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
