by Karen Rigley
A poignant wave of nostalgia washed over Jami. So many memories. She brushed a tear from her eye as she reached the others, then pasted a smile on her face.
Grant watched Jami approach. So beautiful, but a haunting sadness now shadowed her lovely eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asked gently.
“I’m fine.” Jami knew it was impossible for Grant to be reading her thoughts, but as he gazed compassionately at her, she felt he must. He possessed an uncanny ability to tune into her moods.
“Hey, cool! I’m king.” Toby climbed to the top of the largest boulder. “Get on that one, Mom, and be queen.”
Jami sat the picnic basket down in the shade by a cluster of wood violets, before she stepped upon the boulder with a smile. He was so sweet, his carrot-red hair mussed and face already smudged with dirt. The child had certainly taken to this mountain wilderness where he seemed to get in much less trouble than in the city. Maybe she hadn’t kept Toby busy enough at home in Houston.
Grant gazed at them with mock sternness. “If Toby’s king, and Jami’s queen, what am I?”
“Queen’s paramour.” Mike chuckled as he set up his equipment again. “Grant, while Jami’s on the rock, put your hands at her waist, like you’re going to swing her into your arms at any moment.”
“We want them to look mushy?” Toby asked, his voice and narrowed gaze proof that the child was not won over completely.
“Yeah, real mushy,” Mike replied, adjusting his lens after metering the light.
“Will we make them play in the water soon?”
Jami stood atop the boulder at eye level with Grant. They exchanged a glance of amusement A mischievous glint danced in Grant’s eyes as the photographer mumbled, “Maybe.”
Mike had no idea how persistent Toby could be, but Jami knew Grant had already learned. It pleased her to share this unspoken jewel of parental knowledge. A bittersweet thought tugged at her heart—within a matter of days, Grant actually understood her boy better than Doug, the child’s own father. And possibly cared about Toby more, Jami thought as she witnessed the fondness in Grant’s face when his gaze swept over to the boy. Grant Carrington would be a good father someday.
Mike swatted at a mosquito and shooed away a fly. “Toby, report for bug duty. Keep those insects on the move and away from me.”
“Yes, sir.” Toby scrambled off the boulder to give Mike a military salute.
Jami grinned, wondering where her son had learned the salute. Probably television. Even with supervised watching, kids had access to so much. Good and bad. She shook her head, always amazed at the things Toby picked without her knowledge. He could be a sponge at times, absorbing everything. Especially things she wished he hadn’t noticed. Then other times.
“Watch Grant, not the kid,” Mike admonished.
Toby slapped the photographer’s thigh, sending a transparent winged insect zipping away. “Ouch! Don’t get so enthusiastic, Toby.”
“Whoops, missed it. Sorry, Mike.”
Jami smiled, stifled a giggle, and very obediently turned to focus on Grant Carrington, whose dark blue eyes gazed merrily at her, his lips twitching upward.
“Hey,” Mike hollered as they heard another slap. “Cut it out.”
“Gosh, I was just trying to do what you told me,” Toby grumbled, scuffing his sneaker toe in the dirt.
Jami and Grant burst into laughter.
Mike glared at them. “We should have done this session solo at the hot tub.”
Another giggle escaped Jami’s mouth.
“I would have made you wear a bikini,” Mike growled at Jami, while guiding Toby by the shoulders to a flat rock and sitting the child there. “Park it a minute.”
“A bikini sounds good to me,” Grant responded with a sexy grin.
“That would be cute on you,” Jami taunted.
“What hot tub?” Toby asked, face in hands and elbows on knees.
“The hot tub in the Garden Room at the lodge,” Mike shot back.
“Neat. Hot tubs have those bubble spouts, huh?”
“Guess so,” Mike mumbled, staring through his camera at Jami and Grant. “Grant, put your hands back on Jami’s waist and lean toward her. I want to see fun in your expressions. Lovers at play.”
“I hope nobody shows Toby that hot tub,” Jami whispered to Grant with a smile plastered on her face.
“Don’t worry,” Grant whispered back, “He’s never out of an adult’s sight long enough to cause any problems.”
