Her eyes traced the broad, powerful line of his shoulders tapering to a vee at his waist, forcing her to remember his taut washboard stomach. Her own stomach muscles clenched in response. She shook away the tantalizing image of Grant, skin wet and glistening, clad only in a towel, and tried to concentrate on tree and rock landmarks as they hiked down the packed-dirt path toward the lodge.
“I’ll take you two to the lake later,” Grant said as they entered the lodge, greeted by the aroma of baking bread.
“Great,” Toby chimed.
“That’s not necessary,” Jami said at the same time.
Grant grinned at both of them. “I better return this basket. See you in awhile.”
He aimed for the kitchen as she steered Toby toward the stairs. “Let’s get cleaned up, tiger. A nap might not be a bad idea, either.”
“Aw, Mom,” Toby protested, his dirt-smudged face scrunching as he snuck a side-glance to make sure Grant was out of earshot. “I don’t want a nap.”
Jami ruffled her son’s hair. “Maybe I do.”
He shot his mother a questioning glance, but obediently trudged up the stairs with her. “Did you know you can get Rocky Mountain Fever from wood ticks?”
“Yuk, that sounds real bad.”
“It is. I read up about it before we came, so we need to clean you up extra.”
“Aw, Mom,” he grumbled again as she marched him straight into the bathroom to make sure he got a thorough scrubbing in the tub.
“Clean and shiny and no bugs.” She laughed, then tossed him a Blazing Galaxy comic book when he was dried and dressed. “Quiet time for you, while I grab a shower. Don’t,” she added with motherly emphasis, “don’t leave this room. Okay?”
“Sure thing.” Toby grinned innocently up at her before burying his nose in the book.
Jami watched Toby for a moment longer, wondering if he would really stay put. He appeared quite settled, stretched out on the bed with his face in the comic book, his bare feet in constant movement to bounce the bed slightly as Jami collected her robe.
Grant Carrington stepped into the lodge kitchen, plunking the basket upon the counter top and startling Becca. “Thanks for the picnic lunch.”
“No problem. Did you enjoy your outing with Jami and her boy?”
“Actually, I did.” He winked. “She’s lovely, and I like Toby, too. It’s refreshing to see things through the eyes of a kid. Makes me realize how jaded I’ve become.”
Laughing, Becca slapped the sink with her dishtowel. “You’re a lot of things, Grant, but jaded isn’t one of them.”
“I wonder.” He automatically helped sort out the basket as they talked. “Jami and Toby make me feel like an old stuffed shirt at times.”
“You are a stuffed shirt at times. I think that pretty redhead has made quite an impression on you.”
“She certainly has.” He shook his head, puzzling over Jami’s unpredictability. “Do you know she simply closed her business to come on this vacation?” He snapped his fingers, shaking his head once more. “Closed it without a thought.”
“Maybe she didn’t have anyone to run the place in her absence.”
“She could have hired someone.”
“Maybe not.”
“Still, to close a diving shop during peak season,” Grant persisted, his jaw tightening more as he thought about it.
“I suppose you lectured her,” Becca said with a knowing sigh.
“Naturally.”
“And she got mad, right?” She wagged her finger at him.
“How did you know?”
“Jami doesn’t like to be told what to do anymore than that boy of hers does.”
Becca sliced an onion, its pungent aroma stinging Grant’s eyes. He wondered how she kept her own from tearing as she attacked the offending onion at chef speed. “If you want to get on that girl’s good side, you won’t stand in judgment of her or her decisions.”
“I don’t stand in judgment.”
“Ha!” She cleaved a second onion neatly in half, exposing its layered rings. “That’s a Texas tale.”
“You’re right that Jami got upset. Funny thing,” Grant added, “I think the kid was mad at me, too.”
“For a man who can untangle executive relations, fine-tune major corporations, or smooth a business glitch no one else can even find, you’re hopeless when it comes to personal relationships.”
“I don’t have a relationship with Jami.”
“Ha!” Becca reiterated, whacking a third onion as Grant fled from the kitchen, leaving his skeptical friend and eye-watering onion fumes behind.
Grant entered the suite, catching Jami’s unique floral scent as it lingered in the air. The door to her bedroom was closed, and he considered tapping on it, but refrained. The phone rang, and he answered, snapping, “Hello.”