That Carrington Magic (CupidKey)

by Karen Rigley

Grant sputtered mid-sip, knocking his champagne flute over when he grabbed for his napkin.

  He coughed and sputtered a moment longer, but just as Jami became alarmed and ready to offer assistance, he choked, “Why do you ask?”

  “You didn’t seem too happy when he sent it to you here at the lodge, so I wondered if you’d returned the heirloom to your brother for safekeeping.”

  “Then you haven’t seen the Cupid recently?” he queried, mopping the spreading beige spill from the lace tablecloth.

  “No.” Jami blinked at him in surprise. “Why?”

  “Just curious,” he answered, sounding more disturbed than curious. “Ah, do you go to the beach a lot?”

  “The beach?” Jami noticed he seemed to relax with the change of subject, still she wondered why he got so uptight over his grandmother’s pin. “You mean the beach back home?” Grant nodded. “I thought owning a scuba and diving shop means you must like the ocean.”

  “I do. I love the water.” She smiled, catching her breath as he smiled back. He was so handsome—even soggy from spilled champagne. She could do this. The evening was almost over, anyway. Their remaining dinner conversation revolved around getting to know each other better, exchanging likes and dislikes, and Jami felt a warm glow of companionship.

  After Grant polished off the last crumb of her piece of cake, he invited her to sit with him in the swing on the patio. They settled into the old-fashioned swing at odds with the modern steaming, bubbling hot tub directly across from them. Chlorinated water mingled with the fresh mountain air as the evening warmth became infiltrated by the night chill. The wooden swing swished with an occasional creak as they glided forward and back. Savoring their closeness and saturated with intimate contentment, she wished the night would never end.

  “It’s a beautiful night,” Jami said softly, unconsciously snuggling against his shoulder, relaxing as the swing drifted to and fro accompanied by a chorus of crickets and the rhythm of her heart.

  “Beautiful,” Grant repeated, gazing into her glowing amber- gold eyes as he slid one hand up to caress the satin-smooth skin of her slender throat. The warmth of her bare flesh seeped into his fingertips, leading him on a quest to seek the tender, sensitive spot behind her ear. What other places could he touch to make her shiver with delight? Grant leaned closer, pressing a kiss to the erratically beating pulse on her throat. He wanted to discover all of Jami’s secret desires, to drive her wild with passion and taste her sweet fulfillment. He wanted to make her his.

  The unbidden thought shook him. He drew back, suddenly unsure of his own intentions.

  “Grant?” Jami gazed up at him, her exotic eyes confused and uncertain.

  “It’s late,” he murmured. “I promised I’d get you back to Toby.”

  “Yes, Toby,” Jami stammered, rising to her feet a bit unsteadily. She lifted her sandals off the edge of the swing bench. “I hope he hasn’t given Nell any trouble.”

  “Nell’s a match for any boy,” Grant replied, glad for the change of subject. “Even your son.”

  “What do you mean even my son?” Jami headed through the French doors into the Garden Room, moving toward the hall door.

  “Nell’s son, Ralph, was no angel, and neither are her grandsons. Nell Ballingham may appear frail, but that lady’s still got some dynamite left.”

  “The Ballinghams are quite the characters. Toby’s very taken with Homer,” Jami mused as they strolled upstairs side by side, but not touching.

  “Toby doesn’t have grandparents?” Grant asked, hoping she didn’t mind his question. He really did want to know more about her family situation—and more about her.

  “No.” Jami shook her head, sadness cloaking her lovely features, her shoulders seeming to momentarily droop. “My parents died in an auto accident before Toby was born.”

  “I’m sorry.” Grant took hold of Jami’s fingers, her slender, delicate hand fitting perfectly. Everything about her body seemed to perfectly fit his. “What about Toby’s paternal grandparents?”

  She stiffened. “Doug and I divorced when Toby was a year old. My son hardly knows his father, let alone Doug’s family.”

  “I’m sorry,” Grant repeated, sensing his response was inadequate.

  “I’m not. If I had my way, I’d erase my ex-husband off the face of the earth.” Jami’s full moist lips pressed together, her pace increased, and she stared straight ahead.

  “That bad?”

