That Carrington Magic - By Karen Rigley Page 0,32
bow on the floor and kicking it. “But don’t do any mushy stuff with Grant. Please, Mom?”
“Mushy stuff?”
“No kissy, huggy boyfriend stuff,” Toby persisted. “Because Grant’s not your boyfriend. Right?”
“Right,” Jami agreed, a secret part of her wishing she could claim Grant for a boyfriend. She shoved that traitorous thought aside and smiled down at her son. “Please put your bow and arrow away. Maybe later we can setup a target down by the lake. We could also take the toy boat Grant carved for you. Okay?”
“All right!” Toby squealed.
Constantly amazed by his quicksilver mood changes, Jami watched her son cheerfully obey her and put his bow and arrow set into his backpack. Life was so simple to a child. A promise of play made everything better. If only adults could find happiness in such simple things.
“Mom, can I have my chocolate éclair now? I fell asleep last night before I could eat it.”
“Not before breakfast, honey.”
“But I’m hungry.”
“It’s almost time to go down and eat.”
“Just a few bites?”
Jami gave her son her stern-mom look and he mumbled, “I’ll wait.”
She and Toby delayed their breakfast until eight to dine with the other lodge guests. To Jami’s disappointment, Grant was not among them. Becca informed her that he’d gone fishing with Homer.
“Grant said he’d take me the next time they went fishing,” Toby muttered to his mom, dejection in his voice.
“I’m sorry,” Jami whispered, feeling like she was apologizing for her ex-husband all over again. Once a year he’d arrange to see Toby, then stand him up.
“My fault,” Becca chirped. “Last night I read Grant the riot act and told him it would be way too early to take a child fishing. He can take you at a decent hour.” Becca’s hands rested on her hips. “That all right with you?”
Jami watched her son weigh the information, a lump forming in her throat. So, it wasn’t Grant’s fault. This time, anyway. Still, Toby had been hurt and disappointed.
“You told Grant not to take me?” Toby asked, biting down on his quivering bottom lip.
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Becca said, crossing her bosom in emphasis. “They left at first light. That’s an ungodly hour.”
“What’s first light?” Toby demanded, curiosity replacing dejection.
“About an hour before dawn when the birds start singing,” Professor Tolaski said, joining their conversation. “Then dawn stains the heavens, and even later the sun rises to announce daylight.”
“So it’s real early in the morning?” Toby asked, obviously digesting the information. Jami smothered a chuckle, knowing that before daylight was too early even for her chipper morning person.
“Real early,” Becca agreed, sounding relieved.
“Technically night,” the professor added, tugging on his beard.
Jami smiled her thanks at both of them.
“The owl is still hunting at that hour,” Dottie declared.
“It’s dark and cold, too,” Doris added. “I remember one morning when Dot and I were staking out a mockingbird...”
“Do we have to have so much talk this early in the morning?” Raven complained, blinking already heavily made-up violet eyes at her fellow lodgers. “If we weren’t required to be at breakfast by eight, I would have stayed in bed for several more hours. This is barbarian enough without all your babbling.”
“Sleeping half the day away is unproductive,” the professor stated, peering at Raven through his thick lenses with disapproval.
Becca hovered by the table, a fresh and heavenly fragrant tray of blueberry muffins in her hands. “If you don’t choose to eat breakfast with the other guests, you can have a cold tray in your room or make breakfast arrangements elsewhere.”
“A cold tray sounds appetizing, doesn’t it?” the young widow returned with dripping sarcasm. “And driving through the canyon all the way into town for breakfast sounds a bit much, thank you.”
“Oh, the cold tray is delicious,” Dottie chimed, dimple-crease lines deepening as her eyes glowed with pleasure. “Fruit bowl, muffins, juice. Delightful.”
“Delightful,” Doris echoed. “Strawberries this large.” She held her fingers several inches apart to show the size.
“Not quite,” Becca corrected, winking at Jami. “But it’s not a bad meal.”
“We like fruit. Don’t we, Mom?” Toby said, stuffing a huge bite of blueberry muffin in his mouth to punctuate his words.
“We do,” Jami replied, noting that Raven sat glaring daggers at everyone. Good. Jami wouldn’t mind if the scarlet-lipped widow failed to grace the breakfast table with her presence for the remainder of the week.
While the other guests were downstairs eating breakfast, Grant stood under a hot pounding shower to wash away all traces of his early morning fishing trip. He still