The Man Most Likely

Zephyr’s smile vanished. “Maybe not, then.” He brightened once more. “But hey, you and someone from the theater should come on my show and talk it up.”

Bryan knew his boss would like that. Nothing made Carl happier than publicity for the hotel. “All right. I’ll ask Angela when she’s available.”

They glided off the lift and stopped to adjust their bindings. “Who is Angela?” Zephyr asked.

“Angela Krizova. She owns the Chocolate Moose.” But apparently making chocolate wasn’t her only talent. He still couldn’t get over her transformation onstage last night. “She’s coordinating the fund-raiser.”

“Cool.” Zephyr straightened and unzipped his parka partway. “Maybe she can make some chocolate recipes on the show or something.”

Bryan laughed. “You want her to cook?”

“Why not? Food sells. So does sex, but you can’t do that on TV—at least not on my show.”

The thought of Angela and sex sent a jolt through him. There was a definite sensuality about her, something Bryan was aware of every time he was with her. His attraction to her was unsettling. He’d never pictured himself with a woman who probably weighed more than he did, but when he’d been with Angela last night, he hadn’t thought about her size—except to notice the soft roundness of her hips or generous curves of her breasts. He shook his head, trying to clear it.

“This weekend I’m broadcasting live coverage of the Al Johnson Memorial Race,” Zephyr said.

“Oh, yeah? What are you going to do? Show footage of all the crazy costumes and stuff?”

“That, and I’ll interview some of the entrants. But first I put together a short film about Al Johnson.” Al had been an early mail carrier in Crested Butte, one who lived up to the old saying about neither rain nor sleet nor gloom of night preventing the mail getting through. Al delivered the mail on skis, over mountain passes, sometimes in blizzard conditions. “I got Hagan to dress up in old-fashioned gear with a big mailbag we borrowed from the museum and I filmed the whole thing in black-and-white,” Zephyr said.

“Hagan is probably the only one who could ski on those big, old wooden skis,” Bryan said. Hagan Ansdar, a Crested Butte ski patroller originally from Norway, had won the race two years previously, skiing with conventional telemark gear, but dressed in a ratty raccoon coat someone had unearthed from a basement.

“He’s working this year, so he said this was as close as he could get to participating,” Zephyr said. “Maddie will be there, too, on call as an EMT.”

Maddie and Hagan’s wedding had been the third one Bryan had attended this past summer—the one that had turned his thoughts toward settling down. If a former playboy and ski bum like Hagan could find happiness with marriage and starting his own computer software company, then why couldn’t Bryan make similar big changes in his life?

They headed down the run, bombing through drifts of powder, carving wide turns on the steeps. They let out loud whoops as they raced each other through a stand of trees, then skidded into the lift line, red faced from the cold and grinning ear to ear.

“Magic!” Zephyr said, exchanging high fives with his friend. “I’ve missed being out here with you, dude.”

“This is great,” Bryan agreed. They inched their way to the head of the line and flashed their passes for the liftie.

On the chair once more, Zephyr said, “Rhiannon was asking about you last night. That Rachel chick from the hotel said she’d tried to talk you into coming with her, but you turned her down.”

“I told you, I had to go to the theater group.”

“Trying to score points with the boss, huh?” Zephyr shook his head. “Better you than me. I couldn’t handle that corporate BS.”

“It’s not so bad,” Bryan said. “I enjoy the work, most of the time. And this is just a stepping stone. One day I want to open my own hotel. A smaller, boutique place where I can do things the way I want. Right now I’m paying my dues.” And he had a lot of dues to pay. At twenty-eight, he had a long way to go to catch up with guys who’d gone straight to work out of college. He didn’t want to be an old man before he realized his dream, so he had to work extra hard and move up the ladder quickly.

“I told everybody you hadn’t really sold out to the man,” Zephyr said. “I told them this was all part of a plan.”

“Who thinks I sold out?” Bryan asked.

“Oh, you know.” Zephyr waved one hand. “Just some people shooting off their mouths. It doesn’t matter.”

But it did matter to Bryan. It annoyed him—and yeah, it hurt some, too—that his friends had so little faith in him.

“So, who all did you meet last night?” Zephyr asked. “Anybody interesting? That new director of theirs, Tanya Bledso, is pretty hot.”

“How do you know about Tanya?”

“Dude, I know everything that goes on in this town. I’m plugged in, you know. So, did you meet Tanya?”

“She was there.”

“And she’s really hot, right?”

“She’s okay.”

Zephyr grabbed Bryan’s wrist and made a show of looking at his own watch.

Bryan jerked away. “What are you doing?”

“Checking your pulse. If you think Tanya is just okay, I’m worried those corporate types have turned you into a zombie.”

“Just because I’m not panting after every pretty chick I see doesn’t mean I’m a zombie.”

“Then what does it mean?”

“Maybe it means I want more out of a relationship than the surface stuff. And don’t make any smart remarks about corporate brainwashing or anything.”

“Why do you think I’d do that?” Zephyr looked offended. “I’d say it’s about time you realized there was more to women than good looks and sex. Not that you can’t have all that and a connection on a deeper level. Look at me and Trish.”

Bryan was glad to shift the focus of the conversation away from himself. “I’m still trying to figure out what she sees in you,” he said.

“Haven’t you heard opposites attract? We balance each other out. I help her loosen up and she brings out my intellectual side.”

“I didn’t know you had an intellectual side.”

Zephyr punched Bryan’s arm, and Bryan punched him back. Just like old times.

“Seriously, what are you looking for in the perfect woman?” Zephyr asked as they unloaded from the lift again. “Maybe I can help you find her.”

Bryan started to make some remark about not needing Zephyr as a matchmaker, but stopped. The truth was, Zephyr did know almost everyone in town, and he was a more astute judge of character than people gave him credit for. “I’m looking for a woman who’ll take me seriously,” he said. “Someone who can see beyond my partying past.”

“I dig it. You want a chick who sees you’re more than just a pretty face and a good time.”

“Something like that.” And maybe he wanted a woman who had more going for her than looks alone. Not that he thought beautiful women were shallow. He knew plenty of smart, savvy and sexy chicks. But so far he hadn’t made a real connection with any of them.

“I’ll have to think on this awhile,” Zephyr said. “Somewhere there has got to be the perfect woman for you.”

“Thanks, but I’d as soon find her on my own.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t keep my eyes open to help you out. After all, sometimes our friends know us better than we know ourselves.”

If that was true, Bryan thought, then he was in trouble. His friends apparently saw him as either a sellout or a slacker. Neither was a very flattering picture.