That Carrington Magic (CupidKey)

by Karen Rigley

  Jami closed her eyes, gritting her teeth against old wounds, denying the tears pricking at her eyelids. As she had entered their one bedroom apartment, she had heard Toby in his crib crying and rushed into the bedroom. There, she found Doug in bed with their twenty-year-old babysitter. The memory stabbed so vividly, a pained gasp escaped Jami’s lips.

  “Let me help you,” Grant said, his strong fingers intimately moving over hers, startling Jami into the realization that she’d been fumbling with the catch on her own seatbelt for several minutes.

  She jerked her fingers from his as if stung. “I can do it.”

  Her buckle clicked into place, while Grant gazed at her in puzzlement. “What’s with you? I’m not some evil beast ready to devour you.”

  Jami stared at the man beside her. He probably had a string of conquests and expected to add her to the list. The way Doug had. She trembled, remembering the heartbreak she had felt upon discovering the babysitter was just one of the many affairs her husband had had during their brief marriage. Well, she’d never repeat that mistake again.

  “Are you cold, or scared of flying?”

  “Neither.” She felt embarrassed as she read concern, not ridicule, in Grant’s expression.

  “The plane’s about to take off.” He studied her face. “Will you be all right?”

  “Fine. I’m not afraid of flying or the takeoff.”

  He leaned so close, she inhaled the scent of his expensive aftershave and could feel his warm, minty breath on her cheek. Her insides somersaulted at his sheer male attack on her senses as she heard the roar of the jet engines escalate. “I hope Toby won’t be scared.”

  “Your kid’s doing great. He’ll be fascinated to watch the world miniaturize and drop away.” Grant cinched his own seatbelt. “Has he flown before?”

  “When he was a baby,” Jami replied as the airliner rolled, then raced to a thundering liftoff while Toby stayed glued to the window.

  “Wow, Mom, this is cool.”

  “It is.” Jami smiled, glad she’d brought him along. It was a good idea, no matter what anyone said. She felt a change in pressure as the plane banked and then leveled. The seatbelt signed pinged off.

  “Have you been to the Rockies before?” Grant asked.

  “I really haven’t traveled out of Texas much.”

  “Then it’s about time you did.”

  Ignoring the bait, Jami fussed over Toby for a moment, then stole a side-glance at the magnificent profile of her Cupid match. How did he stir her emotions so easily? All kinds of emotions. She couldn’t wait until this plane ride was over. She couldn’t wait until this trip was over. She didn’t dare spend a week alone with Grant Carrington.

  She’d been immune to men since her divorce. Until now. Admittedly, Grant was a sexy hunk, whose ultra-civilized designer suit couldn’t mask the uncivilized edge of the man beneath. Or hide the raw masculinity of the long, lanky Texan. His hair was a sun-streaked, dark, burnished gold. And his uncompromising square jaw proclaimed the arrogant, take-charge personality Jami so resented; yet he had easy charm at the same time.

  With a flick of his midnight gaze, he caught her scrutiny. She grabbed a magazine from the pocket in the seat ahead and pretended sudden interest. Yes, she reflected as her heart thumped erratically, she needed her child to shield her from this alarming attraction to Lady Killer Carrington.

  Chapter 2

  Jami, restless as her son, waited a short distance behind the passengers crowding around the baggage pickup. As she watched Grant grab their suitcases, then move forward to snare a stylish gray tweed bag, she wondered how long before Toby put his mark on Grant’s fancy gear. Hopefully, they’d make it to the lodge without incident. Toby did tend to mess up nice things, and fabrics were especially endangered in his presence.

  Using a stain stick, she scrubbed at the chocolate fingerprints marring her cotton sundress with limited results. As Grant joined them, a bright flash blinded Jami, accompanied by a disembodied voice, “Hi, I’m Mike Peterson, the photographer on assignment for CupidKey.”

  A groan escaped Jami’s lips as she regained her vision to focus on a buzz-headed, angular youth wearing jeans, a T-shirt, wire-rimmed glasses, and an elaborate camera dangling from his neck.

  “Nice to meet you, Mike,” Grant replied, already shaking the eager young man’s hand.

  “You gonna take pictures of us all the time?” Toby crossly asked, echoing his mother’s distress.

