by Karen Rigley
He twirled the Cupid pin between his fingers. Such a tiny thing to cause so much stress. Silly.
Still, he shoved the Cupid key inside the padded envelope, pushing it down to the very bottom. He resealed the sticky flap, pressing it tightly closed. He placed the envelope in the rear of the drawer, shut the drawer with a snap, then turned to lean against it. He exhaled a breath of relief. Done.
He closed his eyes. Instantly, he found himself assailed by a vision—Toby pointing that toy bow and arrow at him and Jami. Followed by the boy dissolving into Cupid, his arrow aimed at Jami, whose coppery hair flowed in the breeze as her lovely lips parted and her eyes flashed gold fire.
Shaken, Grant blinked away the image. Get real. Grandmother Margaret’s Cupid key possessed no magical powers. Love charms and strange enchantments were absurd. Pure fantasy. Nonsense.
Chapter 5
Snuggling under the covers next to her son, Jami punched her pillow into a more comfortable shape and wished they were back in their Houston townhouse in their own beds. Instead, she was trying to sleep in a room a mere door apart from the most attractive man she’d ever encountered. Grant Carrington left her feeling as exposed as a doe forced to seek shelter at the entrance of a cougar den. Then why did she want to sneak into the outer suite and spend the night in front of a roaring fire with him? She fought her impulse to tiptoe out of her room and into his.
She assured herself that she didn’t want to be with Grant. That womanizer? No way. And she certainly wasn’t eagerly forward to the “romantic” dinner tomorrow evening with Mike photographing them. Besides, her Irish temper always got in the way.
Resting her cheek against the cool pillow, she wondered if she could get along with Grant long enough to let Mike get any romantic shots for CupidKey. If it wasn’t for her promise to Sierra, she wouldn’t eat dinner in the same building as Mr. Know-everything Carrington, let alone share a candlelit table with the man.
Jami sighed deeply. Certain that she’d never be able to sleep, she burrowed her face into the downy pillow and promptly drifted off to dreamland.
Toby’s scream jerked her out of a heavy sleep. Thrashing wildly, his arms and legs tangled in the sheet, he had nearly rolled off the far side of the bed.
“Honey, hush,” Jami cooed softly, untangling her boy to gently cradle him in her arms. His forehead felt hot and clammy, and his breathing rapid. She rocked him back and forth as he awakened and calmed.
“A grizzly bear was chasing me,” he sniffled, pressing his face into her nightshirt. “He had sharp teeth and red eyes that glowed in the dark.”
“It was just a bad dream, honey,” Jami whispered, her chin resting on the top of his head as she inhaled his familiar little boy scent.
Just then the door burst open to silhouette a hulking figure of dark menace looming in the doorway. An involuntary scream tore from Jami’s throat. Toby screamed in response.
The figure charged into the room, re-forming into a man. A very shaken man. “What’s wrong? What happened?” Grant Carrington demanded, sounding ferocious.
“Toby had a nightmare,” Jami gasped, feeling foolish she’d screamed. “And then you came charging in here and terrified us.”
“He yelled bloody murder because of a bad dream?” Grant raked a hand through his hair. With dim light pouring in from the doorway, she could see the pained expression on his face. “I thought you were hurt.”
“Why didn’t my dream-catcher work?” Toby asked, a few leftover sobs hiccupping his words.
Grant rubbed his chin, his shadowed face thoughtful. “I see the problem. It’s too far away from you.”
“It is?” Toby asked in wonder, not a shred of doubt visible to Jami.
Grant reached up and popped a thumbtack out of the wall to remove the purple dream-catcher. He lowered the Native American creation and positioned it so the bottom edge of the lower beads and feathers dangled mere inches above the headboard on Toby’s side. “Much better.”
“Thank you,” Jami breathed, feasting on the sight of Grant’s rippling muscles as he moved. To her, he appeared the perfect male specimen, and her throat constricted at the sight. She wouldn’t have been female if she hadn’t responded. Grant wore only a pair of paisley boxers that revealed his beautiful body. From the way the waistband twisted and rode low on his hips, she guessed the boxers were hastily donned, daring her imagination to envision him in his full male glory.
