by Karen Rigley
“That’s not necessary. You can sleep in here with us.”
“I don’t want to sleep with you,” Jami blurted, one hand flying to her mouth as she realized what she’d said. At the same moment, she also realized it was untrue. Completely untrue.
“You don’t?” Grant drawled, his left brow cocked.
“Hey, Mom!” Toby hollered from outside.
“What, honey?” Jami grabbed the opportunity to flee from the disturbing proximity and rushed out into the sunlit meadow.
“I need a teeny motor for my boat to make it go real fast.” Toby stood holding his boat, the name RED painted on the carved pine sides.
“You don’t need a motor,” she replied, crossing the clearing to take the craft out of Toby’s hands. Jami knelt in the wild mountain grass beside the gurgling brook. “The current will make your boat float downstream.” She set the tiny craft in the water. It bobbed and dipped, then unsteadily drifted several yards before getting tangled in a clump of emerald green watercress.
“See, it gets stuck.” A scowl creased the boy’s freckle-spattered face as he gazed accusingly at his mother. “I need a motor.”
“How about a sail?” A shadow fell just as Grant’s deep voice startled Jami. Glancing up, she saw his large form blocking the sun. Amazing how the man could intimidate even Mother Nature, dominating this landscape as easily as he had the confined space of the tent.
“How do we make a sail?” Toby asked, using partially submerged rocks for stepping-stones as he retrieved his boat from the sparkling brook.
“Like this.” Grant strode toward the trees and stopped by a young pine. He slashed the trunk bark with his knife, releasing the sharp pungent odor, then scooped up a gooey transparent blob with the tip of his blade. “This is a pain to clean off my knife blade, partner. I’d only do it for you. Give me your boat.”
“Sure.” Toby handed the wooden craft to Grant, who applied the sticky goo to the inside of the boat in one big dab.
“Now we need a good stick. Let’s try that twig over there,” Grant said, pointing at a pile of brush, branches, and pine needles sprinkled with assorted pinecones. “That top twig, please.”
“This one?” Toby bounced to the pile and back as Jami watched, astonished by her son’s eagerness. Hadn’t the rascal been pouting a moment ago? She shook her head.
“Good job. Hold the boat while I shorten the stick.” The silver blade flashed in Grant’s sure bronze hands as he whittled it into a miniature pole. “We’ll use the sticking power of the pine sap to attach it to your boat. Think of it as nature’s glue.”
“Wow, you know all kinds of cool stuff!”
Grant looked pleased with the boy’s comment.
Toby held the craft still as Grant stuck the pole into the blob. “There, we have the mast, now we need a sail.”
“I know what,” Toby cried, darting past his mother to duck into the pup tent. Jami sidestepped her son to avoid a collision, wondering what he was getting out of her tent.
To her horror, she saw what her son thought was perfect for a sail. Cheeks aflame and overcome with embarrassment, Jami recognized the pink cotton bikini panties Toby waved proudly. “This will work great, huh, Grant?”
“Undies?” Grant’s deep rumbling laughter shattered the peaceful mountain quiet.
Jami wanted to slink behind the nearest tree. Mortified, she snapped her underwear out of Toby’s hand and marched back to the forlorn tepee, where she swooped inside to stuff the offending panties back into her tote bag. How could her son do such a thing? A least it wasn’t her bra, she reminded herself as a fresh wave of embarrassment washed over her. Maybe she should have had an angelic little girl, instead of Toby the Terrible? Truly, she wouldn’t trade her precious son for anything, but still, life would be much simpler if her rascal wasn’t so incorrigible.
“Mom? Was I supposed to asked permission first?” Toby asked, sheepishly popping his head into the pup tent as Grant’s laughter reverberated in the background.
Jami sighed. Her six-year-old had no clue of what he’d just done. “Maybe I can find you a handkerchief. That’ll make a much better sail.”
“Okay.”
She rummaged through her tote, discovering a white crochet-edged hanky in one of the pockets. The scent of her favorite rose sachet filled the air. “Here.” She jammed the hanky into her son’s hand. “This is much better.”