“I guess you’re right,” Jami replied, enjoying Grant’s touch and feeling more comfortable. “Toby’s stayed out of trouble quite well since we arrived.”
“Grant, swing her in the air,” Mike ordered, with a waving motion either meant to direct them or disperse another insect.
Suddenly, Jami’s feet left the boulder as Grant picked her up to twirl her in the air like a doll. The heady sensation of flying teased her, then her body slammed against his rock hardness, knocking her breath away.
“Yes, yes, yes!” Mike hollered, his camera clicking and whirring at top speed. “I captured that entire sequence on film.”
“Do they play in the water, yet?” Toby asked, none too patiently.
“After lunch,” Mike answered, sounding tortured by his own suggestion.
Grant grinned, understanding how the young photographer felt. A pit bull with a tug rope had nothing on Toby Rhodes when that boy decided he wanted something. Including a captain for the handmade boat. Maybe he could come up with something tonight. He’d better, he reminded himself, or there’d be hell to pay.
The morning whizzed past as Jami and Grant posed for a variety of photos, including several in the sailboat, angled so the fact the craft was still docked was camouflaged. When they broke for lunch, Grant led them to a lovely wooded area that jutted right up to the lake. “How about this?”
“Picnic tables, Grant?” Jami teased, secretly delighted by the picnic grove. “Won’t the ants be disappointed this time?”
“I’m sure we’ll drop enough crumbs to please them.”
“Do you think my lizard’s here somewhere?” Toby asked hopefully, his big brown eyes on Grant.
Grant shook his head. “We’re probably too noisy today. Maybe we can stop at the rock spring and let you see some frogs on the way back.”
“Could we put one in my boat and let it have a ride?”
“Frogs hop, remember, honey?” Jami said gently, while unpacking paper napkins and bright plasticware from the picnic basket. “It would jump out.”
“Okay,” Toby responded, resignation on his freckled face. “But I need something to ride in my boat.”
“Lunch!” Grant declared, piling cold cans of soda pop, sandwiches, and a bowl of pasta salad from the cooler.
“What? No beer?” Mike joked, taking a Pepsi from the stack of cans.
Grant handed a root beer to Toby, then grinned at Mike. “This is as close as it gets. Though, Homer tried to convince his wife and daughter to add brew—Nell and Becca ignored him.”
“Good for the girls,” Jami retorted, choosing a red-cream soda for herself and trying to identify the ingredients of the sandwich she had selected. “This is peanut butter and probably grape jelly. Do you want it, Toby?”
“Sure. Thanks, Mom,” her son added with a quick glance at Grant.
Jami bit into a tuna and lettuce sandwich as she gazed up at the leaf-laced canopy above. Blue sky peeked through the foliage, songbirds chirped in an ancient cottonwood. A striking black-and-white magpie squawked and argued with a much wee starling atop a silver-leafed quaking aspen. Everywhere, she saw faint touches of scarlet or gold brushing the various greens. “The leaves are starting to turn already.”
“It is early August,” Mike reminded her.
She exchanged a smile with Grant. “August often brings the hottest, stickiest part of the summer in Houston.”
“True. Made survivable by the life-saving invention of air-conditioning,” Grant added, his gaze stil
l locked with hers.
Jami tore her gaze from Grant and scanned the area. “These mountains must turn to a glorious blaze of color in the autumn.”
“Early autumn. We have early falls and winters. Late springs.” Mike paused with a forkful of pasta in midair. “At this altitude, our summers run short and winters run long.”
“I’d like to visit Frost Lake during each season,” Jami said, inhaling the fresh, alpine air, tinged with the lake scent.
“That could be arranged,” Grant responded, his midnight gaze still lingering on her, sending a languid flush of warmth through her body.
Did Grant mean he wanted to show her the Rockies each season? Jami took a sip of her soda, studying the man. A breeze ruffled his dark blond hair where it waved off his broad forehead, and his golden bronze tan appeared deeper than ever. Though his set, chiseled features gave nothing away, his probing dark blue eyes searched hers.
“Visiting the Colorado Rockies four times a year isn’t in the cards for me,” Jami replied softly, wishing it was.
