Wedding Survivor (27 page)

AFTER four days of canyoning with two preening peacocks who alternately fought, then made love so loudly that it sounded staged, Eli was exhausted, hungry, and not in a very good humor.

Personally, he couldn't wait for the next meeting of T.A., so he could announce that if any of them
ever
booked a wedding again, he'd personally wring their necks before he jumped off a cliff to break his own. After this week, he was certain Coop would join him in that—Olivia had turned out to be a huge whiner, her voice getting more shrill with each passing day—
the water is too cold
, and
that's really high
, and
I may hurt myself
and
I'm not packing
anything
out
was all he heard from that woman's lips for four days.

But they had done it, had canyoned down some of the coolest waterfalls and ravines he'd ever seen, had climbed up through aspen forests and walked through tiny dales brimming with flowers, had scaled northern faces, had camped under stars so bright and close it felt almost as if he were somehow suspended in the galaxy.

Now they were at the Piedra Lodge, about two thirds of the way up San Miguel Peak, where there were people and separate rooms and Eli could at last put some distance between him and the two stars.

Apparently, they wanted some distance from him and Coop, too, because they disappeared into their suite the moment they arrived, claiming fear of being discovered by paparazzi.

On that front, things looked pretty good. The security team seemed to be holding down the fort, even with trucks arriving almost hourly delivering tents and linens and two huge snowblowers, which were, oddly enough, accompanied by two hundred pounds of feathers.

Feathers.

He did not recall feathers being on the manifest of crap coming to Colorado, and was awaiting Marnie's arrival so she could explain it all to him.

That wasn't entirely accurate—he was awaiting Marnie's arrival, period. He'd missed her smile and her pancake eyes and her exuberance, and after spending six days with the world's whiniest woman, a cheerful Marnie Banks would be a welcome addition to this gig.

He thought of the day he'd called her. He'd wanted to talk longer, but the connection was so poor. He'd wanted to hear her laugh, but had been cut off too soon. And he wasn't certain what she'd heard from him. Especially the part about being sorry for leaving without speaking to her. That part, he'd have to tell her in person.

If she ever showed up. She wasn't yet at the lodge.

Jack and the chef guy, a huge mountain of a man, had already lumbered in, carrying three huge coolers, a very large clothing bag, and a smaller briefcase that the dude held tightly to his chest. "Utensils," he had disdainfully articulated when Eli asked.

Utensils? Eli figured the guy could have borrowed a spatula from the lodge, but what did he know? The man waddled off to the bar, mopping his brow* proclaiming to one and all that if he didn't have a bourbon neat, he'd perish, for apparently he had been unnerved by the flight to Durango and the drive up "all those ridiculously winding roads."

"Where's Marnier Eli asked Jack.

"I gave her a jeep. She had to check on some stuff. This is a great place," he added, looking around. "Reminds me of Mexico."

The lodge was a great old place. It was an adobe structure with rustic beams and decor that had made some taxidermist rich. The pine plank wood floors were covered with thick rugs, and three elaborate stonework fireplaces kept the lobby warm. Everywhere a person looked were works of art, including pottery and painting. Each guest room had a spectacular view of the San Juan Mountains, private fireplace, Jacuzzi, and authentic bearskin rug.

T.A. had booked the entire lodge for the weekend, and every room would be occupied. In fact, once the guests started to arrive, there would be no room for Eli and Marnie, the chef, or the happy couple. The plan was for them to stay at the wedding site, about a thousand vertical feet up from the lodge, a quick four-wheeler drive up an old mining trail. On the day of the wedding, the guests would be ferried up on the back of four-wheelers by local boys who would be paid a small fortune to keep quiet about who their passengers were.

Once there, the guests would walk across an old wood-and-rope bridge that spanned a very deep but narrow ravine that looked like a gash in the mountain, formed by centuries of snow runoff. After crossing the swinging bridge, they would hike up to a small meadow on the banks of a smaller alpine lake, where an old cabin, left over from the heyday of silver mining, had been converted into a very exclusive and private retreat for very rich people.

