A Bride for the Black Sheep Brother

Five


Portia had her doubts the next day. To begin with, until Cooper pulled up at the private airstrip, she hadn’t considered how they were going to get to the resort. Cooper had chartered a flight to take them to Salt Lake City. From there, it had been an hour drive through the foothills and mountains before they turned off on a private road that wound through snow so bright it made her eyes ache.

Traffic thinned and then disappeared entirely. They appeared to be driving through a land completely uninhabited. But then they turned a corner and the lodge rose up out of the surrounding forest.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Portia muttered as she gaped at the lodge.

He grinned at her. “Yeah. It’s a beast of a building, isn’t it?”

Cooper stopped the car in the circular drive in front of the building. “Come on, let’s go take a look,” he said as he climbed from the car.

She clambered out of the car after him and headed for the front of the house, practically bounding up the path, she was so excited.

“Don’t we need to wait for a Realtor or someone?” she asked once she reached the steps.

“Nah. I talked to the sales agent and the owners this morning and let them know I was coming up. I’m the only one even looking at the property, so they’re giving me a lot of latitude. If you want to meet with them later, they’ll come on out, but for now we’re alone.”

Portia stared up at the building squatting on the road ahead, mouth agape. Building? House? Lodge? Monstrosity? It defied description.

Nestled up against the mountain, built of massive wooden beams and rounded river rocks—some the size of VW bugs—it wasn’t so much a lodge as it was a monument. It was three stories of sprawling ego and hubris.

“You didn’t tell me it was Bear Creek Lodge,” she murmured breathlessly.

Cooper pointed to the cheesy sign planted near the driveway. It was made out of fake wood, with carved letters painted bright yellow, like a sign you’d find in a national park sixty years ago. The sign read: “Beck’s Lodge, family owned and operated since 1948.”

“Not Bear Creek Lodge. Beck’s Lodge,” Cooper said.

“Do you know the history of this house?”

“I know this is the best powder on the mountain. I know there’s no other location that’s anywhere near this perfect. Those are the things I care about.”

“But you don’t know anything about the house?”

“No.” He looked at her, clearly baffled. “Do you?”

“Um. Yeah.” She turned her hands up in an exasperated gesture. “You want to buy this place and turn it into an upscale resort and you don’t even know the history?”

“What history?” He pointed to the sign. “It’s family owned and operated since 1948. What else is there to know?”

“What else is there to know?” She laughed, a gurgling bubble of hysteria. There was so much to know. Among some circles, this house was famous. Either the Realtor listing it hadn’t done her research or—more likely—no one thought a snowboarder like Cooper would care about the building’s unique history. “There’s an American author named Jack Wallace. Wallace became famous writing adventure stories set in the American West and during the Yukon Gold Rush around the turn of the century. The turn of the last century, not this one.”

“I know who Jack Wallace is,” Cooper said drily.

“Well, then you know how he was larger than life. You probably read his novel Lost at Bear Creek in school, right? He was one of the first writers to be a worldwide celebrity. He was a millionaire, which, trust me, meant a lot more in those days than it does now. He bought all this land. Thousands of acres. And in 1910 started building this huge house.”

“This house?”

“No. Not this house. Wait for it.” She shot him a look, surprised that he seemed to be genuinely interested. She was a history buff. And an old building buff. Not many people had the patience to listen to her rattle on about either, but Cooper seemed glued to the story, and she couldn’t help reveling at having a captive audience. “They finished the house in 1923 and it burned down, two weeks before he and his wife moved in. This was before the age of insurance. But Wallace refused to give up. He had them start from scratch. The result was Bear Creek Lodge. The remains of the old house are still standing in the national park, which he donated. But by the time he finished construction, his liver was failing and he lived in it for less than a month before he died. His children inherited the house, but couldn’t afford to live here because of the taxes. They couldn’t agree about what to do with it and eventually it was auctioned off for back taxes. Which I guess is when the Becks bought it.”