Toby bounded away. She heard him holler, “Mom says this will make a better sail. Will it?”
“I don’t know,” Grant drawled wickedly, “I kind of like the pink bikini.”
“Oh, you!” Jami scolded, blasting out of the pup tent and wishing she had something to fling at Grant, while her son sat cross-legged in the meadow trying to attach her hanky to the boat mast.
“What?” Grant teased, “Nothing to throw?”
“Huh?” She halted. How did he know she wanted to throw things at him? Her surprised gaze met Grant’s impudent stare, and he grinned.
“You should have brought along spike sandals and a silk dress for such emergencies, Red.” Grant’s smile deepened, laughter merrily creasing the lines around his eyes and mouth as he rubbed his jaw where she had once struck him with the department store box. “At least you could’ve remembered the box. You’re a good shot with that.”
“You’re impossible,” Jami muttered, her face hot with another blush. “You enjoy tormenting me, don’t you?”
“I could torment you in a much sweeter manner,” Grant growled huskily, his eyes flaming midnight blue.
“No, thank you,” Jami primly replied, pressing her lips together to hide the trembling that threatened. “I think you have a sail to make.” She spun on her heels and marched away, trying not to think about Grant’s suggestive comment, or her son’s first choice for that sail. Jami left Grant and Toby tinkering with the toy boat. She wandered through the meadow, out between the towering evergreens and back to the lakeshore. There, she perched upon a granite boulder, cool mountain breezes caressing her as the August sun warmed her skin. Birds sang in the trees above as lake waters swirled around the huge rock, while insects hummed softly in the late afternoon sunshine. Watching a delicate hummingbird hover to sip from a wild orchid of pale lilac, Jami inhaled the fresh mountain air. A dragonfly droned past, its iridescent wings catching the sunlight. Grant had been right. This was a special place.
Grant silently moved up behind Jami, taking her off-guard as he wrapped his powerful arms around her to pull her against his hard chest. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
His clean, masculine scent tantalized her nostrils as her body instantly responded to his.
Jami could not resist savoring their momentary closeness. “Very lovely,” she whispered back.
“So are you,” Grant murmured into her hair as he nuzzled her neck, shooting frissoms of awareness through her.
“Where’s Toby?” she asked, trying to regain her composure, knowing she couldn’t do so in Grant’s embrace.
“In the tent sorting out the mess kits. There are three sets, but they’re all mixed up and that disagreed with your son’s sense of organization.” Grant swerved Jami around on the boulder to face him. “Toby surprised me. Did he inherit his organizational skills from you?”
“No. My parents were always super organized,” Jami admitted, returning Grant’s intense scrutiny. “You know—a place for everything and everything in its place?” He nodded as she continued. “Mom even labeled my outfits with a dot code for what socks coordinated with which shirts...” Her voice faded with a tinge of embarrassment. She’d never shared that with anyone, since Sierra had discovered it in the fourth grade on an overnight sleepover and had teased her about it. That was when Jami learned everyone didn’t live life by color codes and index numbers.
“So you rebelled?” Grant softly asked, his expression full of compassion, not amusement.
“I guess so. Not consciously, but I tend to be scattered and disorganized. Toby has this neat streak, like k
eeping his comics on the top shelf, his storybooks on the second, and his coloring books on the bottom shelf of the book stand in his bedroom. If I misplace them, he rearranges them immediately.” Jami bit her bottom lip. “My parents would be proud.”
“They’d be proud of you, too.” Grant brushed a lock of hair off Jami’s face, gazing at her with admiration. “It can’t be easy to be a single mother and run your own business.”
Jami felt uncomfortable enough divulging family history, but she certainly did not want to discuss her shop. “We’d better get back to Toby, before he gets into mischief again.”
“Toby will be fine,” Grant replied, but released her shoulders, giving her room to climb off the boulder.
“I’d rather not test your theory. He could have your compass in pieces by now or all the food arranged by color. With my son, you never know.” Jami gracefully hopped off the boulder and together they headed back toward camp.