“Now I won’t have anymore nightmares?” Toby asked, scooting back over to settle into his own side of the bed.
“I can almost guarantee it.” Grant tucked the covers up around the child’s neck. “No more bad dreams, and no more monsters.”
“I wish we could sleep in your big bed with you, Grant,” Toby said with drowsy innocence. “Then we’d be really safe.”
Sharing a bed with Grant Carrington would make her feel anything but safe, Jami reflected, her insides pitching at the thought. “Toby, your dream-catcher will work better now that Grant’s moved it.”
“It’ll work like a charm,” Grant agreed, sounding close to laughter.
“Good.” Toby snuggled deeper into the bedding. “Then I can go back to sleep and that grizzly will be all gone.”
“Yes, the grizzly will be all gone,” Jami echoed softly, her glance meeting Grant’s dark, electric gaze.
Suddenly, Toby reached up to throw his arms around Grant’s corded neck. “Thanks, Grant. You’re a cool friend.”
“So are you,” Grant replied. He brushed a kiss on Toby’s forehead. “Goodnight, slugger.”
“G’night,” the child muttered thickly, already half asleep.
Grant eased away from the bed, his bare feet treading silently on the thick carpet. “Goodnight, Jami.”
“Thanks for coming to our rescue,” she said as he moved toward the door.
“Sorry I startled you.”
“Sorry I screamed.”
“I’m just glad you and Toby are safe,” Grant replied, his voice low and throbbing with messages.
With belated modesty, Jami pulled the sheet up over her chest, suddenly realizing that the light illuminated her as it now backlit Grant. Her breasts peaked against the thin cotton of her nightshirt, revealing her womanly awareness. Darn the man! Did he have to read her every emotion?
“Goodnight, Red.” His sexy, velvet growl hung in the air as he backed through the doorway and clicked the door closed.
“Goodnight,” she whispered into the darkness, still clutching the sheet to her throat, feeling the pulse there fluttering as wildly as her heart.
The next morning, Jami spread her coral cotton-knit dress out on the bed and eyed it critically. “I hope this will be fancy enough for tonight.”
“What’s tonight?” Toby asked, toying with his bow and arrow.
“You remember Mike, the photographer?” She watched her son nod. “Sierra and Ty hired him to take some pictures of me and Grant at dinner. It’s dress-up.”
“Do I have to get dressed up, too?”
Jami smiled lovingly at her son. “No. Homer, Nell, and Becca have invited you to eat with them, or you can have supper with the lodge guests.”
“Will that lady with the pointy nails be there?” Toby asked, scrunching up his mouth in disgust.
“Probably. If you eat with the lodge guests.”
“I don’t like that lady.”
Jami threw him a conspiratorial smile and hugged him close. “Want to know a secret?”
“What?”
“I don’t, either. But we both must be very polite to her. Okay?”
“Yeah, I guess.” He squirmed out of his mother’s arms. “I want to eat supper with Homer. Maybe he’ll tell me his fish tales.”
Jami laughed at her incorrigible child. “I bet Homer will tell you plenty of fish tales.”
“Maybe I could go with you and Grant, instead. I’d be really quiet.”
“Grant and I are supposed to dine alone together.”
“Oh,” Toby replie
d, his freckled face transparent with conflicting emotions. She could tell her son was pleased about Homer, yet unhappy that Grant would be dining alone with Jami.
“It’s not until tonight and just for a few hours. Remember Sierra and Ty gave me this trip to help advertise their business? I must do this to repay them. Okay?”
“I know,” Toby grumbled, dropping his plastic bow on the floor and kicking it. “But don’t do any mushy stuff with Grant. Please, Mom?”
“Mushy stuff?”
“No kissy, huggy boyfriend stuff,” Toby persisted. “Because Grant’s not your boyfriend. Right?”
“Right,” Jami agreed, a secret part of her wishing she could claim Grant for a boyfriend. She shoved that traitorous thought aside and smiled down at her son. “Please put your bow and arrow away. Maybe later we can setup a target down by the lake. We could also take the toy boat Grant carved for you. Okay?”
“All right!” Toby squealed.
