Someone had nailed a smaller, much newer sign beneath it that read “Now Aster Park Mountain Resort & Spa” in elegant script, complete with a gold logo that looked out of place against the rustic wood.
Al drove the taxi toward a large log building nestled among towering pines. Warm light spilled from the windows onto a wide porch, which wrapped around the entire building. Itwasn’t the modern luxury hotel I’d expected. It looked like … a giant log cabin. Something you might see on the label of birch syrup.
“Here we are,” Al announced, bringing the taxi to a stop in a small gravel parking area. I checked the map on my phone. My blue dot was in the middle of a green blob.
“You sure this is it?”
“This is the address you gave me.” I double-checked against the address from Marcus’s email. It checked out.
I paid Al and climbed out of the car, where the fresh mountain air smacked me in the nose again. Crisp. Clean. Pine scented.
I grabbed my Louis Vuitton from the back seat and stood staring at what was supposed to be my luxury mountain getaway. It looked more like the set ofThe Colorado Chainsaw Massacre.
“You know,” Al said through the open window, “if you go into town, you should try the flapjacks at Mabel’s Diner. You won’t regret it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
The taxi retreated down the gravel drive, its taillights disappearing into the trees. Left alone in the diminishing light, I had a growing sense that I had made a terrible, terrible mistake. Maybe spending the rest of my life cleaning wok grease out of my hair and listening to Mom’s lectures wasn’t such a bad life after all.
“Hello?”
No one answered. And on a positive note, nothing growled.
The silence of the forest was profound, broken only by the gentle rustle of wind through the trees and the distant call of a bird. Hopefully, the non-flesh eating kind. No traffic. No sirens. Just nature.
Creepy.
“Welcome to Colorado,” I whispered to the trees. I couldn’t make it out exactly, but I think they whispered back.
Turning my attention to the weathered wooden building in front of me, I was certain my altitude-addled brain was playing tricks on me. Where were the panoramic windows? The grand stone entrance with hand-carved beams? All I saw was a tired-looking barn-like structure that seemed one harsh winter away from collapsing. And the scent wafting toward me wasn’t from a gourmet restaurant. It was distinctly livestock-related, with firm notes of hay and manure.
“Can I help you?”
I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of the voice behind me. A woman in mud-splattered boots and well-worn jeans approached, brown-blonde hair pulled back in a practical braid. Her skin bore the rich tan of someone who lived permanently outdoors.
“Ah … I’m looking for the Aster Park Mountain Resort and Spa?”
“You’re the girl LuxeLife sent from California.” It was a statement, not a question, and she said the word California the same way Noah did. With derision and loathing.
“You want the main lobby.”
“This isn’t the main lobby?” I pointed to a wooden sign that clearly read, “Main Lobby,” at the edge of the gravel, right behind a clump of shrubs. “It says Main Lobby right there.”
The woman walked over to the sign and pulled away the branch obscuring the bottom half. Beneath the words “Main Lobby” was an arrow pointing straight up the mountain.
“This is the Adventure Center,” she explained, gesturing toward the barn-like structure. “Part of the original property from 1910. The map apps bring people here all the time. The main resort’s on up the road.” She said the word “resort,” like Noah did, and made the same quotefingers, too. “Name’s Jenn, by the way. I’d shake your hand, but...” She held up her gloved hands. “Just finished mucking out the stalls.”
I pulled my hand back out of shaking distance. “I’m Samantha Li. My friends call me Sam.”
Jenn smiled, but her eyes weren’t exactly friendly. She leaned on her pitchfork, looked me up and down. “Well, Samantha, seems like you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s about to get dark around here. Real dark.”
I invoked my super influencer powers. “Any chance you could give me a ride?”
Jenn held up her gloved hands.
“Right. The muck. From the stalls.”
“You know how to ride a horse?” asked Jenn, extra cheerful.
