That Carrington Magic - By Karen Rigley Page 0,39
Toby padded into the room, barefooted and clad in his cartoon underwear.
“Get Grant on the line,” Sierra persisted. “I promise to make this as painless as possible.”
“Here, Toby,” Jami said, taking the chicken’s way out and thrusting the receiver at her son. “Tell Grant that he has a call from Sierra.”
“Sure, Mom.” Toby threw open the door to yell, “Hey, Grant, Sierra’s on the phone for you.”
Jami heard Grant muttering—possibly cursing.
Toby grinned and hung up the phone. “He got it.”
“My turn for the bathroom,” Jami informed Toby with forced cheer. She needed a temporary reprieve. Still not ready to face the man she had maligned, Jami dashed into the bathroom and sought the sanctuary of a shower.
“What?” Grant barked into the phone, his sister-in-law not exactly on his favored list at the moment.
“You sound like a wounded bear,” Sierra answered with a tinkling laugh.
“It’s been a bad day,” he growled. “What can I do for you, Sierra?”
“It’s what I can do for you, C.G.”
He disliked it when his brothers teased him and called him C.G., and now Sierra had adopted the annoying initials. He scowled at the phone in silence.
When he didn’t respond, she continued, “When you gave Jami that dress, she misunderstood your intentions.”
“I noticed.” Grant raked a hand through his hair and wondered where this conversation was headed. With his dingy pixie of a sister-in-law, he could never be certain.
“That dress,” Sierra teased with her voice full of laughter, “Sounds like a sexy number.”
“I just told the store what I thought would be attractive on Jami and appropriate for our Cupid dinner. I never saw the dress until it hit me in the face.”
“Just be glad you gave her something soft.”
“The box wasn’t soft,” Grant grumped, rubbing his chin. “Neither were the shoes.”
“You gave her shoes?” Sierra giggled, and Grant was sorely tempted to strangle the telephone.
“Sandals to match the dress. Spike heels and thin straps. Very nice.”
“High heels for Jami?” Sierra was hiccupping giggles now.
“Women like heels,” Grant protested, desperately searching for escape.
“Men like high heels on women. Women tolerate the foolish things.”
“I just wanted to give Jami a present, something to wear tonight.”
“Jami’s not into presents.”
“Obviously.” Grant hesitated, then added, “I intended to replace the dress Toby ruined. I certainly didn’t attempt to buy her favors.”
“Her ex-husband used to,” Sierra confided, a wealth of meaning underlying the statement.
“I see,” Grant replied, suddenly understanding what had triggered Jami’s emotional explosion. “What should I say? How can I repair the situation?”
“Don’t say anything. Just lay the dress out on her bed and threaten Toby with his life if he so much as breathes on it.”
“I hope Ty appreciates what I’m going through for him,” Grant groaned, thinking his baby brother owed him big.
“We both do.” Sierra’s tone dropped. “Jami’s been burned, Grant. She may act fiercely independent, but most of it’s armor.”
Grant replaced the telephone, pondering this new facet to Jami Rhodes. He gathered up the dress and sandals, then tapped on her bedroom door, breathing a relieved sigh when Toby opened it.
“Mom’s in the shower.”
“Good. We have to talk,” Grant said, striding into the room to deposit his gifts onto the quilt-covered double bed.
“What about?” Toby asked warily.
“This,” Grant replied, arranging the dress carefully. “I don’t want you to sneeze around this outfit.”
“Okay.” Toby cocked his head. “I’m hungry. What time is it?”
“Nearly six. Can’t you tell time?” Grant asked, trying to recall at what age kids learned such things.
“On some clocks.” Toby pointed to the old-fashioned alarm clock on the nightstand. It had gold dashes in place of numbers. “That one’s hard.”
“I see.” Grant wavered, not convinced that it would be advisable to leave Toby and the silk dress together. “Didn’t Becca tell you to be in the kitchen by six?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t get to tell Mom.”
Grant winced, recalling why Toby hadn’t found the opportunity to inform Jami. “What if I write your mom a note and take you downstairs to Becca?”
“All right!” Toby whooped.
“Keep it down, partner. We don’t want to set your mother off again.”
“We sure don’t,” Toby agreed, sharing a conspiratorial grin with Grant.
Jami came out of the bathroom and stepped into an empty bedroom. She immediately focused on the bed where a large piece of paper lay atop the silk dress. Now what? She cinched the sash of her terry robe and picked up the note to read Grant’s bold scrawl:
Jami,
Toby got dressed, and I’m taking him down to the kitchen. He’s eating dinner with Becca, Nell, and Homer, then playing