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Marriage on Her Mind
Cindi Myers
Danger! Marriage Ahead!It took a lot of courage to leave her groom at the altar. But Casey Jernigan knows she made the perfect decision, and she isn't about to make the same mistake twice. That's why she's come to Crested Butte, Colorado, to live life on her own terms. She's instantly smitten by the town and its colorful inhabitants. That goes double for her irresistible new landlord.With his bad-boy good looks and footloose ways, Max Overbridge is definitely not the marrying kind. Which is just fine with Casey. Until she realizes she may have met Mr. Right! What will it take to convince the town's most popular bachelor that wedding bells are in both their futures?
Marriage on her Mind
Cindi Myers
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To the people of Crested Butte, Colorado
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter One
More than once in the past few weeks, Casey Jernigan had wondered if she was losing her mind. What was a Chicago-born-and-bred woman like her doing packing everything she owned in the back of her RAV4 and heading halfway across the country to take a job in a small town she knew nothing about?
Sitting in her car at the city limits of Crested Butte, Colorado, on a clear April morning, Casey wavered between hysterical laughter and abject panic. Though spring was fast approaching in the Midwest, here snow still lay in drifts to the rooflines, and passing cars were adorned with ski racks and snowboards. As she watched, a snowplow rumbled by, colored lights flashing as it scraped the roadway bare.
But the thing that most made Casey doubt her sanity was the dragon.
It rose, thirty feet long and fifteen feet tall, silver and gleaming in the bright afternoon sun. Neck outstretched, wings unfurled, it lunged toward the man who cowered before it. Saint George—surely it was Saint George—cringed before the dragon’s onslaught, his shining armor, upraised sword and shield seeming a poor defense against the giant beast.
As defenseless as Casey suddenly felt in this remote place where she knew no one and no one knew her. At the time she’d accepted the position as the assistant director of marketing for the Crested Butte chamber of commerce, the chance to make a completely fresh start had been the primary attraction of the job. Not to mention there was something so romantic and exciting about living in a ski town in the mountains. She’d pictured handsome ski instructors and laughing children, building snowmen and cuddling before crackling fires with cups of hot chocolate.
Dragons—and this sick feeling of being far out of her element—had never figured into her dreams.
Sighing, she put the Toyota in gear and rolled slowly toward downtown Crested Butte. Elevation 8,885 feet, proclaimed the city-limits sign. Never mind the population. What was important here was the elevation. In the distance, Casey could see the mountains of Crested Butte Ski Resort, like meringue peaks on a giant pie.
She checked the directions on the computer printout on the seat beside her and searched the street signs for Elk Avenue. She’d been assured that the apartment she’d rented sight unseen was easy to find. “Right on the main drag,” her new boss at the chamber, Heather Allison, had said. “You’ll be able to walk to work.”
Elk Avenue proved to be a collection of colorful Victorian storefronts arrayed behind towering snowdrifts. The sidewalk snaked between the drifts like a carnival maze. Casey checked her directions again and guided the Toyota to a stop in front of a bright pink-and-turquoise building with the number 27 out front. Mad Max’s Snowboards and Bicycle Rental, proclaimed the sign over the door.
Mad Max? Snowboards? Where was the apartment building within walking distance of the office? The dizzy feeling of being out of place returned. Obviously, she’d written the address down wrong. But she might as well get out of the car and ask. Besides, after hours of driving she could stand to stretch her legs.
A string of sleigh bells on the back of the door to the shop jangled as Casey stepped over the threshold. A fat golden retriever stood and ambled over to her, tail wagging slowly. “Hello,” Casey said, scratching the dog behind the ear. “Is anybody else here?”
“That’s Molly. She’s the official greeter.” A smiling man with shaggy brown hair and broad shoulders emerged from a back room. He was dressed in faded jeans and a red-and-black plaid flannel shirt over a green sweater. His face was sunburned and alive with a smile that fairly bowled her over with its welcome. She stared at him for a moment—into eyes the brilliant blue of the Colorado sky. In the small part of her brain that wasn’t preoccupied with admiring him, a warning sounded Danger! Danger! Danger! The last thing she needed right now was to lose her head over some handsome guy. Even if he did look as though he could have posed for one of those charity calendars—Modern Day Mountain Man or something like that.
“Let me guess. You’re Casey Jernigan,” he said.
“How did you know my name?” she asked, trying not to show how nervous the idea made her.
“Saw the Illinois plates on your car,” he said. “And the ficus tree on the front seat gave you away. Not many people vacation with their houseplants.”
She laughed. It was either that or admit she was freaked out that he’d spotted her for a newcomer so easily. But then again, Crested Butte was a small town, with a year-round population of fifteen hundred that easily swelled to six thousand during ski season—or so the visitor’s guide she’d received from the chamber of commerce told her.
“I am Casey Jernigan,” she said, offering her hand.