“It could be.” Grant still watched her.
“If everyone’s through chowing down,” Mike said, getting up from the table bench. “We can get back to the photo shoot.”
“Do we have to?” Toby grumbled, echoing his mother’s sentiments.
“Just a while longer, partner,” Grant sympathized, gathering plates from the table. “Then we’ll check out those frogs.”
“All right,” Toby cried, hopping to his feet on the table bench.
Jami grinned and began helping Grant clear the picnic stuff. He always seemed to know the right way to handle Toby. And she knew from experience that was no simple task.
After Mike tortured them into poses for every photo he could possibly need, he began shooting candids of the two of them playing with Toby. They’d waded into the lake with the toy boat and between all the splashing and laughter, she ended up as wet as her little boy. Her crop-top and shorts clung damply to her body, and her hair corkscrewed into wet, dark copper curls. She could taste the fishy lake water on her lips as she watched Grant spin around with Toby perched on his broad shoulders until both males landed in the water with a gigantic splash.
The cold water hit her in the face. She hoped her mascara wasn’t streaked. “Cool it, guys.”
“Why? You’re already wet,” Grant countered, dripping as he rose up from the lake with a giggling, wiggling Toby in his arms.
“Jami, wade closer to them. This is a perfect family-at-play shot.” Mike waved her toward Grant and Toby.
Though she kept a smile on her face, she swallowed a lump in her throat. This perfect family wasn’t a family at all. Just like the ad campaign photos, this was only pretend. So why did that fact hurt so much?
Rumpled, but drip-dried, Jami and Toby bid goodbye to Mike at the boat dock, then followed Grant back to the lodge, detouring from the trail to stop at a gurgling, frothing spring. Jami was surprised to recognize rhubarb and asparagus growing by the wild mint and watercress surrounding the natural mountain pool. The clear, icy spring flowed freely out of a rock outcrop and then disappeared as mysteriously a few feet away.
Grant held a finger up to his lips. “Be really quiet and maybe we’ll see squirrels or deer.”
“Do they play in the water here?” Toby whispered, excitedly gazing all around the wooded area.
“Some drink it. The water acts as an oasis, drawing animals and insects.” Grant gestured to several frogs leaping on the stones and sitting in the water. One frog’s long pink tongue darted out, unfurling to snatch a fly mid-flight.
“Cool,” Toby gasped. The frogs croaked and hopped, scattering for shelter as the boy knelt close and gazed into the water. “I see some fish and lots of bugs. What are those squirmy bitty green things with round heads and long tails?”
“Tadpoles,” Grant replied, smiling as proudly as if he invented the amphibians. “Polliwog.”
“Baby frogs,” Jami explained, used to simplifying things for a child.
“Can I keep one?”
Grant scooped a couple of polliwogs into his hand, keeping them under the water. “Sorry, slugger, but they can’t breathe out of the water, until they grow up into frogs.”
“Then can I have a frog?” Toby persisted.
“Think you can catch one?” Grant challenged with a chuckle.
Jami threw the man a strong glare, but her son was already squealing as one frog squirted out between his hands to send the other frogs leaping in various directions. The spring exploded with splashes and chaos.
“Enough!” Jami exclaimed, hands on hips as she watched Grant dissolve with laughter, and Toby determinedly pursue the hopping amphibians.
“I’m going back to the lodge,” Jami told them, choking back her own laughter. “You boys can meet me there.” She started to hike down the beaten trail, but paused, turning back to add, “Dinner is in an hour, Toby. You need time to clean up first. Okay?”
“Okay,” Toby agreed without taking his eyes off the teeniest frog.
“I’ll see to it,” Grant merrily promised, laugh lines around his eyes crinkling in a way that made him appear as carefree and abandoned as Toby.
Jami headed down the trail, automatically skirting rocks and protruding roots as her head swam with emotion. This felt too comfortable—too much like a real family outing. Why did the man have to be so devastating? Why couldn’t Grant Carrington be a boring, eccentric nerd? Instead of an irresistible, fun-loving hunk?
She had to admit that her heart was in danger—in serious danger.
