by Karen Rigley
Grant clapped Homer on the back. “Don’t let my old friend snow you. He still teaches the guests how to tie their own flies from feathers and fur.”
“Cool!” Toby piped, suddenly drawn into the conversation.
Both men chuckled at the boy, and Jami’s spine stiffened defensively.
“Not much can beat handmade fishing lures.” Grant mussed Toby’s hair. “Would you like me to show you some of my collection?”
“Sure. Did Homer make them?” Toby grinned at the old man, then focused intently on Grant.
“Homer made some, and I made some.” Grant seemed pleased with himself, and Jami glimpsed a bit of boy in that all man blond Adonis.
“Do you catch lots of fish with those flies?” Toby quizzed, his freckled face alight with enthusiasm.
“On occasion.” Grant exchanged a glance with Homer, and the older man nodded in agreement as Grant added, “How about fishing with Homer and me? Then you can see how well the flies work.”
“Can I, Mom? Please?” Toby begged, grabbing her sundress the way he had at the airport.
“We’ll have to see,” Jami responded, hoping that Grant wouldn’t make promises to Toby and not bother to keep them. She had always tried never to break a promise to her son.
“Come on, Mom,” Grant and Homer echoed in unison, silly grins plastered on both men’s faces to make her feel like an ogre.
Toby bent over in a fit of giggles. Jami felt a blush burn her cheeks and hurried forward to where the lumberjack bellboy had opened a door and stood stacking their luggage inside.
She stepped into the spacious suite and was greeted by the fragrance of roses and wild violets. She found her gaze drawn to the king-size four-poster bed covered by a star-pattern, red, white, and blue hand-tied quilt. Jami refused to acknowledge the mental flash of a tantalizing image of Grant in that bed. She didn’t even know the man!
The “bellboy” now stood just outside the doorway, probably accepting a tip from Grant, so she completed her visual survey. The massive pine furniture gave the room an early American atmosphere, accented by the loosely woven draperies and a looped rug that matched the quilt. A chunky pine telephone stand with a black push-button phone flanked the doorway. Jami dropped her handbag onto the table by the phone.
She noticed two doors on her left and one stood open to offer a glimpse of a double bed with a patchwork quilt in the patriotic color scheme. Jami decided she and Toby could take that smaller bedroom and leave this huge main room to Grant. She did flick a longing glance at the fireplace in the northwest corner, but she didn’t care about the wet-bar or entertainment center along the right-hand side of the room opposite the big bed.
“Not bad.” Grant entered, with Toby on his heels.
“It’s cool,” Toby agreed, causing Jami concern about her son’s obvious adoration of the man whose company they must “enjoy” for the next week. “What’s that ring gizmo with the feathers and teeth?” the boy added, staring above the bed’s headboard to a Native American craft hanging on the wall.
“That’s a dream-catcher. Haven’t you seen one before?” Grant said, crossing the room to remove it from the nail. He handed the feather, bead, and leather loop to Toby. “It’s blessed with magical powers to chase away evil spirits and nightmares, letting only good dreams through.”
“Wow! Did Indians make it?”
“Native Americans,” Jami corrected as Grant said, “Yes.”
Toby’s brown eyes squinted in thought. “So I won’t have bad dreams if I sleep with this by my bed?”
“That’s the way it’s supposed to work.” Grant smiled down at Toby, flashing even white teeth.
Toby fiddled with an animal tooth, then handed the dream-catcher back to Grant. “Will you hang it back up, so it can guard my dreams?”
“We aren’t sleeping in that bed,” Jami gasped, meeting Grant’s amused midnight blue gaze.
“Why not?” Toby objected with a child’s innocence as he hopped on one foot and then the other. “There’s plenty of room for all three of us.”
Grant’s smile grew with his amusement. “Plenty of room,” he echoed in a velvet undertone that sent all kinds of forbidden messages to Jami.
Feeling a hot blush stain her cheeks, Jami hoped she didn’t go fire engine red. Her coloring lent itself to extreme blushes, a fact she had always hated. She took Toby’s hand and led him to the open door of the smaller room. “We’ll sleep in this bedroom, and Mr. Carrington can have the big bed.”