“Max Overbridge.” He shook her hand with a firm, hearty grip.
“Nice to meet you, Max. And Molly.” She smiled at the dog. “I’ve rented an apartment somewhere around here and can’t find it. Maybe you can point me in the right direction.”
“That would be right over our heads,” Max said. “Park around back and I’ll help you with your things.”
“Overhead?” She shook her head. “No, I’ve rented an apartment. Not retail space.”
“That’s right. There are two of them upstairs. I live in one and rent out the other.”
“Y-you’re my landlord?” she stammered.
“And your neighbor.” He grinned. “See, you came to the right place after all.”
Right. She was going to be living in a bright-pink building, over a snowboard shop. With Adonis here for a neighbor. Well, she’d said she wanted different. This was about as different from her life in Chicago as she could imagine.
She followed him outside and around the side of the building to a set of stairs in the back. Molly trailed them to the top, where Max unlocked a door that opened onto a long hallway. “Your place is the apartment on the left. I’m right across the hall.” He unlocked the door to her apartment and held it open for her.
There were two rooms and a bathroom. The front room was a combination living/dining area with a galley kitchen to the side. She was surprised to see a round cast-iron stove squatting in the corner. “Original to the building,” Max said, opening the stove door. “Firewood’s in a shed out back. Help yourself. It’ll keep the place pretty toasty most days.”
She walked over to one of two large windows looking out onto a side street. Max came and stood behind her. “You’ve got a view of a C.B. landmark,” he said. He pointed toward a tall, rather plain wooden building. “The two-story outhouse.”
“A two-story outhouse?” Was he pulling her leg? Playing the new girl for a fool?
But his expression was perfectly serious. “If you think about it, it makes sense. When the snow gets too deep to dig down to the outhouse, you move the facilities upstairs. It’s on the National Register of Historic Places.”
Okaaay.
“Bedroom and bathroom are back here….” He showed her the pink-tiled bathroom, with its chain-operated toilet and claw-foot tub, and a bedroom furnished with a massive white iron bed and an oak dresser with a wavy glass mirror. “Are these antiques?” she asked, running her hand along the smooth wood of the dresser. She knew women in Chicago who paid big bucks to furnish rooms in such quaint style.
“Probably.” He shrugged. “It all was here when I moved in.” He led the way back into the main room. “Phone’s on the wall by the kitchen.” He pointed to the black plastic princess model mounted on the wall. “We just got satellite last year, so you’re in luck.” He picked up the remote and aimed it at the television on a stand in the corner opposite the woodstove. “Until last year we had our choice of three stations—and none of them came in well.” He switched the TV off. “Of course, you’ll probably be too busy to watch much TV, anyway.”
“Is the chamber of commerce that busy?” she asked. She knew Crested Butte was a tourist town, but she hadn’t imagined the workload would be so heavy she’d have no leisure time.
“They’re busy, but what I meant is there’s always something going on in town—parties and things. It’s a really happening place.”
“Oh. Well, I’m really not much for parties.” She had had enough of the social whirlwind back in Chicago. She’d looked forward to evenings that didn’t require dressing up, making small talk or smiling until her face hurt. She picked up a red velvet pillow from the sofa and smoothed her hand along the fringe around its edges. “I guess I’m more of a homebody.” At least, she wanted the opportunity to be a homebody. How could she figure out what she wanted to do with her life if she didn’t try out new things?
“You won’t be staying home much around here,” Max said. “People around here will find a way to get you involved. You’ll see.”
Clearly, he was one of those people who couldn’t understand that some people preferred to keep a low profile. The whole reason she’d come to this burg on the backside of nowhere was to stay in the background. But really, that was none of his business, was it? She merely nodded politely. “The place looks great,” she said. “Thanks.”
“It’s nice to have a neighbor again,” he said, offering her another of his brilliant smiles. She had trouble breathing when he looked at her that way…. Get a grip, she ordered herself.
“Let me help you with your stuff,” he said.
“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary. There really isn’t much….”
But he and Molly were already halfway down the hall. Casey followed him out to her car, where he hefted a box of books, and a suitcase from the back. She grabbed the dress bag that had taken up a large portion of the back of the car. It rustled like a sack of dry leaves as she folded it over her arm.
“What’s in there?” Max asked as she followed him up the stairs. “Some kind of ball gown or something?”
“Um, something.” She absolutely didn’t want to talk about the contents of the bag with Mr. Gorgeous.
They deposited their loads and returned to the car, where Max grabbed more boxes. “You don’t have a bike,” he said as she followed him up the stairs again, carrying the ficus.
“No, I don’t.”
“You’ll need one. Don’t worry. I’ll ask around and find you a good deal.”
“Why do I need a bike?” she asked. “Heather said I could walk to work, and I have my car for longer trips.”
