“Mr. Rhodes will see you now.” The secretary—admin assistant?—didn’t even look up from her computer screen.
He stood and glanced at the nametag proudly displayed on the lapel of her swanky suit jacket. “Thanks, Chrissy.”
She still didn’t acknowledge him with a look, but her eyes narrowed like he had no business calling her by her first name. Yeah, he probably didn’t. Even so, he passed her with an exaggerated smile. Her nose got any higher in the air, she’d scrape it on that golden ceiling and ruin her perfect nose job.
He clomped down a short hall and stopped in front of a door clearly marked, Bill Rhodes, Senior Loan Officer over frosted glass. He’d never been one for titles. Person could add as many adjectives to their name as they wanted and it still wouldn’t impress him. Senior, President, Chairman, Superman, whatever. Didn’t change much about a person, and he was about to find out exactly what kind of guy Bill Rhodes was.
The door opened.
“Mr. Walker?” Rhodes was dressed in one of those neatly trimmed suits that looked like something out of the old Bond movies. He had dark hair, cropped short and sculpted into stiff spikes.
A man who uses hairspray. Never a good sign.
Still, Bryce stuck out his hand. This guy held the cards for his future. Wouldn’t hurt to make a good impression. “Yeah. Name’s Bryce. Nice to meet you.”
“Come on in. Have a seat.” He stepped aside and gestured to his palatial office.
Apparently being a Senior Loan Officer meant you got a corner office that looked more like an apartment—a granite wet bar with a stocked wine rack, two black leather couches squaring off over a rustic coffee table, a black poplar desk that could’ve easily sat eight. All with a million-dollar view of downtown Aspen.
Bryce glanced at the door. This had been a mistake. He was way out of his league.
“Have a seat.” Bill Rhodes gestured to the couches. “I’ll grab your application so we can chat.”
A man who says “chat.” Another bad sign.
Suddenly too aware of the dirt trail his boots left behind, he tromped to the couch and slouched into the cushions. Let’s get this over with.
“Would you like something to drink?” Bill Rhodes shuffled his loafers across a Persian rug to the wet bar and swung open the mini-fridge.
“No.” He hadn’t come for a drink. He’d come for a verdict. “Thanks.”
“All right, then. Let’s see…” Bill snatched a Perrier for himself and popped the top. “We’ve reviewed your application.” He strode back to the couch and sat across from Bryce with what could only be described as a plastic smile, similar to the ones on all those mannequins that stared out the gold-trimmed windows in the shopping district.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Walker. Bryce. We’ve decided to deny the loan. It’s too risky.” He sipped his sparkling mineral water, then set it carefully on a marble coaster.
Bryce said nothing. He’d expected to hear that, but he wanted to watch Bill Rhodes squirm.
“The ranch hasn’t been operational for a few years. There’s no guarantee your improvements will pay off.” His hands laced together into a patronizing configuration. “If you make the improvements and get things running again, we’d be open to seeing a new application.”
“How would you suggest I do that without a loan?” A familiar knot lodged in his throat, a tangle of the guilt and grief that followed him around. “All due respect, Mr. Rhodes, but this bank used to be a big supporter of what my family did around here.” The mountaineering trips, the backcountry education. And now…without their help—his help—he’d lose it all.
“I’m sorry. We’re all sorry about what you’ve been through.”
The words sounded like a monotone recording…thank you for calling, your call is important to us.
“But with the economy in the tank, there’s nothing we can do. We need a guarantee before we give out that kind of money.” He stood quickly and smoothed his hands down the sides of his suit in a dismissive gesture. “I suggest you do some marketing. Start taking guests again. We’d be a lot more comfortable if you could show us revenue.”
Revenue? Bryce shot to his feet. “The place is falling apart. No one’s gonna come stay there until it’s fixed up. Where am I supposed to find revenue?”
Bill stretched out his arm, glanced at a pricey silver watch. “Look, Bryce. I’m glad you got yourself cleaned up. Really.”
