That Carrington Magic

chapter 2



Jami, restless as her son, waited a short distance behind the passengers crowding around the baggage pickup. As she watched Grant grab their suitcases, then move forward to snare a stylish gray tweed bag, she wondered how long before Toby put his mark on Grant’s fancy gear. Hopefully, they’d make it to the lodge without incident. Toby did tend to mess up nice things, and fabrics were especially endangered in his presence.

Using a stain stick, she scrubbed at the chocolate fingerprints marring her cotton sundress with limited results. As Grant joined them, a bright flash blinded Jami, accompanied by a disembodied voice, “Hi, I’m Mike Peterson, the photographer on assignment for CupidKey.”

A groan escaped Jami’s lips as she regained her vision to focus on a buzz-headed, angular youth wearing jeans, a T-shirt, wire-rimmed glasses, and an elaborate camera dangling from his neck.

“Nice to meet you, Mike,” Grant replied, already shaking the eager young man’s hand.

“You gonna take pictures of us all the time?” Toby crossly asked, echoing his mother’s distress.

“Not all the time,” Mike answered with a face-splitting grin.

“Good.” Toby scuffed the toe of his sneakers against the high-polished, grooved tile floor of the airport.

Grant chuckled, and Jami found herself laughing along with him.

“Hey.” Toby’s bottom lip jutted out in a pout. “Sometimes a guy doesn’t want his picture taken,” he defended, pale beneath his freckles.

Reading his exhausted face, Jami’s mother instincts kicked in and she gathered her son in a hug. “You’re tired, honey. We’ll be at the lodge soon, and you can take a nap before dinner.”

“I don’t need a nap,” Toby protested, obviously disgusted to even talk about the dreaded “baby” thing in front of others.

“Some quiet time, anyway,” Jami hedged, realizing it was important for a young boy to save face around other males.

“Yeah, quiet time,” Toby agreed, pushing away from his mom, one hand tightening over his backpack. “Can we go now?”

“We can,” Grant agreed in a serious tone, but not before Jami caught the trace of a smile still curving his lips. She did appreciate him treating her son with respect. So many adults didn’t bother. Maybe she’d overreacted earlier.

“Let’s head for the lodge shuttle and hit the road,” Grant said, leading Jami and Toby through the lobby. Mike trudged along beside them as they exited through the airport doors into thin, fresh mountain air.

“I need a few shots by the shuttle van.” Mike directed them to a blue and tan mini-van emblazoned Frost Lake. “Please, stand there.”

“We have to?” Toby grumbled as the trio obeyed Mike’s request, stepping to the spot the photographer had indicated.

Beyond the honks and confusion of the airport, white clouds billowed above turquoise sky to skitter past a breathtaking fortress of mountain range.

Jami had never seen such huge mountains. The towering craggy peaks appeared to stretch clear to heaven. Laughing, Grant slipped an arm around her shoulders and scooted Toby in front of them.

“Great,” Mike said, snapping photos just as a breeze whipped and puffed the skirt of Jami’s pink sundress and teased her flowing copper hair.

“Oh, great,” Jami exclaimed in a totally different tone, trying to catch her skirt before a breeze puffed it high enough to display her bare thighs.

“Mmm, great,” Grant huskily murmured, an appreciative gleam flaring in his dark eyes while she battled her skirt.

“If you folks want to go to Frost Lake Lodge, you’d better hurry,” the shuttle driver called, as several vehicles honked impatiently, the drivers shouting a few choice words for the van blocking the lane.

“Right,” Grant said, his hand sliding down to press into the small of Jami’s back while Toby jumped inside the van. Grant helped Jami climb into the shuttle, then tossed in their luggage. The photographer hopped in to sit by Jami, leaving Grant to take the last seat alone and slide the door shut.

Jami breathed a sigh of relief that Mike, rather than Grant, sat beside her. She could only handle so much nearness to her tantalizing Cupid date. And she’d had her fill on the plane.

Once they arrived and entered the rustic lodge, she felt buoyant, realizing the two-story, gingerbread-eved, log building was as delightful as Sierra had described.

The scent of lemon wax mingled with pine and cedar as Jami’s gaze rose upward to admire the exposed pine beams of the high vaulted ceiling. A carved cedar banister curved from the buffed hardwood floor upward to grace the stairway. In the far corner of the huge room nestled a beige and gray stone fireplace and hearth. A bronze vase of dried flowers stood on the mantel and the entire lodge appeared to be trimmed in natural, hand-carved woods, rich in grain and texture, unstained but polished to a high sheen.

“Grant Carrington,” he announced, stepping up to the reservation desk as a broad-faced, big-boned woman offered to help them.

“Jami Rhodes,” Jami declared at the same time.

“Carrington and Rhodes,” the clerk said in a cheery tone, trailing her stubby finger down the reservation book. “Oh, the presidential suite,” the woman gushed. “That’s so romantic.”

Jami froze. “Don’t we have separate rooms?”

“No.” The woman furrowed her brow. “I didn’t take your reservations, but the lodge is fully booked for the entire month.”

