Finding Love in Sun Valley, Idaho (Resort to Love Book 1)

by Angela Ruth Strong

  Finding Love in Sun Valley, Idaho

  Book One of the Resort to Love Series

  by Angela Ruth Strong

  Resort to Love Series

  Finding Love in Sun Valley, Idaho

  Finding Love in Big Sky, Montana

  Finding Love in Park City, Utah

  Finding Love in Sun Valley, Idaho

  Published by Mountain Brook Ink

  White Salmon, WA U.S.A.

  All rights reserved. Except for brief excerpts for review purposes, no part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form without written permission from the publisher.

  The website addresses shown in this book are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement on the part of Mountain Brook Ink, nor do we vouch for their content.

  This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible. Public domain.

  ISBN 978-09960068-9-7

  © 2015 Angela Ruth Strong

  The Team: Miralee Ferrell, Nikki Wright, Hannah Ferrell, Laura Heritage

  Cover Design: Indie Cover Design, Lynnette Bonner Designer

  Mountain Brook Ink is an inspirational publisher offering books you can believe in.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition 2015

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

  To Jim,

  my happily ever after

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Jim — for believing in my dreams.

  My mom — for being my first editor and biggest cheerleader.

  My dad — because of his heart for a good story and for me.

  My kids, Jordan, Caitlin, and Lauren — for their ideas, enthusiasm, and faith.

  Grandma Ellie — for letting me stick her in my novel (upside down).

  The River Company — for helping me get into character.

  My critique partner Christina Berry Tarabochia — she’s got da moves.

  “Perpetual editor” and friend Becky Lyles — for her encouragement and wisdom.

  Miralee Ferrell — for bringing this book back to life.

  Family and friends — because your support was often undeserved.

  God — for romancing me.

  Many waters cannot quench love;

  rivers cannot wash it away.

  Song of Songs 8:7

  CHAPTER ONE

  TAPPING THE BRAKES TO TURN OFF the cruise control in her rented Ford Escape, Emily squinted to read another marker located along Hwy 21. The winding road transitioned from the forested mountains to the dry valley, where the pine trees grew taller as if wearing stilts. This meant she was getting closer to the river and her resort destination.

  When she was growing up, Dad had always refused to take her to Sun Valley, Idaho. Said he’d rather avoid the snobs who vacationed there. Of course, he was referring to the rich and famous, the actors and actresses. Which ironically she now was. An actress anyway. Never a snob.

  Should she feel guilty for staying in the swanky lodge? Nah. She needed a good night’s rest before the flurry of filming swept her downstream — literally. Especially after spending a week with Mom in her hometown of Boise.

  She also needed a bathroom and a hot meal. Spying a rustic restaurant snuggled next to a bend in the river, she pressed harder on the brakes before swinging onto the gravel side road leading to The Point. The log building looked as if it were in need of sprucing up, but by the number of cars parked out front, the food must have made up for any lack of elegance.

  Emily pulled the compact SUV into what might be considered a parking space and leaned over the passenger’s side to pull her purse from underneath a sweatshirt. Since it was July, she’d only brought summer clothes, but Mom had pretended to be practical for a moment and insisted she take the ugly orange Boise State hoodie. Guess it was always good to be prepared.

  Behind her, the driver’s side door jerked open with a squeak. The car rocked, and the sun baked her back, though that didn’t keep goose bumps from popping up on her flesh. Reactively, she dug one hand into her purse for a can of mace as she whipped around to confront the intruder. Every muscle tensed as possible scenarios tore through her imagination. Hijacker… mugger… crazed fan…

  Her makeup stylist? “Emily Van Arsdale, what took so long? Never mind. We’ll say you got a flat tire. Or you got lost. Is that what happened? You got lost? Didn’t you grow up around here?” Charlene didn’t wait for a response before dragging the actress from her vehicle.

  “Char?” Emily pulled her arm free and tried to reorient herself. The rushing river sounded similar to cars streaming down the freeway in L.A., but the scent seeping into her pores was a fresh mixture of dust and dry grass. “What’s going on? What am I late for?”

  Charlene paused, narrowing her eyes. Then, grabbing Emily’s arm again, she took off toward the building. “Don’t tell me you didn’t get the text message. Bruce had us all come a day early. There’s some kind of rodeo next weekend, and he’s afraid we won’t be able to get anything done with so many people in town.”

  Emily’s quickened stride didn’t even rival the pace of her heart. She wouldn’t get a break after all. Groan. “We’re starting today?”

  The answer stared back at her in the form of a “honeywagon” half hidden behind The Point. How had she not noticed the trailer the director used for an office? And of all the restaurants she could have stopped at, how did she accidentally end up where she was supposed to be?

  She smothered a giggle at how she could have innocently been playing tourist at a historical landmark only a mile back, while everyone waited for her here. Char was in no mood to appreciate the joke, though.

  No, her friend pulled her inside the oversized pine door before sticking one hand on her hip. “You didn’t get the text.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Emily shook her head. Shoot, it was her fault. It would have been so much easier to blame somebody else. One of these days she’d remember to charge her cell phone.

