Kitabı oku: «The Man Most Likely»
“I can’t believe you’ve lived here three years and we’ve never met before.”
Gold flecks glinted in Bryan’s brown eyes as his gaze met hers.
“I guess we travel in different circles,” Angela said. “I’m busy with my shop and the theater group—I haven’t spent much time in clubs or at parties. And I don’t snowboard.”
Did that sound dull to him? Maybe she was dull, though she preferred to think of it as settled.
“Still, you’d think we would have run into each other before now.”
“Maybe we did and you didn’t notice me.” It wouldn’t be the first time a man had looked right past her, to focus on a prettier—and yes, thinner—woman.
“No, I would have remembered you.” He emphasized the words with a squeeze of her hand and an intense look that sent a tingling sensation clear to her toes.
She’d have remembered him, too. He was exactly the kind of man she always noticed—with dark hair and eyes, an expressive face and an outgoing personality.
Pure leading-man material.
MILLS & BOON
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Dear Reader,
When I meet new couples, I like to hear about how they met. There’s nothing like a romance story, especially in real life.
I’m particularly fascinated by those stories of unexpected love—the experiences of those who fall hard for people they never thought of as their type. I love these tales where the power of love trumps all expectations or previous experience.
Angela and Bryan, the heroine and hero of The Man Most Likely, have that kind of romance, set against the fun, quirky backdrop of Crested Butte, Colorado. I hope you’ll enjoy sharing their experience.
I look forward to hearing from readers, so if you have questions or comments about this book, feel free to e-mail me at Cindi@CindiMyers.com or write to me in care of Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd., 225 Duncan Mill Rd, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.
Sincerely,
Cindi Myers
The Man Most Likely
Cindi Myers
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The friend who introduced Cindi Myers to her husband swore the man was not her type at all. But from the first moment he and Cindi smiled at each other, something clicked. Six weeks later they were engaged, and they will soon celebrate their thirtieth wedding anniversary. With such a romantic story of her own, how could Cindi not write romance stories—especially about those who find love where they least expect it.
To Connie, who introduced me to my husband.
You did good!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter One
“So, Mr. Perry—Bryan—what are your thoughts on chocolate?”
The question, and the throaty, velvety tones in which it was delivered, caught Bryan Perry, new assistant manager of the Elevation Hotel at Crested Butte Mountain Resort, off guard. He sat back in his chair behind his desk in the hotel offices and stretched his legs out in front of him. This voice was worth getting comfortable and savoring, even if the woman it belonged to—one Angela Krizova—did ask strange questions. “I haven’t thought much about chocolate,” he answered.
“Then you haven’t tasted my chocolates.”
The sexy purr did things to his insides. Who was this goddess and how had he lived in Crested Butte for seven years without encountering her? “Are you offering samples?” The remark popped out before he could censor it. Thank God his manager, Carl Phelps, wasn’t within hearing range. He’d probably see this mild flirtation as yet another reminder that Bryan, until recently a part-time night auditor and full-time ski bum, was not exactly management material.
“That could be arranged,” Angela said smoothly. “We should probably get together anyway.”
Bryan’s heart sped up in anticipation. Being attracted to a woman based solely on her voice was a new experience for him, but anyone who sounded this sexy was bound to be the woman of his dreams. “I’d like that,” he said, doing his best to imbue the words with some sex appeal of his own.
“I need to look over the ballroom, and we can discuss decorations and other refreshments for the fund-raiser,” Angela said.
Right. The community theater fund-raiser. The whole reason behind this conversation. He sat up straight again, reality cooling his fantasies. “Good idea. What day works for you?” He pretended to study his desk planner, though all he really saw was the vision of a sultry blonde—or brunette, he wasn’t picky—that Angela’s voice had conjured.
“How about tomorrow afternoon? I have a girl who works part-time in my shop then.”
“Which shop is that?” he asked, partly to refresh his memory and partly to keep the woman on the line. That voice…
“The Chocolate Moose. On Elk Avenue.”
Bryan nodded. Crested Butte’s main street was lined with candy-colored Victorian era and replica-Victorian buildings that catered to locals and tourists alike. Not having a big sweet tooth, he’d never been inside the Chocolate Moose. Now maybe that would change.
