He flopped back in his seat and shook his head. “This better be the first and last time you buy a property sight unseen.” His voice was its usual morning rasp when Maggie dragged him from his beauty sleep.

The property wasn’t exactly unseen, but she doubted the truth of it would make her business partner feel more confident. “I saw pictures,” she argued instead.

“I saw the same pictures and distinctly recall trying to talk you out of it.”

“Whine later,” Maggie told him as they got out of the truck. The ground was soft and wet beneath her work boots.

What had once been an elegant, tree-lined drive was now an overgrown trail. The neglected trees and shrubs seemed determined to force the property’s surrender to nature.

But the house? Well, there was magic here on this bluff. She could feel it shimmering just beneath layers of rotting wood and what was most likely lead paint. Like a buried treasure waiting to be unearthed.

Maggie cocked her head and studied the exterior. Rain pattered off the bill of her cap.

Whimsical maybe. Dilapidated definitely.

“We’re not in Oregon on the beach anymore, Toto,” Dean said, eyeing the monstrosity.

“No, we’re not,” she agreed, tucking her hands into her coat pockets and wishing she had the keys. She’d closed the deal on her last flip, a charming beach bungalow, a handful of days ago. With the largest check to date burning a hole in her pocket, she’d packed up and hit the road, heading east for the new adventure.

“What the hell is it even?” he asked, zipping his vest to his chin. “What’s it doing here?”

The fact that the once-grand fever dream of a mansion didn’t fit was precisely what she loved best about it. This part of Idaho was full of timber cabins, smart lakeside cottages, and a tidy downtown of kitschy brick and clapboard buildings. But here, surrounded by mountains and aspen and river, the Queen Anne Victorian reigned over it all.

Proudly, unashamedly different, the Old Campbell Place had claimed this spot on the bluff without regard to any other outside forces for well over a century. She’d have bought it even without the house tangling up briefly in her own history.

“It was originally built by Aaron Campbell for his wife, Ava, allegedly a romantic at heart,” she said, warming to her topic.

“Oh goodie. A lecture.”

“Mr. Campbell’s family owned jewelry stores and a timber operation in the area.”

“Must have been a lot of money in murdering trees,” Dean mused as he tested the first step leading to the porch.

“Actually, Campbell’s money came from the fifteen western novels he wrote.”

He groaned. “I hate it when houses have backstories. It makes you spend more.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Campbell spent four years building this place, making sure every inch of it was perfect.”