As a rosy golden dawn spilled over the mountains, Jami lay wide-awake, still pondering the fact she could no longer deny. She was in love with Grant Carrington. More amazing still, what if Grant’s feelings matched hers? She savored the thought, examining and contemplating it as if it were a rare jewel to be cherished and secreted. Her mood buoyed, Jami decided to cook breakfast and prove that she could master camping, despite the tent fiasco. Without waking Toby, she squirmed out of her sleeping bag, flinching at the frigid morning air. Hugging herself and rubbing her arms for warmth, she padded over to the cooler. Inside, she found a plastic container of grated potatoes, a carton of eggs, and a bag of sausage links. A cinch!
Next she sorted through things to unearth the heavy frying pan Grant had used the previous night and some heavy-duty aluminum foil. Quietly, so as not to awaken her son, she hauled everything with her and tiptoed outside to build a campfire. Grant had planted the brown sleeping bag in a grassy patch on the other side of the tent, so Jami crept around carefully, hoping not to disturb him either.
After disappearing into the woods for several minutes, Jami returned to the campground, noting with satisfaction that Grant had not stirred. She wanted to surprise him with a delicious breakfast.
Grant heard Jami’s return and pretended he was still asleep, tracking her movements through slitted eyes. He wished he could wake up to the sight of her every morning. The realization stunned him. He was a die-hard bachelor who didn’t want to share his life with anyone. Especially a temperamental redhead and her son. So why did a future without Jami and Toby appear as bleak as a rain-drenched watercolor? Grant told himself to get a grip and enjoy the moment.
Jami certainly did add color to everything—even breakfast. Keeping quiet, Grant stifled a chuckle as she tried to build a fire. She’d obviously never been a Girl Scout, he decided the third time she attempted to strike a match. This time it lit. She yelped in pain, dropping the flaming match into the dirt. Then she stomped out the tiny wisp of smoke with her sneakered foot. He thought of getting up to volunteer to build the fire, but this ringside seat was too good to surrender.
Jami crumpled papers into a far-too-big pile, then sprinkled it with scarcely any kindling, finally stacking thick logs on top. Interesting, he thought with a private smile. A few burned fingers later, she finally got the paper to catch fire. Jami jumped back at the sudden burst of flame, which ignited into a temporarily bright blaze of paper. Grant hiccupped back a laugh. The puny kindling proved no match for the large hard logs, though a few spots of bark curled and smoked.
“It looked so simple when Grant built a fire last night,” he heard Jami mutter softly as she added sticks and branches, jamming them in between the other wood at random to coax the dying flames.
Grant watched from his sleeping bag, impressed as her latest attempts worked and she eventually coaxed the campfire to a healthy flame. He bit back a warning as he watched her take the raw grated potatoes he’d intended to fry into perfectly golden hash browns, and dump them into the foil in one big lump. She then threw the gob into the edge of the fire. Ah, well, he told himself as he watched the satisfied expression on Jami’s lovely angelic face, there were more important things than good hash brown potatoes.
He felt a sneeze tickle his nose and did his best to avoid it. Suddenly his loud “Ah-coo!” blasted through the quiet morning.
Jami flinched, then glared over at Grant. “You’re awake, aren’t you?”
“I am now.” Leisurely, he sat up in his sleeping bag, his broad shoulders wider than the bag, making Jami wonder how he had comfortably fit inside. The waves of his dark burnished blond hair tumbled over his bronzed forehead, but the way he grinned at her revealed he had indeed been playing possum.
“How long have you been watching me?” she demanded, thoroughly embarrassed at the thought that he’d pretended to be asleep while witnessing her struggle to light the fire. “You could have offered to help instead of spying on me!”
“I wasn’t spying.” He shed his sleeping bag as neatly as a snake sheds its skin.