the impact, but instantly she steadied the metal support.
“Everything all right, Red?” Grant called from outside.
“Just fine,” Jami snapped, rubbing her sore elbow.
She felt around the ground until she found her key chain light, its tiny beam a relief after the darkness. Did she really want to spend the night in here? After the fuss she’d made about not sharing a tent with Grant, she couldn’t back down now. Why did she always embarrass herself around him? She’d been forced to be extremely independent since her divorce, so sometimes she took it a notch too far. Just like she occasionally did with her overprotective parenting. Understandable, since she didn’t have the luxury of relaxing and shifting the load to someone else. The responsibility remained all hers.
For a moment, she wondered how it’d feel to lean on someone, to share some of that responsibility. Especially with a man like Grant Carrington. Jami bit her lip as the thoughts collided. Instead of her berry lip gloss, she tasted the bitter bug spray. Ugh. The stuff certainly wouldn’t lend itself to romantic kisses. Kisses? Where was her head? Thank goodness, she had Toby along. Suddenly, she wanted to flee back to the lodge for a nice hot shower, leaving pup tents, insect repellent, and Grant behind.
“Dinner’s ready,” the devil himself hollered. “Come and get it, Red. There’s no room service out here.”
She climbed out the tent flap to succulent aromas drifting on the campfire smoke, making her stomach growl, announcing her hunger.
True to his word, Toby gobbled every bite of his veggies as well as his fish.
“Mmm, delicious,” Jami murmured in appreciation, as she savored her own. Their campfire supper tasted every bit as scrumptious as it had smelled. She enjoyed every bite, which buoyed her mood considerably.
So did gazing at the stars, spilling like diamond dust to sparkle across the velvety black skies. Way beyond the circle of firelight, the rugged mountains were cloaked by the darkness, but Jami could sense their eternal presence. Higher, the golden sliver of a crescent moon hung above the horizon, seeming to dangle in the sky at the whim of the crisp breeze that blew through the meadow. She now understood the allure of camping.
After dinner, Grant showed them how to poke marshmallows on to the end of a long, sharpened stick. He then waved them over the fire, roasting the treats into soft white puffs.
“Oh, no,” Jami cried, snatching hers back from the flames as the white ignited into a flash of fire.
“Not as easy as it looks, huh?” Laughing, Grant blew out the marshmallow to reveal black charred remains.
“That’s yucky, Mom.”
Ashes flaked off her burnt dessert, and she had to agree with Toby.
“I don’t think you better eat this.” Grant disposed of the charred dessert. “Let me roast yours. Cooking over an open fire is an acquired art.”
“Toby did his just fine,” Jami grumbled, feeling surpassed by a six-year-old in campfire culinary as he popped a perfect melted puff into his mouth.
Grant wiped her stick clean, poking two new marshmallows over the point. “He keeps his marshmallow at the edge of the flames like I do.” Grant smiled indulgently. “You drifted yours into the heart of the fire.”
“Where it’s too hot.” Jami watched him, wondering if his meaning went beyond roasting marshmallows. “Taste this.” He handed her one.
“Wonderful,” Jami gushed, after one bite, crisp-on-the-outside, but gooey, sweet, and heavenly in the middle. She reached for the second marshmallow he held out to her, his hand lingering as their fingers touched at the exchange.
“I knew I could please you.” Firelight and shadow played across Grant’s handsome face, disguising his expression. But the tone and texture of his voice conveyed his message—a message that sent hot desire flowing through Jami’s veins and a flush to her skin.
“Can I have more marshmallows?” Toby asked, a gooey white streak smeared from his chin to his cheeks as he waved his empty stick in the smoky air. “Please?”
“You ate four,” Grant replied, a good-natured grin replacing the sexual innuendo he had focused on Jami.
“That’s plenty, young man.” Jami took a deep breath of woodsy smoke instead of fresh air, setting off a coughing spasm she couldn’t stop.
“Can you breathe?” Grant patted her back, peering at her with concern. “Are you choking? Need the Heimlich Maneuver?”
“Breathing caused it,” Jami choked, impressed by his quick response and touched by his concern. If she was ever in trouble, Grant Carrington seemed a good man to have there. “I’m fine now.”