That is where they would watch the two biggest American stars exchange their vows beneath a plastic model of the Arc de Triomphe. And then the party would be ferried back down to the lodge, where a huge, elaborate reception would take place.

Eli still hadn't figured out how or when the feathers came into it.

He and Jack were trying to decide where to put the damn feathers when two effeminate men walked into the two-story lobby and openly grimaced at the sight of an elk's head hanging above the reception desk.

"Little early for guests," Eli muttered, nudging Jack, who looked up as the two men approached them. Eli was the first to extend his hand. "Eli McCain," he said. "This is my partner Jack Price."

"Oh!" the shorter of the two exclaimed, lighting up. "Are you a professional couple, too?"

Jack and Eli exchanged a quick look of shared horror.

"Professional guests, he means," the taller man said on seeing their expressions, and calmly removed his mohair coat. "Dancers, maybe?"

"Whoa!" Jack said instantly, throwing up a hand. "We are
not
dancers!"

"And guests aren't to arrive until Friday," Eli added quickly.

"Oh, we're not
those
guests," the first man said, openly checking Eli out. "We're professional guests. We were asked to arrive early to discuss the arrangements with Marnie and then, naturally, be on hand when guests start showing up."

The notion of
professional
guests left Eli speechless. A quick look at Jack, whose mouth was gaping open, told Eli that he had no clue what a professional guest was, either. "Ah… Marnie hasn't arrived yet," Eli said, unable to think of anything else.

"No problem. We'll just wait in the bar," the first man said. "There
is
a bar, isn't there?"

Eli pointed to a stuffed bear on their left. "Just past Old Smokey."

"Thank God," the taller one said, and away they went, smoothing their perfectly coiffed hair and recoiling from the various heads of game that hung from the walls.

"What the hell is a professional guest?" Jack demanded.

"Hell if I know," Eli said and wondered when Marnie was going to get here and explain it to them.

MARNIE was running late. She was enjoying the beautiful scenery as she leisurely drove the two-lane winding road, which, several signs noted, was closed during winter months due to snowfall. Marnie had been to Europe, and she had been to New York and Texas, but she had never seen the United States between the two coasts and it was breathtakingly beautiful. In the distance, the trees on the mountains looked like the stubble of a man's beard, but up close, they were tall and majestic, towering up so far that they squeezed the sun from the sky. Some were so steep that it looked as if God had knifed off a piece, shearing them off so that He could put them side by side.

And now, here she was, seemingly the only one in the world—well, save the RV she had passed a couple of miles back—winding up and up to what seemed the sky. There was absolutely no one in these mountains. No buildings, no signs. Nothing but a lot of signs warning drivers of cows crossing the road. And cows.
Lots
of cows. Who knew cows could live this high? Wasn't someone worried the cows would be eaten by bears?

Up and up Marnie wound, the jeep slowing on steep grades. Just when she began to fear she was lost, she found the turnoff to the lodge. She turned left and drove past a field of cows munching on yellow and pink flowers.

She was smiling when she drove across the cattle guard that marked the entrance to the Piedra Lodge. After a short and bumpy ride up a gravelly road, the lodge suddenly appeared before her, built up the side of the mountain with varying levels, so every window had a view of the spectacular surroundings.

The only thing that marred the vista was the dozens of four-wheelers and jeeps and big crates scattered about the grounds. The site of them jarred Marnie from her trip through the wilderness. It seemed criminal, somehow, to have brought civilization and dropped it here.

She parked her jeep next to several others and grabbed her backpack and organizer. She'd get her other bag later. At the moment, she was too busy filling her lungs with mountain air. Was anything more invigorating?

ELI saw her before she saw him—her good looks were hard to miss among all the workers who had gathered to erect the massive reception tent behind the lodge.

She looked fantastic—she was wearing skintight hiking pants, a T-shirt that just reached her bellybutton, and a hooded sweatshirt. Her hair was pulled back into a thick coppery ponytail, and on her feet were all-trail shoes. The girl looked like she was going to hike to the top of San Miguel Peak and kick its ass before dinner.

Her face lit up with a smile when she saw him, he was happy to note, and she waved, as if he hadn't seen her. He actually waved back. Marnie walked across a plank of flooring the workmen had put down. "Hey!" she said, grinning broadly, all but skidding to a stop in front of him.