  “Not all the time,” Mike answered with a face-splitting grin.

  “Good.” Toby scuffed the toe of his sneakers against the high-polished, grooved tile floor of the airport.

  Grant chuckled, and Jami found herself laughing along with him.

  “Hey.” Toby’s bottom lip jutted out in a pout. “Sometimes a guy doesn’t want his picture taken,” he defended, pale beneath his freckles.

  Reading his exhausted face, Jami’s mother instincts kicked in and she gathered her son in a hug. “You’re tired, honey. We’ll be at the lodge soon, and you can take a nap before dinner.”

  “I don’t need a nap,” Toby protested, obviously disgusted to even talk about the dreaded “baby” thing in front of others.

  “Some quiet time, anyway,” Jami hedged, realizing it was important for a young boy to save face around other males.

  “Yeah, quiet time,” Toby agreed, pushing away from his mom, one hand tightening over his backpack. “Can we go now?”

  “We can,” Grant agreed in a serious tone, but not before Jami caught the trace of a smile still curving his lips. She did appreciate him treating her son with respect. So many adults didn’t bother. Maybe she’d overreacted earlier.

  “Let’s head for the lodge shuttle and hit the road,” Grant said, leading Jami and Toby through the lobby. Mike trudged along beside them as they exited through the airport doors into thin, fresh mountain air.

  “I need a few shots by the shuttle van.” Mike directed them to a blue and tan mini-van emblazoned Frost Lake. “Please, stand there.”

  “We have to?” Toby grumbled as the trio obeyed Mike’s request, stepping to the spot the photographer had indicated.

  Beyond the honks and confusion of the airport, white clouds billowed above turquoise sky to skitter past a breathtaking fortress of mountain range.

  Jami had never seen such huge mountains. The towering craggy peaks appeared to stretch clear to heaven. Laughing, Grant slipped an arm around her shoulders and scooted Toby in front of them.

  “Great,” Mike said, snapping photos just as a breeze whipped and puffed the skirt of Jami’s pink sundress and teased her flowing copper hair.

  “Oh, great,” Jami exclaimed in a totally different tone, trying to catch her skirt before a breeze puffed it high enough to display her bare thighs.

  “Mmm, great,” Grant huskily murmured, an appreciative gleam flaring in his dark eyes while she battled her skirt.

  “If you folks want to go to Frost Lake Lodge, you’d better hurry,” the shuttle driver called, as several vehicles honked impatiently, the drivers shouting a few choice words for the van blocking the lane.

  “Right,” Grant said, his hand sliding down to press into the small of Jami’s back while Toby jumped inside the van. Grant helped Jami climb into the shuttle, then tossed in their luggage. The photographer hopped in to sit by Jami, leaving Grant to take the last seat alone and slide the door shut.

  Jami breathed a sigh of relief that Mike, rather than Grant, sat beside her. She could only handle so much nearness to her tantalizing Cupid date. And she’d had her fill on the plane.

  Once they arrived and entered the rustic lodge, she felt buoyant, realizing the two-story, gingerbread-eved, log building was as delightful as Sierra had described.

  The scent of lemon wax mingled with pine and cedar as Jami’s gaze rose upward to admire the exposed pine beams of the high vaulted ceiling. A carved cedar banister curved from the buffed hardwood floor upward to grace the stairway. In the far corner of the huge room
nestled a beige and gray stone fireplace and hearth. A bronze vase of dried flowers stood on the mantel and the entire lodge appeared to be trimmed in natural, hand-carved woods, rich in grain and texture, unstained but polished to a high sheen.

  “Grant Carrington,” he announced, stepping up to the reservation desk as a broad-faced, big-boned woman offered to help them.

  “Jami Rhodes,” Jami declared at the same time.

  “Carrington and Rhodes,” the clerk said in a cheery tone, trailing her stubby finger down the reservation book. “Oh, the presidential suite,” the woman gushed. “That’s so romantic.”

  Jami froze. “Don’t we have separate rooms?”

  “No.” The woman furrowed her brow. “I didn’t take your reservations, but the lodge is fully booked for the entire month.”

  “We don’t want to share a suite.” Travel weary, Jami was anxious to settle her youngster into their room, so she could soak in a hot tub.

