Love is a Battlefield (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers Book 1)

by Whitney Dineen

  Though we never did because by then we’d discovered our family’s resort had become the hot spot vacation destination for families with daughters who kept our breaks from school interesting.

  Never underestimate how bored teenage girls can get vacationing with their parents or how willing those parents are to let their daughters spend their days zip-lining or hiking with boys around their age. When it came down to hanging out with them or with my stinky brother, there really was no choice.

  Entering the lobby of the inn is as impressive as ever with the thirty-foot stone fireplace and exposed wooden beams highlighting the vaulted ceiling. My dad used to joke that it’s how he envisioned the check-in desk of heaven looking. I wonder if he was right.

  “Hey, Chris,” I call out to the middle-aged hotel manager behind the concierge stand. Chris has worked here for the last twenty-five years and is as close to being family as if she were blood.

  “Brogan, is that you?” she replies while executing a near sprint to throw her arms around me. “I didn’t know you were coming for a visit.”

  “I’m staying up at the cabin for a while to recharge my battery. How’s business?” I ask.

  “We’re fully booked through October and only have a short break before we fill up again for the holidays.”

  “Mom must be pretty busy. Is she doing okay?” I’m hoping Chris will give me the inside scoop.

  “You’ll have to ask her,” she says, maintaining loyalty to her longtime friend and employer. “Things aren’t the same without your dad running around here, though. We all miss his smile and laughter.”

  “I know what you mean. I pick up the phone to call him all the time before remembering.” A heavy knot forms in my chest like I swallowed a five-pound weight. It happens every time I remember my dad is no longer here.

  Chris squeezes my hand. “Life has a way of sucker punching you, doesn’t it?”

  I nod. “Just when you think you have it all figured out, something like this happens. I thought we’d have him for another twenty or thirty years.”

  “Your dad was never one to sit back and accept what life threw at him. He got out there and forged his own path. I’m sure he’s still doing that.”

  “I like to think so,” I say. Emotion starts to clog my throat, so I switch topics. “I’m worried about my mom.”

  “Your mom’s a fighter. She has her bad days, but she’s a lot like your dad. She rolls up her sleeves and plows through the rough patches.”

  Chris makes it sound like Mom’s doing fine, which is not how James sees it and certainly not how she acts when I talk to her on the phone. I hope she isn’t on the verge of a breakdown or something. A few years ago, while doing research for a book, I read an article that said not all people show signs of mental instability until they round the bend. One minute they’re fine and the next, not so much.

  “Do you know where she is?” I ask her.

  Looking up at the clock, she answers, “It’s almost four, so my guess is she’s in the restaurant checking to see what the dinner specials are going to be. Do you want me to call over there for you?”

  “Nah, that’s okay. I’ll just wait by the fireplace and catch her when she walks by.” I give my old friend another hug before heading toward the great room. My eye is immediately drawn to the floor to ceiling picture window that overlooks the valley below.

  I’ve traveled the world over and can’t imagine living anywhere but Oregon. Our little corner of paradise is balm for whatever ails you. In the Willamette Valley there are rolling hills, rivers, creeks out the wazoo, forests, and farmland. Depending on which direction you go from here, the ocean and mountains are only an hour’s drive. What more could you want?

  James has been after me to sell my beach house and find a place in Spartan so I can be closer to him and Mom. I’ve been seriously considering it since Dad died. Life is too short not to see the people you love on a regular basis. I just wish I’d embraced that thinking sooner.

  My formative years were spent in this room staring out onto the rugged elegance of the land. I also played a lot of board and card games with James and whichever guests we could talk into joining us.

  There are six mission-style rocking chairs in front of the fireplace and various seating areas scattered throughout. I sit down on a leather couch and keep an eye open for my mom.

  From my vantage point, I have a clear view of the lobby, which is buzzing with guests. The end of the summer is always full of families trying to fit in their final adventures before the pace of life picks up again in the fall. Between zip-lining, boating, horseback riding, and world class biking paths, there’s enough here to keep them busy for weeks.