So Bill knew why the ranch hadn’t been operational for two years. Of course. Everyone knew, read about it in the papers. How the son of such a respected family dove headfirst off the deep end after the accident. Bryce fisted his hands. The drunken bar fights, the nights in jail, the five-day benders. Everyone knew and no one believed in him. Not anymore.
Bill blazed a path to his office door and opened it. “Sorry. I wish I could do more but my hands are tied.”
Yeah. So were his. He crossed the room and sized up Bill with a long glare. If he hadn’t wasted two years with alcohol, they would’ve handed over the money. The ranch wasn’t the big risk. He was. “Thanks for your time.” He caught Bill’s flimsy handshake in a firm grip. “I’ll be back. Give me a few weeks.” He’d prove himself, fix the place up all on his own, and when they saw what he could do with a hammer and nails, they’d give him the money.
Then he could start to reclaim everything he’d lost.
Chapter Three
This voice mailbox is full—”
I know, lady. I’m the one who filled it. Avery stabbed her cellphone’s off button and tossed it in her purse. She didn’t blame Logan for ignoring her calls. Not only had she rejected the man in front of the whole world, but the Cubbies had lost. They’d blown a three-run lead and lost, thanks to her. Logan had played terrible. The Yanks hit four home runs off of him in the last two innings. And she hadn’t even had the chance to talk to him. Right after the game, he’d hopped on a plane for a three-game series in San Francisco. She’d tried to explain herself, but you could only apologize so much on voice mail.
She held her breath until the ache in her heart subsided, then pulled back onto the highway.
Outside the rental car’s windshield, the sky radiated a three-dimensional blue—liquid and electrifying. Pure. So pure. Gold leaves, dangling from clusters of white-trunked aspen, danced in the breath of innocence that whistled through the cracked window.
For the first time in three days, she could breathe. It didn’t matter that the air in Aspen was thin as gold filament. She had space, quiet, anonymity; everything she’d craved since she’d watched the end of that ill-fated Cubs game on TV.
“In half a mile, turn right,” the friendly GPS reminded her.
Sure enough, just up the road, a sign announcing Walker Mountain Ranch and Outfitter swayed in the wind. It’d obviously been there awhile, judging from the chipped log frame and the way the wood had weathered and faded. She made a quick right on the dirt road and maneuvered the rental car over a rutted, gravel driveway. If Logan wouldn’t take her calls, she’d have to write him a letter. That’s what she’d do. As soon as she was settled in her room, she’d send him a nice long e-mail.
Already feeling better, she eased the car over the grooves in the driveway. Thick clusters of aspen and pine trees lined either side, swathing her in their soft shadows, but then the forest opened into a clearing. Avery eased her foot on the brake. The first thing she noticed was a modest log building nestled in a meadow blushed by blue columbines and fiery Indian paintbrush. The scene could’ve been an oil painting, smudged in the impressionistic style, with golden leaves backlit against the glowing blue sky, deep green pine needles contrasting against pewter cliffs. Snow-swathed peaks stood in the distance, safeguarding the lodge into a fortress of peace and solitude.
She pushed out a long sigh, and with it came the regret, the humiliation, the utter ugliness of the last few days. Every second glance at the Rockies, at the blue sky and expanse of freedom, eased the tension in her neck.
She’d a
lways loved the mountains, ever since their first camping trip to the Aspen area when she was six, before Dad had built his empire. That was when Dad had made his promise to Mom. They’d been in town, walking past The Knightley Hotel, when he’d stopped suddenly. The place had looked like a palace to Avery, with those faded bricks and manicured gardens and towering walls. There was no way they could’ve afforded to stay there, then. They were lucky to be able to scrape up the gas money to drive out here. But on the sidewalk that day, Dad had taken Mom’s hand and pointed up at the hotel. “Someday we’ll build our own resort here,” he’d promised. “And I’ll call it the Mirabella,” which was Mom’s middle name. Both Mom and she had giggled, never thinking it would actually happen. Back then, she’d never thought a lot of things would happen. She’d never thought she’d lose her mom when she was a kid…
Suppressing that familiar throb of sadness, Avery looked around the property. This place was a refuge. No wonder Dad had insisted on making it the site for the Mirabella. It was perfect.
