That Carrington Magic

chapter 4



“Toby,” Jami called, “That’s far enough.”

Toby turned and waded back toward his mother. “The water’s too cold, anyway. Grant, can we make a boat now?”

“Certainly. Hop up and help me find a good piece of wood.” Grant reached for Toby and with a one-arm boost hefted the boy to his hip. “Climb onto my back piggy-back style. Hold tight.” Grant strode into the trees with Toby wrapped around him, the child’s bare wet legs bouncing.

Jami heard her son’s squeals and laughter. Her heart gave a sad ping. She was the only one who’d ever given Toby a piggy-back ride. Her ex-husband showed no fatherly interest in their son, so it had always been Jami and Toby, alone together, a tight family unit. She prayed that Toby wasn’t viewing at Grant as a prospective daddy. That could only bring heartache.

Toby was still giggling as they reappeared with a rough piece of pine, jerking Jami out of deep thought. “Any luck?”

“Perfect for boat carving,” Grant replied, sliding Toby gently to the ground as he handed the chunk of wood to the eager child.

“Carving?” Jami felt her mother instincts surge forth again. “You don’t intend to let my baby use a knife?”

“I’m no baby,” Toby grumbled, his freckles turning as rosy as his cheeks.

Grant chuckled. “I promise not to give Toby anything he can’t handle. Jami, you can supervise. Okay?”

“I don’t know,” she said, her gut tightening in horror as Grant drew a sheathed hunting knife from the leather bag dangling from his belt loop. She felt her stomach lurch and bones chill as the tall, dangerous Texan slid a deadly curved blade out of that sheath to glint brightly in the sunshine.

“See the fallen log by the big flat boulder, Toby?” Grant asked, waving his empty hand toward the edge of the woods. “If your mom sits on the boulder, we can share the log.”

Clutching the piece of wood as if it were a bridal bouquet, Toby trotted over to the log with her in his wake. How she wished she’d never agreed to this boat-making project. Just the sight of that knife made her feel ill.

“Are you all right?” Grant asked, as usual too-tuned into her emotional state. “You’re pale.”

She halted, glaring up at Grant as Toby scaled the log. “A child shouldn’t be anywhere near a knife like yours, let alone try to use it.”

Grant’s face turned to stone. “I learned to whittle and carve at a younger age than your son is now. I know how to show Toby how to use this safely and allow him just enough to do to feel like he helped, without endangering him.”

“But that knife looks so wicked and so sharp,” Jami persisted, not totally persuaded. She’d never had anyone to depend on to share parenting responsibilities, and it was difficult to accept Grant’s good intentions when it came to something she felt so unsure about. She knew she must let her little boy grow up, but this was pushing it.

“A clean, sharp knife is far safer than a dull, ragged blade. Trust me.”

“I don’t know...”

“Mom! Grant!” Toby hollered at them. “Hurry.”

Grant’s gaze pinned Jami. She swallowed a lump in her throat and nodded. Even in her distress, she was conscious of an unspoken trust between them. She knew Grant would protect her child, and the poor kid rarely enjoyed any male bonding. She must let Toby do this, but she would be right there, regardless.

Grant straddled the log, his lanky jean-clad legs stretched on either side as he faced Toby. He had gorgeous legs for a man, Jami remembered. She found herself staring at those same legs she had seen bare and glistening when all he’d worn was a towel slung low around his hips. She closed her eyes, visualizing in greater detail his hard muscular calves and thighs, even the fine golden hairs that lightly fuzzed his ankles, but gradually receded to a slight dusting from knees to his upper thighs. If a man could have beautiful legs, Grant certainly did. No pale, skinny sticks. Just sinuously masculine, bronzed, and sleek as a diver’s.

She opened her eyes as she heard Toby ask Grant if they could build a pirate ship. Grant’s deep chuckle rumbled through her veins as he answered, “This piece of wood isn’t big enough. How about settling for a tiny boat?”

Toby appeared disappointed, then grinned. “That’s okay. Mom says it’s smart to start little when you learn something. Right?” he asked, turning his huge brown eyes on his mother.

“Right,” Jami mumbled, recalling Grant’s hunting knife. Why couldn’t they begin with a teeny pocketknife?

Grant’s gaze met hers, as if he read her mind—and not about a knife. “Sometimes small is best—sometimes not.”

He began shearing and shaving the rough bark of the wood, its distinct pine scent drifting over to Jami as she took a seat on the flat-topped boulder a few feet away. Grant’s strong, sure hands skillfully wielded the blade, wood chips dropping away as the rough form of a boat took shape.

“That’s really cool,” Toby said in awe. “Better than a pirate ship.”

