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“Maybe I’ll wear what I have on and go as a normal person,” Casey said. “I can wear a sign around my neck that says Endangered Species.”
Max laughed. “That’s pretty good. But the whole point is to shake you out of normal person mode. It’ll be good for you.” She obviously had a sense of humor, but there was a certain tension about her, as if she were always reining herself in.
“Do you have a red dress?” Heather asked.
“Not entirely red, no. Why?”
“Does it have some red in it?”
She nodded. “But why do you want to know?”
Heather turned to Max. “I’ve got red heels and red fishnet hose she can borrow. And my red feather boa. She can go as Miss Scarlet.”
“Miss Scarlet?”
“From the board game Clue. Ben Romney came last year as Colonel Mustard and we all said it was a shame we didn’t have a Miss Scarlet, too.”
“What are you coming to the party as?” Casey asked Max.
He grinned. “You’ll have to show up and find out.”
“Last year he was Mr. Disco, in orange bell-bottoms and a rainbow Afro.” Heather laughed. “Add a clown nose and big shoes and you could use the same outfit as a clown costume.”
“I promise you will be astounded and amazed by my costume this year,” Max said. He’d outdone himself, if he did say so.
“Your food’s getting cold,” Hagan called.
“We have to get back to work, anyway.” Heather stood and Casey rose also.
“See you later, neighbor,” Max said.
The smile she gave him made him warm clear-through, setting off warning bells in his brain. He did his best to ignore them. He and Casey would be friends, that’s all. He didn’t have any intention of taking things any further. Why ruin a good friendship with something as messy as romance?
THAT AFTERNOON, Casey waited until Heather was involved in a lengthy phone call before she slipped the letters out of her pocket. She opened the one from her parents first, already pretty sure of what it would say.
As she’d expected, the letter in turns scolded her for being so foolish and irresponsible, pleaded with her to come to her senses and return home and reminded her how disappointed they were that she had embarrassed them so in front of all their friends.
Of course, that was what was most important, wasn’t it? The impression she gave to all their friends. Never mind what she might be feeling. What she might want. Over the years she’d tried in various ways to tell her parents that she didn’t want the kind of public acclaim and popularity they craved, but she could never make them understand.
And worse, they’d almost succeeded in convincing her that she was wrong, that of course she was supposed to lead the kind of life they’d planned out for her—the good marriage to a prominent member of society, the memberships in the Junior League, the League of Women Voters, the Chicago Art Project, et cetera, the house in Madison Park or the Gold Coast and a vacation home on Martha’s Vineyard. Shopping at all the right stores, eating at all the right restaurants, knowing all the right people.
She’d almost believed them. Until the morning she woke up in a panic and realized that if she didn’t do something soon—something drastic—she’d be trapped forever in a life she’d never wanted.
She glanced over and saw that Heather was still on the phone. She dropped the letter from her parents, along with the envelope, into the shredder and watched with relief as the missive was reduced to paper ribbons.
But when she looked at the second letter, her relief vanished, replaced by sheer dread. Why had Paul written her? Obviously, her parents had given him her address here. Possibly they’d even encouraged him to try to talk some sense into her. Because, of course, anything she did that went against their wishes was senseless.
She stared at the envelope, at the neat, clipped handwriting. As upright and proper as the man himself.
Not that there was anything wrong with Paul, she reminded herself. He was a perfectly nice man. Good-looking. Rich. The perfect boyfriend.
Except he hadn’t been perfect for her and she couldn’t make anyone believe that. Not even, apparently, Paul.
She sat there, hand poised to tear open the envelope. But really, what could he say that she wanted to hear? He wasn’t going to make her think differently. He wasn’t going to make her go back.
Quickly, before she changed her mind, she leaned over and fed the letter, unopened, to the shredder.
Then she sat back with a sigh of relief, feeling as if she’d narrowly avoided a collision with a Mack truck.
Oddly enough, it was the same feeling she’d had when she’d made the decision to come here to Crested Butte. Everyone else thought she was crazy, but right now this was better than any sanity she’d previously known.
WHEN SHE AND MAX MET UP later that afternoon, Casey was surprised to learn they were taking the bus up to Crested Butte Mountain resort. “I’d have to dig out my Jeep to use it,” Max said, carrying a box full of miscellaneous snowboard parts to the bus stop in front of the chamber building. “Besides, the bus is free—the tourist tax dollars at work.”
Casey wasn’t about to admit she’d never taken public transportation before, much less something like this funky painted bus full of tourists. As the aide to the mayor, her father supported public transportation, though he didn’t feel that required him or his family to use it. Casey had traveled by private car, taxi or even limousine service.