Jami reached the dome tent and stepped inside, not certain what she would find. Toby sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by three separately stacked mess kits. One was new and shiny, one dull, dinged and very old, and the third was somewhere between with a silvery sheen tempered to pewter gray.
“Good job, slugger,” Grant said, stepping into the tent behind Jami.
“See, now they match.” Toby flashed a lopsided grin at Grant. “Want me to sort anything else for you?”
“No, thanks.” Grant recalled Jami’s statement about her son coordinating food by color and grinned back at the boy. Both mother and son were full of surprises. Sometimes delightful, always intriguing, surprises. “That’s enough work for now. It’s time for something fun.”
“Roasting marshmallows?” Toby eagerly asked.
“No. That’s after supper.” Grant tugged off his tank shirt and pulled on a gray T-shirt. “It cools down toward evening. I hope you two brought some warm clothes and long pants.” He raised a questioning brow at Jami.
“We did.” Jami exhaled as Grant replaced his skimpy tank with the short sleeve shirt and yanked the bottom of the shirt over his stomach. Part of her was relieved that the lanky Texan covered some of his magnificent flesh. Part of her hoped he wouldn’t cover too much more. “Ah...should we change now?”
“We’d probably all be wise to trade our shorts for long pants, but it’s still too warm for long sleeves.” Grant shot Jami’s legs a scorching glance. “Though, it’s a shame to hide such nice gams.”
“What are gams?” Toby asked as Jami’s cheeks burned.
“Legs.” Grant flicked another hot gaze over Jami from head to toe and back again. “Legs like your mother’s.”
“Oh,” Toby replied, sounding disappointed. Suddenly the child’s enthusiasm resurfaced. “So after we change clothes, what’re we going to do?”
“I think it’s time for a nature hike. Sound fun?”
“All right!” Toby leapt to his feet to slap hands with Grant in a high five. “Mom, are you coming with us?”
“I guess so.” Jami glanced at Grant, so natural next to her son. She’d never seen Toby show such emotional attachment to an adult. She swallowed hard—except to her. “I’ll go put on my jeans. Toby, where’s your backpack?”
“Right there.” The child pointed to a purple sleeping bag. She saw his backpack beside it with a penlight flashlight sitting on top.
“Good. Please change, and I’ll meet you two outside.”
“There’s more room to change clothes in our tent,” Grant offered as Jami left the bright dome tent for the dappled sunlight.
“The pup tent will be fine.”
“Sure. Lots of room in there,” Grant replied with amused sarcasm.
“No problem.” Jami pranced to her weathered pup tent and ducked down to enter. The dim interior was warmer and stuffier than before, even though she’d left the door flap tied open. Several flies were buzzing around inside. She swatted at them, wishing her tent had netting like the dome tent. The pup tent wasn’t high enough for her to think of standing up, so Jami was forced to crawl to reach the jeans out of her tote bag.
Her blue-jeans wouldn’t go over her damp sneakers which she eventually had to remove. She nearly tipped over trying to get her legs into the jeans and ended up sitting down with a thump. A few groans and grumbles later she finally squirmed into her pants.
“Are you okay in there?” Grant rumbled from outside the tent.
“Just fine.” Jami nervously glanced at the tent opening, hoping he couldn’t see inside and had not witnessed her struggles.
“What’s taking you so long, Mom?” Toby hollered, poking his red-topped head in through the doorway.
“I’m ready.” Scrambling out behind her son, she blinked in the warm sunshine, inhaling fresh pine-scented air that was considerably cooler than the stifling pup tent.
“You may want to close up that tent,” Grant advised, watching Jami’s approach.
“You’re always telling me what to do.” Hands on hips, Jami stood scowling at him. “It’s suffocating in there.”
“You’d rather entertain uninvited company?” Grant’s gaze met hers in an unspoken contest of wills—male against female—an unresolved challenge as old as mankind.
“What uninvited company?” Jami queried, considering his words while not blinking down from the eye contact.
“Forest creatures, snakes, spiders, insects...” Grant shook his head, finally dissolving the stare-down as he glanced around the wilderness surrounding them. “Whatever decides to venture into your pup tent.”
