Page 8 of Luke

Two

Luke battled jet lag and a killer hangover on his drive to the Algoma Resort just outside of Yosemite National Park on Wednesday morning. He could have waited a few days or weeks or even months to check out his legacy, but during a long night of tossing and turning, he'd decided that getting out of town was just what he needed.

It had felt strange to be in Los Angeles, the city where his father had truly been a king among men, knowing that he was gone. The press was just catching wind of his dad's death, and in the days to come there would be paparazzi everywhere. Colin Brannigan had been a very wealthy man, with a long list of businesses and properties including a movie studio, a talent agency, a hotel and a dozen other homes around the world. It would probably take five years for the lawyers just to figure out how to disperse everything.

He wasn't that pissed off about having to wait for the estate to be settled. He'd never wanted his dad's money. He'd always wanted to make it on his own. Not that some extra cash wouldn't help finance a bigger budget for his next film, but he'd get there with or without his dad's help. In fact, he might get there faster if he sold the resort, which seemed like the obvious thing to do.

He didn't know why his dad had given it to him. He wasn't a landowner or a property manager; he was an adventurer. He lived his life out of a backpack and a duffel bag. He traveled light; he didn't know any other way to do it.

Turning up the radio, he tried to drown out his thoughts with some classic rock. He wished he had another trip to make, but the base jumping in Norway had been the last piece of his film. Now it was on to editing and production, then distribution and release, and most of that work would take place in LA. The next project was only in the planning stages, so if there was a good time to make this trip, it was probably now.

He actually loved Yosemite, with its majestic mountain peaks, lush forested valley, and spectacular waterfalls. Algoma was a Native American word that meant Valley of Flowers, and as he got closer to his destination, those flowers bloomed in abundance.

Everything about this part of California was spectacular. Yosemite National Park covered the western slopes of the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range and offered some of the ultimate experiences in rock and mountain climbing.

He'd climbed the sheer rock cliffs of El Capitan and Half Dome before his twenty-fifth birthday. But he hadn't stayed at the Algoma Resort on those trips. He'd either slept in a tent tied to the side of the cliff face or in a cabin in the valley. The last time he'd been to the resort he'd been seven years old. It was the last family trip they'd made five months before his mom died. They'd never gone back after that.

The family had splintered apart without his mother's steadying influence. His dad had hired nannies by the dozen to watch him and his six brothers, but while his father had provided for all their material needs, he hadn't been around much. His dad had once told him that he'd been so caught up in his own grief that he hadn't known what to do, hadn't understood how to be a father without his wife at his side, but that he'd done his best.

His best hadn't been all that good.

But it was what it was. As Gabe had said, his dad always lived life on his terms. Colin Brannigan was the sun, and everyone else moved around him.

Luke was going to miss that sun, even though he hadn't been warmed by it all that often. He grabbed for the coffee he'd picked up twenty minutes earlier. It was starting to chill, but it still gave him the caffeine jolt he needed.

As he sipped his coffee, he wondered about the legacies his brothers had received. He was surprised Gabe had gotten the family home—not that Gabe seemed that happy about it—and Luke was really curious about the strings his father had added to that legacy, but Gabe would only talk when he wanted to talk. Since Gabe worked in real-estate, perhaps it made sense. Although he would have thought James would have been a better choice. As the oldest sibling, James seemed the one most likely to carry on the family traditions.

He smiled to himself at that thought. What family traditions? The only tradition they had was every man for himself. Not exactly a bonding family mantra.

And James hadn't gotten anything tied to the family. He'd received a deed to a winery in Italy—a winery none of them had ever heard of. Apparently, their father had had more than one secret.

He was also curious about what Knox's key opened. He'd left before Knox had had a chance to go down to the storage unit. Maybe it was a car or a boat. Luke wouldn't have minded getting the speedboat or the Porsche, but apparently his love of the outdoors had gotten him a mountain resort. He didn't even know his father had bought the place. When had that happened? And why had his father bought a place he had no intention of ever going to again?

Was it out of nostalgia? Sentiment? It certainly didn't seem like the best business proposition. On the other hand, his father hadn't amassed a fortune by buying things for sentimental reasons, so maybe he had had a different motive.

He straightened in his seat as he saw the sign for the resort. He drove under an iron archway and down a long, winding, one-lane, barely-paved road that felt like it was taking him back in time.

The years in between visits peeled away. He remembered being in a mini-van with his mom and a couple of his brothers when they'd come to the resort for that last summer vacation.

They'd been such a big family they'd had to take two cars to the camp. He'd been with his mom, Gabe, Knox, and Finn, while his dad had taken James, Max and Hunter with him. He'd been happy to go with his mom. She liked to sing along to songs on the radio, and he'd liked the sound of her voice. She wasn't a particularly good singer, but she sang with enthusiasm, and it always made him happy.

His gut tightened as the memory flew through his head. It was strange the things that he remembered about her, random moments in time. Some were so fleeting they were difficult to hang on to. He wondered if eventually they'd all just disappear. He hoped not, but the further he got from age seven, the harder it was to remember the details.

Glancing out the window, he saw horses grazing in the meadows, a dozen or so weathered cabins set along the river, a boat dock for fishing trips and river rafting, an archery range in a wide meadow, and the barbecue and picnic area under the tall, towering ponderosa pines and white fir trees. More memories ran through his head.

That last vacation had been filled with firsts for him: the first time he'd ridden a horse, the first time he'd gone rafting, the first time he'd climbed a rock wall. It was that experience that had started his love affair with the outdoors, with towering mountains and rushing rapids, with the excitement and adrenaline rush that came from challenging himself.

Funny—he hadn't realized his passion had started here. Actually, he hadn’t really thought about it, but now it seemed so clear.

Eventually, the road came to an end, turning into a parking lot next to the lodge.

He took the nearest spot, then got out and looked around.

The three-story manor house with a huge wraparound porch was the centerpiece of the resort. As he recalled, the lodge had nine or ten bedrooms; the rest of the visitors stayed in the cabins along the river. Inside the lodge was a living room, a dining room, a library, and a game room. He remembered hours spent playing Ping-Pong and pinball with his brothers while his parents had drunk wine and talked to other adults in the living room.

Glancing to the right of the lodge, he saw the paved path leading to the pool area. Brightly colored umbrellas hung over patio tables that curved in a circle around the pool and the hot tub. He could hear a couple of kids yelling Marco Polo to each other, and he smiled to himself, thinking some things never changed.

Across from the house was the stable area with a big barn and two rings for horseback riding lessons. A couple stood by the smaller ring, watching their young daughter take a lesson. The white-haired man giving instructions looked familiar. Maybe it was the same guy who'd put him on a horse when he was seven.

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