“The bus is a great idea,” she said, as she followed him into the vehicle. This one was decorated with a scene of the mountains in summer, covered in wildflowers. She settled onto the seat beside Max and looked around at their fellow passengers: a mom and dad and their three children bundled up in ski jackets and knit caps, a group of teenagers similarly dressed, a young couple holding hands and an older man dressed in a chef’s uniform, obviously on his way to work at one of the resort hotels.
The bus pulled away from the stop and Casey turned her attention to Max. “Where are you taking the box?”
“George Taylor’s, right at the base of the lifts. I didn’t need this stuff and they did, so rather than me send it back and them ordering more, we’re doing a trade.”
“So you have a good relationship with your competition.”
He gave her a duh look. “Pretty much all the business owners up here get along. No reason not to. There’s room for all of us.”
In fifteen minutes the bus dropped them off in front of a soaring wood-and-steel building. “New condos,” Max said. “They sell out as fast as they can build them, so they keep building more.”
Casey turned to take in the tall buildings that rose on all sides. “It certainly looks different here than it does in town,” she said. Rough-hewn stone, oversize timbers and artful use of rusted metal gave the buildings the feel of a Bavarian village—a very tall, very modern Bavarian village. Groups of smiling people, some carrying skis or snowboards, all bundled in colorful parkas, made their way along the walkways between the buildings and the rows of shops that sold ski equipment, clothing and souvenirs.
“The resort is really growing,” Max said as they started up the sidewalk. “The condos have changed the look of the mountain, but that’s progress. The tourists pay the bills and at least we’ve kept it confined to the mountain.”
They came to an icy stretch of pavement and Max took her arm. The chivalrous gesture—or maybe it was the masculine strength of the hand supporting her—sent a pleasant warmth through her. “Thanks,” she said.
“Sure.” She half hoped he’d keep hold of her, but as soon as they were clear of the ice, he released her.
Past the condos, they could see the slopes, the ski lift silent, empty chairs swinging in the cold wind. “Do you ski or snowboard?” Max asked.
“I’ve skied some, on vacations with my parents or friends.” But those trips had really been more about wearing the right fashions and making the right connections than the actual skiing.
“Now that you’re living here, you’ll have the chance to get really good if you want,” he said.
She glanced at him. “Are you really good?”
“I do all right. I have to test out the equipment to sell it, you know.”
They entered the snowboard shop. After the night chill, the interior of the shop felt almost too warm. A young woman in a pink baby-doll T-shirt layered over a white thermal underwear top waved at them. “Hey, Max. George is in the back.”
A bearded young man in a leather apron hailed them from the back of the shop. “Hey, Max.” He took the box from him. “Thanks for bringing these in. Sue’s got a check for you.”
“No problem. This is Casey. She’s new in town—works at the chamber.”
“Welcome to town.” George shook hands with her, then turned back to Max. “Have you seen those new mono-skis I just got in?”
“No. Let me check them out.”
While the men talked equipment, Casey wandered to a rack of clothing and began thumbing through the jackets, pants and knit tops. She’d definitely need to add to her wardrobe of casual clothes. Most of the suits and dresses she’d brought with her were too formal even to wear to work. Even business was a more casual affair in C.B. than it had been in Chicago.
Max collected his check and Casey, then they emerged once more into the cold. A few snowflakes swirled around them. “Let’s grab a bite to eat,” Max said. “The Avalanche has good food.” He nodded to a restaurant across the way.
Casey started to ask if including dinner now made this a date, but refrained. And once they were seated in the restaurant, she had to admit this was like no date she’d ever been on. Max seemed to know everyone and it took fifteen minutes to order their meal because they were constantly interrupted by people. Everyone who stopped by learned that Casey was the new employee of the chamber of commerce. “I’m showing her around, helping her get familiar with the area,” Max said.
“Cool,” his friends said. Or “Welcome to C.B.” No knowing looks or winks were exchanged. Nothing to suggest this was anything more than two friends enjoying a meal.
But it wasn’t exactly like a meal with one of her girlfriends, either. Max ordered what she and her friends had always called “man pizzas”—pies piled with meat and every other topping available. “Is that okay with you?” he asked belatedly.
She shrugged and unfolded her napkin across her lap. “Sure.” When in Rome and all that.
Their pizza arrived and the traffic around their table died down. “Do you know how many snowboarders it takes to change a lightbulb?” Max asked between bites of pizza.
“No, how many?”
“Three. One to change the bulb, one to videotape it and one to say ‘Awesome, dude!’”
She hadn’t expected this and struggled to keep Diet Coke from coming out her nose as she laughed.
“How many ski instructors does it take to change a lightbulb?” Max continued.
She shook her head, laughing.
“Six. One to change the bulb and five others to say ‘Nice turn.’ ‘Nice turn.’ ‘Nice turn.’”