  As if unable to verbalize her answer, Jami just nodded.

  “The guy hasn’t been much of a father figure to Toby,” Grant surmised, matching her stride as he felt the intense desire to flatten a man he’d never met.

  “None at all.”

  “He’s a fool.”

  “What?” Jami spun around to face Grant. He studied her, noting her jutted up chin and trembling lips. A shimmer of tears glistened in her eyes.

  “Your ex-husband is a fool for leaving you and Toby.”

  Her eyes grew wide as she appeared to digest this. She tilted her head. “What about you? Why isn’t there a Mrs. Grant Carrington?”

  “There almost was once.” Grant rubbed his chin, realizing it was only fair to reply truthfully.

  “What happened?”

  “Rachel decided that a rich, up-and-coming state representative was better husband material than a struggling college student.” He took Jami’s elbow and they started walking again. “Rachel was right. I’ve never been husband material. I like the bachelor life far too much.”

  Jami bit her lip, wondering why his bald statement hurt so much. It was none of her business if he chose to never marry.

  Reaching the suite, Grant opened the door, allowing Jami to enter first. A lamp on the telephone stand glowed softly, throwing illumination through the doorway into the smaller bedroom, where Nell could be seen in a chair by the bed. The elderly woman had nodded off and jerked awake as they entered.

  “My, my,” Nell tittered, “Must have dozed for a minute. Just let me get my knitting, and I’ll be out of your way.”

  “You’re not in the way,” Jami assured her, helping Nell rewind a ball of lavender yarn.

  “Oh, dear,” Nell said, “I can’t find my knitting needle.”

  “We’ll find it,” Jami replied, keeping her voice quiet as they searched around the chair, then under the bed where Toby curled beneath the covers deep in sleep.

  As the women searched for the knitting needle, Grant stayed in the outer suite and found himself inexplicably drawn to check the top drawer where he’d placed Cupid in the padded envelope. Unobtrusively as possible, he slid the drawer open to glance inside.

  He swore as the golden brooch glittered up at him from the dark interior while the envelope remained pushed toward the back of the drawer. Grant felt he’d been kicked in the gut. How had Cupid gotten out? Was someone playing a trick on him? His hands balled into fists, then relaxed as he reached out to touch the pin. If someone wasn’t pulling a prank, he must be losing his grip. Sierra was right. Maybe he had been working too hard. Still, his reaction to Jami proved it wasn’t fatigue. Instead, she sent his energy level soaring somewhere around the speed of light.

  “We found it, so I’ll be on my way. Goodnight, Grant.” Now holding a bag full of knitting paraphernalia, Nell tottered out of the bedroom with Jami trailing behind and ready to catch the older woman at any moment.

  “You can’t wander around the hallways alone this time of night,” Jami protested, again in position to catch the teetering woman.

  “I’ll walk you to the family quarters, Mrs. B.,” Grant offered, slamming the drawer and moving forward to take Nell’s bony, paper-skinned arm.

  She twinkled up at him. “You always were such a gentleman.”

  “Ah, then goodnight, Grant,” Jami called, breathtakingly lovely as she hovered uncertainly by her bedroom doorway.

  Damn, Grant thought, swearing at the timing. “Jami, I’ll be back in a few minutes, if you’d care for a nightcap with me?”


  “Thanks, but it’s late.” Jami sounded breathy and nervous, as if she dare not spend more time alone with him. As he watched her turn and step back into her room, her exquisite beauty seemed to catch fire, reminding Grant of what he was missing.

  He smothered an urge to beg Jami to wait up for him. “Goodnight, then.”

  Feeling a tug on his arm, he glanced down to meet Nell’s keen gaze, her wispy white hair styled by an eggbeater. “These old bones don’t approve of night owl hours.”

  “Then we’d better get you off your feet,” Grant replied, ushering her out into the hallway as Jami’s door shut with a firm click.

  “That girl’s real special,” Nell commented, shuffling along beside Grant.

  “I can’t argue that.”

  Nell snorted. “You not argue? That’ll be the day.”

  “Mrs. B.,” Grant said, caught between being amused and offended, “You make me sound difficult.”

  “You are difficult, young man.”

