The Man Most Likely. Cindi Myers
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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.
Chapter Three
The Al Johnson Memorial Uphill Downhill Race commemorated the exploits of a pioneering mail carrier, but in typical Crested Butte fashion, it featured competitors in zany costumes, a carnival atmosphere and an excuse for locals and visitors alike to party.
While Angela wouldn’t be caught dead barreling up a six-hundred-foot incline while dressed in a large, pink bunny costume or similar outlandish garb, she was happy to volunteer her services handing out hot chocolate to race participants and fans at the base of the Silver Queen lift. From there, participants made their way to the starting point at the bottom of the North Face lift. Racers could choose to ski the entire course by themselves, but many opted to form relay teams, with one racer handling the uphill portion, the other the downhill. Keeping with the spirit of commemorating Al Johnson’s legacy, the uphill racer had to deliver a letter to his or her team member.
Other than that, anything went, and did. As she dispensed paper cups of cocoa, Angela saw teams dressed as a hot dog and a jar of mustard, Betty and Barney Rubble, twin tigers and Batman and Robin.
“Zephyr looks almost ordinary in this crowd,” said Trish Sanders, who was serving coffee next to Angela.
“Is he racing?” Angela asked. Though she’d never personally met the colorful snowboarder and rock guitarist turned talk-show host, Zephyr was the kind of person it was impossible to ignore.
“No, he’s filming for his show. Oh, there he is. With Max.” Trish pointed to where the blond-dreadlocked boarder was interviewing a burly skier who was dressed in a Colorado Avalanche hockey uniform.
Max Overbridge owned the snowboard and bicycle shop just down from the Chocolate Moose. A second man in a hockey uniform joined him. “Who’s that?” Angela asked.
“Eric Sepulveda, a ski patroller,” Trish said. “Looks like he and Max have teamed up for the race.”
“Can a thirsty volunteer get a drink here?” A petite woman with a short cap of white-blond hair approached the refreshment booths. She was accompanied by a black Labrador retriever who wore a red search-and-rescue vest.
“Casey!” Trish leaned over the table to hug the blonde, then turned to introduce Angela. “You know Casey Overbridge, right? Max’s wife?”
“I’m one of her best customers,” Casey said. She accepted a cup of hot chocolate from Angela.
“Are you and your dog working today?” Angela asked, nodding at the Lab.
“We’re on call,” Casey said. “Though I hope we don’t have to rescue anyone. Mainly Lucy and I are here as publicity for Search and Rescue.” She patted the black Lab, who grinned up at her and wagged her tail.
Casey straightened and looked past Angela. “Bryan!” she called and waved.
“Hey, Casey.”
Angela’s stomach fluttered at the sound of the familiar low voice behind her. Then Bryan was standing beside her, handsome in a blue-and-gray sweater over gray pants and black boots. She smoothed the fake-fur collar of her parka, glad she’d decided on the curve-hugging wool skirt instead of jeans.
“Hello, Angela,” he said, his eyes meeting hers.
“Hi, Bryan.”
“You aren’t racing?” Casey asked.
Bryan shook his head. “The hotel’s hosting the awards ceremony,” he said. “I’m coordinating that.”