“Well, not too many pirates sailed mountain lakes here in the Rockies.” A curled wood chip flew out, just missing Toby’s chin. “Scoot back, partner. If I wound you, I have to contend with Captain Mom, and I hear she’s tough.”

“Mom’s a p-ssycat,” Toby assured Grant, obediently scooting backwards. “If pirates didn’t come here, I guess there’s not any sunken treasure in Frost Lake.”

“You never know where you’ll find a treasure, Toby. Pirates weren’t the only ones who hid their booty. So did gold miners, trappers, and probably a few fishermen.”

“Really?” Toby blinked up at Grant in excitement. Jami nearly groaned aloud as she watched her son’s fertile imagination swim into full-speed.

Grant had no idea what havoc he just triggered. Toby searching the lake for buried treasure would be a real nightmare. Everyone knew the first rule of parenting was think before you speak. Of course, Grant wasn’t a parent. Had never been a parent; and probably had no desire to ever be a parent. Why did that thought make her so sad? Jami shook her head in disgust. Whether or not Grant Carrington ever wanted to be a daddy was none of her business.

“Now it’s your turn to help with the hard stuff.”

Jami’s breath stuck in her throat as Grant pulled Toby close so that both males straddled the log, the boy nestled in front of the man. Grant placed the knife handle into her son’s palm. Jami felt woozy as his large hand closed securely over Toby’s.

“We need to detail the bottom into just the right angles to float properly. Cut, curve, slice. See how nicely we’re shaping the boat bottom?” Toby nodded, keeping his eyes glued to the blade, flashing silver as it carved wood. “Now the other side.”

Watching Grant’s sure hand guide every movement, Jami let out a slow breath. He could have told what he intended instead of scaring her. Why did the man have to be so impossible?

“We’re done. Show our masterpiece to your mother, then we’ll test our vessel to see if it’s water-worthy.”

Toby took the boat, bounced off the log, and headed for Jami as Grant wiped his knife, slid the weapon back into the sheath, then replaced it in his leather pouch. He drew the bag top closed and securely tied the rawhide string, throwing Jami a now-that-wasn’t-so-bad.

Toby thrust the diminutive pine ship into her hands. “It’s nice,” she said with real admiration. “You two did a wonderful job.”

“If it floats,” Grant said with a wink.

“Yeah. If it floats,” Toby solemnly repeated.

“Maybe I’d better remove my boots and roll up my pant legs before we go down to the water.”

“You better,” Toby agreed, as Grant tugged off one cowboy boot and then the other.

Watching the man who was her Cupid match rolling up his jeans to launch a hand-carved boat with her son, Jami shivered. A cloud drifted across the sun as insects buzzed and flitted in random chorus, but Jami’s eyes lingered on Grant as he waded into the shallows with Toby. The man crouched, guiding the boy’s hand to gently sit the boat upright upon the swishing waters. The wooden craft bobbed and swirled on the lake.

Toby rocked backwards, clapping his hands in delight. “We did it! Grant, we did it!”

Jami swallowed a lump in her throat as Grant reached down to hug her son and asked, “Do you want to paint a name on your boat? What do you want to call it?”

Toby’s freckled face alight, he gave Grant a huge, lopsided grin. “A ship is a she, right?”

“True.”

“Let’s name my boat after Mom.”

“Jami?”

“Nah.” Toby giggled into his hand. “Red.”

“Red?” Jami called, jogging down the shore toward them. “Take that back, buster.”

“Gosh, Mom. I like Red.” Toby shot a pleading glance at her. “It’s a pretty color and a short word that I can spell.”

What could she say? Jami shot a glance at Grant. “This is your doing.”

“Who me?” Grant tried a bit too hard for innocence as he splashed water toward her, nearly capsizing the tiny boat.

“You guys enjoy your boat. I’m going to sit in the shade a safe distance away.” Jami strolled over to the boulder slab she had previously used for a chair and sat down to watch the two males frolic in the lake.

“I wish I had a teeny man to float in my boat,” Toby said wistfully, watching the wooden craft bob in the water.

“Maybe we can come up with something.” Grant fished a pebble from the lake bottom. “Pretend this is your captain.”

“That’s just a rock. Let’s find something better.” They both scanned the shallows as the tiny boat rocked and dipped. “There’s something,” Toby cried, sloshing through water above his knees to a dark spot in the lake. “Mom, I found a treasure!”

“No, Toby,” Grant and Jami called in unison. Jami jumped up and raced toward them, worried about what her son might grab.

Grant’s long legs quickly closed the space that separated him from Toby. Just as he reached for the boy, Toby grabbed hold of something black and jerked on it with all his might.