  “The first team is waiting for you, girl. Come on!”

  Charlene rushed her forward through a sitting area in front of a massive stone fireplace and past the entrance to a dining hall with a balcony in the distance. The place was bigger on the inside than it had looked. They continued their trek down a flight of stairs into a musty-smelling daylight basement, which, Emily guessed, had been rented for the main actors, or “first team,” as Char called them.

  The makeup artist continued to rant. “Of all the days to be late, today is the day you have to wear the wedding dress and have your hair fancied up.”

  Emily squinted out a window — the interior of the building seemed dim compared to the bright sunshine. There they were. Bruce had a crew down at the water’s edge. He looked at his watch, then yelled at someone hidden from her behind a tree.

  “I’ll hurry.” Emily sighed before ducking into the restroom. She hoped the day would go by fast. At least there would be no stunts. She’d just have to look pretty — an idea that still made her dubious.

  Grabbing the gown she’d been fitted for back at the studios, Emily ripped off her summer dress. The costume designer was ready and waiting to fasten the buttons up her back. Before the woman even finished, Char attacked her face, and the hair stylist began defining her short, dark ringlets with a curling iron and a shower of hairspray.

  Good enough. She was as camera ready as she would ever be. Emily lifted up the hem of her scratchy tulle skirt
and took off out the back door and down the hill still wearing her own shoes. She’d be barefoot in the rafting scene anyway. After skating on a pinecone, she leapt over a boulder as if she’d planned the move all along.

  Scanning the crowd for Bruce, her eyes stopped on a man who seemed to have taken over. He wasn’t anything like Bruce. He wore the same kinds of outdoorsy clothing, but the khaki cargo shorts and sleeveless shirt looked authentic. Long, lean muscles and sunbaked skin gave him the appeal that all her acting associates paid big bucks for, but it was the messy hair and laid-back posture that caught her attention. And then he flashed his smile.

  ****

  TRACEN LAKE LAUGHED AND waved his employee away. It was comical to see the difference between the uptight film crew and the fun-loving raft guides. He was excited, though. Whitewater rafting was a rush in itself, but now he’d be orchestrating the direction of a movie through his rafting company, and the position paid enough for him to finally build a log cabin on his riverfront property. If only the star would arrive so they could get the show rolling.

  Tracen glanced up the hill to see if there was any sign of Wonder Woman. His scan of the area stopped the moment his gaze reached… a bride? The lady looked as delicate as a snowflake, but by the way she descended from above, she resembled a hailstone.

  Tracen drew his brows together and forced himself to survey the rest of the area to see if anyone was with her. Not good.

  Weddings had been held there before. After all, it was a beautiful location. But there was no wedding scheduled for today that he knew of. If there was, he could kiss his cabin good-bye. The embankment was supposed to be shut down for everyone except the movie crew.

  His gaze traveled back to the woman in white. He knew her somehow. He couldn’t place her, but she looked familiar. Her hair bounced to right below her chin. And her brilliant blue eyes were definitely worth remembering. His mind scanned through the residents of Sun Valley. None of them fit.

  Her sapphire stare landed on a spot behind him, and a smile exploded across her face, causing her cheekbones to stand at attention. Scenes from a movie played through his mind. Those features belonged to Wonder Woman. But she’d cut her hair off.

  He let his gaze linger for a second longer before the anger took over. Not only had she delayed the filming for a full hour, but nobody had told him she’d be wearing a wedding dress. It was like she was taunting him. Like she knew his fiancée had run off to seek her fame in Tinseltown. And here she was, a famous movie star, showing up in his backyard dressed for a wedding. Pushing away personal thoughts, he stalked over to Bruce to talk business. “Why is she dressed like a bride?”

  Bruce peered up from a squatting position where he’d been in conversation with a technician who seemed to be measuring light. “What did you expect her to wear in a movie titled Whitewater Wedding?”

  Even the lighting tech rolled his eyes at Tracen. They thought he’d asked a stupid question. But they were the ones being idiots. Or were they incredibly ignorant?

  Bruce stood and shook his leg as if to get rid of a cramp. It was obvious he wanted to get rid of Tracen, as well. “The characters are escaping from a forest fire that crashes their ceremony in the woods.” How could the director sound so condescending while explaining the ridiculous?

  “Right.” Tracen shifted his jaw side to side, wondering how the clown didn’t see the risk he was taking with his talent. “I agreed to let you shoot this scene without life jackets since the water is pretty calm here. But I didn’t know your actress was going to be wearing an anchor.”

  Bruce scratched his balding head, looking past him. “An anchor?”

  Tracen placed one sandaled foot on a rock and huffed. “What happens if she falls overboard? That dress will absorb enough water to pull her down like she’s encased in cement.” The analogy made his skin grow clammy.

  Bruce shrugged. “She’s not going to fall over the side unless I tell her to. She’s an experienced stuntwoman. We’ll be fine.”

  Stuntwoman? Tracen hadn’t heard that before, but what difference did her experience make? It was his responsibility to ensure nothing happened while rafting. “Listen. Either you have them put life jackets on or…”

  Bruce tilted his chin up. “Or what?”

