by Karen Rigley
“Not bad, huh?” Grant queried with pride as he pulled Jami close to his side and grabbed Toby’s arm with his free hand to prevent the boy from moving to the edge of the drop-off.
“Wow, we’re high,” Toby cried in awe.
“Very high.” Jami heard her voice pitch high and unsteady as a wave of dizziness assailed her. Suddenly the view went from pretty to frightening. “Oh!” she swayed back against Grant’s solid strength.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Grant murmured in her ear.
“I don’t like being this high.” She wanted to turn and bury her face in his shoulder, but bit her lip and briefly shut her eyes. “Can we go back down?”
“Of course. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I’m not scared,” she automatically responded.
“Right.” Grant grinned as he gently took her arm. “Be careful and don’t slip.” Towing Jami along behind him, Grant also kept hold of Toby’s hand, restraining the boy’s desire to charge ahead. “Go slow.”
Jami held her breath until they descended past the rock slope and reached a normal trail again.
“Are you okay?” Grant turned to her, releasing Toby’s hand to let the child scamper down the trail.
“I don’t think I like heights.”
“Is this the woman who lives in Houston, city of high-rises and multiple stacked freeways?” Concern edged the humor in his remark, as Grant cradled her chin in one hand and caressed the back of her neck with his other.
“That’s different.” Jami shut her eyes, afraid to let him read her vulnerability.
“Look at me,” he demanded huskily.
“Why?” Jami obeyed, meeting his gaze full of tenderness and compassion.
“I never would have taken you up to that cliff, if I’d known it would frighten you, Red. You know I never want to hurt you.” His words throbbed with such sincerity Jami felt tempted to believe him. No. Grant Carrington was a man who liked women. All women. She was just another one of his conquests. Still, he was being thoughtful.
“Sometimes I think you enjoy upsetting me.” Jami pressed her lips together and jerked her chin free of his touch, unaccountably disturbed by her reactions to him. His actions and consideration clouded her preconceived notions.
“I do enjoy razzing you to set off that redhead temper of yours or teasing you to make you blush.” His fingers combed through her hair, twirling a strand of copper around his index finger.
“So you admit it!” she responded, latching on to anger, the safer emotion.
“Why not? When you get mad, you’re like an angry goddess with the power to send lightning bolts from those exotic topaz eyes.” His voice dropped lower, his own eyes blazing with heat. “And when you blush, your skin glows with the sheen of a rose-tinted pearl.” Grant smiled and shrugged. “So how can I resist?”
“You get satisfaction out of tormenting me,” Jami whispered, her gaze glued to his, her emotions in turmoil.
“Piquing your temper or making you blush are minor offenses.” His hands clamped over Jami’s shoulders. “But trust me when I say I never want to cause you real distress or hurt you in any way.”
“Words are easy,” Jami returned, her entire body tensing as she strained away from Grant.
Deep lines carved into Grant’s handsome face as his fingers dug into her shoulders, his tone gruff. “What does that mean?”
“Do you need a dictionary?”
“Jami, stop measuring me by the actions of another man.”
“What do you mean?” Jami stammered, stunned by his accusation.
“Toby’s father wounded you, but you can’t judge all other men by what your ex-husband did.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“Hardly.” She glared at Grant, who glared back, neither willing to budge. She thought of flinging his relationship with Raven into his face as proof, but what if she’d misread their midnight encounter? What if he and the young widow had met each other by accident? She had seen Raven put the moves on Grant, but to be truthful, she’d never seen him respond.
Jami jerked out of Grant’s hold and marched down the trail, conscious of him just behind her. What if she was wrong about the man being a womanizer? How could she rebuild the only barrier she had for defense against his powerful Carrington charm? She nearly stumbled over a tangle of vines, thinking it was difficult enough to fight him along with fighting herself. Yet, how else could she protect her heart?
Grant watched Jami descend the trail in front of him, her curvy bottom swaying in her close-fitting jeans. If his brothers expected Grandmother Margaret’s Cupid key to cast a love spell over Jami, they’d be greatly disappointed. She could barely stand him, and their vacation would be over in a few days.