Jami heard a sucking noise, then a loud splat as a thick black object slapped against Toby’s chest. The child fell backwards, slamming into Grant who was caught on the wave and off balance.

Grant toppled into the water, sending up tidal waves as his sexy posterior hit lake bottom and his bare feet shot out from under him.

With a rubber fishing boot clutched to his chest, Toby tumbled onto Grant, knocking him back down and bobbing Grant’s head underwater for the second time in as many seconds.

Grant Carrington resurfaced. Jami laughed at the shock and surprise etched on his handsome, but dripping, face. The sight of the high-powered, big-city business consultant, floundering and sputtering water as Toby tried to climb off him and get rid of the mud-filled boot, delighted Jami. If only she had a camera.

“Aw, this isn’t a treasure. It’s a stupid old boot.” Toby flung the offending boot away, where it promptly re-submerged.

Jami nearly choked on her laughter.

“That’s a fisherman’s wader boot,” Grant stated, trying to reclaim his dignity as he finally regained his feet. He wrung water out of a T-shirt that clung exquisitely to his muscular physique.

“Whatever. But it’s not treasure,” Toby grumbled, dumping water from the boat and setting it afloat.

“I don’t know,” Jami drawled, not hiding her merriment. “I’ll treasure that expression on Grant’s face for a long time.”

“Guess we did look pretty funny,” Grant acknowledged with a smile.

“Guess we did,” Toby echoed, his crooked grin stretching ear to ear.

“You did.” Jami couldn’t resist punching her words with one last chuckle.

Back at the lodge, Jami got Toby washed up again before taking her own turn in the bathroom. It was a good thing she’d brought along a king-size bottle of body moisturizer. This climate sucked her skin dry, and she needed to reapply her lotion several times a day. She’d kept it handy and close since that embarrassing encounter with Grant, when he’d caught her wearing nothing but a towel while trying to retrieve her lotion.

She flushed at the memory of the way Grant’s sexy gaze had seared her, making her entire body tingle with awareness. Jami shook away the memory and concentrated on getting ready for supper. Tonight they would meet the other lodge guests. She must make Toby promise to be on his best behavior.

Jami came out of the bathroom into an empty bedroom. Where had her rascal gone? Toby knew he was supposed to wait in their room. She spotted him standing in the outer suite, peering into an open drawer.

“Toby, what are you doing?” Jami stepped into the room behind him.

He spun around holding his palms open to show he held nothing. “I just needed a guide for the TV.”

“This is Grant’s private space. Don’t mess around in here without his permission.” Jami’s tone softened at Toby’s crest-fallen expression. “Okay?”

“Okay,” he muttered, shuffling his sneakered feet. “We going down to supper now?”

“If you’re ready.”

“I’m ready. And I’m so starved, my tummy is growling.”

“You promise to behave? Becca’s other guests will be with us.”

“And Grant?”

“Grant, too.”

“I’ll be good.”

Jami smiled, ruffling Toby’s hair. “That’s my boy.”

Panic flickered over his face. “Mom, don’t get mushy.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, clicking her sandaled heels together and snapping him a playful salute. “Let’s go eat.”

They walked into the rustic dining room toward the massive pine table positioned beneath an Early American chandelier of bronze and etched glass. Grant stood apart from the table where Becca hovered by guests who were already seated.

A young woman with straight blue-black hair, violet eyes, and alabaster skin entered from the other door. For some reason Jami disliked the woman on sight. Maybe it was the fake scarlet nails or matching blood-red lipstick; or possibly the exaggerated swing of the female’s curvy hips, accented by her clinging lavender outfit that plunged to expose excessive cleavage. Violet gazed directed at Grant, the woman fluttered black-widow lashes and exclaimed in a husky voice, “Becca, you’ve been holding out on me. You never mentioned this fascinating hunk.”

Becca sighed impatiently, as if this particular guest just added another bad mark on a behavior chart. “Introduce yourselves. I have a meal to serve.”

Not wasting a breath to answer, the woman beelined for Grant, extending those evil nails, which tipped a hand pale enough to please Dracula. “Hi! I’m Raven McGuire.”

Grant accepted her hand. “Raven is an unusual name.”

“I’m an unusual woman,” Raven purred, batting those violet eyes at him.

“I bet,” Jami hissed to herself, watching Grant practically drool over the lady, confirming her own opinion he was indeed a womanizer. The pit of her stomach churned as Grant’s hand enclosed Raven’s talons.

Toby scooted next to Grant, staring up at this new adult as if she’d stepped out of a storybook.

“What a cute boy,” Raven simpered, not taking her eyes off the man to spare a glance for the child. “Is he yours?”