  A beautiful woman walks through the front door and immediately catches my eye. You don’t see many people checking in here wearing business suits and high heels. She’s about as out of place as “tits on a bull,” as Billy would say.

  Her hair is silky and shiny—she looks like she just walked off a fashion runway. Ever since Emma, I haven’t so much as smiled at a blonde woman, such is the bitter taste my ex left in my mouth. But this one has an elegance about her that I find very appealing.

  I stand up and slowly wander over in her direction. I’m not sure what I’m going to say, but I feel drawn to introduce myself. I’m practically at her side when I notice the woman standing next to her.

  “Aunt Libby?” I ask in disbelief.

  She looks up at me and enthusiastically declares, “Brogan!” Throwing her arms around me, she says, “Your mom said you might be here.”

  The beauty next to her states, “You never told me that.” This is said like I’m Satan’s first born and heir to the Kingdom of Hell.

  There’s only one person Aunt Libby could bring with her who has that particular opinion of me. “Addison Cooper, is that you?” I open my arms and invite her into my lair.

  “Don’t. Touch. Me.” Each word is articulated like it takes a Herculean effort to get out.

  She glares at her mom. “Why didn’t you tell me he was going to be here?”

  “I only found out when I called Ruby from the airport. It doesn’t matter though, because you’re here to help her.”

  I look down at the gorgeous Addison and smile at the unexpectedness of her presence. “It’s been at least fifteen years, Addie. You can’t still be mad at me.”

  Instead of answering, she turns her back and marches toward the front desk. My visit home has just become a million times more interesting.

  Chapter Five

  The Mothers

  Libby: It’s on, my friend. We just ran into Brogan in the lobby.

  Ruby: Darn it. I was hoping Addison would have a chance to get settled first.

  Libby: You were right to pick him. The sparks positively flew when they saw each other.

  Ruby: Where are you now?

  Libby: By the fireplace. We just checked in, but we wanted to say hi to you before going up.

  Ruby: I’ll be right there. FYI, you’re staying with me in my quarters. The room is for Addie.

  Libby: This is going to be one fun trip!

  Addison

  I wish my mom had warned me about Brogan being here. I do my best to ignore him, but it’s hard. That thick dark hair and five o’clock shadow—at three forty-five in the afternoon, no less—chiseled jaw, and intense blue eyes are knocking me off my game. Had we not had such a sordid past, he’s definitely the kind of guy I’d be interested in. I need to make sure to keep reminding myself what a good-for-nothing heel he is.

  The lobby and great room are more gorgeous than I remember from childhood. Of course, I only saw them a couple of times as I was always dragged away to sleep in a tent. My parents, along with Aunt Ruby and Uncle Tom, went camping together in college and had such fan-freaking-tastic times they vowed to camp together every year. That lasted through my entire childhood. Lucky me.

  The wood paneling and animal heads on the walls fit beautifully with the stone fireplace, leather furniture,
and amazing views of the valley and river outside. I conclude my help must be needed elsewhere as I’m not sure I could have done a better job decorating what I’ve seen so far.

  I wish my mom would get off her phone and say something, but she’s acting like we’re not even here. I catch a glimpse of her screen and see that she’s using emojis like a third grader hopped up on apple juice.

  Brogan sits down on the rocking chair next to me. “I hear you’re an interior designer.”

  “Yup.” No sense in misleading him into thinking I’m interested in chatting.

  “I’m not surprised.”

  What is that supposed to mean? I don’t ask though. I just stare at him with my award-winning RBF (resting bitch face). Seriously, I could turn pro if there were such a thing.

  “You definitely seem suited to it.”

  I pick up my own phone to check my messages. I am not going to take the bait he’s so obviously dangling.

  “When we were kids, I used to think you’d either be a librarian or a lion tamer.”

  I put my phone down and demand, “Why?”

  “You were prissy and mean,” he says bluntly. “Are you still?”

