She rummaged through her tote, discovering a white crochet-edged hanky in one of the pockets. The scent of her favorite rose sachet filled the air. “Here.” She jammed the hanky into her son’s hand. “This is much better.”
Toby bounded away. She heard him holler, “Mom says this will make a better sail. Will it?”
“I don’t know,” Grant drawled wickedly, “I kind of like the pink bikini.”
“Oh, you!” Jami scolded, blasting out of the pup tent and wishing she had something to fling at Grant, while her son sat cross-legged in the meadow trying to attach her hanky to the boat mast.
“What?” Grant teased, “Nothing to throw?”
“Huh?” She halted. How did he know she wanted to throw things at him? Her surprised gaze met Grant’s impudent stare, and he grinned.
“You should have brought along spike sandals and a silk dress for such emergencies, Red.” Grant’s smile deepened, laughter merrily creasing the lines around his eyes and mouth as he rubbed his jaw where she had once struck him with the department store box. “At least you could’ve remembered the box. You’re a good shot with that.”
“You’re impossible,” Jami muttered, her face hot with another blush. “You enjoy tormenting me, don’t you?”
“I could torment you in a much sweeter manner,” Grant growled huskily, his eyes flaming midnight blue.
“No, thank you,” Jami primly replied, pressing her lips together to hide the trembling that threatened. “I think you have a sail to make.” She spun on her heels and marched away, trying not to think about Grant’s suggestive comment, or her son’s first choice for that sail. Jami left Grant and Toby tinkering with the toy boat. She wandered through the meadow, out between the towering evergreens and back to the lakeshore. There, she perched upon a granite boulder, cool mountain breezes caressing her as the August sun warmed her skin. Birds sang in the trees above as lake waters swirled around the huge rock, while insects hummed softly in the late afternoon sunshine. Watching a delicate hummingbird hover to sip from a wild orchid of pale lilac, Jami inhaled the fresh mountain air. A dragonfly droned past, its iridescent wings catching the sunlight. Grant had been right. This was a special place.
Grant silently moved up behind Jami, taking her off-guard as he wrapped his powerful arms around her to pull her against his hard chest. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
His clean, masculine scent tantalized her nostrils as her body instantly responded to his.
Jami could not resist savoring their momentary closeness. “Very lovely,” she whispered back.
“So are you,” Grant murmured into her hair as he nuzzled her neck, shooting frissoms of awareness through her.
“Where’s Toby?” she asked, trying to regain her composure, knowing she couldn’t do so in Grant’s embrace.
“In the tent sorting out the mess kits. There are three sets, but they’re all mixed up and that disagreed with your son’s sense of organization.” Grant swerved Jami around on the boulder to face him. “Toby surprised me. Did he inherit his organizational skills from you?”
“No. My parents were always super organized,” Jami admitted, returning Grant’s intense scrutiny. “You know—a place for everything and everything in its place?” He nodded as she continued. “Mom even labeled my outfits with a dot code for what socks coordinated with which shirts...” Her voice faded with a tinge of embarrassment. She’d never shared that with anyone, since Sierra had discovered it in the fourth grade on an overnight sleepover and had teased her about it. That was when Jami learned everyone didn’t live life by color codes and index numbers.
“So you rebelled?” Grant softly asked, his expression full of compassion, not amusement.
“I guess so. Not consciously, but I tend to be scattered and disorganized. Toby has this neat streak, like keeping his comics on the top shelf, his storybooks on the second, and his coloring books on the bottom shelf of the book stand in his bedroom. If I misplace them, he rearranges them immediately.” Jami bit her bottom lip. “My parents would be proud.”
“They’d be proud of you, too.” Grant brushed a lock of hair off Jami’s face, gazing at her with admiration. “It can’t be easy to be a single mother and run your own business.”
Jami felt uncomfortable enough divulging family history, but she certainly did not want to discuss her shop. “We’d better get back to Toby, before he gets into mischief again.”
“Toby will be fine,” Grant replied, but released her shoulders, giving her room to climb off the boulder.