“I asked about chocolate because, while I know the hotel usually supplies the catering for these events, I want to provide a selection of desserts from my shop,” Angela continued. “You can provide everything else, but I want to be in charge of chocolate.”
Company policy, which Phelps had drummed into Bryan’s head daily since his first hour on the job, stated that no outside food was to be brought into the hotel for special events. But hey, the woman was a chocolate specialist, and what Phelps didn’t know…“I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” Bryan said.
“Great. Why don’t I meet you at the hotel tomorrow afternoon? About three o’clock?”
“Great. I’ll look forward to it.” Bryan was still smiling when he hung up the phone.
“You really need to lay off the 900 numbers during working hours, dude.”
He looked up and suppressed a groan as his best friend, a snowboarder who went by a single name, Zephyr, sauntered into the office. Dressed in black-and-orange camo boarding pants and jacket, the ends of his blond dreadlocks damp from snow, Zephyr contrasted alarmingly with the pale mauve walls and elegant cherry furniture of the hotel offices. “I was talking with a client,” Bryan said.
“A sexy, female client from the look on your face.” Zephyr sat on the corner of Bryan’s desk, shoving aside a stapler and a stack of memo pads to make room for his rear end. “I guess every job has its perks, even this one.”
“Yeah, perks like a regular paycheck,” Bryan said.
Zephyr snorted. “I guess I’m just not a regular paycheck kind of guy. I prefer to live more on the edge.”
“That’s because you have a girlfriend who supports you.” Zephyr’s girlfriend, Trish, owned a successful coffee shop on Elk Avenue.
“Hey, I contribute. Besides, Trish is the kind of woman who needs to take care of someone. I’m helping her fulfill her destiny.”
Bryan grinned. “Who would have thought you’d be anyone’s destiny?”
“So truth, dude, how’s it going?” Zephyr looked around the office. “This looks like a really stuffy scene.”
“It’s not so bad,” Bryan said. “And it feels good to finally be putting all that expensive education to work.”
“A college education is never wasted. At least that’s what I always tell my parents. Anyway, I never saw you as a management type. The whole all-work-and-no-play thing is such a drag.”
“Hey, I’m still me,” Bryan protested. “Just me who can afford to eat something better than ramen noodles five nights a week. And me with better clothes.” He smoothed the lapels of the suit, for which he’d paid extra to have tailored to a custom fit.
“Clothes, but not style.” Zephyr adjusted his parka. “Only a few of us really know how to wear clothes.”
“Bryan, did you make those phone calls I asked you to make?”
Bryan straightened as Carl Phelps, the manager of the Elevation Hotel, entered the office. Carl stared at Zephyr, one eyebrow raised in question. “Is this a friend of yours?” he asked.
“He was just leaving.” Bryan shoved Zephyr off the corner of the desk.
Zephyr landed on his feet and strode toward Carl, hand outstretched. “I’m Zephyr,” he said. “I’m here scouting locations for my new cable television show, The Z Hour. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”
Carl slowly shook his head.
Zephyr did a three-sixty turn. “This place has possibilities. I could see setting up the cameras in the lobby, maybe doing a little feature.”
Carl stared at Bryan over Zephyr’s shoulder, silently telegraphing the question, Is this guy for real? Bryan managed a smile and a nod. Zephyr was real, all right; he just made his own reality.
“It was great to meet you.” Zephyr grabbed Carl’s hand and pumped it. “We’ll talk later. I’ll have my people call your people. We’ll do lunch.” He strolled out of the office, pausing to collect a mint from a bowl on the credenza by the door.
Bryan sank back in his chair, suppressing a grin. Nothing like a visit from Zephyr to liven up a dull afternoon.
“Did you take care of those phone calls?” Carl asked.
“Oh, yeah. Yes, sir.” Bryan moved the stapler and memo pads back into place. “The contractor will be in to repair the dining room window on Monday, and I’m meeting with Ms. Krizova tomorrow afternoon about the community theater fund-raiser.” A meeting that would no doubt be the highlight of his day. Maybe his week.
“Good.” Carl sat in the chair across from Brian’s desk. “You’re doing a fine job.” He glanced toward the door. “Was your friend serious? Does he really have a television show?”