  I’ve never been prissy. I had to deal with two boys bent on terrorizing me for the entirety of our family’s combined vacations, which always involved camping.

  I never knew what new torture the Cavanaugh brothers were planning for me next and it made me skittish. “I’m meaner than ever, so you’d be well advised to keep your distance,” I warn.

  The bonus is that if he stays away from me, I won’t be tempted to sniff him. At the moment I’m hard pressed not to lean in and try to discern if that’s orange or lemon blending with a decided clove essence.

  “Lucky for me I like mean girls,” Brogan teases. What’s with this guy? Is he being purposefully obtuse?

  “You’re going to love me then,” I say by way of a threat, not invitation.

  He seems oblivious to my anger. “We should go swimming in the creek while you’re here.”

  “So, you can try and drown me again? No, thanks.” But even as I say it, some traitorous part of me wonders what Brogan Cavanaugh looks like in a swimming suit now that he’s all grown up. Against my better judgment, I briefly ponder what he’d look like without one. My stomach plunges like I’ve turned upside down on a rollercoaster without a seatbelt on. Beads of sweat form on my upper lip and I’m glad to be sitting down.

  “I promise I won’t try to drown you.”

  I remind myself to focus and put some clothes on that image of him seared into my imagination. “I can’t attest to having the same intentions, so it’s in your own best interest to steer clear of me.”

  Before he can answer, Aunt Ruby sails into the room looking crisp and fresh in a white linen sundress. “Libby, Addison! Come here and let me squeeze you.” She hugs us tightly before turning to her son. “Are you all settled up at the cabin?” she asks.

  Brogan stands and kisses her on the cheek. “Yes, ma’am. I noticed you spruced the place up for me. Thank you.”

  She laughs brightly. “If you mean the fresh bar of soap I asked housekeeping to drop off then, yes, I spruced it up.”

  He looks surprised. “They did a little more than that,” he tells her. “There are fresh flowers, a new duvet, and a stack of towels.”

  “They must have sent Kate up there. She’s new and doesn’t know we don’t take pains with the cabin.”

  “And here I thought you were rolling out the red carpet for your oldest son,” he teases her.

  “Dream on, honey.”

  Turning to us, she says, “Lib, you’re staying with me. Addie, I’ve put you in one of our suites. I want you to get the full experience of the Willamette Valley Lodge while you’re here.”

  While I appreciate it, I once again wish we’d have stayed here once in a while. I know Aunt Ruby and Uncle Tom lived here so it wouldn’t have been a vacation for them, but man, I would have loved it.

  Genuinely happy to see my mom’s old friend, I reply, “Thanks, Aunt Ruby. I’m looking forward to hearing what I can help you with.” That’s a lie, but there’s no sense being rude. I’m already in Oregon.

  “We’ll have plenty of time for that later,” she says. “Brogan, I’ll take Libby up to the family quarters. Would you mind showing Addie to the River Suite?” He smiles like he just discovered he was holding the winning Powerball ticket. The enthusiasm on his face sends a heavy warmth and a burst of sparks rushing through my body. Seriously, it leaves me kind of breathless.

  “I don’t need a guide,” I tell him. “Just point me in the right direction.”

  Brogan grabs my suitcase. “Nonsense. We’re a classy operation, and we don’t let our guests carry their own bags.”

  “My suitcase has wheels, idiot,” I snarl.

  “I wouldn’t want you to break a nail.”

  I’d like to break a nail by picking up my suitcase and hitting him over the head with it. Instead, I ignore him. I assume I’ll be doing that a lot while I’m here.

  “You can freshen up, Addie, and maybe even have a little rest. We’ll meet you at the River’s Edge at six for dinner. We have Coho salmon and steelhead tonight,” Aunt Ruby tells me.

  “I’m starving. I can’t wait.”

  “I’ll have room service bring you a little something to hold you over.” A snack and nap feel like just the ticket right now. All I have to do is shake Brogan and do my best to keep away from him and I might actually have a nice trip.

