris and I were arguing over whether wild peppermint or spearmint grew by the spring and so we asked Becca to come help us settle the argument—ah, disagreement.”