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.