  What are the odds?

  Chapter Six

  The Mothers

  Ruby leads the way into the family quarters in the lodge’s east wing. “Addie is going to keep Brogan on his toes,” she announces with more than a hint of glee.

  “You think?” Libby releases a nervous laugh as she collapses on the couch. “She doesn’t seem that happy to see him.”

  Ruby’s eyes glow with delight as she makes herself comfortable on a soft leather club chair situated next to her friend. “I think my son is in for a wild ride, and we’re going to have front row seats. As long as Addie doesn’t make a run for it.”

  “She won’t. Do you remember that time when she was two and Brogan was five and he took her lollipop away from her?” Ruby claps her hands together excitedly. “Addie hit him over the head with her talking tea pot!”

  “Yup,” Libby confirms. “Somewhere along the line, my daughter lost her backbone as far as Brogan is concerned. But I’m pretty sure those days are over.”

  “Oh, Libs, I can’t wait! Let me pour glasses of wine and we can drink to that.”

  The ladies don’t stop there. They toast the school that brought them together and the husbands they built their lives with. Finally, they raise their glasses to the great unknown and to the old adage both of their mothers taught them to subscribe to, “Good things happen to those who wait.”

  Brogan

  Addison Cooper is one hundred percent not happy I’m here, which makes her that much more intriguing. Who knew the awkward little girl with knobby knees and braids would turn into such a looker? The signs were there when we were teenagers, but she’s exceeded all expectations.

  I pull her suitcase down the hallway past the gift shop and coffee bar to the elevators. “How long are you planning to stay?” I ask, trying to find a topic that won’t annoy her.

  “Too long,” she snaps. So much for not irritating her.

  When the elevator arrives, I wait for her to get on like any gentleman would. She must be at least five-nine without those ridiculous heels. Even with them, she’s still shorter than I am, but only by a couple inches.

  We wait in silence while we ascend to the fourth floor. The lodge used to host over a hundred and twenty rooms, but fifteen years ago, my parents doubled the number of suites which took the total down to ninety. Their thinking was that even if families were here to enjoy outdoor activities during the day, they still wanted luxury at night. The gamble paid off. There are rarely any vacancies.r />
  “The River Suite is one of our nicest. It’s where most newlyweds stay when they have their weddings here,” I tell her.

  No reply.

  “The views are spectacular. Obviously, you get a river view, hence the name. But the bedroom faces the woods, as well.”

  Nothing.

  “My parents used to hire a circus troupe to swing by the windows on a trapeze to entertain the guests.”

  An arched eyebrow. Finally.

  “The sword swallower was a real hit until he slammed into the side of the lodge and took out his own tonsils. That’s when they had to stop. Liability issues, you know.”

  Addie seems to be on the verge of laughing but she catches herself. Ah, Miss Cooper has a sense of humor. Now, that’s something I can work with.

  “What are the chances you’ll stop talking?” she asks, trying valiantly to keep the amusement out of her voice.

  “Why would you want me to stop talking?” I love that she’s still holding a grudge from when we were kids. It means she’s not a pushover. Seeing Addie again is reminding me of my carefree childhood years, a time I miss more than I can express.

  Potential melancholy is avoided when she announces, “Brogan, I’m here to help your mother. If not for some decorating emergency she’s having, I’d be in the Cayman Islands right now drinking a piña colada on the beach. Can you guess where I’d rather be?”

  “What decorating emergency?” I ask, wondering if such a thing actually exists.

  “All I know is your mom has some big plans she wants executed by Christmas which means my vacation got cancelled and I’m in Oregon instead of paradise.” She adds, “An occurrence I’d hoped to never suffer through again in this lifetime.”

  “Oregon is paradise. What do you have against it?” I can’t stand here and let her insult my state.

  “Oregon is gorgeous,” she confirms. “I have nothing against the state per se, just the people who live here. One in particular.” She glares at me like she’s attempting a Vulcan mind meld.