  “The suite contains a side nook with a separate bedroom,” the clerk consoled, with a knowing wink at Toby. “So you can have privacy, ah, for the boy.” She gave an embarrassed cough.

  “That’s not...”

  Jami began in protest, but Grant Carrington’s mouth swept down to skim a butterfly kiss over her lips. “Don’t blow it, Red. The photographer is shooting a close-up. We’ll sort this out later. Smile.”

  Though Grant’s lips barely touched hers, he left a trail of fire. She and Toby couldn’t share a suite with this man. Even her longtime friendship with Sierra couldn’t demand she share quarters with a stranger. A womanizing stranger.

  As if reading her thoughts, he smiled down at her. “Relax, I’m a Carrington.”

  Lips pressed together to smother her retort, Jami raked her fingers through her hair. Yes, Grant was a Carrington. A dangerous Carrington.

  Grant studied the copper-haired, angelic beauty beside him, whose eyes lit with amber fire. How could a woman so lovely act so prickly? He’d seen cactus in West Texas with fewer barbs. You’d think Jami Rhodes had been shanghaied. He chuckled at the thought, and she shot him an irate glare.

  “What’s so funny?” Jami faced him, sparks shooting from those fascinating eyes. “Or did Mike zoom in for a close-up of your handsome mug?”

  “Ah, you think I’m handsome?”

  “I won’t say what I think of you.”

  “That good, huh?” Grant barely glanced down as he signed the guest register with a flourish and pushed it toward Jami.

  “That bad.”

  He smiled at the top of her bent head as she leaned over to add her own name to the ledger, her flowing copper tresses shimmering in the artificial light. Her hair had shone as brightly as a newly minted penny in the sunlight. Did it feel as soft and silky as it looked? Surprised by the urge to touch Jami’s hair, he suddenly realized the desk clerk was addressing him.

  “Yes?”

  “I said,” the clerk repeated with a schoolteacher emphasis, reminding Grant that he had not been paying attention, “a packet came for you this morning, Mr. Carrington.” Along with his room key, she handed him a thickly padded manila envelope addressed to C. Grant Carrington and postmarked Houston.

  “Thanks,” he replied, already peeling open the flap. He peered into the envelope’s dark interior, at first thinking nothing was inside, but he tilted it and something clunked. He reached deep to retrieve a tiny, but heavy, object wrapped in tissue paper.

  Grant swallowed a groan as the object fell free from the paper and dropped into his palm. The infamous Cupid Charm! Blood pressure rising, he unfolded a square of paper to read the cryptic note: One falls—we all fall. It’s your turn. Your brother, Ty.

  “What’s that?” Toby asked, peering at Grant’s clutched hand.

  “It’s a Cupid pin. An heirloom brooch, belonging to my grandmother.” Grant opened his hand, displaying a gold key charm carved in exquisite detail of the cherub Cupid, complete with the god’s miniature arrow poised to zing a heart. “We call it the Cupid key.”

  “It’s lovely,” Jami exclaimed, gazing down at the golden brooch in his palm.

  “Apparently, it has its appeal,” he mumbled back. Hmm, did he detect a trace of a smile on Cupid’s face he’d never seen before? Of course not. He shook away such a silly thought. Though his grandmother’s claim of Cupid’s magic came flooding back with a rush of memories: He and his brothers as children clustered around Grandmother Margaret while she explained in dramatic fashion how their grandfather had pinned her with the magical Cupid on the wonderful Valentine’s Day when he had proposed. Then many years later, it had brought Grant’s mother, Shirley, together with their father.

  Uncomfortably, Grant also recalled that Ty once admitted Grandmother Margaret had sent the Cupid charm with him the night he’d impulsively proposed to Sierra.

  Grant’s no-nonsense business logic assured him a piece of jewelry didn’t possess magical powers to find true love, yet the coincidences still disturbed him. He wasn’t ready to settle down with any woman. He’d learned his lesson years ago. Now he was content with his bachelor lifestyle and savored his freedom.

  He felt a hot sting in his palm and nearly dropped the charm. Toby reached for it, startling Grant back to reality as he instinctively closed his fingers protectively around the heirloom.

  “Real cool,” Toby said, dropping his empty hand away. “It has a bow and arrow like I do. Who gave it to you?”