Constantly amazed by his quicksilver mood changes, Jami watched her son cheerfully obey her and put his bow and arrow set into his backpack. Life was so simple to a child. A promise of play made everything better. If only adults could find happiness in such simple things.
“Mom, can I have my chocolate éclair now? I fell asleep last night before I could eat it.”
“Not before breakfast, honey.”
“But I’m hungry.”
“It’s almost time to go down and eat.”
“Just a few bites?”
Jami gave her son her stern-mom look and he mumbled, “I’ll wait.”
She and Toby delayed their breakfast until eight to dine with the other lodge guests. To Jami’s disappointment, Grant was not among them. Becca informed her that he’d gone fishing with Homer.
“Grant said he’d take me the next time they went fishing,” Toby muttered to his mom, dejection in his voice.
“I’m sorry,” Jami whispered, feeling like she was apologizing for her ex-husband all over again. Once a year he’d arrange to see Toby, then stand him up.
“My fault,” Becca chirped. “Last night I read Grant the riot act and told him it would be way too early to take a child fishing. He can take you at a decent hour.” Becca’s hands rested on her hips. “That all right with you?”
Jami watched her son weigh the information, a lump forming in her throat. So, it wasn’t Grant’s fault. This time, anyway. Still, Toby had been hurt and disappointed.
“You told Grant not to take me?” Toby asked, biting down on his quivering bottom lip.
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Becca said, crossing her bosom in emphasis. “They left at first light. That’s an ungodly hour.”
“What’s first light?” Toby demanded, curiosity replacing dejection.
“About an hour before dawn when the birds start singing,” Professor Tolaski said, joining their conversation. “Then dawn stains the heavens, and even later the sun rises to announce daylight.”
“So it’s real early in the morning?” Toby asked, obviously digesting the information. Jami smothered a chuckle, knowing that before daylight was too early even for her chipper morning person.
“Real early,” Becca agreed, sounding relieved.
“Technically night,” the professor added, tugging on his beard.
Jami smiled her thanks at both of them.
“The owl is still hunting at that hour,” Dottie declared.
“It’s dark and cold, too,” Doris added. “I remember one morning when Dot and I were staking out a mockingbird...”
“Do we have to have so much talk this early in the morning?” Raven complained, blinking already heavily made-up violet eyes at her fellow lodgers. “If we weren’t required to be at breakfast by eight, I would have stayed in bed for several more hours. This is barbarian enough without all your babbling.”
“Sleeping half the day away is unproductive,” the professor stated, peering at Raven through his thick lenses with disapproval.
Becca hovered by the table, a fresh and heavenly fragrant tray of blueberry muffins in her hands. “If you don’t choose to eat breakfast with the other guests, you can have a cold tray in your room or make breakfast arrangements elsewhere.”
“A cold tray sounds appetizing, doesn’t it?” the young widow returned with dripping sarcasm. “And driving through the canyon all the way into town for breakfast sounds a bit much, thank you.”
“Oh, the cold tray is delicious,” Dottie chimed, dimple-crease lines deepening as her eyes glowed with pleasure. “Fruit bowl, muffins, juice. Delightful.”
“Delightful,” Doris echoed. “Strawberries this large.” She held her fingers several inches apart to show the size.
“Not quite,” Becca corrected, winking at Jami. “But it’s not a bad meal.”
“We like fruit. Don’t we, Mom?” Toby said, stuffing a huge bite of blueberry muffin in his mouth to punctuate his words.
“We do,” Jami replied, noting that Raven sat glaring daggers at everyone. Good. Jami wouldn’t mind if the scarlet-lipped widow failed to grace the breakfast table with her presence for the remainder of the week.
While the other guests were downstairs eating breakfast, Grant stood under a hot pounding shower to wash away all traces of his early morning fishing trip. He still felt bad about omitting Toby from their fun, but Becca had made him promise to take the kid during normal daylight hours.