  What else could he do? “Or put me in the raft.”

  Bruce’s laugh sounded hollow. “That’s not going to happen.”

  Tracen shot a glance toward the actress in question. Mercy. She had her skirt hiked up to her knees and was kicking off pink flip-flops. She had no clue of the possible danger downriver. Tracen cocked his head as he faced the director. “What kind of insurance do you carry?”

  Bruce shook his head but, glancing at the activity around him, couldn’t seem to find a rebuttal to Tracen’s argument. “Fine. But you’re going to have to put on a tux.”

  Tracen hadn’t expected the director’s response. He’d just become an extra in the film.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE CHILL OF THE WATER PRACTICALLY burned Emily’s toes. She shivered as she climbed into the slippery blue raft banked in the shade of a couple tall trees. How long until they could launch into the sunshine?

  An arm snaked around her from behind. “I’ll help you stay warm,” offered the lead actor in a voice that would make most women across America swoon.

  But Emily found its rich tone to be arrogant and fake — like him. Ugh. She untangled herself from his arms. “Save the romance for the kissing scene, Jack.”

  Jack winked as she scowled over her shoulder. “Just getting into character.”

  Emily turned her back and settled on the side of the raft, like Bruce directed. The rest of the groomsmen followed suit.

  Bruce cleared his throat. “We’re taking long shots this morning. I need you to float around the bend in the river. Later we’ll get action and dialogue.”

  Emily grabbed a paddle. “All right. Let’s go.” The sooner they got this over with, the sooner she could relax in a hot bubble bath. Her body needed a breather between the workout her mother gave her and the stunts she would be doing soon. She arched her back, hoping it wouldn’t feel as tender the next morning.

  Bruce glanced at his watch. “We’re waiting for Tracen.”

  Emily scanned the faces of her fellow cast. Nobody else seemed confused by this statement. “Who?” She thought she’d been the last one to arrive.

  Bruce grunted. “The rafting guide insisted on being on the raft when he saw what you were wearing. Supposedly your dress is a safety hazard.”

  Emily’s lips curved up. It was sweet that some guy worried for her safety. There weren’t many men like that where she came from. But what made her smile was the fact that she could take care of herself. The guide was going to have his hands full trying to keep up.

  Emily scanned past the director. She hoped “Tracen” was the tall, tanned guy. Sure enough, the man in question strode down the hill, though he didn’t look quite as comfortable in a tux as he had in shorts and sandals. He even frowned at her grin.

  His giant stride didn’t slow until he was standing in the water beside the paddleboat. He assessed the seating arrangement. “I’ll be seated in the stern. When I say paddle right, that means everyone on my right. Same thing for the left. If I say hard right or hard left, you need to paddle hard. If I say full back, both sides need to paddle backwards. Any questions?” he didn’t sound like he really wanted to hear any.

  Emily lifted her eyebrows at Tracen’s stern expression. Did she mistake him for laid-back earlier? The man had turned into a slave driver.

  ****

  TRACEN CONSIDERED THE DRESS. Her skirt poofed big and fluffy now, but if it got wet, it would cling to her body like fur on a drowned kitten — and that’s about how well she would be able to swim. He watched her blink, then turn around smoothly. She had the grace of a cat, as well.

  He adjusted his bow tie, trying to refocus on his goal. He didn’t like being put in this position. Not only did he have to wear lay
ers of stiff clothing — some of which were now sticking to his wet calves — but he had to ensure the safety of six others in a very unsafe situation. Rafting was supposed to be a wild adventure. This was more like a controlled disaster.

  “I’m pushing us off, Bruce.”

  Bruce nodded his permission, though he really didn’t have much of a say. He hurried away to monitor filming around the bend.

  “All forward,” Tracen called, pulling sunglasses out of his breast pocket as the raft drifted into the sun. He only sneezed once before sliding the shades over his ears and, more importantly, his eyes.

  “God bless you,” the token female on their journey offered, glancing back. Then she turned more fully, as if to study his sunglasses.

  “Thanks,” Tracen muttered. He hoped she didn’t question the addition to his “costume.” He didn’t want to explain his sun sensitivity.

  The woman smiled at him, but it wasn’t the most reassuring of smiles. It was rather smug, as if she thought he was wearing the sunglasses so he could watch her without her knowing it — which wasn’t a bad idea. After all, he was responsible for her, but it bothered him that she didn’t ask, just assumed. Of course, she was from Hollywood, wasn’t she?

  A couple actors in the front of the raft splashed each other. Tracen peered over his shoulder at the other rafting guides helping the crew still on shore. If they were the ones water-fighting, he would have joined right in.

  A light voice broke into his thoughts. “How gorgeous!” Emily Van Arsdale studied the mountains looming ahead.

  Jack Jamison — the only other actor Tracen recognized — studied Emily. “My thoughts exactly.” It was obvious he wasn’t thinking about nature.

  A pinch of pleasure surprised Tracen when Emily ignored Jack’s attempt at flirting. She placed her hands behind her on the raft and leaned back, lifting her face to the sun and closing her eyes. Tracen found himself staring, exactly as Jack had.