“He does. It’s sort of a talk show–local affairs thing he started this summer. So far it’s been really successful.” That was the thing about Zephyr—he looked and acted like a bum, but there was a real brain underneath that shaggy hair, and he had the personality to carry off anything.
Bryan was more reserved and lately, the take-life-as-it-comes philosophy hadn’t been very satisfying. He was ready to go out and make things happen, hence the decision to trade in his ripped jeans and knit caps for a suit and tie and finally use the degree he’d earned seven years earlier. The day after attending his third wedding of the summer, he’d awakened in the morning and realized he was ready to grow up. He wanted the whole picture—the steady job, the house, the wife and kids, everything.
In some ways, it was the most radical thing he’d ever done. And one of the hardest.
“I suppose appearing on that kind of show could be good publicity,” Carl said. “What do you think?”
Bryan considered the question. “It would be good,” he said. “Zephyr pulls in a pretty diverse audience, plus the hotel could benefit from the exposure. It would help us seem more a part of the community, instead of some big corporate interloper.” The Elevation was relatively new on the Crested Butte scene; Carl had arrived only a month before hiring Bryan.
“Exactly.” Carl nodded. “You’ve got the instincts I was looking for when I hired you.” He leaned back in his chair, hands folded on his stomach. “There were people here who had their doubts, considering your lack of experience, but I have a good sense for these things.”
“I appreciate you giving me a chance,” Bryan said. If only other people would be more willing to see him differently. He’d heard some of his friends had actually made bets on how long he’d last in this new lifestyle.
“This theater fund-raiser is exactly the sort of community function I hope we’ll do more of,” Carl continued. “I’m counting on you to see that it all goes smoothly.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” It didn’t hurt that sultry-voiced Angela Krizova was his liaison with the theater group. She’d sounded young and sexy on the phone, and she had her own successful business. Zephyr might give him a hard time about being all work and no play, but Bryan wasn’t opposed to mixing business with pleasure, especially where an appealing woman was concerned. Maybe Angela was the ideal woman for a young professional on his way up.
“LET ME GUESS. You couldn’t afford a beach vacation, so you decided to make your own.”
Angela Krizova looked up from the work table behind the front counter of the Chocolate Moose at her friend from the Mountain Theatre, Tanya Bledso, who had just come in from the snowstorm raging outside. Angela adjusted the silk orchid she’d tucked behind her left ear, wiped her hands on her Hawaiian print apron, and gave a hula shimmy as she went to greet her friend. “If I can’t get to paradise, then paradise can come to me,” she said. “What do you think?”
Tanya unwound a pink woolen scarf from around her throat and looked around at the candy shop turned tropical escape. Jimmy Buffett crooned in the background and the four tables in front were covered in tropical-print fabric and strewn with silk flowers. A placard by the cash register announced a special on macadamia nut truffles, and the stuffed moose head on the back wall wore sunglasses and a colorful lei. With the heat turned up to seventy-five, condensation had formed on the front windows, obscuring the sight of winter.
“Nice,” Tanya said at last. “Can I stay here until June?”
“Next week I may decide I feel like traveling to Scotland, but this week, it’s Hawaii comes to Elk Avenue,” Angela said. “Tell all your friends.” She moved back behind the counter. “What can I get you?”
“I was going to ask for hot chocolate, but it seems inappropriate now.” Tanya sat at one of the tables, her gloves, parka, scarf and hat piled in a chair beside her.
“How about a non-alcoholic chocolate colada and a couple of the chocolate gingersnaps I just pulled out of the oven?”
“Sounds heavenly. And fattening.” Tanya made a face. “I’ll try a small one.”
“One more reason I’m glad I’m not a leading lady,” Angela said as she dumped coconut milk, pineapple juice and chocolate syrup into a blender. “Nobody cares if the heroine’s sidekick wears a size sixteen.” Besides, if she’d been that concerned with being skinny, she wouldn’t have started a business that required dealing with sugar, cream, butter and other luscious ingredients all day.
“You’re the best sidekick I ever had,” Tanya said. “You can act rings around some of the people I worked with in L.A.”
“Can we print that in the playbill of the next Mountain Theatre production?” Angela splashed skim milk into the blender and added a scoop of ice. “Former Hollywood star says Crested Butte actress has talent.”
