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.
Trish picked up the pink umbrella drink and grinned. “Everyone just wants to make you feel welcome.”
Casey nodded and took another sip from the glass of beer she’d already started. “I don’t know what to say. It’s a little…overwhelming.” Coming to town, she had had a vague idea that because no one here knew her or her family, she would be able to fade into the background. Her past experiences being the center of attention had made her wary of the spotlight.
“Enjoy it while you can,” Trish said. “Pretty soon you’ll be just another local and no one will look at you twice.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Bryan said thoughtfully.
Trish elbowed him and he gave her a mock-wounded look. But Casey’s attention was quickly distracted by a trio of men in ski-patroller uniforms who were headed her way. “Hello,” they chorused.
Casey blinked, sure she’d fallen asleep and been sucked into a bizarre dream. “You’re Casey, aren’t you?” one of the men—a sunburned guy with thinning brown hair—said.
She nodded. “And you are?”
“I’m Mike. This is Scott and Eric.”
She nodded. “Nice to meet you, I’m sure.”
The three found chairs from somewhere and pulled them up to the table with the arm wrestlers. Soon Casey was peppered with questions about where she was from, what brought her to Crested Butte, did she want to have dinner, dance, have a drink, go hiking, skiing, biking, skating, et cetera, et cetera.
She felt dizzy and dazed and after a while stopped answering them, letting Trish fill in the details she knew. More drinks arrived at the table. More people crowded around them. The band stopped playing and they joined the group around the table also. At some point someone turned on a stereo or jukebox and the three ski patrollers took it upon themselves to serenade Casey with a very bad rendition of the Grateful Dead’s “Casey Jones.” She didn’t quite get the connection, but then, nothing about this town really made sense.
About that time she looked up and saw Max watching her from across the room. She was so grateful to see a familiar face—and one that didn’t seem determined to impress her, woo her or find out everything about her—that she could have wept.
His eyes locked on hers and he frowned, then started toward her. He waded through the crush of people, easily shoving aside chairs and stepping over the tangle of outstretched legs and feet. “Are you guys trying to drive Casey out of town her first day here?” he asked the three ski patrollers.
“We were just providing a little entertainment now that the band was done,” one of the men—Eric?—said.
Max shook his head. “From what I heard, there wasn’t anything entertaining about it.” He offered Casey his hand. “If you’re ready to leave, I’ll walk you home.”
A chorus of groans and catcalls greeted this offer, rising in crescendo when Casey let him pull her out of her chair. “It was nice meeting all of you,” she said. “But I really am exhausted.”
