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.”

She followed Max through the crowd to the door. They didn’t speak until they’d descended to street level. It was snowing, tiny flakes gently drifting down like powdered sugar shaken from a jar. The chill night air hit like a slap in the face, reviving her. She drew her parka more tightly around her and gave Max a grateful look. “Thanks for coming to my rescue,” she said.

He nodded. “You looked a little overwhelmed in there.”

“It was all a little…much.” They began walking slowly down the deserted sidewalk, sidestepping patches of ice.

“Take it as a compliment,” he said. “Everyone wants to welcome you to town.”

“I guess I hadn’t expected my arrival to be such a big deal.”

“Hey, it’s not like it’s the end of the world.” He patted her shoulder. His hand was heavy, comforting. She tried to ignore the tickle of desire that fluttered in her stomach at his touch. Max was only being friendly.

Right, the warning voice in her head—which might have been her conscience—said. And grizzly bears only want to be friendly, too. No danger there at all.

She forced a smile to her face and a lightness to her voice. “I’m sure everyone will get tired of me soon enough.”

“I guess this is a big change for you, being from a big city and all,” Max said. “It’s a lot easier to be anonymous there.”

She laughed at the irony of his words. As the daughter of the mayor’s chief aide, she’d never felt particularly anonymous. From the time she could toddle, her parents had been hauling her to campaign rallies, charitable balls and other prominent social functions. Her picture had appeared in countless editions of Chicago papers, usually in the society column. Her mother dutifully saved each one, delighting in the fact that her daughter was so popular. For a time, Casey had enjoyed it herself, but after a while the constant scrutiny had chafed. The older she got, the more the public seemed to expect from her, until she began to feel her life wasn’t her own.

Which was partly why she was in Crested Butte. As much of a cliché as it was, she’d come here to find herself. To rediscover the Casey she’d lost somewhere along the way.

“What’s so funny?” Max asked.

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Nothing at all.” She tilted her head up and let the snowflakes kiss her cheeks. Away from the din of the Eldo, the street was silent except for the crunch of their feet on the fresh snow. She felt more at peace than she had in months.

“What are your plans for tomorrow?”

Max’s question startled her out of her reverie. She glanced at him, curious but cautious. “I start work tomorrow. Then…I don’t know. I thought I might buy groceries.” She shrugged. “Nothing exciting.”

“After work, why don’t you let me show you around.” He wasn’t looking at her, but off to one side, his voice deliberately casual.

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

He shook his head. “A date? No.”

“No?” She couldn’t keep a note of disappointment from her voice.

“No. A date would be dinner or a movie or something like that. I just thought—if you’re going to be working for the chamber of commerce, you need to know the area, so you can direct tourists and stuff. I need to run up to the resort sometime tomorrow to trade out some stock with a snowboard shop up there. I thought you could ride with me and check things out.” He shrugged. “Just as a friend.”

That certainly sounded nonthreatening enough. “Okay. That sounds good.”

“Good. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

She was surprised to find they were already at the foot of the steps leading up to the apartments. “Are you coming up?” she asked.

“No. I think I’ll go back to the Eldo for a while.”

“Thanks again for everything,” she said.

“Sure. No problem.” He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and took a step back. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

She climbed the steps, but stopped on the landing outside the door to look back. Max was striding away from her down the street, his shoulders hunched against the cold. He made a romantic figure, snow falling around him.

Of course, when he’d left her at her door to go back to the bar it hadn’t been terribly romantic, but then, what did she expect from a man whose nickname was Mad Max?

Not that she was interested in romance, anyway. She’d come here looking for a change. A chance to figure out what she wanted to do with her life. Romance, she knew from experience, could mess things up.

Max had offered to be her friend; the prospect intrigued her. A woman starting over needed new friends and what woman wouldn’t want a good-looking man like Max on her side?

BEFORE OPENING THE SHOP Monday morning, Max and Molly walked to the post office to collect the mail. Normally, Molly would have run and played in the fresh snow, but at the moment she was too pregnant to do much but plod along, looking up at Max from time to time with the perpetual smile goldens always wear. “It won’t be long now, girl,” he told her. “Our place will be puppy central.” Fortunately, a number of Molly’s future offspring were already spoken for. Then she was off to the vet to make sure this didn’t happen again.

He passed the Eldo and thought of Casey. Who was he kidding? He’d thought of little else since he’d left her last night. She definitely wasn’t the party girl or outdoorsy-type the town usually attracted. He was trying to figure out exactly how she’d ended up in C.B. When he’d spotted her at the bar last night, she’d had a desperate look in her eyes. The look of someone who was involved in something she wasn’t quite sure of.

Which set off more than a few warning bells in his head. He’d had his share of dealings with confused women before—women who wanted him to straighten out their lives for them. Or, worse, ones who thought his life needed straightening.

He reached the post office and gathered the mail. After discarding a stack of junk mail and flyers, he was left with a snowboarding magazine, two bills and two letters addressed to Casey.