that boat. Toby really enjoys it.”
“This afternoon I should whittle a captain for it. Maybe we’ll even add a sail.” Grant seemed to fill the entire tent, forcing Jami to back away slightly.
“That’ll be...nice.” She watched Grant move toward her and suddenly her throat went dry. “I think I’ll put a sleeping bag in my tent now.”
“That’s not necessary. You can sleep in here with us.”
“I don’t want to sleep with you,” Jami blurted, one hand flying to her mouth as she realized what she’d said. At the same moment, she also realized it was untrue. Completely untrue.
“You don’t?” Grant drawled, his left brow cocked.
“Hey, Mom!” Toby hollered from outside.
“What, honey?” Jami grabbed the opportunity to flee from the disturbing proximity and rushed out into the sunlit meadow.
“I need a teeny motor for my boat to make it go real fast.” Toby stood holding his boat, the name RED painted on the carved pine sides.
“You don’t need a motor,” she replied, crossing the clearing to take the craft out of Toby’s hands. Jami knelt in the wild mountain grass beside the gurgling brook. “The current will make your boat float downstream.” She set the tiny craft in the water. It bobbed and dipped, then unsteadily drifted several yards before getting tangled in a clump of emerald green watercress.
“See, it gets stuck.” A scowl creased the boy’s freckle-spattered face as he gazed accusingly at his mother. “I need a motor.”
“How about a sail?” A shadow fell just as Grant’s deep voice startled Jami. Glancing up, she saw his large form blocking the sun. Amazing how the man could intimidate even Mother Nature, dominating this landscape as easily as he had the confined space of the tent.
“How do we make a sail?” Toby asked, using partially submerged rocks for stepping-stones as he retrieved his boat from the sparkling brook.
“Like this.” Grant strode toward the trees and stopped by a young pine. He slashed the trunk bark with his knife, releasing the sharp pungent odor, then scooped up a gooey transparent blob with the tip of his blade. “This is a pain to clean off my knife blade, partner. I’d only do it for you. Give me your boat.”
“Sure.” Toby handed the wooden craft to Grant, who applied the sticky goo to the inside of the boat in one big dab.
“Now we need a good stick. Let’s try that twig over there,” Grant said, pointing at a pile of brush, branches, and pine needles sprinkled with assorted pinecones. “That top twig, please.”
“This one?” Toby bounced to the pile and back as Jami watched, astonished by her son’s eagerness. Hadn’t the rascal been pouting a moment ago? She shook her head.
“Good job. Hold the boat while I shorten the stick.” The silver blade flashed in Grant’s sure bronze hands as he whittled it into a miniature pole. “We’ll use the sticking power of the pine sap to attach it to your boat. Think of it as nature’s glue.”
“Wow, you know all kinds of cool stuff!”
Grant looked pleased with the boy’s comment.
Toby held the craft still as Grant stuck the pole into the blob. “There, we have the mast, now we need a sail.”
“I know what,” Toby cried, darting past his mother to duck into the pup tent. Jami sidestepped her son to avoid a collision, wondering what he was getting out of her tent.
To her horror, she saw what her son thought was perfect for a sail. Cheeks aflame and overcome with embarrassment, Jami recognized the pink cotton bikini panties Toby waved proudly. “This will work great, huh, Grant?”
“Undies?” Grant’s deep rumbling laughter shattered the peaceful mountain quiet.
Jami wanted to slink behind the nearest tree. Mortified, she snapped her underwear out of Toby’s hand and marched back to the forlorn tepee, where she swooped inside to stuff the offending panties back into her tote bag. How could her son do such a thing? A least it wasn’t her bra, she reminded herself as a fresh wave of embarrassment washed over her. Maybe she should have had an angelic little girl, instead of Toby the Terrible? Truly, she wouldn’t trade her precious son for anything, but still, life would be much simpler if her rascal wasn’t so incorrigible.
“Mom? Was I supposed to asked permission first?” Toby asked, sheepishly popping his head into the pup tent as Grant’s laughter reverberated in the background.
Jami sighed. Her six-year-old had no clue of what he’d just done. “Maybe I can find you a handkerchief. That’ll make a much better