“We don’t want to share a suite.” Travel weary, Jami was anxious to settle her youngster into their room, so she could soak in a hot tub.

“The suite contains a side nook with a separate bedroom,” the clerk consoled, with a knowing wink at Toby. “So you can have privacy, ah, for the boy.” She gave an embarrassed cough.

“That’s not...”

Jami began in protest, but Grant Carrington’s mouth swept down to skim a butterfly kiss over her lips. “Don’t blow it, Red. The photographer is shooting a close-up. We’ll sort this out later. Smile.”

Though Grant’s lips barely touched hers, he left a trail of fire. She and Toby couldn’t share a suite with this man. Even her longtime friendship with Sierra couldn’t demand she share quarters with a stranger. A womanizing stranger.

As if reading her thoughts, he smiled down at her. “Relax, I’m a Carrington.”

Lips pressed together to smother her retort, Jami raked her fingers through her hair. Yes, Grant was a Carrington. A dangerous Carrington.



Grant studied the copper-haired, angelic beauty beside him, whose eyes lit with amber fire. How could a woman so lovely act so prickly? He’d seen cactus in West Texas with fewer barbs. You’d think Jami Rhodes had been shanghaied. He chuckled at the thought, and she shot him an irate glare.

“What’s so funny?” Jami faced him, sparks shooting from those fascinating eyes. “Or did Mike zoom in for a close-up of your handsome mug?”

“Ah, you think I’m handsome?”

“I won’t say what I think of you.”

“That good, huh?” Grant barely glanced down as he signed the guest register with a flourish and pushed it toward Jami.

“That bad.”

He smiled at the top of her bent head as she leaned over to add her own name to the ledger, her flowing copper tresses shimmering in the artificial light. Her hair had shone as brightly as a newly minted penny in the sunlight. Did it feel as soft and silky as it looked? Surprised by the urge to touch Jami’s hair, he suddenly realized the desk clerk was addressing him.

“Yes?”

“I said,” the clerk repeated with a schoolteacher emphasis, reminding Grant that he had not been paying attention, “a packet came for you this morning, Mr. Carrington.” Along with his room key, she handed him a thickly padded manila envelope addressed to C. Grant Carrington and postmarked Houston.

“Thanks,” he replied, already peeling open the flap. He peered into the envelope’s dark interior, at first thinking nothing was inside, but he tilted it and something clunked. He reached deep to retrieve a tiny, but heavy, object wrapped in tissue paper.

Grant swallowed a groan as the object fell free from the paper and dropped into his palm. The infamous Cupid Charm! Blood pressure rising, he unfolded a square of paper to read the cryptic note: One falls—we all fall. It’s your turn. Your brother, Ty.

“What’s that?” Toby asked, peering at Grant’s clutched hand.

“It’s a Cupid pin. An heirloom brooch, belonging to my grandmother.” Grant opened his hand, displaying a gold key charm carved in exquisite detail of the cherub Cupid, complete with the god’s miniature arrow poised to zing a heart. “We call it the Cupid key.”

“It’s lovely,” Jami exclaimed, gazing down at the golden brooch in his palm.

“Apparently, it has its appeal,” he mumbled back. Hmm, did he detect a trace of a smile on Cupid’s face he’d never seen before? Of course not. He shook away such a silly thought. Though his grandmother’s claim of Cupid’s magic came flooding back with a rush of memories: He and his brothers as children clustered around Grandmother Margaret while she explained in dramatic fashion how their grandfather had pinned her with the magical Cupid on the wonderful Valentine’s Day when he had proposed. Then many years later, it had brought Grant’s mother, Shirley, together with their father.

Uncomfortably, Grant also recalled that Ty once admitted Grandmother Margaret had sent the Cupid charm with him the night he’d impulsively proposed to Sierra.

Grant’s no-nonsense business logic assured him a piece of jewelry didn’t possess magical powers to find true love, yet the coincidences still disturbed him. He wasn’t ready to settle down with any woman. He’d learned his lesson years ago. Now he was content with his bachelor lifestyle and savored his freedom.

He felt a hot sting in his palm and nearly dropped the charm. Toby reached for it, startling Grant back to reality as he instinctively closed his fingers protectively around the heirloom.

“Real cool,” Toby said, dropping his empty hand away. “It has a bow and arrow like I do. Who gave it to you?”

“My brother. It’s our grandmother’s,” Grant grumbled, none too pleased. He gritted his teeth and pushed away the dark thoughts. Story was, once Cupid got into someone’s hands, the victim was destined to be joined with his true love—whether he wanted to be or not. Thank goodness it was merely a fairy tale. Still, he couldn’t quite dismiss his concern.

“You have a brother?” Toby asked in wonder. Then his voice dropped wistfully. “I bet you never got lonely. Wish I had a brother.”

“I have two brothers, and believe me, it isn’t always fun,” Grant replied ruefully, putting the Cupid key back into the envelope. He crammed in the note, then pressed the flap securely in place.

Jami collected her own keycard as she listened to their exchange, her heart giving a sad pang. She hadn’t known her son wished for a brother. The way her life was going, another child appeared to be far into the future, and by then Toby could outgrow his yearning for a brother. She wished she’d gotten a better look at the charm Grant’s brother had sent him. How strange for one brother to send a piece of jewelry to the other. It must be some weird family tradition.