“Definitely not.”

“Good,” Raven retorted, with a pleased smile on those red-violet lips.

Jami and Toby glanced from Raven to Grant and back again, mother and son wearing matching scowls on their faces. “Let’s go sit down,” Jami whispered, leading Toby to a chair beside a stern-looking gentleman with a brown beard and thinning hair. The older man watched through thick-lensed, horn-rimmed glasses as Toby scooted into the chair, and Jami sat next to her son.

“Hello,” the gentleman rasped in a rusty sounding voice. “I’m Doctor Wilbur Tolaski, Professor of Ornithology at Boston University.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jami responded with a smile over the top of Toby’s head. “I’m Jami Rhodes and this is my son, Toby.”

“I’m Dottie Hammersmith,” piped one older woman down the table. Where dimples had once indented her cheeks, years had carved twin grooves. Otherwise Dottie’s round face and rounded features fit her plump, matronly body. With her gun-metal gray hair worn ultra-short, and dressed in a splashy Hawaiian mumu, she appeared to be a mirror image of the woman next to her.

“I’m Dottie’s sister, Doris Hammersmith,” the mirror image informed them. “We’re retired schoolteachers from Denver, here for nature walks.”

“Of course, we aren’t experts like the professor,” Dottie added evasively.

“I’m on a bird-watching expedition,” Professor Tolaski informed them with a matter-of-fact air. “I intend to study species unique to the Rocky Mountains and unavailable in Massachusetts.”

“How interesting,” Jami stammered, not sure of what to say. Congratulations? Good viewing? Did you clean your field glasses? She bit back her inane responses and tried to ignore Grant as he held the chair for Raven McGuire. He took the empty chair next to Raven, confirming Jami’s womanizer theory and adding to her vexation.

“Why are you here?” Dottie asked, leaning forward as if whatever Jami said would be fodder for gossip.

“I was overdue for a vacation, and my son and I had never been to the Rockies,” Jami answered in a rush, too embarrassed to mention the Cupid trip, especially since her computer-selected Mr. Right seemed captivated by Raven with the violet eyes.

“And what about the attractive young couple who just joined us?” Doris queried as all heads swiveled toward Grant and Raven.

“They’re not a couple,” Becca matter-of-factly announced, swinging back into the dining room while balancing a huge platter piled with steaming barbecued chicken.

“We just met,” Grant clarified to Jami’s satisfaction as she noticed annoyance flash through Raven McGuire. “I’m Grant Carrington, from Houston. I come to Frost Lake every year.”

Jami noticed that he hadn’t said a word about their Cupid vacation, either. It annoyed her that Grant had not, regardless of her own omission.

The mouth-watering aroma of the barbecued chicken reminded Jami of her hunger, since she had hardly touched their picnic lunch, having lost her appetite after she and Grant had argued over her business habits.

Becca winked as she offered Jami first choice of a wicker basket full of fresh-from-the-oven buttermilk biscuits. The table already held a combination vegetable and relish tray plus a bowl of perfectly steamed dark green asparagus spears.

“Well, then, Miss, who are you?” Dottie demanded of Raven as her sister added, “You don’t seem the type to frequent country bed and breakfast inns to me.”

“I am Raven McGuire,” Raven answered loftily, gazing down her regal nose at the Hammersmith sisters. “My dear departed husband, Kyle, left me a B & B in Aspen. Before I decide whether to sell or keep it, I thought I’d scope out regional competition.” The young widow smiled smugly as Dottie and Doris whispered to each other, before she haughtily added, “First I stayed at a cozy inn at Park City, now here. Sun Valley is next on my list.”

Raven’s fellow guests appeared unimpressed, everyone suddenly concentrating on their meal.

“You have my condolences.” Grant watched the young widow, remembering how the shock of loss had hit his mother when Dad passed away. Now his mother was a whirlwind again, but it had taken over a year of deep mourning to reclaim her spirit. His heart went out to anyone who’d lost a loved one. To this day, he still missed his father. “I’m so sorry about your husband.”

“Don’t be,” Raven replied in a sultry voice. “It was a blessing. The poor man was nearly eighty and could hardly get around.”

Grant felt his mouth drop open and tried to recover as the Hammersmith sisters resumed whispering, and Jami smothered a chuckle.

“A blessing for whom?” the professor queried, his dark bushy brows meeting in the middle to form a solid line as he peered through his glasses.

“For Kyle, of course,” Raven amended, obviously realizing she’d crossed the line. “I miss him so much.” For effect, she dabbed at her tearless eyes with a lace hanky and peeked at Grant through those fake spider lashes.