As she spoke, she took in every line of the house. This crazy, beautiful building, with its blunt Arts and Crafts style angles and its sharp edges. The house seemed to rise up out of the mountain like some sort of ancient shrine. It was beautiful. Despite its state of disrepair. Despite its age. Despite the attempts the Becks had made to brighten it up, with yellow paint and cheap plastic flowers stuck in the ground in front. It was pure folly.

And in some ways, it reminded her of Cooper himself. It was strong and stubborn and deeply rooted in the outdoors. It was larger than life. The stuff of dreams. Deeply appealing without being soft or pliant. This was a house that wouldn’t budge, and she sensed Cooper was the same.

He may think he loved this location because of “the perfect powder,” but she knew it was more than that. On some level, he connected to the house, too.

“How do you know all this?” Cooper asked from beside her.

“History of American Architecture class. I was an architecture major for three semesters.”

“Why’d you quit?”

She sent him a smile and started walking up the front steps of the lodge. “Because no one builds houses like this anymore.”

* * *

Listening to Portia wax poetic about the building, Cooper couldn’t help wondering what he was missing.

Her enthusiasm was adorable, really, and completely at odds with how he thought of her. Sometimes he felt as if there were two Portias, maybe more for that matter. There was the cool and sophisticated socialite who’d been married to Dalton. Beneath that, there was this bubbly, charming Portia, who seemed like so much fun. She was like a Russian stacking doll. Each layer was different from the one inside. Were there any more layers he hadn’t uncovered yet? “You know it’s really ugly, right?”

She glared at him. “No. It’s really beautiful. You’re just blinded by the snow.”

Was she pretending to be offended or had he actually insulted her? “The inside is dated and hopelessly dark. It’s grimy.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of helping you?”

“I just want to make sure you understand. I’m turning this into a resort. Not a national monument to Bear Lodge.”


“Bear Creek Lodge,” she corrected him absently, her eyes still moving restlessly over the exterior of the building.

Suddenly he was glad that he’d asked the Becks to give him time alone to show her the house. He didn’t want anyone there while they discussed it.

“No, no. I know.” She stepped through the doorway into the lodge and it seemed to take her breath away. “Oh, my.”

The door opened right into the great room. There was a reception area with a front desk made of Formica. It was a massive, sprawling room whose ceiling was two stories up. At one end of the room, a river rock fireplace crawled up the wall. At the other, a staircase spilled out from a second-floor hallway. There were a dozen guest rooms up there.

The place was a wreck on every level. But it was big and that counted for a lot when it came to hotels. Still, how would it look through her eyes? Through the eyes of those rich investors she wanted to lure here? They would see the cheesy Formica and the bright yellow paint. Not the perfect snow and endless potential.

“Eventually we’ll have to gut the interior and—”

Portia whirled on him and socked him in arm. “If you touch so much as an inch of this interior without my permission I will hunt you down and hurt you.”

He rubbed his arm and faked a wince. “Ouch.”

“Except that desk. After you buy this place, you can take that out the same day if you want.”

“If Flight+Risk buys it. If we can get the board to see our side of this.”

“I am no longer worried about that.” The gleam in her eyes was almost maniacal. “When we’re done here, the board is going to be salivating. And you know why?”

“I’m guessing it’s not because of the perfect powder,” he said wryly.

“No. Not the perfect powder. You’ve got that angle covered already. And don’t get me wrong, it’s a good tack to take. But I’m going to play the irreplaceable slice of history angle. That’s something that no stuffy businessman can resist. I’d bet you half of these businessmen grew up reading Jack Wallace books.”

“You may be overestimating the intelligence of these men.”

Her lips curved in a smile. “Maybe. But at any rate, Jack Wallace’s books defined what it meant to be an outdoorsman in America. His stories influenced everything from the settlement of Alaska to the development of the national park system. We just have to remind them that snowboarding is part of that tradition.”

“You know that actual snowboarders don’t care about any of that, right?”