  Grant knew better than to disagree. Instead, he chose to quiz her about the Cupid key. At least his mind could have some relief, even if his body was forced to suffer. “Did Toby go into the outer suite by himself tonight?”

  “Not when he was with me.” Nell clutched the knitting basket to her chest. “I may have nodded off a time or two, but if that boy would have stirred, I’d have been wide awake.”

  “So Toby wasn’t in my room alone?”

  “Nope. Why? Was something disturbed?”

  “No.” Unless you count my sanity, Grant added to himself. Aloud he asked, “Mrs. B., do you believe in love charms and magic spells?”

  Nell shuffled to her own door, pausing with one hand on the brass knob. “Love is magic, son.” She tapped a gnarled finger against his lapel, where Jami’s lipstick stain covered his heart. “If you don’t know that by now, it’s time you learned.”

  Chapter 8

  “Mom, I can see the fish!” Toby hollered, practically hanging upside-down from the wooden dock, his red hair fanning out from his head as he dangled.

  “Toby,” Jami cried, dropping the picnic basket with a clatter as she dashed toward her son. “You’ll fall!”

  “Then we’ll fish him out.” Grant moved with agile strength across the creaking planks, reaching down to the boy.

  Toby grabbed the offered hand and let Grant swing him upright to perch on the pier edge. “Wow, that was cool.”

  “You’ll think cool,” his mother scolded, retrieving the basket. “When you land in the lake with the fish.”

  “I’m drip dry, Mom.” Toby grinned his lopsided grin. “You told me to do that when we got caught in the rain on the way home from the park, remember?”

  “Drip dry?” Grant repeated, his left brow arched, amusement reflected in his face and voice.

  Jami felt her face flush. “I wonder where Mike is?” she asked, deliberately changing the subject.

  “Here,” the photographer called, lumbering toward them, loaded with his equipment. “We can get started as soon as I get set.”

  “Here on the dock?” Jami asked. The water slapped against wood, punctuating her words.

  “Turn around and check out that view over the lake.” Mike swept a hand toward the panorama behind them. “See how the greens of the forest frames the blues of the lake with the backdrop of mountain and sky?”

  She spun around and immediately saw the beauty in the scene. “It is lovely.”

  “Nature’s own backdrop.” Grant waved at the scenery with pride, as he placed Toby’s hand-carved boat on top of the cooler.

  “Exactly,” Mike responded, extending the metal tripod legs and attaching his camera to the top. “I want to capture the romance of the Rockies.”

  “Maybe I should have dressed differently.” Jami glanced down at her navy shorts and crop-top. What had seemed appropriate for a day at the lake suddenly seemed too skimpy when she thought of the photo campaign.

  “You’re so beautiful,” Grant said, his midnight blue gaze transmitting messages meant for her alone.

  She responded to the heat of his gaze, and for a moment their eyes met, drawing her like a magnetic current. One she couldn’t resist. One she didn’t want to resist.

  Jami felt a tug on her arm, reality flooding back as she glanced down at Toby.

  “Mom, can I be in the pictures with you?”

  “Later, junior. Right now I need an assistant, and you’re it.” Mike grinned at Toby and waved a camera bag at the child. “Find my lens cleaner. It’s in a container like this, but has a red label.”

  “Sure, Mike, I’m a good helper.” Toby skipped across the dock to grab the black leather bag.

  “Don’t drop anything,” Jami warned, both pleased and alarmed by the photographer’s offer to her son.

  “I won’t. I’ll be real careful.” Toby instantly dived through the contents, and within seconds withdrew the lens cleaner. Proudly, he handed it to the photographer.

  Mike immediately set him searching for something else, then directed his attention to the couple. “Grant, go stand by Jami. Put your arm around her shoulders and gaze lovingly into her eyes.”

  “You’ve got it.” In two quick strides, Grant reached Jami’s side and sent her heartbeat skittering.

  She tensed as Grant wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her against his powerful body, hoping no one could read her true attraction to her Cupid match. Her breathing quickened. What if Grant could read her attraction?