“I wasn’t a star.” Tanya raised her voice to be heard over the roar of the blender. “That’s why I came back to C.B. Annie and I were practically starving to death in L.A.”
“I’m sure glad you came back.” Angela poured the drink into a malt glass, added a cherry and a straw. “The theater has a whole new life since you showed up.” And since the Mountain Theatre was a big part of her life, she was doubly grateful to Tanya for her role in revitalizing the troupe.
“I’ve had help,” Tanya said. “Your idea to have a chocolate extravaganza for a fund-raiser was great.” She accepted the drink and took a long pull at the straw. “Wow. You’ve got to put this on the menu for the fund-raiser. With rum. How’s that coming, by the way?”
“This afternoon I spoke with a guy at the Elevation Hotel who’s supposed to help coordinate everything.” Angela smiled at the memory of the flirtatious conversation. When she’d contacted the hotel and been told the assistant manager would call her back she’d expected to hear from some older stuffed shirt, not a young-sounding, sexy guy.
“What’s his name?”
“Bryan Perry.” A name she wouldn’t forget any time soon. “I don’t know him.” But she was definitely looking forward to meeting him. She wanted to see if the real man lived up to her telephone fantasies.
“You need to get out more,” Tanya said. “Or see someone besides theater people.”
“I like all kinds of people. It’s just that between this shop and the theater, I don’t have a lot of time.” She sat across from Tanya and helped herself to one of the chocolate gingersnaps. They were baked from a new recipe she’d developed, and if she did say so herself, they were delicious. “Do you know Bryan?” she asked.
“I know of him.” Tanya reached for a cookie. “He’s one of those guys this town is full of—good-looking, fun and totally irresponsible.”
Okay, she’d already pictured the cute and fun part, but irresponsible? “A guy like that is in charge of our fund-raiser at the hotel? That doesn’t sound good.”
“That is strange,” Angela agreed. “I didn’t even know he had a job. But he’s a nice guy.”
“Wait a minute.” She studied Tanya more closely. “Have you dated him?”
Tanya shook her head. “Not me. Divorced women with kids do not attract party guys like that. But I’ve seen him around. I can’t believe you haven’t. You’ve been here, what, almost three years? And I’ve only been back in town a few months.”
Angela nodded. “Yeah, but if he doesn’t buy chocolate or hang out at the theater, he’s not on my radar. Though maybe I should expand my horizons a little.”
“This fund-raiser might be the excuse to get to know him better.”
“Maybe.” Flirting with a guy over the phone was a long way from starting a real relationship—something she’d successfully avoided for three years now.
“Not interested in settling down?” Tanya sighed. “I can’t say it worked out all that well for me. Of course, I did get Annie out of the marriage. But she’s about the only high point of an otherwise wasted seven years.”
It wasn’t that Angela was opposed to love and marriage and happily-ever-after—at least in movies, plays and books. But in real life she felt safer remaining on her own, rather than getting her heart stomped on when she didn’t live up to some guy’s idea of Ms. Right.
In any case, Bryan probably had his pick of women if he was the type of guy who filled this town. The best she could hope for when they met was more mild flirtation and fuel for her private fantasies. And that was more than enough until she found a man she could count on to be there for her. Always.
“BRYAN, MS. KRIZOVA is here to see you.”
Bryan startled, awakening from an expense-report-induced doze. He leaned forward and depressed the intercom button. “Tell her I’ll be right there.” Anticipating this appointment had gotten him through a morning filled with dull meetings and even duller reports. He smoothed his tie, buttoned his jacket, then went out to greet his visitor.
February was one of the busiest months at the ski resort and the lobby was packed. As Bryan scanned the cavernous room, he quickly ruled out anyone dressed for the slopes, as well as two mothers with young children and all the men. That left a hefty brunette in a wine velvet dress, black leather boots and a low-slung black leather belt at the front desk, and a petite blonde in gray tweeds by the fire. Neither was the bombshell Angela’s voice had led him to expect, but the blonde had definite possibilities.
He started toward the blonde, but froze when a familiar voice spoke behind him. “Mr. Perry?”
He turned to face the brunette, smiling to cover the sudden sick feeling in his stomach. This was the voice that had wowed him over the phone, all right, but this was not the woman he’d pictured. “I’m Angela Krizova,” she said, offering her hand.