As Grant massaged the shampoo through his hair, he found himself hurrying. For reasons he could not identify, he felt an urgency to join Jami and her boy before they made other plans for the day. He had talked Homer into letting him use either the motorboat or the sailboat later, hoping such an outing would tempt Jami and Toby. Grant wanted to be the one to introduce them to their first boat excursion on Frost Lake. He had ruled out taking the canoe, considering Toby’s penchant for trouble. A cold dunking was not in his plans today.
He could still hear Jami’s bell-like laughter ringing in his ears. He must have looked ridiculous sitting in the drink with Toby and a muddy wader on his lap. Grant smiled as he rinsed away the last of the soap lather, shut off the shower taps, and shook off water droplets in a manner that would make an Irish Setter proud.
He reached for his robe, a concession since Toby and his blushing mother had surprised him yesterday morning. Not that he wouldn’t mind seeing that flash of pure sexual attraction heat Jami’s eyes and feel his answering hunger once more, but there was the boy.
Rubbing his hair with a towel, Grant paused to remember his original anger when his Cupid match had insisted on bringing her child along on this publicity vacation. Now he admitted that much of the time he enjoyed Toby’s company. Occasionally the kid got in the way of romance, of course.
Grant pulled on his clothing and told himself he had no business thinking about romance, anyway. It was obvious that Jami merited more than a one-night-stand. She deserved a man who would be there for her every night of her life and wake up next to her every morning. A woman as lovely and special as Jami Rhodes was destined for a man who could promise her forever. Definitely not a die-hard bachelor. Grant scowled at his reflection in the mirror. Plus, she needed a father for her redheaded monster.
For the briefest moment, Grant was tempted to check on the Cupid key and make certain it had not escaped the confines of the envelope. He told himself not to be absurd, but was staring at the suspect drawer when Toby burst through the hall door and into the suite.
“I thought you were fishing,” Toby stated, feet planted apart and arms folded in a body stance as accusing as his high voice.
“Toby!” Jami exclaimed, taking hold of her son’s shoulders and boosting him through the room toward their bedroom door.
“It’s okay,” Grant said, stepping toward them. “Toby, I’m sorry Homer and I went fishing without you. I think we would have had more fun if you’d been along.”
“You do?” Toby’s brown eyes grew round.
“I do.” Grant grinned. “How about if I make it up
to you? Would you and your mom go boating with me on the lake today? We can bring our fishing gear along with us.”
Happiness shone in Toby’s face, then his expression crumbled. “I don’t have any fishing gear. I don’t even have a fishing pole.”
“We’ll come up with something. Do you want to go?” Grant found himself sounding almost eager. He schooled his tone to be more matter-of-fact. “Your mother has veto power, naturally.”
Jami threw Grant a curious stare.
“All right,” Toby hollered, “I get to go fishing!”
Grant felt a curious lightness and satisfaction as Jami nodded her own agreement. So what if she didn’t share her son’s enthusiasm? She hadn’t refused.
“Jami, can you two be ready by ten-thirty?”
“Fine,” she replied softly. Had he detected a hint of resentment? He hoped not. Grant watched her guide Toby into the bedroom and firmly shut the door. He stared at the closed door for a long moment, then started to whistle. Life was good. He was going fishing again—this time with Jami and Toby.
At ten-thirty Grant had just stepped back into the suite when he heard Jami scream, “No!”
Adrenalin pumping, he strode across the room to throw open the bedroom door. “What’s wrong?”
Face pink and eyes snapping, Jami spun around holding up a pretty coral dress. “This is what’s wrong!”
Grant gaze dropped to a smear of chocolate and a white creamy substance marring a significant section of the bodice.
“Sorry,” Toby sniffed, wearing the same chocolate and whipped cream goo as the dress. “The éclair fell out of my napkin.”
“This dress is the only thing I have suitable for tonight.”
“It’s no big deal,” Grant soothed, trying to diffuse the situation.
“Not to you,” Jami moaned, crushing the dress into a ball and aiming it at Grant’s head.
Grant instinctively ducked. “We’ll get you a new dress.”
“Where?” Instead of sending the ruined garment his way, she flung it on the bed. “An extra-large, souvenir T-shirt from the lodge gift shop?” Jami retrieved the ball of stained fabric and unwadded it. “I don’t think so. I’ll never get this stain out of my coral knit.”
