Marriage on Her Mind

“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.

Chapter Two

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.”

Bryan grinned. “It’s already happening.”

“What’s happening?” Casey asked.

“I told you a single woman in this town was big news,” Trish said. “Now that you’ve been noticed, you’d better be prepared.”

“Prepared for what?”

But Trish didn’t have time to answer, as a waitress staggered toward them with a tray loaded with drinks. She set the tray down heavily in front of Casey. “These are for you,” she said.

“For me?” Casey stared, dumbfounded, at the half a dozen glasses—everything from bottled beer to a margarita to some drink that featured a number of cherries and a frilly pink paper umbrella. “I couldn’t drink all this. I’d be ill.”

“We’ll help.” Zephyr plucked a bottle of beer from the tray.