He took it, the dulcet tones of her words rolling over him. Her hand was warm and soft, and up close he could see she had jade-green eyes and a generous mouth. In fact, everything about her was generous—overly generous. He swallowed hard. Angela Krizova was, well, fat. Definitely not the woman of his dreams.
She withdrew her hand, looking amused. “Not what you expected?” she asked.
He cleared his throat to cover his embarrassment at allowing his feelings to be so transparent. “Excuse me?”
“I asked if I was not what you expected. Don’t worry, I’m used to it.”
She turned to survey the lobby and he closed his eyes, collecting himself.
“Nice place you have here,” she said, the same sweet, velvety voice wrapping around him. “I haven’t been here since it was redone.”
He opened his eyes again, half hoping to see the woman of his fantasies. Nope. Angela still stood before him, larger than life—or at least larger than he’d expected. He realized she was studying him, waiting for him to speak. “Let me show you around,” he said.
He led her through the lobby toward the restaurant decorated in dark wood and light stone. “The Atmosphere Restaurant and Bar has a sundeck with a fire pit right at the base of the ski slopes. We also have the Cirrus Lobby Bar. And down this hallway is our business center and indoor heated pool and spa.” He started to feel more comfortable. He’d given this same talk so many times he could practically say it in his sleep. Which was just as well, since while his tongue was otherwise engaged, every other sense was focused on the woman beside him.
Now that he’d recovered from his initial shock, he felt a little ashamed of his reaction to her. Yes, she was a big woman, but she wasn’t ugly. She had thick, lustrous dark hair that fell past her shoulders; expressive eyes, high cheekbones and a Cupid’s bow mouth; and her curves, though generous, were in all the right places. Some people might even say she was voluptuous rather than fat.
“May I see the ballroom where we’ll be holding the fund-raiser?” she asked.
“Of course.” He paged the catering manager and asked him to meet them there. Then he led the way into the ballroom and pressed the switches that flooded the room with light. “We can set up tables in any one of several configurations,” he said as they walked farther into the room. “The raised dais at the end can be used for speakers or a band or you could showcase silent-auction items there.”
“We can put the silent-auction items opposite the entrance and have tables set up along the sides. We’ll definitely want room for dancing,” she said. “And will there be a coat check available?”
“Yes, we can arrange for that, no problem.”
“That would be perfect.” Her smile, in conjunction with that killer voice, would have stopped any conscious man in his tracks.
Bryan took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the scent of Angela’s subtle floral perfume wrapped around him, further dazzling his senses. Forget the two-dimensional fantasies he’d conjured earlier. The flesh-and-blood woman before him had his expectations—and his libido—in a tailspin. Was he merely responding to the novelty of a plus-size siren, or was there something else at work here?
A stocky man with closely cropped black hair bustled into the room. “I am Marco Casale, the catering manager,” he said.
“Marco, this is Angela Krizova. She’ll be working with you to arrange the community theater fund-raiser.”
Marco took one of Angela’s hands in both of his and fixed her with a dazzling smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Krizova,” he said. “You perhaps do not remember me, but we spoke several months ago regarding a special order of chocolates you created for a wedding I catered.”
“Of course I remember.”
Marco’s eyes glazed slightly as Angela’s voice worked its magic, and Bryan felt a completely unexpected pinch of jealousy in his gut. He hadn’t realized quite how much he’d enjoyed being the focus of Angela’s attention until he had to share it with another man.
Marco moved in closer, still holding her hand. “We should meet privately sometime soon to discuss the menu for your gathering,” he said, his Italian accent more pronounced than usual. “I have some special dishes I have been saving.”
“That’s great. Why don’t you fax her a menu?” Bryan clamped his hand on Marco’s shoulder. “Don’t let us keep you. I know you have a lot of work to do.” Their eyes met in the kind of mute challenge men engage in when physical dueling would be crossing the line into outright incivility.
Marco was the first to blink, and with obvious reluctance released his hold on Angela and backed away. “I will call you,” he said to Angela, before sending a last withering look toward Bryan and leaving.
Angela watched his departure, the dimple to the left of her mouth deepening as her lips curved in a hint of a smile. When she and Bryan were alone again, she turned to him. “I almost forgot this,” she said as she opened her purse and took out a small, gold foil box.
