Cindi Myers - Marriage on Her Mind

Trish laughed. “It can be pretty interesting. Have you met your landlord yet?”

The question caught Casey off guard. They must have seen her go into the snowboard shop. “Max? Yeah. He helped me move my things upstairs.” Though judging by how much everyone already knew about her, she’d bet they knew that, too.

“Be careful around him, girl,” Trish said. “Mad Max is the original party boy. Lots of fun, but he’s broken a lot of hearts.”

Her own heart beat a little faster, remembering Max’s killer smile. “Mad Max?”

“Long story.” Trish’s grin widened. “Nothing to worry about, though. He’s a great guy. Just don’t make any plans to take him home and show him off to the folks.”

The idea almost made Casey laugh. Any man who didn’t wear a designer suit and come with a mile-long pedigree was unlikely to meet with her parents’ approval. That was only one of the reasons she was glad to be so far away from home. As for Max, well, if she were in the market for a boyfriend, she would definitely find him tempting.

She eyed Trish a little more closely. With her long blond hair, blue eyes and high cheekbones, Trish looked like a Scandinavian princess. The kind of woman who’d get a second look from any man. “Do you speak from experience?” she asked.

Trish laughed again. “Nah. I already had a boyfriend when I came here. But I know the type. Ski towns are full of them.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Zephyr said. “She thinks all men are scum.”

“Not all of them,” Trish said. “But let’s face it, most men come to a ski town because they’d rather play than work.”

“Then why do most women come here?” Bryan asked.

“Maybe the same thing.” She winked at Casey.

“I’m going to go see if I can find some wood or something for the moose antlers,” Bryan said. “It was good meeting you, Casey.”

“It was nice meeting you, too,” she said. “All of you.” Her feet were freezing standing here. She stamped them and nodded toward the coffee shop. “Is the coffee any good here?”

“The best in town,” Trish said. “Come on in and I’ll pour you a cup on the house.”

“She only says that because she runs the place,” Zephyr said. But he followed the women up the steps and into a small front room that barely had space for three small tables, a combination deli case/front counter and a huge gleaming brass-and-silver espresso machine.

“What’ll you have?” Trish said, moving behind the counter.

“A mocha, please,” Casey said.

“Whipped cream?” Trish asked, already turning levers on the coffee machine.

“Of course.”

“I’ll have one of those, too,” Zephyr said.

“You have to pay,” Trish said.

He grinned. “Put it on my tab.”

Trish rolled her eyes, but pulled a second cup from the stack by the machine. “So where are you from, Casey?” she asked.

“Illinois.”

“Where in Illinois?” Zephyr asked.

“Um…Chicago.” She watched his face carefully. Would her name ring a bell?

“No kidding.” He shook his head. “Never been there.”

She relaxed a little. She didn’t know why she was worried. People out here probably didn’t care about the society pages in the Chicago paper. And she wasn’t going to care about them anymore, either. “I’m going to be working at the chamber of commerce,” she said. “But I bet you already knew that.”

“You probably think we’re nosy, but C.B. is still a small town,” Trish said. “A new person moving in is big news.”

“Especially a new, single female.” Zephyr removed the top from a glass jar of biscotti and helped himself, dodging Trish’s hand slap.

“Oh?” Casey asked. “Why is that?”

Trish’s eyes widened. “You didn’t know? I thought maybe that was one reason you came out here.”

“Know what?”

“Single men outnumber women two to one in ski towns,” Zephyr said.

“Military bases and Alaska are the only places you’re likely to find a better ratio,” Trish said. “Of course, like I said before, that depends on your definition of eligible bachelor.” She angled a look at Zephyr.

“What?” he asked, brushing crumbs from the front of his sweater. “Chicks dig musicians.”

“Tourist chicks, maybe,” Trish said. “Those of us who know you better aren’t so sure.” She handed Casey a steaming cup topped with a mound of whipped cream.

Zephyr grinned. “You only say that because you want my body.”

“Like I want cellulite and chapped lips,” Trish said.

Casey sipped her coffee and kept quiet. The drink was sweet and rich and warmed her through. But more warming still was the feeling of being accepted so quickly by these strangers. All her life she’d heard about small town residents’ views of outsiders. Maybe the locals-versus-tourists mentality in Crested Butte negated all that.

“You should stop by the Eldo tonight,” Trish said.

Casey vaguely remembered passing a bar by that name. “What’s going on at the Eldo?” she asked.

“Just the regular Sunday Night Soiree,” Zephyr said. “One last chance to party before the workweek begins.”

“All your neighbors will be there and it’ll be a good opportunity to meet them,” Trish said.

Max hadn’t been kidding when he’d said it was impossible to stay uninvolved in C.B. She half expected if she said no, people would come and drag her from her room. But honestly, everyone was so friendly she didn’t really want to refuse. And the Sunday Night Soiree didn’t sound anything like the boring social events she’d endured too often in Chicago. “Thanks,” she said. “Maybe I will.”

She was feeling better about making this move. The people she’d met so far made her feel that being a little bit different wasn’t a bad thing. Who knew, she might even find what she needed in this place to slay a few personal dragons of her own.

The Eldo was a long narrow room occupying the upper floor of a building at one end of Elk Avenue. The place was packed, every table and barstool occupied by young men and women, the crowd spilling out onto the balcony that overlooked the street. Despite the frigid temperatures, the balcony was full and patrons cheerfully called down to friends and passersby on the street below.

“Is it always like this?” Casey asked Trish as the two women squeezed past a group of pool players on their way to the table Bryan and Zephyr had saved for them. The table was near the small stage where two guitar players and a drummer played enthusiastically if not well.

“Mmm. Sometimes it’s worse.” Trish maneuvered past two men who were arm wrestling and plopped into a chair.

“I ordered us a pitcher,” Bryan said, his voice raised to be heard above the band. He grinned at Casey. “I’ll bet there aren’t many places like this in Chicago.”

“None that I’ve visited,” she said truthfully. Her mother would faint it she knew Casey was here now, drinking beer poured from a pitcher in a place she would no doubt have called a dive. Casey smiled and took a long sip of beer. The idea of unsettling her mother pleased her.

One of the arm wrestlers looked up from the struggle and spotted Casey and immediately released his hold on his competitor. He stood and came over to them. “Hi,” he said, grinning at Casey. “Wanna dance?”

She looked around at the packed bar. As far as she could tell, there wasn’t five square feet of free space anywhere. “There’s nowhere to dance,” she said.

“Sure there is.” His grin widened. “We’d just have to stand really close to each other.”

“Um, no thanks.”

“Maybe some other time, Chris.” Trish gently pushed the man away. “Casey just got here. Let her relax a little before she gets into the swing of things.”