A disappointed pout pushed Toby’s bottom lip forward. “There’s no dream-catcher above that bed.”
“I saw a purple dream-catcher in the gift shop here the last time I visited the lodge. Maybe they still have it,” Grant suggested, squatting down to drop eye to eye with the boy.
“It may be expensive,” Jami protested, hoping not to spend any more than absolutely necessary on their vacation.
“My treat,” Grant replied in a tone that brooked no argument.
“We can’t let you do that.”
“Yes we can!” Toby wailed, freckles standing out starkly on his face and his hands balling into fists.
“Then take the king-size bed and the main room. I’ll sleep in the double bed.” Grant stood up, emphasizing his tall, lanky frame and powerful build.
He was taller and more broad-shouldered than Sierra’s husband, Ty. Also, Jami reluctantly admitted to herself, though it had no bearing on the current issue, Grant was even more handsome than Ty. “No, you need the king-size bed. Toby and I are much shorter, and the double will be comfortable for us.” She refused to meet his taunting gaze.
“I’ll concede if you allow me to buy your son a dream-catcher.”
“Please, Mom?”
“Okay,” Jami agreed, feeling out-numbered, out-voted, and travel weary. The sooner they got the beds assigned, the sooner they could settle into the rooms.
Grant picked up Jami’s denim tote bag and her son’s purple backpack, slung them easily over his shoulder, and carried them into the spare room where he placed them onto a low cabinet. “Are you sure you’ll be comfortable in here? You’re welcome to the main room.”
“No, thank you,” Jami replied, wishing he would leave them alone. Why did his presence seem to fill the entire space wherever they were? She pushed an unruly lock of hair off her forehead and plastered a smile on her face. “I think Toby needs some rest, and I’d like to freshen up, so if you don’t mind...”
“I don’t mind,” he drawled, his dark eyes twinkling as he stood immoveable.
Jami shot him a glare, vowing that she would strangle Sierra the next time they met. Her friend had not warned her of Grant’s Carrington’s devilish sense of humor. He obviously delighted in taunting her, and she felt her temper heating to the boiling point. “Please get out of our room, Mr. Carrington.”
“Grant, remember?” Toby chirped, totally unaware of the tension radiating between the adults.
She gritted her teeth, determined not to blow. “Please wash up, Toby.”
“Aw, Mom, I’m not dirty.”
“Toby.” She kept her voice soft, but she knew it rang with a riled mother’s edge of steel. The child read either her tone or expression because he immediately dropped his protest and scampered into the bathroom, slamming the door behind in his haste.
Jami turned to Grant. “Why didn’t you tell me you have a cabin up here?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“How would I know to ask a Houston businessman if he owns a cabin in the Rocky Mountains?”
Grant grinned at her. “Who do you think recommended Frost Lake to Ty and Sierra?”
“This entire trip is your fault, isn’t it?” Jami demanded, hands on her hips.
A guilty expression cloaked Grant’s handsome face, his dark eyes hooded as he gazed at her. “That’s possible.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sierra didn’t explain?”
“Explain what?” Jami asked suspiciously. What else had
Sierra neglected to tell her?
“I’m a business consultant, so Ty came to me for advice on how to promote CupidKey. I suggested an all-expense paid get-acquainted week for a lucky computer-matched couple. I didn’t expect to be part of that couple.” Grant’s fingers stiffened when he touched the packet tucked under his arm, as if the envelope were an unpleasant reminder of something.
“How did you end up as my Cupid match?” Jami asked, curious to see if he had been coerced as well.
“Ty fed my information into the computer, and I guess they don’t have much of a client base, yet.”
“You’re not kidding,” Jami said with feeling, recalling the lady biker with nose ring. She frowned. Maybe Grant had not intended to be part of the lucky couple, but he was still responsible for both their “prize” and destination.
Toby popped out of the bathroom. “I’m hungry, Mom. When do we eat?”
Grant raised his cuff and glanced down at his Rolex watch. “In about five minutes. I’ll leave you two alone to freshen up while I change. We can meet downstairs in the dining room. It’s to the right of the stairway.” With that, he spun around and strode out of the room, tapping the door shut behind him.