“What is that?” he asked, watching her untie the ribbon that secured the box lid.
“I brought samples.”
“Samples?”
“Of my chocolates.” She selected a truffle from the box and held it up for his inspection, the shiny pink lacquer of her nails contrasting sharply with the velvety blackness of the sweet. “Dark chocolate raspberry,” she said, and offered it to him.
He popped the confection into his mouth and was instantly rewarded with the smooth sensation of melting chocolate, the bitterness of the cocoa and the sweetness of the raspberries in perfect harmony. “Delicious,” he mumbled.
“I’m glad you like it.” She licked the tip of her index finger, where the heat of her body had melted the fragile chocolate. The innocent, unself-conscious gesture sent a jolt of arousal straight through him, rocking him back on his heels. Then she smiled at him and said in that voice, “Would you like another?”
Could I survive another? “Maybe you could leave them for me to enjoy later,” he said.
“Of course.” She replaced the lid on the box and handed it to him. “How long have you been working for the hotel?”
“Not very long.” The last he’d heard, the oddsmakers in town had given him three months before he cried uncle and fled to his former slacker ways. He’d passed that mark two weeks ago, but they still treated his new career as a passing fancy, something he was bound to give up on sooner rather than later.
“And what did you do before that?”
“Different things,” he hedged. Of course, if she was really interested, five minutes spent talking to any of his friends would give her the full, if not necessarily flattering, picture of his past. He’d arrived in Crested Butte seven years ago this month, intending to spend the rest of the winter snowboarding before heading to New York or Chicago or Dallas to put his hotel management degree to use.
As soon as he’d pulled onto Crested Butte’s snow-packed main drag and seen the funky shops and even funkier people, he’d gone into a kind of trance from which he’d only recently awakened. “How long have you had your candy shop?” he asked, anxious to change the subject.
“Three years,” she answered. “The first night I was here I tried to buy chocolate and the only thing I could find was a two-month-old Hershey’s bar. I knew then I’d found my destiny.”
He was amazed she’d known so quickly what she wanted to do, while it had taken him years to figure it out. She had an air of confidence and serenity he hadn’t seen in most of the more conventionally beautiful women he’d dated.
“Is something wrong?”
The question made him realize he’d been staring at her. He looked away and reminded himself of the reason they were standing here in the first place. “How many people do you expect to attend?” he asked.
“About a hundred and fifty. We’re charging fifty-five dollars each or a hundred dollars a couple for tickets. There will be a silent auction as well as food, a cash bar, music and dancing. And chocolate, of course.”
“Of course.” He returned her smile. She had a great smile, one that radiated her enjoyment of the moment. “It sounds like fun.”
“I hope you’ll join us,” she said. “There’ll be a lot of local people there.” They left the ballroom and started toward the front lobby. “Have you seen any of our productions?”
He admitted he had not. Until recently, theater tickets weren’t part of his budget or his scope of interest.
“We’re rehearsing now for I Hate Hamlet,” she said. “We’re always looking for volunteers and it’s a great way to meet new people.”
“Maybe I’ll do that.”
“Our next rehearsal is tomorrow night. We meet at the Mallardi Cabaret, upstairs from the Paragon Galleries, at Second and Elk. You ought to stop by.”
They paused near the front desk. “Thanks for the chocolates,” he said. “It was good to meet you.”
“Thank you. It was a pleasure meeting you.” She gave his hand an extra squeeze on the word pleasure. Struck dumb, he stared after her as she sashayed across the lobby and out the door. Several heads turned to watch her departure. She may not have been skinny, but Angela definitely had style.
“It looks like Ms. Krizova’s been sampling a few too many of her own creations.”
He turned and saw the hotel receptionist standing at his elbow. Rachel was about his age, slim and stylish and part of the crowd of young people who frequented the clubs around town. He usually enjoyed talking to her, but the catty remark about Angela rubbed him the wrong way. No matter that he’d thought much the same thing when he first laid eyes on her. Half an hour in her company had given him a different impression entirely. “Did you need me for something?” he asked.
She arched one carefully plucked eyebrow at his brusque tone. “The Chamber of Commerce called about a donation for the Al Johnson Memorial Ski Race,” she said. “Mr. Phelps said you’d take care of it.”
