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Casey could contain herself no longer. “What’s with the plunger?” she asked. “And the crown?”

Heather laughed. “You’ve arrived just in time for Flauschink—our annual end-of-ski-season festival.”

“Flauschink?” Casey tried out the odd-sounding word.

“Literally, flushing, as in flushing out winter. Hence the plunger.”

“So everyone carries these around for the festival?” Casey eyed the sequined toilet accessory.

“Not everyone. Only the king and queen. I was trying out this year’s queen’s costume when you walked in.” Heather plucked the crown off her head and placed it on Casey’s. “I think the costume committee outdid themselves this year.”

Casey watched while Heather divested herself of the royal robes. Underneath the purple velvet she wore a sensible black pantsuit. “When is Flauschink and what happens during the festival?” Casey asked.

“It’s next weekend. Closing weekend for the ski resort and the last gasp for winter tourists. As for what happens, here’s a schedule.” She thrust a flyer at Casey.

Casey read down the list of activities, eyes widening. “Polka ball, crowning of king and queen, ski race, parade, concert…” She looked up. “That’s a lot to plan for.”

“So you see why I’m so glad you’re here.” She took the plunger and crown and stowed them in an empty file drawer. “You can fill out that paperwork later. Right now you would save my life if you could call this list of bands and confirm they’re going to be here to play next weekend. I’ve found it pays to follow up. You know musicians.”

Casey was happy to take a seat at the desk and get to work. Work felt normal—something she hadn’t experienced much of since leaving Chicago.

After Casey confirmed with all the musicians, Heather asked her to proof some ads for the summer Wildflower Festival. “It’s our biggest draw of the year,” Heather explained. “So we do a huge advertising push in newspapers and magazines.”

“So after Flauschink, we start getting ready for the Wildflower Festival?”

“Oh, before the Wildflower Festival we have Poo Fest and Bike Week, then the Wildflower Festival, the Arts and Film Festival and Vinotok—the fall festival.” Heather ticked the events off on her fingers. “Then it’s time for ski season and all the winter activities—which are too many to name right now.”

“Poo fest?” Casey asked. “You mean shampoo?”

“No. Dog poo. The snow melts and all the trails and sidewalks need to be cleaned up. A few years ago someone came up with the idea for the Poo Fest. There are games and prizes for the person or team that picks up the most pounds of poo.”

“You’re kidding.” This had to be another attempt to pull one over on the new gal.

Heather shook her head. “I swear I’m not. It’s a lot of fun. And a great way to get everyone to pitch in to clean up.”

Casey shook her head. Was there anything folks here wouldn’t celebrate?

Mid-morning, the men began showing up.

First was a young man with bright red hair. He came in clutching a brown paper bag. “Is Casey here?” he asked, looking past Heather toward Casey’s desk in the back.

“Wanted to be the first, did you, Jerry?” Heather said.

Jerry’s cheeks matched his hair. He moved past Heather to Casey’s desk and set the bag on top. “Hi, I’m Jerry,” he said. “Welcome to Crested Butte.”

“Uh, hi, Jerry.” Casey eyed him warily.

“I brought you sort of a welcome gift,” he said, nodding to the bag.

“Thanks.” She studied the plain brown bag. “Um, what is it?”

“Moose poop.”

“Okay.” Another joke on the newcomer? How was she supposed to take this?

She sent a frantic look at Heather, who marched over and snatched up the bag. “No wonder you’re still single, you dolt,” Heather said. She opened the bag and fished out a round brown patty and bit into it.

“Don’t worry,” she said in answer to Casey’s horrified look. “It’s chocolate. A local specialty.” She offered the bag to Casey. “Try one. They’re delicious.”

Casey fished out a smaller patty and sampled it. “It is good!” she said, relieved. Belatedly, she remembered the man who’d given her this gift and offered him a smile. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and took a step back. “Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”

Jerry was scarcely out the door before a burly man with a black beard walked in. He marched up to the women and offered his hand. “Bill Whitmore,” he said. “Welcome to C.B.”

“Hi, Bill,” Casey said.

“I thought you might like to have lunch,” Bill said.

Casey glanced at the clock. “It’s only 10:30.”

“Well, sure. Not now. I could come back later.”

“Casey’s going to have lunch with me.” Heather pushed Bill toward the door. “And now she has to work.”

But in between meeting Gary, Eric and Anders, Casey wasn’t able to accomplish much. “What is going on?” she asked after yet another man left the chamber office.

“It’ll get better tomorrow,” Heather said. “You’ll probably have met them all by then.”

“Met who? Are they some sort of official welcoming committee?”

Heather laughed. “I suppose you could look at it that way. They’re all single guys stopping by to check you out.”

Casey sat back in her chair, dumbfounded. “I thought I’d met them all at the Eldo last night.”

“Single women—especially young, pretty ones—definitely have an advantage here in C.B.,” Heather said. “You can have your pick of men. Only problem is, a lot of them aren’t worth picking.”

Casey fiddled with a pencil, turning it over and over in her hand. “I’m not sure I like that. It makes me feel—I don’t know—like fresh meat in the tiger cage at the zoo.”

“Don’t let it get to you,” Heather said. “These guys are harmless. Just lonely. They won’t hassle you. And you’ll never have to eat dinner alone unless you want to.”

“Does that mean you don’t eat many dinners alone?” Casey asked.

Heather snorted. “I eat dinner with my twelve-year-old daughter, which makes me immune to a lot of the attention you’re getting.”

“But you’re not that much older than me,” Casey said. “And you’re gorgeous.” Heather had curly brown hair and a classic hourglass figure. “Men should be lining up to see you, not me.”

“I’m thirty-one,” Heather said. “So, no, not that old. But too long in the tooth for a lot of these ski bums, and having an almost-teenager in the house scares off most of the rest of them.” She sighed. “It’s okay, though. There’s always hope, that’s what I say. And hey, I can live vicariously through you. That’s why you were hired, you know?”