Dinner at Frost Lake Lodge proved to be a less than perfect experience for Jami. The meat in the elk stew tasted gamey, the potato chunks and sliced carrots were not peeled, and there was far too much onion and celery for her taste. She thought the cornbread delicious, but Toby got the accompanying honey butter all over himself. As she reached for her handbag to clean his sticky paws and face with the moist-wipe towelettes and hand sanitizer she always carried, Jami realized she had left her handbag on the table inside the suite.
Not wanting to cause any fuss, she dipped her napkin in her water and subtly cleaned off her son. Glancing up, she caught Nell’s eye, and the elderly woman smiled. The diminutive woman’s white hair grew in wispy tufts and when Nell smiled, her whole face glowed pink.
Jami returned the smile, glad that most of the other guests were away for the evening. She had been told they had gone to a champion rodeo down in town, which left Jami, Toby, and Grant in the company of Homer, Nell, and their daughter, Becca.
“Grant,” Homer bellowed across the table, waving his spoon in the air. “Almost forgot. You got a phone call from your brother in Houston.”
“Was I supposed to call Ty back?” Grant asked, startled and wondering if it had anything to do with the Cupid pin.
“Nope.” Homer dug back into his stew, shoveling a spoonful into his mouth.
“Ty gave you a message, dear,” Nell prodded. “Remember?”
Homer grunted and continued chewing.
Nell pursed her lips and shook an arthritic finger at her husband in a gesture so familiar through the years to Grant that it made him smile.
“You were to tell to watch for a special package.”
“I’ve got it,” Grant muttered, ready to strangle his brother.
“Is it something important?” Nell asked, her voice wavering.
“I hope not,” Grant said, rubbing his chin as if deep in thought.
Jami glanced curiously at Grant. Why did that silly piece of jewelry disturb him so? What a strange thing. She shook her head in puzzlement.
Becca hurried back into the dining room with a tray full of desserts, deftly serving generous slices of gooseberry pie.
“What’s this?” Toby asked, poking at the pale green gooseberries filling the flaky pastry. “Grape pie?”
Grant’s deep chuckle rumbled across the table. “No. Gooseberry, a special treat at Frost Lake.”
“They’re a tad sour,” Homer warned with a wink at Becca.
“Tart,” Nell corrected, stabbing a forkful with the enthusiasm of a starving trucker instead of a tiny old lady.
Becca bustled around the table, clearing empty plates to refill her tray. “Try a bite and if you don’t like it, I’ll find you a peanut butter cookie instead.”
“Peanut butter cookie?” Grant quizzed with interest as he blatantly angled for an extra treat along with Toby.
“Can’t I have both?” Toby coaxed as he happily chewed his first taste of gooseberry pie.
“Sounds reasonable,” Grant said. “We’re growing boys, you know.”
“Boys?” Jami teased, laughing at both of them.
“You haven’t been a boy, Grant Carrington,” Becca razzed, swinging back toward them as she reached the kitchen doorway, “since I was a girl.”
“Don’t remind me,” Grant replied, his words punctuated with a good-natured laugh.
Jami studied Becca with new eyes, thinking the bird-boned, blue-eyed brunette past her thirties and a bit older than Grant. Becca obviously inherited her petite stature from her mother, while her blue eyes and long nose came from Homer. Had Becca known Grant when they were young? Had she been one of Grant’s conquests? None of your business, Jami scolded herself, admitting that the relaxed friendliness between Grant and Becca seemed devoid of any sexual undercurrent. Jami couldn’t fathom how any woman could see the man without feeling some sensual cravings.
“Miss Rhodes?” Nell was saying in a tone that suggested she had been trying to capture Jami’s attention.
“Please call me Jami.”
“Jami, is the presidential suite to your liking? Becca tells me that you and Grant are there together.”
“We aren’t exactly together.” Jami felt that hated blush warming her face.
“The room’s great,” Grant interjected. “Certainly beats the old days of bunking with Ralph in that junk heap he called his bedroom.”