“Do you want to spend the winter digging your car out of drifts and the summer fighting tourist traffic?” He set the boxes just inside her door, then turned to take the plant from her. “A bike will be much easier. Plus, C.B. has some awesome trails you’ll want to check out.”
She should have been annoyed that he was so quick to orchestrate her life for her, but these announcements were delivered with such sincerity that she found it hard to object. “Thanks. Maybe I will get a bike. After I’ve had a chance to settle in more.” She could add bike riding to her list of new experiences.
The sound of distant bells floated up to them. “Guess I have a customer,” Max said. “I’d better get back to work.”
“Yeah. And I’d better start unpacking.” She looked around at the stacks of boxes. “Thanks for all your help.”
“No problem. See you soon.”
It seemed to Casey that Max took some of the air out of the room when he left. Either that or the altitude was responsible for her light-headedness. She sank onto the sofa and hugged the red velvet pillow to her chest. Dragons, two-story outhouses and pink snowboard shops? She’d said she wanted to live someplace different, but she’d never imagined a place like this existed outside of Lewis Carroll novels. Of course, no one she knew in Chicago could have imagined a place like this, either—and they certainly wouldn’t suspect that one of the newest members of the Junior League was now living here. Frankly, she was a little stunned herself.
She carried the dress bag into the bedroom and hung it in the closet. She had to stuff it in, it was so large. Feeling guilty, she carefully lowered the zipper on the bag and admired the confection of ivory satin and lace within. So maybe bringing her wedding dress with her to Crested Butte hadn’t been such a great idea. It wasn’t as if the dress was much good without a groom. But she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of leaving the dress behind. She’d picked it out herself—over her mother’s objections—and she knew if she abandoned it her mother would burn it or donate it to charity or something before Casey was even across the state line.
She zipped up the bag and pushed it to the very back of the closet. She had no plans to wear the dress anytime soon, but it made her feel better knowing it was there. The dress was a kind of symbol—proof of the one time in her life that she’d refused to listen to what everyone else wanted her to do and instead had gone after what she wanted.
The dress had been the first step. Buying it had proved she could stand up for herself and live her own life.
Coming here to Crested Butte was another big step. Maybe the town wasn’t quite what she’d expected, but she’d deal with it. Casey Jernigan, Chicago socialite, was no more. Casey Jernigan, mystery woman, waited in the wings. The part of Casey that wasn’t shaking in her shoes at the prospect could hardly wait to see what this new, improved version of herself looked like.
MAX’S FRIEND HAGAN ANSDAR was waiting at the front counter. The tall blonde in the Crested Butte Resort Ski Patrol uniform was rubbing his head and wincing. “You should have a warning sign on that door,” he said in a heavy Norwegian accent. “I almost give myself a concussion.”
“You need to remember that Victorian doorways weren’t built for six-foot-four Norsemen,” Max said. He fed another stick of wood into the stove behind the counter and shut the iron door. “Anything exciting happen on patrol today?”
“I met two girls from Austin who are on vacation. One of them broke the binding on her snowboard and I told her I would be happy to repair it for her.”
Max shook his head. “It’s criminal, the way women fall all over you, just because you wear that uniform and have an accent.”
“I told you before. Volunteer for patrol and you can have all the women you want following you around.” Hagan grinned.
“Except those aren’t the kind of women I want.” He held out his hand. “Let me see the binding.”
Hagan fished a strip of plastic out of his pocket and handed it over. “How do you know these women aren’t the ones you want if you haven’t even met them?” he asked.
“Because they’re tourists.” He examined the piece of binding and frowned. “This has been cut.”
“No!” Hagan leaned closer.
Max pointed to the neatly severed edge. “My guess is she decided she wanted the big strong ski-patrol guy to rescue her, so she sliced through the binding strap with a pocketknife.”
“That wasn’t very smart,” Hagan said.
Max grinned. “I don’t know. She got what she wanted, didn’t she?” He turned to the shelf behind him and pulled down a box. “Here’s a new strap. You can install it when you see her again.”
“Tonight.” Hagan grinned. “She is really hot.”
“They all are, buddy. And you’re welcome to ’em.”
Hagan handed over his credit card and leaned against the counter. “I think tourists are the perfect dates. I see them a few times, then they leave town. No messy relationship problems.”
“That’s because you don’t really have a relationship.” Max rang up the sale and returned Hagan’s card and the charge slip. “People on vacation aren’t really themselves. You don’t know these women. You just know how they act away from home.”
“That’s all I need to know,” Hagan said. “And you are one to talk. When was the last time you dated anyone?”
“I go out with women every night,” Max said.
Hagan shook his head. “Not groups of friends, men and women. I mean a date. You and one woman. How long?”
Max stuck the charge slip in the cash drawer and slammed it shut. “A while. You know how it is in C.B.—there are more of us than there are of them.” In fact, single men outnumbered single women almost two to one.