Easing off the gas pedal, she pulled into what she assumed was a parking spot in front of a carved sign that said OFFICE. The building itself didn’t look like much. The logs were peeling and cracked, the windows filmed with grime. Still, the whole place had this wise, grandfatherly presence about it, like its history had established its permanent legacy.
Warmed by the thought, she slung her backpack over her shoulder and climbed out of the car.
If nothing else, this assignment was the perfect opportunity to dress down. She’d let her hair go curly instead of straightening it into a sophisticated sheen. She’d dug through her closet and found her old frayed jeans and flowered long johns top from the hippie phase she’d gone through when Dad tried to send her to finishing school. When speaking with a true mountain man, it didn’t hurt to look the part. Besides, she felt more comfortable in these clothes than she did in the clothes she wore to work every day. Don’t tell her father.
She tromped up the steps in her brand-new hiking boots and rapped her fist against a splintered door. It creaked and inched open as if she’d stepped onto the scene of some horror flick.
“Hello?” The room was eerily dim. “Anyone in there?” She stepped inside and let her eyes adjust. Ancient oak floorboards creaked. The room smelled like sunbaked pine sap and dust—plenty of dust—which coated the counter where a lone computer sat. Two bookshelves bulged with colorful hardbacks. Square windows let in just enough light to unveil the framed pictures that occupied nearly every inch of wall space: an old black and white of a happy couple posing in front of a lake, a faded picture of a little boy climbing a boulder. Too many skiing photos to count. It was a fixer-upper, no doubt about that, but it had obviously been a beautiful place at one time.
“Mwwufff.” A low bark sounded from the far corner of the room.
Avery looked over. A massive, furry, black, brown, and white dog lay on a square pillow next to the counter.
“Mwwufff,” it droned again, then rolled onto its back and exposed its belly. Definitely a he. None too shy about it, either.
The adorable beast wagged his tail, sweeping it furiously over the ground.
How could she resist that? She walked over and knelt next to him, gave his belly the good rub he obviously craved. His humongous paw rested right on her chest, and she could’ve sworn the dog smiled.
She laughed. “Hey, there, buddy. A little soon for that, don’t you think? We just met, after all, and I don’t even know your name.”
“Moose.”
A man’s baritone voice froze her.
“His name is Moose.” Footsteps pounded behind her.
Crap. This wasn’t exactly how she’d envisioned introducing herself to the Walkers—hunched over on the floor with a dog feeling her up. She scrambled to her feet and whirled just as a man came around the counter.
He had tousled dark hair and a shadow of stubble across his chin. The sleeves of the green flannel shirt he wore had been rolled up to the elbows, exposing forearms that bulged with solid, sinewy muscle. His tanned skin had a weathered quality that showed a love of sun and wind and snow. Mamma mia. Heat rushed through her, made her skin feel all flushed and tingly. Emphasis on the tingly. He was average height, but something in the way he carried himself seemed so…imposing.
His fiery green-eyed gaze trespassed into hers. “And you are…?”
Totally checking you out. She couldn’t stop. The lower she went, the better it got. He wore some kind of khaki work pants that looked like they’d been custom-made to fit his solid body…
Her cheeks flamed. She had to stop. With a hefty clearing of her throat, she looked back at Moose so she could think. “Avery.” Her skin still smoldered, but she’d recovered enough to offer the man her warmest smile. “I’m Avery King.”
He raised his head in recognition, but said nothing.
Something cold and wet scraped against her hand and startled her. Moose licked her hand again, then nudged his nose into her crotch.
“Whoa!” she yelped.
“Watch out for that,” the man said with a straight face. “He’s right at that awkward level.”
A nervous laugh made her sound like a drunk cheerleader instead of a business executive. Okay. Time to rein it in, get those pheromones under control. She’d come to negotiate with Bryce Walker, not to lust after some caretaker.