He thought about returning home alone to his Houston bachelor pad, and suddenly the life he’d been so satisfied with appeared empty. Grant would miss Jami’s musical laughter, and her sparkling golden eyes that mirrored every emotion in her tender heart. He’d miss her soft voice and fiery temper, her unique combination of gentleness, spunk, and unpredictability. He sadly smiled to himself. He’d miss everything about Jami—even her mischievous boy, who was a heart-stealer as well.
Grant followed her down the mountain trail, shocked by the knowledge that a future without Jami Rhodes depressed him. Too bad Cupid didn’t really possess magical powers. He’d actually consider using magic on the copper-headed beauty who’d thrown his well-ordered life into chaos. Almost tripping over a root, he chided himself on losing all common sense.
How could he believe the Cupid charm was magic? That idea contained no more logic than believing Jami could grow to love him. Since she viewed him as the enemy, it wouldn’t help him if Frost Lake was afloat with magical Cupids. With fresh determination, Grant decided that at least he’d find a way to make her like him. Even if she couldn’t love him.
Chapter 12
Grant conjured up a folding campstool for each of them, which Jami gratefully accepted. Though not very big, the stool felt more comfortable than a rock. Wiggling, Toby collapsed his stool and tumbled with a giggle. Jami smiled with pride as he popped back up, soon mastering it.
“Ready to learn how to build a fire?” Grant’s gaze encompassed mother and son.
Jami shrugged, but Toby whooped in excitement. “Sure!”
“Help me gather firewood.” Using a branch, Grant brushed off a circle of dirt in a bald spot of the meadow close to their tents. “We’ll pile them here. Find dry pieces of wood–branches and twigs.”
“Okay.” Toby trotted toward the bushes.
“Be careful,” Jami admonished, thinking of snakes and spiders lurking where her child might grab.
“Yeah. We will.”
“He’ll be fine,” Grant assured her. She could tell he thought her over-protective, but refrained from stating it. In fact, the man had acted so darn nice since they had returned from the hike, she couldn’t help but be suspicious.
Toby stood at attention, clicked his sneakered heels together and saluted Grant. “Toby, Soldier of Zonar reporting for duty, Sir.”
“At ease, soldier.” Grant strode toward the woods, glancing back at Toby. “You’re in charge of twigs, sticks, and small chunks of wood for the kindling, and I will gather the larger wood.”
“Yes, Sir!” Toby hopped to Grant’s side.
Jami smothered her concern, watching the boy march after the man until they were both swallowed into the forest. She hoped they hurried. Evening shadows had lengthened and it would soon be dark. Trying to keep from worrying while the guys were scavenging firewood, she set up sleeping bags in the dome tent and the pup tent, then puttered around to keep busy.
When Toby and Grant returned, each with an armful of wood, she was sitting on her campstool applying insect repellent spray.
“Did you miss us?” Grant asked, shooting her a heart-stopping smile in the deepening twilight as he deposited his wood into a pile.
“You smell funn
y, Mom,” Toby announced as he dumped his wood into the pile.
She started to laugh, grabbing him. “You’re going to smell the same way.”
Toby’s wriggled nose as she handed him the bug spray. “Put this on, tiger.”
“Eww, yuk.” He tried to hand back the bug repellent. “No way.”
“Listen to your mother,” Grant ordered, to Jami’s surprise. “Or you’ll turn into dinner for mosquitoes.”
“I don’t wanna stink.”
“Would you rather itch all night?” Grant’s brow furrowed.
“Maybe.” Toby dragged his toe through the dirt, not looking up at the adults.
“You would not.” Jami took back the bug spray, popped the cap off and thoroughly spritzed her son, ignoring his objecting squeals. “There.”
“Spray Grant, too, Mom,” Toby wailed. “It’s only fair.”
Jami turned to Grant and, reading the challenge in his gaze, she took aim. He raised an arm to protect his face as she sprayed him from head to foot, before circling him and attacking his back as well. If she and Toby were going to smell to high heavens, so was Mr. Camp-out.