Homer guffawed with a belly laugh while Nell tittered into her hand.
“Ralph?” Jami questioned, feeling like an outsider.
“That boy of ours used to keep his room as neat as the county dump,” Homer informed her. “Now Ralph runs a string of business accounting firms from Boise to Salt Lake to Denver.”
“Ralph and I roomed together all through college,” Grant told Jami, casting a warm smile at Homer and Nell as he spoke. “We split holidays and summer vacations between Frost Lake and the ranch in West Texas.”
“Why a ranch in West Texas?” Jami asked, intrigued. She had imagined Grant to be a Houston businessman right down to his Gucci loafers, though he did do wonderful things for the jeans and tan pullover he now wore.
“I grew up on the Circle C, our family ranch. After I got my business degree, the best job opportunities were in Houston.”
“Oh,” Jami murmured, digesting this new information as she tried to picture him on a dirty, dusty ranch.
“A real ranch with cowboys?” Toby asked, his eyes drooping even as excitement colored his voice.
“Used to be a cowboy myself,” Grant drawled with an exaggerated accent as he leaned back in his chair and pretended to quick draw and twirl a gun.
“You were a cowboy?” Jami and her son asked together. She knew her eyes must be as big around as Toby’s as she stared at Grant. What other surprises did her Cupid match have in store for her before the night was over?
“Coffee in the parlor,” Becca announced, whisking their dessert plates away.
Jami pushed back her chair and smiled politely at Nell. “If you’ll excuse us, I think it’s time to tuck my son into bed.”
“Come on back down and join us for a game of poker,” Homer offered. “Grant owes me a chance to get even.”
Jami shook her head in the negative, taking Toby’s hand as he yawned loudly. “No thanks. It’s been a long day.”
Grant shot her a questioning glance from those midnight eyes, but Homer had already slipped a pack of cards from his pocket. “Come on, Grant, let’s see if you’re still able to win at five-card stud.”
Jami rushed her son out of the dining room and up the stairs, glad that Grant would be occupied. She had dreaded the moment they would be alone in the suite, but now he would be down in the parlor playing cards. And she could have some privacy.
With Toby tucked into the double
bed and snoring softly, Jami pushed aside the shower curtain to slip into a big claw-footed tub filled with steaming water and fragrant jasmine-scented bubbles. She sank to chin level, letting the hot water sluice over her body, soothing her nerves and relaxing her tired muscles. As she soaked, she shut her eyes, but Grant’s golden image floated through her thoughts, driving her to distraction before she gave up and climbed out of the tub.
She found a thick, thirsty towel and began to dry herself, suddenly conscious of her moisture-depleted skin. The climate was so much dryer here in the Rockies compared to Houston’s high humidity. All the moisture felt sucked right out of her pores. Needing her lotion, Jami sorted through her tote bag, until she remembered she’d transferred the tube into her purse just before they left for the airport. She sighed, wrapping the towel sarong-style around her naked body. Then she remembered. Her purse was still sitting on the table by the suite door. Oh, well, she reasoned, Grant wasn’t in the main bedroom; he was downstairs playing poker.
Wearing only the towel, Jami stepped out of the bedroom into the outer suite, dimly lit by a ceramic lamp sitting on the table next to the telephone and her handbag. She heard a rustle across the room by the king-size bed and whirled around.
Grant Carrington was yanking his shirt off over his head to reveal a magnificent male form that would have impressed Michelangelo. Grant’s startled gaze met hers, and she froze.
With a gasp of surprise, she tightened her hold on the towel as she instinctively noted he had already unsnapped the top button on his jeans. She forced her eyes from the dark gold curly hairs disappearing into a vee just above his zipper. Her gaze roved over his flat, washboard stomach and well-muscled bronze chest, his powerful broad shoulders, brawny arms, and biceps.
She heard her own groan of awareness and backed toward the door of the room where her son blissfully slept. Her hold on the towel nearly slipped, and she caught the edge just before indecent exposure, but not before she saw the heat flash in Grant’s gaze. Sudden sexual awareness thrummed between them, the air electrified as they stared at each other. The game had changed.