Giving Moose a good scratch behind the ears, she applied gentle pressure to keep his nose far away from her lower hemisphere. It was already on heightened alert, what with this man’s overwhelming presence in the room.
“I’m here to see Bryce Walker.” She worked hard to maintain an indifferent, professional tone, but her eyes betrayed her and lowered for another shameless glance at his broad chest.
“Why?” Those eyes inspected her with a cold precision. “What’d you want with Bryce?”
What did she want with Bryce?
The land…the resort…
She gave herself a mental shake of the head. Snap out of it. So he had a nice body. An extremely pleasant face. That didn’t mean this man was a pleasant person. “I’m a representative for King Enterprises. I believe Bryce will know why I’m here.”
The man didn’t move, didn’t speak. He simply stood there, staring at her in all of his manly glory. If he stood that way much longer, she was pretty sure something inside of her would explode.
The dog rubbed his head against her leg, nearly knocking her off balance, and nudged her hand again. Thank God. The perfect distraction. She knelt to the dog’s level and scrubbed his soft fur. “Aren’t you a pretty doggie? Yes you are. You are a pretty doggie Moosey woosey.”
“Don’t talk to him like that,” the man said in his flat tone. “He’s a Bernese Mountain dog, not a Shih Tzu.”
Well he may have been a big, bad Bernese Mountain dog, but Moose didn’t seem to mind her tone at all. His massive tongue swamped her face, which unleashed her juvenile laugh again.
“All right, Moose. That’s enough. Go lay down,” the man commanded in a gentle but authoritative voice that tempted her to go lay down, too.
Moose gave a woeful look, his eyes wide and wondering, but then he trotted to his pillow, turned two circles, and lay down with a grunt. He rested his head on his paws and continued to stare at the man as if he had the biggest, juiciest steak hidden in his pocket.
Yes, she could relate. Did she stare at the man like that, too? Ahem. She shifted her weight and rose with as much grace and dignity as she could muster. Business. She was here on business. “Listen.” She stitched her lips into a professional smile and faced the man directly. “I’d really like to speak with Mr. Walker. We have things to discuss. So if you wouldn’t mind—”
“What’d you say your name was?”
“Avery. King.” She enunciated each syllable just in case he had a hearing problem.
His mouth cemented into a straight line and concealed any hint of emotion. He stared at her like she was a mark on the wall, annoying but
at the same time insignificant. “Bryce isn’t here.”
After all that? After he’d tortured her with those omniscient stares? Bryce wasn’t even around? Anger pricked her face, but she gazed right into that man’s eyes and matched his indifference in her own expression. “When will he be back?”
A smirk dimpled those stubbled cheeks. “Dunno.”
Her hands fisted. “Listen, Mr.…?”
“Trust me. You’re wasting your time.” He leaned against the counter, all casual and unaffected, damn him. “You’re not getting his land.” Those unreal eyes looked down on her as he secured his ultimate fighter arms over his chest.
She diverted her gaze to the wall behind him. He really needed to stop with the bulging muscles. It was kind of distracting. “Fine. That’s fine.” Glancing around the room, she spotted a rickety hardback chair in the corner. “I’ll wait for him to come back.” She held her head high, marched to the chair, and sat herself down.
“He won’t be back today.” Heavy footsteps punished the old floorboards. Brown work boots emerged in her peripheral vision.
She crossed her legs all ladylike and studied her nails.
“You can’t wait here. I’m about to tear out the floors.”
Gazing up through her eyelashes, she blinked sweetly. “Then I’ll wait outside. On the porch.” Though she’d hate to miss this man doing some manual labor…
He muttered something she couldn’t hear and marched closer. “The day I sell my land to your daddy”—his tone mocked her—“is the day hell freezes over. Last I heard it was still all fire and brimstone.”
“Wait.” She shot off the chair. “The day you sell?” He’d totally played her. Nobody ever played her. “You’re Bryce.”
A slow smile spread across his face.
They resumed their staring contest, but this time it was different. So. Different. This man, the one who’d done things to her body without even touching her, was the man she had to negotiate with? He owned the ranch?
No Better Man Page 3