“Fair is fair.” Jami smugly recapped the bug spray container as Grant wrinkled his nose, much like her son had done. “Now we all can repel the mosquitoes.”
“We ought to repel any creature with a sense of smell,” Grant countered, sniffing his arm with distaste.
“I bought the brand recommended by Consumers Report,” Jami defended, resenting all their remarks about the odor.
“Ah, I understand why the stuff works.” Grant pinched his nose, grinning at Jami before turning to her son. “Toby, please run and get the old phone book by my backpack inside our tent.”
“Isn’t this an odd time to find a phone number?” Jami queried with an arched brow.
“Fire-starter,” Grant returned, carrying the kindling to the dirt spot where he’d had Toby help him form a rock fire pit.
“I crumple pages to light to start the fire kindling.”
Jami watched Toby skip out of the dome tent carrying a beat-up, dog-eared phone book.
“Okay, partner,” Grant said, crouching down as he spoke to Toby. “Rip out several pages and crumple them up for me.”
“Tear pages out of a book?” Toby gasped, worried brown eyes darting to his mom. “You should never tear books.”
“It’s all right, honey,” Jami replied, impressed the lesson was so ingrained in her son. “It’s a way to recycle the old phone book.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.” Jami smiled tenderly at her son.
“Cool!” Pages flew as he ripped and crumpled page after page.
“Whoa.” Grant gathered the balled pages. “That’s plenty. Now let’s build a campfire.”
“Okay.” Toby dropped the book, sprinting to Grant’s side to kneel in the dirt right beside him. “What’s next?”
“First, wadded paper.” Grant brushed the dirt surrounding the spot before arranging the crumpled pages. “Clear the ground for at least a foot all the way around to keep the fire contained.”
“Safety first.” Jami circled them nervously, not pleased to have her baby learning about fire.
“Aw, Mom, I’m going be a fireman.” Toby shot his mother a look of exasperation. “I know about Smoky the Bear and all that stuff.”
“Next,” Grant said, ignoring the exchange. “Grab that kindling you gathered. Let’s put the tiny twigs and wood pieces over the paper, then the bigger twigs and sticks on top of that.”
“It’s kinda like a tepee,” Toby announced as Grant placed a dozen sticks pyramid-style over the kindling.
“That’s so it lights easily.” Grant pulled out a slim metal canister full of matches. “Scoot back, and I’ll light our fire.”
With a whiff of sulfur and flash of flame, the paper ignited. Then the small twigs and wood pieces began to smoke and burn as Grant poked the fire with a long stick.
“Cool.” Toby’s eyes were huge as he stared, mesmerized.
Grant added thicker sticks and branches and then finally several logs. “Okay, got it. How about this fire?”
“Kinda small though.”
“Small?” Grant looked puzzled.
“Yeah.” Toby watched the flickering flames with fascination. “Campfires are bigger in the movies when people dance around them.”
Grant threw back his head with hearty laughter.
“Those are bonfires,” Jami explained, secretly sharing the amusement. “Campfires are that way for cooking and warmth.” She held her palms up to the fire, realizing the heat of the day had extinguished with the setting sun.
“Go throw on some jackets or sweaters. It gets cold in the mountains at night,” Grant advised before moving away.
Strange, he seems to always know how I feel, Jami thought, watching him arrange rainbow trout in a heavy, black cast-iron pan.
“Grant’s right, let’s find you something warmer to wear. Come on, Toby.” Jami pulled her key chain flashlight from her pocket, but didn’t need to turn it on when they entered the dome tent, since the doorway net allowed the firelight to illuminate the interior.
Toby found his Houston Rockets sweatshirt and tugged it over his head. “Now can I help cook supper?”
“Yes, only if you stay clear of the fire.”
“Right.” Toby skipped outside, just ahead of her. “I know, Mom.”
Her heart swelled with pride as she watched Toby eagerly help Grant dump a container of chopped carrots, potatoes, and onions into a piece of aluminum foil. They triple-wrapped the vegetables, then Grant let the child toss them into the outer edge of the flames. “Good job, buddy.”
“Thanks, Grant. I’ll even eat ‘em.”