Chapter 9
Dinner was nearly over when Jami noticed her son giggling and squirming in his chair. Toby sat between her and Raven McGuire. She knew he didn’t like Raven, so it had surprised Jami when he had chosen that seat.
With a sudden scream, the young widow jumped to her feet, sending her chair crashing backward into the dining room wall. “What slimy creature did you put on my lap, you wretched monster?” Raven hissed, her lavender eyes hard as she frantically brushed her dress.
“It’s just a frog,” Toby replied, squaring off with the furious woman.
“Toby Justice Rhodes!” Jami scolded, mortified at the rascal’s action. “Apologize to Mrs. McGuire and find that frog right now!”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he muttered, sounding definitely not sorry.
“Ugh. I’ll probably get warts,” Raven exclaimed, still wiping her hands on her dress.
“Toads cause warts, not frogs,” Dottie clarified, unruffled by the commotion as Toby climbed around under the table, bumping into her knees.
“Neither frogs or toads give you warts. It’s just an old wives’ tale,” Doris added while nibbling on a buttered roll.
“Warts, ha! Pure conjecture with no scientific basis,” Professor Tolaski declared, not allowing the disturbance to interrupt his obvious enjoyment of the meal. Bits of food were held captive in his beard.
Raven stood with scarlet mouth open, going even paler than normal, as if the frog really did frighten her. Leaving her chair on the floor, she huffed, “I’d better not get warts from that creature.”
“I hope you didn’t give my frog warts.” Toby’s carrot-topped head popped above the table between Dottie and Doris. He held the bobbing green frog in his hands.
Staring at the frog, Raven screamed again.
The frog launched out of Toby’s hands and onto Doris’s lap. “Oh my!”
The frightened creature leaped from Doris to Dottie, who tried to grab it as Toby scrambled over everyone. Jami hadn’t noticed Grant move behind the table until he righted Raven’s chair and took hold of the widow’s gold-bangled wrist. He spoke too softly for Jami to overhear, but Raven stuck her regal nose in the air and stalked out of the room.
“I’ll help you catch the frog, Toby,” Grant proposed, a calm voice in the midst of mayhem.
“Poor frog. It’s probably more scared than Raven,” Jami remarked, hoping it hadn’t got injured in the excitement.
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“I didn’t want to hurt the froggy,” Toby said, wiggling out from between chairs to focus worried brown eyes on his mom.
“I know you didn’t,” Jami replied, unsure of how to handle this very public situation. “Once your frog is back in the water, it should be fine.”
“Got it.” Grant rose, the frog grasped firmly in his hand. “Let’s get this froggy back to the spring. Okay, slugger?”
“Sure, Grant.” Toby turned warily to his mother, who nodded her approval.
Jami glanced gratefully at Grant. “I would appreciate that.”
“No problem.” Grant headed for the doorway. “Come on, Toby.”
With the cold, slimy, frantically puffing frog in his hand, Grant led Toby out of the dining room and through the kitchen. Becca turned away from the sink toward them, a question in her eyes until her gaze dropped to the frog. Her mouth formed a perfect “O” as Grant continued out the kitchen door. The screen slammed behind them as they stepped out into the fresh evening air.
“We’ll get this fellow back home.” At least Grant hoped they’d make it back to the spring before the frog launched out of his hand. The creature was slippery and determined, as was the boy trailing mere steps behind.
Toby hopped and skipped to keep up with Grant, but it wasn’t in the child’s usual carefree manner. The boy sniffled. Grant glanced back quickly enough to catch Toby wiping a tear away with a fist.
“You okay, partner?”
“Yeah.” Toby scooted alongside Grant, and they both knelt by the gurgling spring. The boy’s eyes remained suspiciously bright as Grant carefully placed the frog back into the water. “I hate it when Mom does that.”
“Does what?” Grant asked as the frog leaped into the water, heading for the shelter of some rocks.
“Calls me by my whole name in front of people. She only does it when she’s real mad.” Toby turned those bright eyes up to Grant, triggering a rush of protectiveness toward the troubled boy. “I hate my middle name.”
Grant blinked down at the kid in surprise. “Justice? The name is unusual, but there’s nothing wrong with it.”