She groaned. “That’s bad.”
“One more and I promise I’ll stop.” He helped himself to another slice. “What are a snowboarder’s last words?”
She shook her head. “I can’t even guess.”
“Dude! Watch this!”
She dissolved into giggles again. It wasn’t that the jokes were so funny, but that he looked so delighted to be sharing them with her. Their eyes met and she felt the definite sizzle of attraction.
She looked away and fussed with the napkin in her lap. Now this definitely didn’t feel like any date she’d had before. None of the men she went out with acted silly or went out of their way to amuse her. And she’d never experienced this sudden shift from laughter to lust. Was it the altitude, the novelty of her surroundings or something else entirely?
They finished eating, Max consuming the lion’s share, then walked back to the bus stop. It had stopped snowing again, but the wind had picked up. The icy chill seemed to slice right through Casey’s coat. She wrapped her arms across her chest and shivered. “I can’t believe it’s this cold in April,” she said.
“Nights can be cold here into the summer,” Max said. He put his arm around her and pulled her close in a hug. “Let me warm you up.”
It was a friendly gesture, but an intimate one, too. It felt good, his strong arm encircling her, the warmth from his body radiating to hers. She raised her eyes to meet his and found him studying her intently. “What is it?” she asked.
“You’re not like most of the women I’ve met up here,” he said, his voice soft and low.
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No. I like it. I mean, I like you. You’re…your own person.” Their eyes remained locked and she wondered if he would kiss her. Part of her thought she wouldn’t be able to stand it if he didn’t—and part of her wanted to run away if he did.
But after a moment, he withdrew his arms. “Here comes the bus,” he said.
They found a seat on the bus and he avoided looking at her again. Instead, he directed his attention out the window. “There are some great trails up there,” he said, indicating a snowy forest-service road. “Good fishing in the lakes, too.”
“I don’t fish,” she said. “But I suppose some of the people who come into the chamber do. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“That paved path you can barely see is the Hike and Bike trail,” he said, indicating a trail on their left. “It goes all the way from Crested Butte up to the resort.”
“I’ll have to try it sometime.” She kept her eyes on him, but he continued to avoid her gaze. She wondered if that moment of intimacy back at the bus stop had unnerved him even more than it had unsettled her.
When they reached Crested Butte, they climbed off the bus and walked up the street in silence. Neither said anything until they were in the hallway to their apartments. “Thanks for showing me around tonight,” she said.
“Anytime.” His earlier easiness had returned. “And if you need anything in your apartment or whatever, let me know.”
“The apartment’s fine,” she said. “Very nice.”
“Good night.” He nodded and turned toward his door.
She stared after him, amusement warring with confusion. For someone Trish swore was a ladies’ man, Max certainly hadn’t made any moves tonight. He’d been exactly what she needed—a good friend.
Of course, she thought, as she unlocked her door and went inside, what she needed and what she wanted weren’t necessarily the same thing. She’d have to be careful to not let her suddenly-wide-awake libido get the better of her common sense. Better to get a handle on this new life she was creating for herself before she wandered off into the dangerous territory of a new love interest.
Though when she was ready to head off into that particular wilderness, a mountain man like Max might be the perfect guide.
Chapter Four
Casey decided that if someone combined a Halloween party with a square dance and a junior prom, the result would be the Flauschink Polka Ball. It was definitely nothing like the fancy balls she’d endured in Chicago, she thought as she and Heather joined the crush of people at the entrance to the Eldo while the oompah beat of “Roll Out the Barrel” poured from the open doors.
Heather wore a black leotard and tights, and had fastened two large white dots to her torso. “I’m a domino,” she explained. “The two-spot.”
Casey had succumbed to Heather’s badgering and dressed as Miss Scarlet, complete with a red feathered headdress, red boa, red fishnet stockings and stiletto heels, and a long black cigarette holder unearthed from the prop department of the community theater troupe. Since Casey didn’t smoke, Heather had stuck a bubble wand in the end of the holder. She’d handed Casey a plastic bottle of bubble solution. “You’ll be a hit,” she declared.
Okay, so it was kind of fun blowing bubbles over the heads of the assorted clowns, cowboys, devils, angels, snowmen and the other characters that converged inside the Eldo.
Casey had scarcely gotten her bearings when a man wearing a red long underwear top, rough canvas pants, suspenders and a bushy black beard grabbed her hand. “Let’s dance,” he said.
Casey resisted. “I don’t know how to polka,” she protested.
“Then it’s time you learned.” The man—she decided he was supposed to be a miner—swept her onto the dance floor and led her in a somewhat controlled gallop across the room.
“Who are you?” she shouted over the insistent polka beat.
“Bill Whitmore. We met at the chamber.”
