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Trish picked up the pink umbrella drink and grinned. “Everyone just wants to make you feel welcome.”
Casey nodded and took another sip from the glass of beer she’d already started. “I don’t know what to say. It’s a little…overwhelming.” Coming to town, she had had a vague idea that because no one here knew her or her family, she would be able to fade into the background. Her past experiences being the center of attention had made her wary of the spotlight.
“Enjoy it while you can,” Trish said. “Pretty soon you’ll be just another local and no one will look at you twice.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Bryan said thoughtfully.
Trish elbowed him and he gave her a mock-wounded look. But Casey’s attention was quickly distracted by a trio of men in ski-patroller uniforms who were headed her way. “Hello,” they chorused.
Casey blinked, sure she’d fallen asleep and been sucked into a bizarre dream. “You’re Casey, aren’t you?” one of the men—a sunburned guy with thinning brown hair—said.
She nodded. “And you are?”
“I’m Mike. This is Scott and Eric.”
She nodded. “Nice to meet you, I’m sure.”
The three found chairs from somewhere and pulled them up to the table with the arm wrestlers. Soon Casey was peppered with questions about where she was from, what brought her to Crested Butte, did she want to have dinner, dance, have a drink, go hiking, skiing, biking, skating, et cetera, et cetera.
She felt dizzy and dazed and after a while stopped answering them, letting Trish fill in the details she knew. More drinks arrived at the table. More people crowded around them. The band stopped playing and they joined the group around the table also. At some point someone turned on a stereo or jukebox and the three ski patrollers took it upon themselves to serenade Casey with a very bad rendition of the Grateful Dead’s “Casey Jones.” She didn’t quite get the connection, but then, nothing about this town really made sense.
About that time she looked up and saw Max watching her from across the room. She was so grateful to see a familiar face—and one that didn’t seem determined to impress her, woo her or find out everything about her—that she could have wept.
His eyes locked on hers and he frowned, then started toward her. He waded through the crush of people, easily shoving aside chairs and stepping over the tangle of outstretched legs and feet. “Are you guys trying to drive Casey out of town her first day here?” he asked the three ski patrollers.
“We were just providing a little entertainment now that the band was done,” one of the men—Eric?—said.
Max shook his head. “From what I heard, there wasn’t anything entertaining about it.” He offered Casey his hand. “If you’re ready to leave, I’ll walk you home.”
A chorus of groans and catcalls greeted this offer, rising in crescendo when Casey let him pull her out of her chair. “It was nice meeting all of you,” she said. “But I really am exhausted.”
She followed Max through the crowd to the door. They didn’t speak until they’d descended to street level. It was snowing, tiny flakes gently drifting down like powdered sugar shaken from a jar. The chill night air hit like a slap in the face, reviving her. She drew her parka more tightly around her and gave Max a grateful look. “Thanks for coming to my rescue,” she said.
He nodded. “You looked a little overwhelmed in there.”
“It was all a little…much.” They began walking slowly down the deserted sidewalk, sidestepping patches of ice.
“Take it as a compliment,” he said. “Everyone wants to welcome you to town.”
“I guess I hadn’t expected my arrival to be such a big deal.”
“Hey, it’s not like it’s the end of the world.” He patted her shoulder. His hand was heavy, comforting. She tried to ignore the tickle of desire that fluttered in her stomach at his touch. Max was only being friendly.
Right, the warning voice in her head—which might have been her conscience—said. And grizzly bears only want to be friendly, too. No danger there at all.
She forced a smile to her face and a lightness to her voice. “I’m sure everyone will get tired of me soon enough.”
“I guess this is a big change for you, being from a big city and all,” Max said. “It’s a lot easier to be anonymous there.”
She laughed at the irony of his words. As the daughter of the mayor’s chief aide, she’d never felt particularly anonymous. From the time she could toddle, her parents had been hauling her to campaign rallies, charitable balls and other prominent social functions. Her picture had appeared in countless editions of Chicago papers, usually in the society column. Her mother dutifully saved each one, delighting in the fact that her daughter was so popular. For a time, Casey had enjoyed it herself, but after a while the constant scrutiny had chafed. The older she got, the more the public seemed to expect from her, until she began to feel her life wasn’t her own.
Which was partly why she was in Crested Butte. As much of a clichе as it was, she’d come here to find herself. To rediscover the Casey she’d lost somewhere along the way.
“What’s so funny?” Max asked.
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Nothing at all.” She tilted her head up and let the snowflakes kiss her cheeks. Away from the din of the Eldo, the street was silent except for the crunch of their feet on the fresh snow. She felt more at peace than she had in months.