“But it’ll be hot,” Jami protested, unsure of the wisdom of sticking to her original intention of airing out the pup tent.
“Why’s your frown so big, Mom?” Toby asked, trotting in a circle around a patch of red and yellow, spur-blossomed columbines. “Aren’t you having fun?”
She reluctantly closed the tent flap to shut unwanted guests out of her temporary quarters. The flies were annoying enough. She didn’t need any midnight surprises. “Oh, I’m having tons of fun.”
“You could be.” Grant lifted the pair of binoculars that hung around his neck and handed them to Jami. “Take these in case we spot a bear on the mountain.”
“A bear?” Fear and excitement blended in Toby’s voice as he skipped between his mother and Grant to take hold of each one’s hand.
“Or a deer. Or maybe an elk,” Grant hastily amended, recalling the child’s nightmare about a grizzly bear.
“This is better than the zoo.” Toby scampered across the meadow between the adults, swinging their hands with his.
Grant and Jami looked over Toby’s head to exchange smiles. The mountain wilderness was as far from an urban zoo as imaginable.
“Yes, better than a zoo,” Jami agreed fondly.
“Much better,” Grant added, as he guided them between trees and into the woods. The ground became steeper and rockier, forcing Jami to watch her footing as they hiked up the mountainside.
She enjoyed the hike nearly as much as her son, listening as Grant pointed out dangers to avoid such as poison ivy, poison oak, and stinging nettle. Delighted by rare mountain orchids hidden behind larger, brighter wallflowers, she appreciated Grant’s choice of campsite even without bathroom facilities. Toby threw crumbled crackers to the squirrels and chipmunks, but obediently refrained from touching or chasing the woodland creatures.
As they stopped on the way back at a deep fishing hole along a rugged stretch of the lake shoreline, Grant and Toby immediately caught three trout for supper.
Jami tried her hand at fishing, but she felt a snag. It wouldn’t budge and she was afraid to break the pole.
“Your line’s tangled in a tree branch,” Grant said with a chuckle before carefully disentangling it.
Jami laughed, surrendering her pole back to Toby. Grant had made quite a fisherman of the little guy. She was impressed, yet disturbed at the same time. Toby and Grant were growing closer and it frightened her. What would happen when the vacation ended and Grante
d walked away from them? What would Toby do? What would she do?
“I’d like to hike up one last trail before we return to camp,” Grant stated, taking their fish to wrap in plastic and pack into an insulated bag he hung over his shoulder. “If you and Toby aren’t too tired?”
“Tired? After sitting here watching you two fish? I think I can handle a short hike.” Jami hopped off her rock, realizing she’d sat on a lot of rocks lately and glad to be moving again. Besides, she didn’t like the direction her thoughts wandered when she was unoccupied.
“I’m not tired,” Toby announced, bounding between them to dash ahead.
“You’re never tired,” Grant responded as he led them on a steep trail that zigzagged up the mountainside.
“Not that he admits.” Jami examined her son’s flushed face, bright eyes, and mussed hair. His jeans were damp around the ankles and his knees muddy, his shirt smeared with dirt, but Toby seemed happier than she’d ever seen him before.
“We’re almost to the spot.” Grant climbed a tricky incline of layered rock and held a hand out to boost Jami up beside him. Toby scampered up the slope of sandstone and shale, sure-footed and frisky as a mountain goat.
Grant did not release her hand, and Jami savored the pleasurable sensations of his strong, warm grasp. Never before had a man made her feel so protected, even if it was born of sheer politeness, and, for the moment, she surrendered to it.
At the top of the rise, Jami realized they had reached a cliff that protruded off the mountainside, offering a panoramic view of the lake below and the other mountains surrounding them. The lake had transformed into a fluid rainbow of colors mirroring the sunset-painted skies above them.
Jami gasped at the beauty. Grant squeezed her hand in understanding. A pastel palette of violet, turquoise, and pink stained the sky and the mountains to the east. In stark contrast, streaks of scarlet, orange, and gold fired the clouds gathered above the mountains rising toward heaven in the western horizon as a fireball sun sank between mountain peaks.