This was no place to quiz Grant. She sighed, shoving back an unruly lock of hair. It was none of her business, and she’d just have to stifle her curiosity. Besides, maybe Sierra would know. Jami made a mental note to ask.

“Can I hold it?” Toby wistfully gazed up at Grant.

“Sorry, buddy. It’s a family heirloom, not a toy.”

“Okay,” Toby agreed, too quickly. “Sure thing, Grant.”

“Can we go our rooms, or do we just stand here forever?” Jami asked, irritated at them both.

“Let’s go,” Grant said, tucking the packet under his arm as he headed for the stairway.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Toby echoed, skipping after Grant.

Grant’s frozen granite expression dissolved into a heart-stopping smile as he glanced back at the boy, trailing like a puppy.

Jami accompanied Grant, following the lodge’s version of a bellboy—a hulking lumberjack who hoisted all their luggage at once. They marched caravan-style up the stairs and through the plush, carpeted hall. An older man rounded the corner and ambled toward them. Silver-gray hair topped a weathered face, crisscrossed with lines etched by life and the passing of time. A checked flannel shirt hung loosely upon a once-erect carriage, now bent to a slight slope about the shoulders.

The man smiled and gazed at them through faded blue eyes as he exclaimed, “Grant Carrington, I almost didn’t recognize you in those city duds.”

“City duds?” Jami murmured incredulously. She had thought Grant was overdressed for a flight, but she knew some businessmen rarely shed their high-profile image.

“Homer,” Grant replied warmly, advancing to take the older man’s outstretched hand. “Don’t let the suit fool you. It’s temporary. I went straight to the airport from a meeting.”

“Always business,” Homer said, patting Grant’s shoulder as they ended the handshake. “Didn’t expect to see you here at the lodge.” He grinned, showing ultra white dentures. “The roof on your cabin cave in or something?”

“Cabin?” Jami muttered, switching her gaze to Grant.

“Hope not.” Grant shrugged. “I haven’t checked on it this year, yet.”

“Several collapsed with that heavy snow we had last winter, but I haven’t heard of any on your side of the mountain.” Homer’s curious gaze swept wide to encompass Jami and her son. “You get hitched without telling me and Nell?”

“Would I do that?” Grant actually tugged at his shirt collar. “You know I’m a dyed-in-the-wool bachelor.”

Homer chuckled. “Said the same thing before I got lassoed by my Nell.”

“This is my sister-in-law Sierra’s friend, Jami Rhodes, and her son, Toby.” Grant sounded reluctant as he introduced them, and she noticed he avoided any mention of the CupidKey promotion.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” Homer took her hand in his. She could feel gnarly bones through cool papery skin. “I’m Homer Ballingham, owner of Frost Lake Lodge.”

“Owner?” Jami repeated, sounding foolish to herself as she released Homer’s hand. Wouldn’t the owner know about their Cupid trip and reservations?

“On paper.” He smiled again, face crinkling into a web of wrinkles. “The lodge still technically belongs to us, but our daughter Becca runs the place now. Nell and I just wander around, greet guests, and get in Becca’s way since we retired five years ago.”

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.

From this moment on, Jami knew that no matter how much she tried to maintain a business only relationship, he had awakened a raw sexual need within her. Mesmerized by the sight of this beautiful man who made her want to ignore her screaming sense of self-preservation, she stammered, “I—I thought you were playing cards.”

Grant stepped forward, saying in a sexy growl, “I wouldn’t have wasted a moment if I’d known you were waiting for me.”

“I wasn’t.” Painfully aware of her own nakedness, one hand clutching her towel and the other pressed against the door frame, Jami whispered, “I need my purse.” With her free hand, she pointed to the table.

“Sure. Your purse.” He cocked his head, a brow lifting incredulously. “You going somewhere dressed like that?”

She stared at him, forbidding herself to surrender to the tempting thoughts their state of undress invited. Still, she could no more parade nearly nude through the suite under his intense gaze, than throw herself into his arms and beg him to make passionate love to her. Jami’s chin rose along with her voice. “I want my lotion, and it’s in my handbag.”

“Lotion is what you want?” A wicked smile curved his mouth and, to her dismay, he continued to scrutinize her as if he could see right through the towel.

“A gentleman would bring me my handbag.”

“Mmm?” Grant stroked his square jaw as his eyes blazed and his voice dropped to rough velvet. “I can think of other things a gentleman would do for you.”

Jami’s breath caught, realizing that Grant Carrington appeared far too potently male, far too dangerous. Gathering her willpower and channeling forbidden temptation, she countered, “You are no gentleman!”

“Allow me.” He swept her handbag off the table and strode across the room, halting before her. “Here’s your lotion, Red.”

Grant pressed the purse against her hand clutching the towel. The touch of his knuckles seared right through the terrycloth against her breasts as she fumbled for her handbag without releasing the towel. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice breathless as her heart beat a wild tempo.

“My pleasure.”

He grinned as she ran out of the room.