“It’s going great,” she said.
“Hello, Hagan.” Heather’s voice was pitched two notes higher than usual. Casey turned to look at her boss and held back a grin of her own at the sight of Heather’s flushed cheeks and bright eyes. So Max wasn’t the man who made Heather’s heart race.
“Hello, Heather.” A tall blond with a soft accent nodded to the women on his way to a table on the other side of the room.
“Hi, Heather,” Max said. “How’s it going?”
“Okay.” Heather turned in her chair to look after Hagan. “You two are welcome to join us for lunch,” she said.
“Thanks, but Hagan isn’t good company today,” Max said. “He’s been unlucky in love.” He winked and moved past them.
Heather faced forward again and rested her chin in her hand, lips turned down in a pout. “I know all about unlucky in love. He’s probably just mad because some snow bunny stood him up last night.”
“Is he a skier?” Casey asked.
“Ski patrol.” Heather sighed. “You should see him in his uniform. No wonder half the women on the mountain are literally falling at his feet.”
Casey’s own record with men wasn’t stellar enough that she felt qualified to give advice to Heather. She returned her attention to her food, but all the while she was aware of a certain big man seated in the corner of the room.
She was looking forward to their promised trip up the mountain to the resort later this afternoon, but she didn’t know what to make of her obvious attraction to Max. Maybe it was merely a combination of his good looks and his willingness to help her out of a jam last night. He was a friendly guy, but she had no business reading anything more into it than that. After all, history had proved she was a lousy judge of what constituted romance.
“SO JUST HOW BIG was Mitzi’s boyfriend?” Max asked as he and Hagan stood at the front counter.
“Very big.” Hagan rubbed his jaw, which was taking on a purple tinge. “Good thing I turned or he would have broken my jaw.”
“Funny how she forgot to mention this boyfriend.”
“I suspect she was trying to make him jealous.” Hagan studied the menu and shrugged. “It happens.”
“Yeah, but games like that can get a man killed. Or at least crippled.”
“Worse, I’m out twenty dollars for the binding strap.” He scowled. “Women. Never trust them.”
“That’s what you get for dating strangers.”
“And as I said before, you are not one to be giving advice about dating.” He looked up as Patti approached. “Would you go out with him?” He pointed to Max.
Patti raised one eyebrow. “What? Is he your broker or something?”
“Ignore him,” Max said. “He took a punch to the jaw and it rattled his brains. Bring us a couple of specials.”
“Poaching on someone else’s territory, Hagan?” Patti asked.
Hagan straightened. “Why do you say that?”
Patti shook her head and began assembling their burritos.
“Why did she say that?” Hagan asked Max.
“You have a reputation, dude.”
“Hmmph. At least they don’t call me Mad Max.”
“A name I happen to like.” He frowned at his friend. He should have taken Heather up on her offer to join her and Casey for lunch. The conversation was bound to be better. He turned away. “Holler when the food gets here.”
Hagan grunted and went back to brooding. Max walked over to Heather and Casey’s table and took a seat. “What’s new at the chamber of commerce?” he asked.
“Casey got the full treatment this morning,” Heather said. “Jerry Rydell brought her moose poop and Bill Whitmore asked her to lunch.”
“Isn’t Bill dating Marcy over at the library?” Max asked.
Heather shrugged. “Guess he’s keeping his options open.”
Max grinned at Casey. “I’m sure you made a good impression on all of them.” He ignored the pinch in his gut that might be jealousy. After all, he’d been the first to welcome her to town, and living across the hall from her, it was only natural he’d feel a little territorial.
“I don’t want to make an impression on any of them.” Casey shifted in her chair. “I’m sure they’re very nice guys, but I didn’t come to town on some kind of man hunt.”
“Enjoy it while you can,” Heather said. “After you’ve been here a while you’ll be just another local like me. Yesterday’s news.”
“Did she tell you a bunch of lifties serenaded her last night?” Max grinned.
“No!” Heather laughed. “I’ll bet that was a riot.”
“Sounded like a bunch of raccoons fighting over leftovers,” Max said.
Casey joined in the laughter. “It was pretty terrible,” she said. “Max ended up rescuing me and taking me home.”
“Any woman who drives halfway across the country by herself with only a houseplant for company doesn’t need rescuing,” he said. “I figured you were worn out from your trip and didn’t need the hassle of dealing with those guys anymore.”
He’d been standing by the bar, making fun of the singing when he’d locked eyes with her across the room. She’d looked exhausted and more than a little lost in the midst of the raucous crowd. What man wouldn’t have stepped in to help her?
“Well, I appreciate it, anyway,” Casey said. She rearranged her silverware, avoiding his eyes. Which was a real shame. She had beautiful eyes. The gray of a stormy sky.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the letters that had come for her this morning. “These were in the mail for you,” he said.
She took the letters, frowning when she read the address on the first one—the one from Mr. and Mrs. Charles Jernigan. When she got to the one from Paul Rittinghouse she positively glowered. “You don’t look too thrilled with mail from home,” he said.
She glanced up at him, her cheeks flushed, then folded the envelopes in half and stuffed them into her pocket. “I’m surprised, that’s all. I mean, I just got here.”
“They must have been mailed before you left,” he said.
“You’re probably right.” Her expression brightened, but he had the impression the look was forced. “Heather has been telling me about the Flauschink Polka Ball,” she said.
“I was explaining to her she needs to come up with a costume,” Heather said.
“And I’ve been trying to explain to her I’m not really much for fancy parties,” she said. She’d attended enough overdone celebrations in Chicago to last a lifetime.
“I wouldn’t call the Polka Ball fancy,” Max said. “It’s mostly just fun.”
“Your costume will have to be something simple,” Heather said. “We’ve only got a week. And I don’t think anything in my closet will fit her.”
“What about that ball gown or whatever it is in your closet?” Max asked. The thing had taken up half her car, like one of those hoop-skirted costumes from Gone with the Wind or something.
“No.” She shook her head, her cheeks a deep pink. “That wouldn’t be appropriate at all.”
Heather gave Max a questioning look.