"Hey," he said, grinning a little himself.

Her brows dipped a little over her beaming smile. "Wow… you don't look so good."

"Thanks."

"I'm sorry," she laughed. "You just look really tired. Rough trip?"

He was tired. And he hadn't had a chance to shave or clean up since he'd arrived. "Nan, it was all right. What about you, coppertop?" he asked with a grin. "You look like you're ready to do a cross-country trek."

"Too much, you think?" she asked, looking down at her outfit.

"No," he said, his gaze sweeping her curves. Man, he liked her curves. "Just perfect," he said honestly, and received a warm and grateful smile for it. "So you want to see where it's all going to go down?"

Her eyes instantly lit up. "Yes!"

"Okay. Just a couple of questions first," he said, and put his hand to her elbow, turned her around, and pointed to the snowblowers.

"Oh, great!" she exclaimed. "They arrived a day early!"

"They came with two hundred pounds of white feathers."

"Two hundred pounds!" Her brow wrinkled. "That sounds like a lot of feathers."

"It
is
a lot of feathers. What I'm wondering is why we have even one feather?"

"Oh," she said, digging in her backpack and withdrawing a small notebook, "they're for ambiance."

She said it as if that would be obvious to even the biggest moron. He guessed
he
was the colossal moron, because he couldn't see how feathers and ambiance went together.

Apparently, she saw his confusion. ""You know… ambiance at the reception," she said, as if that helped anything, and flipped open the notebook. "We'll be gently blowing white feathers over everyone to simulate falling snow."

Okay, he would
never
have guessed that. "
What
?"

Marnie didn't answer—she was too busy staring at her little notebook. "Not
two
hundred pounds! A
hundred
pounds! How could they make that mistake? Tell me something," she demanded of Eli. "Do I have a funny accent? Do I speak with a lisp? Do I not e-nun-ci-ate clearly enough?"

"Not that I've noticed."

She groaned heavenward for a moment. "Oh well," she said, abruptly cheerful. "Feathers are not that expensive. That's only a couple of hundred dollars extra."

"For feathers."

"Yes, for feathers. They're not expensive, but they're not free, either," she said with a wink, and stuffed the notebook into her backpack.

"So… let me see if I've got this," Eli tried, looking thoughtful. "We have about four hundred bucks' worth of feathers—"

"That's right."

"And we rented two industrial blowers to blow them?"

"Yep," she said, rising up on her toes and down again in a very proud fashion.

"And the snowblowers set us back… how much?"

'Two fifty. A day. Each."

"Ah," Eli said, nodding. "So we're spending two grand to blow four hundred dollars worth of feathers."

"Oh stop," she said, and playfully poked him in the chest. "You're just giving me a hard time. So come on, let's go see where this thing is going down," she said with a snap of her fingers and a little sway of her hips.

Eli couldn't help himself—he chuckled and shook his head. "Gome on."

"Great! I'm dying to see it," she said, and marched her fine butt out to the drive, passing him on her way to the row of jeeps.

Eli stopped and, hands on hips, watched her march all the way to the jeep she'd apparently parked. "Marnie?"

She whirled around. "Yes?"

"Over here," he said, pointing to the four-wheelers.

Her gaze shifted to the four-wheelers. "How cool!"

A person had to like that about Marnie—she was easy to amuse.

He had her get on the four-wheeler first, then straddled it in front of her, easing back between her legs. He couldn't help but be reminded of another, more intimate moment he had been between her legs, and when Marnie slipped her hands around his waist to hold on, he had to grit his teeth to keep from wallowing in that memory like a pig in slop. He'd just spent more than a week getting her out from under his skin, and he wasn't going to let her creep back in there just because she was damn good-looking and pleasingly soft.

They drove up, through thick stands of pines and spruce and aspen trees and occasional cottonwoods. Purple thistle grew alongside the old road between fuzzy pink flowers and thousands of little white and yellow flowers. When they reached the old rope bridge, Eli shut the four-wheeler off, and Marnie climbed off the back.