  “Grant, why don’t you tip Jami’s chin up?” Mike grew excited, his words spilling into each other. “Yes, with your right hand like that. Now bend your head as if you’re going to kiss her. No. You’re blocking her. Both of you turn toward the camera. That’s it, open my view. Hold it there!”

  A series of rapid clicks and whirs filled the air. Jami shifted, catching Toby out of the corner of her eye.

  “I don’t want Mom kissing Grant,” Toby grumbled, halting his search and stood, his determined feet planted apart. “Mushy stuff is yucky.”

  “It’s just pretend,” Jami whispered, caught in an awkward pose with Grant’s mesmerizing mouth a breath away from hers. The problem was that her body didn’t understand this was pretend any better than her son did.

  “Pretend, just like in the movies.” Mike chuckled, giving Toby his full attention. “Don’t you sometimes pretend to be a fireman, cowboy, or pilot?”

  Toby nodded, his bottom lip caught in a pout and his brown eyes cautious.

  “Think of this as a game or a movie. We’re the directors, so your mom and Grant have to do what we say, even if they think it’s silly. We’ll take some great photographs. Okay?” He snapped several shots.

  “They have to do what we say?” Toby repeated with glee, his round freckled face brightening. “Can we make them jump in the lake?”

  “Not exactly,” Mike replied, grinning defiantly at Grant as if he dared the man to protest. “But maybe we can have them play in the water later.”

  “With my boat?”

  “That the pretty sea craft named RED?”

  Breaking her pose, Jami glanced at the pine boat atop Grant’s cooler. Sure enough, the name Red was painted in candy-apple red across the side. When had Grant done that?

  “That’s my boat, but I don’t have a captain for it.” Toby scowled. “Grant said he’d help me find a teeny man to fit in my boat, but he hasn’t.”

  “I’m working on it, partner,” Grant said, his expression revealing that he had probably forgotten. “Maybe I can whittle you a captain.”

  “Today?” Toby asked.

  “Not today.”

  Easing away from Grant, Jami pressed her lips together as Toby lapsed into a sullen silence.

  A sudden distressed shout sounded from the woods a short distance above the trail leading to the dock. Dottie and Doris, dressed identically in safari shorts and flowered shirts, burst into the sunlight. They crossed a clearing by the edge of the trees, a purple-faced professor huffing behind them da
ngling binoculars.

  “You did not see a Great Spotted Woodpecker,” Professor Tolaski thundered.

  “We did! You’re mistaken,” Dottie and Doris cried in unison.

  “I’m not the one mistaken,” the professor chided, unmindful of others observing their exchange.

  Jami smothered a giggle with her hand as she watched the arguing birders disappear back into the woods.

  “I’ve got a Woody Woodpecker comic book,” Toby boasted, as usual not wanting to be topped by the birders.

  “You have?” Grant said with sudden interest. “Those are collector’s items. How did you get one?”

  “Mom gave it to me. When we moved, she found it in a box of dumb girl stuff from when she was a kid.”

  Grant glanced at Jami with sympathy, realizing she’d probably found the old comic when she’d sorted through personal belongings in their family home after her parents’ death. She paled and averted her face from his scrutiny.

  “I hate to interrupt, but aren’t we in the middle of a photo shoot here?” Mike said with impatience as he recollected his equipment. “Let’s get some shots of you on those boulders along the shoreline.”

  Grant moved away from Jami to gather his gear. Toby took charge of his toy boat and Mike’s camera bag, which he proudly slung over one shoulder to Mike’s approving nod. Caravan-style, the three males took the lead down a narrow, dirt-packed trail winding downward toward the boulders.

  Jami followed along behind, her mind on the old comic book she had given her son. It was the only thing, besides a pink Barbie convertible, that Toby had found worth saving from the box of childhood possessions they’d unearthed. On the other hand, she’d found some very precious items she decided to keep. The embroidered doll dress her mother had given her on her seventh birthday, a ceramic frog she’d made for her mother back in third grade, and the plastic binoculars her dad had given her on a trip to Big Bend National Park one year.

  Even the geode and fossilized wood her dad had found for her fifth grade science project. She touched the tip of her nose, a half smile curving her lips as she recalled the pretend face powder compact and miniature plastic lipstick her mother had given her to keep her out of Mommy’s real make-up.