“What are your plans for tomorrow?”
Max’s question startled her out of her reverie. She glanced at him, curious but cautious. “I start work tomorrow. Then…I don’t know. I thought I might buy groceries.” She shrugged. “Nothing exciting.”
“After work, why don’t you let me show you around.” He wasn’t looking at her, but off to one side, his voice deliberately casual.
“Are you asking me out on a date?”
He shook his head. “A date? No.”
“No?” She couldn’t keep a note of disappointment from her voice.
“No. A date would be dinner or a movie or something like that. I just thought—if you’re going to be working for the chamber of commerce, you need to know the area, so you can direct tourists and stuff. I need to run up to the resort sometime tomorrow to trade out some stock with a snowboard shop up there. I thought you could ride with me and check things out.” He shrugged. “Just as a friend.”
That certainly sounded nonthreatening enough. “Okay. That sounds good.”
“Good. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
She was surprised to find they were already at the foot of the steps leading up to the apartments. “Are you coming up?” she asked.
“No. I think I’ll go back to the Eldo for a while.”
“Thanks again for everything,” she said.
“Sure. No problem.” He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and took a step back. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
She climbed the steps, but stopped on the landing outside the door to look back. Max was striding away from her down the street, his shoulders hunched against the cold. He made a romantic figure, snow falling around him.
Of course, when he’d left her at her door to go back to the bar it hadn’t been terribly romantic, but then, what did she expect from a man whose nickname was Mad Max?
Not that she was interested in romance, anyway. She’d come here looking for a change. A chance to figure out what she wanted to do with her life. Romance, she knew from experience, could mess things up.
Max had offered to be her friend; the prospect intrigued her. A woman starting over needed new friends and what woman wouldn’t want a good-looking man like Max on her side?
BEFORE OPENING THE SHOP Monday morning, Max and Molly walked to the post office to collect the mail. Normally, Molly would have run and played in the fresh snow, but at the moment she was too pregnant to do much but plod along, looking up at Max from time to time with the perpetual smile goldens always wear. “It won’t be long now, girl,” he told her. “Our place will be puppy central.” Fortunately, a number of Molly’s future offspring were already spoken for. Then she was off to the vet to make sure this didn’t happen again.
He passed the Eldo and thought of Casey. Who was he kidding? He’d thought of little else since he’d left her last night. She definitely wasn’t the party girl or outdoorsy-type the town usually attracted. He was trying to figure out exactly how she’d ended up in C.B. When he’d spotted her at the bar last night, she’d had a desperate look in her eyes. The look of someone who was involved in something she wasn’t quite sure of.
Which set off more than a few warning bells in his head. He’d had his share of dealings with confused women before—women who wanted him to straighten out their lives for them. Or, worse, ones who thought his life needed straightening.
He reached the post office and gathered the mail. After discarding a stack of junk mail and flyers, he was left with a snowboarding magazine, two bills and two letters addressed to Casey.
That was fast, he thought. After all, she’d only arrived yesterday. But he supposed she’d given out the address as soon as she’d leased the apartment and the letters had been mailed before she even left Chicago.
He studied the return addresses. One was from Mr. and Mrs. Charles Jernigan. Her parents?
The other was from a Paul Rittinghouse. Max frowned. Brother? Cousin?
Boyfriend?
His jaw tightened at the thought and he shoved the letters into his pocket. On one hand, why should it surprise him that a woman like Casey would have a boyfriend? She was pretty and smart with a nice personality.
On the other hand, if she did have a steady boyfriend, why would she move so far away from him?
Another mystery to add to the growing list about Casey. She was a city girl who wasn’t particularly interested in skiing or snowboarding or any of the other activities that led people to abandon all and move to the mountains. She obviously had been uncomfortable as the center of attention last night, but at the same time she wasn’t painfully shy or socially inept.
No doubt about it, Casey intrigued him. She might be too complicated for girlfriend material, but there wasn’t anything wrong with getting to know her better.
Strictly as a friend.
CASEY TOLD HERSELF she shouldn’t be surprised when she walked into work Monday morning and the first person she saw was a woman wearing a red feather boa and carrying a sequined toilet plunger. Less than twenty-four hours in Crested Butte had taught her that this was a place where she should expect the unexpected.
She was thrown a little off guard, however, when the woman in the boa introduced herself as Heather Allison—Casey’s new boss. “I’m so glad to see you,” Heather said after they’d exchanged introductions. “We have so much to do and I’m positively thrilled to have some help.”
“I’m happy to be here,” Casey said, trying not to stare at the rest of Heather’s outfit, which included a purple velvet cape and a crown cut from aluminum beer cans.
