Cindi Myers - Marriage on Her Mind

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.

“And you’ve already worked your way through all of them.” Hagan punched his shoulder. “My way is better. At least until some new women move to town.”

“As a matter of fact, someone new has moved to town. She’s rented the empty apartment upstairs.”

Hagan looked at the ceiling. “Convenient. What’s she like?”

“Kind of quiet. But nice.”

“Pretty?”

Max nodded. “As soon as word gets around, there’ll be a line at her door.”

“And you will be first in line, living right across the hall.”

Max grinned. “I do have something of an advantage.” Although he’d be careful: everything about Casey, from her expensive clothes to her stylish haircut, screamed money and class. In his experience that kind of woman expected a lot from a man.

“Only because I’m excusing myself from that particular competition,” Hagan said.

“Yeah—like she’d be interested in a homely guy like you.” Max shook his head. “Besides, it’s not a competition. I figure, what happens, happens. The point is to go with the flow and have fun.” Casey Jernigan might be fun to get to know. If not…well, there were always other women. No need to limit himself unnecessarily.

Hagan laughed. “Good luck to you, my friend.” He pocketed the binding strap. “Thanks for fixing me up with this. Mitzi will appreciate it.”

“Mitzi? Is she a woman or a poodle?”

Hagan delivered a one-fingered salute and exited, the sleigh bells on the door jangling wildly behind him.

Max checked the display of snowboard bindings and made a note to order more. He could hear Casey moving around upstairs. His new tenant was attractive. And though she looked like a city girl, the fact that she’d chosen to move to C.B. said she was up for an adventure.

The thought made him grin. Everyone headed out on an adventure could use a guide. And he just happened to be uniquely qualified to help.

AS CASEY UNPACKED, she couldn’t help stopping to look out the windows. In addition to the historic outhouse, she had a view of the chiseled mountain the chamber literature had identified as Red Lady. The snow-covered peak took on a crimson glow in the setting sun. The image was almost too beautiful to be real.

She still couldn’t believe she was here. Even finding the ad for the job opening had been a sheer stroke of luck. Desperate to get out of Chicago, she’d immediately faxed her résumé, and had been more relieved than overjoyed when she’d gotten the job offer.

So here she was. Tomorrow she’d start work, but until then, she was at a loss for what to do. She picked up the remote control and glanced at the TV, then shook her head. No hiding in her room today. She’d get out and explore her new town. At least she could figure out where to report to work in the morning.

The sunlight was fading fast, and with it the warmth it had brought. Casey zipped her parka to the top and pulled her knit cap lower over her ears, then set off down the sidewalk. She passed a T-shirt shop, an art gallery, half a dozen real-estate offices, several restaurants and a bar, each housed in narrow wooden buildings painted ice-cream pastels.

At the end of the street sat the transit station. A bus painted with bright wildflowers idled by the door. Men, women and children, most dressed in ski clothes, exited the bus and poured into the street, laughing and joking. Vacationers? Or locals lucky enough to live where life was like a vacation every day?

She came to an ice-cream parlor and stopped to pat a shaggy brown-and-white dog waiting patiently out front. Crested Butte was definitely a dog lover’s town. Dogs looked out of windows and greeted her from backyards, and half the cars that passed seemed to have four-legged passengers.

A coffee shop beckoned on the corner and Casey quickened her step. A steaming mocha sounded good right now. But her steps slowed as she reached the walkway leading up to the shop. Two men in snowboarding pants, parkas and knit caps were building a moose snow sculpture in the space between the building’s front porch and the sidewalk. “What do you think?” one of them asked her. Blond dreadlocks stuck out from beneath his bright green hat. “Are the antlers too small?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never seen a real moose.”

“They’re too small.” His friend, wearing a red cap over his black hair, frowned at the sculpture. “But we’re having a hard time getting them big enough without them falling off.”

“Maybe you could use a stick or something as a kind of framework,” Casey suggested.

The blonde slapped his friend on the back. “Why didn’t you think of that?”

“Why didn’t you think of it?” the other man asked.

“Because you’re supposed to be the brains of this outfit.” He grinned at Casey. “I’m the beauty.”

“I’m sure you’ve both impressed her with your looks and intelligence.” A woman wearing a bright-pink ski jacket came out of the building and walked down the steps to meet Casey. “I’m Trish Sanders,” she said, offering her hand.

“Casey Jernigan. I just moved to town.”

“We saw your car pass by a little while ago,” the man in the red cap said. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Bryan Perry and my friend here is Zephyr.”

She shook hands with both men. “Zephyr?” she asked.

“I’m a musician,” Zephyr said, as if that explained everything.

“Welcome to C.B.,” Trish said. “What brings you here? Are you into skiing or boarding?”

“Not really. It sounded like an interesting place.” Did that strike them as a pretty flimsy reason to move halfway across the country? She pushed the thought away. She’d vowed to leave worrying about what others thought of her behind in Chicago. But lifelong habits were harder to shake than she’d anticipated.

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?”