He ignored Raven to concentrate on his food. Apparently his sympathy had been misplaced. The widow sounded about as sad as a laughing hyena. And about as civilized. Grant bit into a spicy barbecued chicken leg, the sauce dripping down his fingers. Around the table everyone else dug in, too. Everyone except Raven, who picked at hers with a fork before pushing it aside to ignore the chicken completely.

“We saw a mountain warbler this morning down by the lake,” Dottie informed them as she stabbed a slice of cucumber and popped it into her mouth.

“It was a meadowlark, Dot,” Doris corrected, carefully separating each item on her plate so that nothing touched.

“A warbler. No mistake about it.” Dottie swirled her vegetables into the barbeque sauce pooled below the chicken on her plate.

“I observed a red-tailed hawk circling a cliff,” Professor Tolaski stated, bits of the sauce clinging to his beard.

“I saw a lizard,” Toby announced, not to be topped.

Jami grimaced at the streaks of barbeque sauce already smeared on her son’s chin. The area around his mouth dribbled down his T-shirt and all over his hands.

“I hope you didn’t touch the filthy creature,” Raven said, her alabaster complexion paling an unbelievable shade lighter.

“I held it, and then it sat by me,” Toby answered proudly as he stuffed more food in his already full mouth.

What happened to his manners? Jami suddenly wondered, but refrained from scolding him in front of everyone.

Raven pursed her lips and shivered delicately. Whether the reaction was aimed at the lizard or Toby’s messy eating, Jami couldn’t guess. Probably both, she decided, watching the glamorous widow daintily carving a slice of tomato.

“Red-tailed hawks occasionally enjoy a snack of lizard,” the professor noted, gazing at Toby through his thick glasses.

“Mom!” Toby wailed, whipping around to accuse her. “You should have let me keep my lizard. That hawk probably ate it.”

“No, it didn’t,” Grant offered. “I saw your lizard disappear into the woods after our picnic. Maybe we’ll see it again tomorrow.”

“You think?” In his excitement, Toby waved his arm, sending the chicken leg airborne.

Horrified, Jami watched as the partially eaten meat flipped onto Raven’s plate, splattering her with barbeque sauce.

“You brat!” she hissed with narrowed eyes.

“Sorry.” Toby ruined his apology with a lopsided grin.

Grant intervened. “Here, use my napkin. Accidents happen.”

The widow appeared torn between trying to impress him and lash out at the youngster.

Jami shot Grant an appreciate smile and took her cue. “Bedtime, Toby.”

“But I haven’t had dessert yet,” Toby protested.

With the timing of an angel, Becca swooped in, brandishing a dessert tray of chocolate éclairs and miniature French pastries dusted with powdered sugar. “We can put one of each on a plate for you, Toby. You can take them up to your room.” The diminutive brunette glanced at Raven, who furiously dabbed her outfit. “Just promise not to make a mess.”

“I promise,” Toby agreed, happily accepting the desserts on a saucer.

Becca whipped a square of paper towel out of her apron pocket. “Just in case.”



Strange how dull the dinner conversation had grown after Jami and Toby left, Grant thought as he entered the suite, automatically noting the door to their bedroom was firmly closed. He’d felt an obligation to Ralph’s family to act as if he enjoyed the other lodge guests, but he had to admit that his real enthusiasm had departed with Jami and her carrot-topped rascal. Talking with Raven was uncomfortable, since she took every polite word as encouragement. The Hammersmith sisters had spent the remainder of the meal bickering over which type of birds and flora and fauna they had encountered that day. The professor barely grunted a response when addressed, and now Grant was grateful to finally escape them all.

Wandering through the outer suite, he detected a hint of Jami’s sweet scent in the air. Was she asleep? Dreaming of him, perhaps? He shook away the thought with renewed impatience. Why couldn’t he get that woman out of his head? What he needed was a good mystery novel. Where had he put that book?

He checked the telephone stand, then scanned the room, his eyes finally dropping to the top drawer. There? Grant slid open the drawer, and his hand froze in mid-air.

The golden cupid key was lying next to the padded envelope.

“Damn,” Grant growled, picking up the offending charm. “I swear I put this inside that packet.” An awful, and equally impossible, thought washed over him—Cupid had magically escaped the envelope. He shook his head in disgust. There must be a logical explanation. The brooch probably slipped out of its packet when he tossed it into the drawer.

Another thought snaked into his mind—what if Cupid was like a genie? Weren’t genies trapped when secured inside a corked bottle? So, why not cover all the bases? That’s what he did in business, Grant reasoned, feeling foolish and ridiculous for even considering the nonsense side of this situation.

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.