“Brave kid, huh?” Laughing, Grant exchanged a glance with Jami.
She smiled back, hugging herself for warmth. She needed something warmer to wear, too. Delicious aromas of trout and vegetables drifted in the air following Jami, along with the smoke, as she made her way toward the pup tent. She opened the door flap, flicking on her tiny flashlight to aim the beam toward her tote bag. Half bent, she rummaged through the tote, extracting her sweatshirt and struggling into it. Her flashlight dropped to the floor, rolling away to cast the tent into darkness.
“Ouch!” Her elbow whacked into an end pole. The tent sagged with the impact, but instantly she steadied the metal support.
“Everything all right, Red?” Grant called from outside.
“Just fine,” Jami snapped, rubbing her sore elbow.
She felt around the ground until she found her key chain light, its tiny beam a relief after the darkness. Did she really want to spend the night in here? After the fuss she’d made about not sharing a tent with Grant, she couldn’t back down now. Why did she always embarrass herself around him? She’d been forced to be extremely independent since her divorce, so sometimes she took it a notch too far. Just like she occasionally did with her overprotective parenting. Understandable, since she didn’t have the luxury of relaxing and shifting the load to someone else. The responsibility remained all hers.
For a moment, she wondered how it’d feel to lean on someone, to share some of that responsibility. Especially with a man like Grant Carrington. Jami bit her lip as the thoughts collided. Instead of her berry lip gloss, she tasted the bitter bug spray. Ugh. The stuff certainly wouldn’t lend itself to romantic kisses. Kisses? Where was her head? Thank goodness, she had Toby along. Suddenly, she wanted to flee back to the lodge for a nice hot shower, leaving pup tents, insect repellent, and Grant behind.
“Dinner’s ready,” the devil himself hollered. “Come and get it, Red. There’s no room service out here.”
She climbed out the tent flap to succulent aromas drifting on the campfire smoke, making her stomach growl, announcing her hunger.
True to his word, Toby gobbled every bite of his veggies as well as his fish.
“Mmm, delicious,” Jami murmured in appreciation, as she savored her own. Their campf
ire supper tasted every bit as scrumptious as it had smelled. She enjoyed every bite, which buoyed her mood considerably.
So did gazing at the stars, spilling like diamond dust to sparkle across the velvety black skies. Way beyond the circle of firelight, the rugged mountains were cloaked by the darkness, but Jami could sense their eternal presence. Higher, the golden sliver of a crescent moon hung above the horizon, seeming to dangle in the sky at the whim of the crisp breeze that blew through the meadow. She now understood the allure of camping.
After dinner, Grant showed them how to poke marshmallows on to the end of a long, sharpened stick. He then waved them over the fire, roasting the treats into soft white puffs.
“Oh, no,” Jami cried, snatching hers back from the flames as the white ignited into a flash of fire.
“Not as easy as it looks, huh?” Laughing, Grant blew out the marshmallow to reveal black charred remains.
“That’s yucky, Mom.”
Ashes flaked off her burnt dessert, and she had to agree with Toby.
“I don’t think you better eat this.” Grant disposed of the charred dessert. “Let me roast yours. Cooking over an open fire is an acquired art.”
“Toby did his just fine,” Jami grumbled, feeling surpassed by a six-year-old in campfire culinary as he popped a perfect melted puff into his mouth.
Grant wiped her stick clean, poking two new marshmallows over the point. “He keeps his marshmallow at the edge of the flames like I do.” Grant smiled indulgently. “You drifted yours into the heart of the fire.”
“Where it’s too hot.” Jami watched him, wondering if his meaning went beyond roasting marshmallows. “Taste this.” He handed her one.
“Wonderful,” Jami gushed, after one bite, crisp-on-the-outside, but gooey, sweet, and heavenly in the middle. She reached for the second marshmallow he held out to her, his hand lingering as their fingers touched at the exchange.
“I knew I could please you.” Firelight and shadow played across Grant’s handsome face, disguising his expression. But the tone and texture of his voice conveyed his message—a message that sent hot desire flowing through Jami’s veins and a flush to her skin.