“You worry about what snowboarders want. I’ll worry about the pretentious old men with money and what they want.” She ran her toe over the dark green floral pattern in the carpet. “Have you looked under the carpet?”

“No.”

“It’s probably hardwood. They didn’t have wall-to-wall like this when Bear Creek was built. I’d guess this was added sometime in the eighties.”

Her voice had taken on a dreamy quality. As if the house entranced her.

“At some point, if we do convince the board to pony up the money, there will have to be massive renovations. You know that, right?”

She swatted away his question. “How many bedrooms upstairs?”

“The Becks have rooms on the third floor in what used to be the servants’ quarters. Then there are nine bedrooms on the second floor. But only three bathrooms. There are twenty-four cabins, but they’re—”

“I don’t care.” Her voice sounded dreamy, but her eyes sparkled with delight. “This place is perfect.”

“It’s a wreck.”

“No. It’s beautiful.”

“It’s dark and dingy.”

“Which we can fix with the right tricks.” She whirled around to look at him. “You’ve already talked to the owners about renting this place for a weekend for the event, right?”

“Yeah. I did that first thing this morning. They’re on board.”

“And they’re willing to let us make superficial changes?”

“They’ve said that anything we’re willing to pay for, they’ll let us do.”

She eyed him, making him think she was sizing him up. “You’re going to pay for this out of your pocket?”

“If I have to.”

“Think I can talk you into pulling up the carpet and having the floors redone?”

Right now, when she was looking at him with the gleam in her eyes, that pure fiery determination, she could probably talk him into anything she wanted. Her unabashed enthusiasm charmed him. It had been years since he’d seen her this excited about something. He loved the way her lips tilted upward as she spoke. How her eyes sparkled. “This is how you always end up talking me into donating to all your crazy causes.”

She propped her hands on her hips, looking indignant. “My causes aren’t crazy!”

He chuckled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Relax. I’m just teasing.” Then he frowned with mock seriousness. “Your causes are very important. Your ability to coax money out of me—that’s crazy.”

She frowned. “I don’t coax that much money out of you.”

Oh, she had no idea. He wasn’t a particularly generous man. I wasn’t like he went around looking for ways to get rid of his money. But every damn time she called, he couldn’t resist. Talking about some charitable cause was the only time she dropped her guard. So, yeah, he literally paid money to see her smile. Sucker.

Suddenly, he realized he was still standing close to her. His fingers were still playing with a silken strand of her hair. He dropped his hand and stepped back.

“Yeah. We can cover getting the floors redone.”

Her smile widened into a full-fledged grin. She turned around, taking in the entire room. “If we get rid of the carpet, the curtains and most of this god-awful furniture, this place will be amazing. In four weeks, you won’t recognize this place.”

“In four weeks?”

She turned to look at him. “You didn’t honestly think I could pull this off in less time than that, did you?”

He blew out a breath, doing the math in his head. In four weeks, it would be late March. The snow should still be good. They’d be cutting it close. But it would probably take that long alone to get the exhibition lined up. “Okay. Four weeks. I expect miracles.”

“Even in four weeks, I can’t pull off a miracle. It’ll be mostly staging. And we’ll have to get the Becks’ approval.”

“The couple that ran the lodge when it was still open are too old. Their children are desperate to sell this place. I don’t think we’re going to have to worry about getting their approval for the things you mentioned.”

“Of course they’re desperate. Bear Creek Lodge has a reputation for being tainted by misery and failure. It’s quite the albatross to be saddled with.” She wandered into the center of the room and stared up at the ceiling, slowly spinning around before glancing over at him. “And we have the place to ourselves?”

Her voice was pitched low with excitement. Intellectually, he understood the question. She was asking if there were other quests around. But his body heard a whole different question. Were they alone? Would they be interrupted?

He told his body to shut the hell up and leave him alone.

“The lodge hasn’t been opened all season. The Becks’ children have had it on the market this whole time.”


“Perfect. I want to explore.”

And before he could stop her, she dashed off up the stairs to take inventory.