  “My brother. It’s our grandmother’s,” Grant grumbled, none too pleased. He gritted his teeth and pushed away the dark thoughts. Story was, once Cupid got into someone’s hands, the victim was destined to be joined with his true love—whether he wanted to be or not. Thank goodness it was merely a fairy tale. Still, he couldn’t quite dismiss his concern.

  “You have a brother?” Toby asked in wonder. Then his voice dropped wistfully. “I bet you never got lonely. Wish I had a brother.”

  “I have two brothers, and believe me, it isn’t always fun,” Grant replied ruefully, putting the Cupid key back into the envelope. He crammed in the note, then pressed the flap securely in place.

  Jami collected her own keycard as she listened to their exchange, her heart giving a sad pang. She hadn’t known her son wished for a brother. The way her life was going, another child appeared to be far into the future, and by then Toby could outgrow his yearning for a brother. She wished she’d gotten a better look at the charm Grant’s brother had sent him. How strange for one brother to send a piece of jewelry to the other. It must be some weird family tradition.

  This was no place to quiz Grant. She sighed, shoving back an unruly lock of hair. It was none of her business, and she’d just have to stifle her curiosity. Besides, maybe Sierra would know. Jami made a mental note to ask.

  “Can I hold it?” Toby wistfully gazed up at Grant.

  “Sorry, buddy. It’s a family heirloom, not a toy.”

  “Okay,” Toby agreed, too quickly. “Sure thing, Grant.”

  “Can we go our rooms, or do we just stand here forever?” Jami asked, irritated at them both.

  “Let’s go,” Grant said, tucking the packet under his arm as he headed for the stairway.

  “Yeah, let’s go,” Toby echoed, skipping after Grant.

  Grant’s frozen granite expression dissolved into a heart-stopping smile as he glanced back at the boy, trailing like a puppy.

  Jami accompanied Grant, following the lodge’s version of a bellboy—a hulking lumberjack who hoisted all their luggage at once. They marched caravan-style up the stairs and through the plush, carpeted hall. An older man rounded the corner and ambled toward them. Silver-gray hair topped a weathered face, crisscrossed with lines etched by life and the passing of time. A checked flannel shirt hung loosely upon a once-erect carriage, now bent to a slight slope about the shoulders.

  The man smiled and gazed at them through faded blue eyes as he exclaimed, “Grant Carrington, I almost didn’t recognize you in those city duds.”

  “City duds?” J
ami murmured incredulously. She had thought Grant was overdressed for a flight, but she knew some businessmen rarely shed their high-profile image.

  “Homer,” Grant replied warmly, advancing to take the older man’s outstretched hand. “Don’t let the suit fool you. It’s temporary. I went straight to the airport from a meeting.”

  “Always business,” Homer said, patting Grant’s shoulder as they ended the handshake. “Didn’t expect to see you here at the lodge.” He grinned, showing ultra white dentures. “The roof on your cabin cave in or something?”

  “Cabin?” Jami muttered, switching her gaze to Grant.

  “Hope not.” Grant shrugged. “I haven’t checked on it this year, yet.”

  “Several collapsed with that heavy snow we had last winter, but I haven’t heard of any on your side of the mountain.” Homer’s curious gaze swept wide to encompass Jami and her son. “You get hitched without telling me and Nell?”

  “Would I do that?” Grant actually tugged at his shirt collar. “You know I’m a dyed-in-the-wool bachelor.”

  Homer chuckled. “Said the same thing before I got lassoed by my Nell.”

  “This is my sister-in-law Sierra’s friend, Jami Rhodes, and her son, Toby.” Grant sounded reluctant as he introduced them, and she noticed he avoided any mention of the CupidKey promotion.

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am.” Homer took her hand in his. She could feel gnarly bones through cool papery skin. “I’m Homer Ballingham, owner of Frost Lake Lodge.”

  “Owner?” Jami repeated, sounding foolish to herself as she released Homer’s hand. Wouldn’t the owner know about their Cupid trip and reservations?

  “On paper.” He smiled again, face crinkling into a web of wrinkles. “The lodge still technically belongs to us, but our daughter Becca runs the place now. Nell and I just wander around, greet guests, and get in Becca’s way since we retired five years ago.”