“Hold this a minute and I’ll get the employment paperwork you need to fill out,” Heather said, handing Casey the plunger. She went to a large wooden desk and began rifling through piles of paper on the top. “I know I put them somewhere….” She tossed aside a yellow rubber duck, a pair of maracas and strings of Mardi Gras beads. “Aha. Here they are.” She waved a sheaf of papers.
Casey could contain herself no longer. “What’s with the plunger?” she asked. “And the crown?”
Heather laughed. “You’ve arrived just in time for Flauschink—our annual end-of-ski-season festival.”
“Flauschink?” Casey tried out the odd-sounding word.
“Literally, flushing, as in flushing out winter. Hence the plunger.”
“So everyone carries these around for the festival?” Casey eyed the sequined toilet accessory.
“Not everyone. Only the king and queen. I was trying out this year’s queen’s costume when you walked in.” Heather plucked the crown off her head and placed it on Casey’s. “I think the costume committee outdid themselves this year.”
Casey watched while Heather divested herself of the royal robes. Underneath the purple velvet she wore a sensible black pantsuit. “When is Flauschink and what happens during the festival?” Casey asked.
“It’s next weekend. Closing weekend for the ski resort and the last gasp for winter tourists. As for what happens, here’s a schedule.” She thrust a flyer at Casey.
Casey read down the list of activities, eyes widening. “Polka ball, crowning of king and queen, ski race, parade, concert…” She looked up. “That’s a lot to plan for.”
“So you see why I’m so glad you’re here.” She took the plunger and crown and stowed them in an empty file drawer. “You can fill out that paperwork later. Right now you would save my life if you could call this list of bands and confirm they’re going to be here to play next weekend. I’ve found it pays to follow up. You know musicians.”
Casey was happy to take a seat at the desk and get to work. Work felt normal—something she hadn’t experienced much of since leaving Chicago.
After Casey confirmed with all the musicians, Heather asked her to proof some ads for the summer Wildflower Festival. “It’s our biggest draw of the year,” Heather explained. “So we do a huge advertising push in newspapers and magazines.”
“So after Flauschink, we start getting ready for the Wildflower Festival?”
“Oh, before the Wildflower Festival we have Poo Fest and Bike Week, then the Wildflower Festival, the Arts and Film Festival and Vinotok—the fall festival.” Heather ticked the events off on her fingers. “Then it’s time for ski season and all the winter activities—which are too many to name right now.”
“Poo fest?” Casey asked. “You mean shampoo?”
“No. Dog poo. The snow melts and all the trails and sidewalks need to be cleaned up. A few years ago someone came up with the idea for the Poo Fest. There are games and prizes for the person or team that picks up the most pounds of poo.”
“You’re kidding.” This had to be another attempt to pull one over on the new gal.
Heather shook her head. “I swear I’m not. It’s a lot of fun. And a great way to get everyone to pitch in to clean up.”
Casey shook her head. Was there anything folks here wouldn’t celebrate?
Mid-morning, the men began showing up.
First was a young man with bright red hair. He came in clutching a brown paper bag. “Is Casey here?” he asked, looking past Heather toward Casey’s desk in the back.
“Wanted to be the first, did you, Jerry?” Heather said.
Jerry’s cheeks matched his hair. He moved past Heather to Casey’s desk and set the bag on top. “Hi, I’m Jerry,” he said. “Welcome to Crested Butte.”
“Uh, hi, Jerry.” Casey eyed him warily.
“I brought you sort of a welcome gift,” he said, nodding to the bag.
“Thanks.” She studied the plain brown bag. “Um, what is it?”
“Moose poop.”
“Okay.” Another joke on the newcomer? How was she supposed to take this?
She sent a frantic look at Heather, who marched over and snatched up the bag. “No wonder you’re still single, you dolt,” Heather said. She opened the bag and fished out a round brown patty and bit into it.
“Don’t worry,” she said in answer to Casey’s horrified look. “It’s chocolate. A local specialty.” She offered the bag to Casey. “Try one. They’re delicious.”
Casey fished out a smaller patty and sampled it. “It is good!” she said, relieved. Belatedly, she remembered the man who’d given her this gift and offered him a smile. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and took a step back. “Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”
Jerry was scarcely out the door before a burly man with a black beard walked in. He marched up to the women and offered his hand. “Bill Whitmore,” he said. “Welcome to C.B.”
“Hi, Bill,” Casey said.
“I thought you might like to have lunch,” Bill said.
Casey glanced at the clock. “It’s only 10:30.”
