“She’s a little young for you, ain’t she?” someone else said.
If they were fishing to find out her age, Dan wasn’t biting. “She makes up for it by being far more mature than I am.”
“You planning on running for sheriff again next year?”
“Of course.” Dan fitted another child-sized baseball helmet on a junior contestant’s head and tightened the chin strap. “Custer County needs a good sheriff.”
Jazz was familiar with men being boys, and they were trying to get a rise out of him in front of her, which wasn’t likely to happen. She’d never heard of a sheep toss before, however, so that was of a great deal more interest. The group of hyperactive five-year-olds wearing helmets gathered next to the gate, and the anxious mothers hovering nearby, erased any confusion as to who’d be tossed and who’d do the tossing.
Dan’s two twin sets of nieces and nephews—two four-year-old boys and two six-year-old girls—hadn’t quite decided if riding sheep was their thing, and they kept him busy while they made up their minds. Anxious queries abounded and fears were successfully laid to rest.
She had to admit, his general appeal to men, women, and children alike made him that much more attractive to her, and he’d already been doing just fine. But if she started something with him, and it ended up going sideways on her, how might it affect her chances at McCall?
Freda had squeezed in between Jazz and two teenagers placing bets on how well their younger siblings would do. “Dan sent me to keep an eye on you,” she said. “He seems to think you’re a flight risk. Don’t make me have to chase you.”
Freda didn’t look much like her son and daughter, other than that she and Kirstin were about the same size. With silvery-gray hair caught in a long braid, and a loose-fitting sundress that skirted her ankles, she had “hippie” written all over her. While she seemed more milk-and-cookies than dangerous, after meeting Kirstin, Jazz wasn’t about to test her as to whether or not she meant what she said.
They chatted while they watched the first two riders kiss the dirt, bounce up with giant smiles on their wee faces, then run off to collect their candy reward. The teenagers eventually grew bored and moved on, leaving them temporarily alone at the rail.
Freda seized the tiny window of opportunity. “I’m so glad to see Dan finally taking an interest in a woman again,” she said quietly.
Jazz reached a fairly obvious conclusion about his mother’s revelation. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it either, other than somewhat confused. There wasn’t much about him to suggest his heart had ever been broken. Or really, jeopardized to begin with.
“How long has it been since the breakup?” she asked. She wondered if Freda understood that she and Dan weren’t really a couple.
Freda looked startled, although she quickly recovered. “I see. He hasn’t told you about Andy yet. Don’t worry, he will.” She patted Jazz’s arm, evidently assuming that she might need reassurance that her love life was secure.
People moved into the vacant space at the rail and the window for privacy closed, so Jazz let it drop. She wasn’t about to pump Dan’s mother for personal information, particularly when she wasn’t really entitled to it.
But she wanted to know.
A mind-numbing assortment of his family, friends, and acquaintances kept her entertained the rest of the day, mostly with stories of Dan. A lot of them were somewhat off-color, but there was enough upselling of his finer qualities going on that she began to suspect his mother wasn’t the only person he’d engaged to keep her from leaving. Whether or not they believed she was his girlfriend, they definitely assumed he was in dire need of one.
She didn’t figure out until after the number of guests seriously dwindled, however, that the barbecue she’d agreed to attend was for the Endeavour’s immediate family members only. Even so, after the neighbors were gone, that still left quite a crowd. Dan appeared to be related to the entire population of Grand. Dallas’s parents and brothers had driven the eight hours from Sweetheart and were spending the weekend in two of the bunkhouses doing double-duty as guesthouses. Ryan hadn’t yet reappeared, but if anyone currently in attendance belonged to him, they weren’t admitting to it.
They’d hired a caterer to serve up roast pig, which had been turning on a spit over a slow open fire since the evening before. Three chefs manned barbecues cooking steak, hamburgers, and hotdogs for the kids. One white-clothed table supported an assortment of side salads and great pots of chili. Another was weighted down with desserts. Floodlights skirted a football field disguised as a yard between the house, the garage, and the bunkhouses. They blinked on, bright enough to blind anyone not quick enough to look away. Someone had hooked up a sound system and Little Big Town crooned beneath a full moon boldly nudging stars out of its path as it trekked the night sky.
Jazz found a stray bale of hay to use as a bench, dragged it out of the light glaring down on the tables of food, and settled a heaping plateful of roast pork and potato salad on her lap. The hay scratched at the backs of her bare legs, but not uncomfortably so. She’d had a fun day, but the attention had fast become overwhelming.
Dan popped up out of nowhere to set two plastic cups full of beer next to her feet, then returned a few moments later with a plate of food of his own. He swung a leg over the bale to drop down beside her. The baler twine holding the flakes of hay together strained under their combined weight. Her breathing became a whole lot less sure of itself. Meanwhile, as the length of his thigh pressed tight against hers, her senses grew sharper.
He had to be the luckiest human being on the face of the earth. He was tall, blond, and owned a perpetual smile that made him that much more gorgeous. He had family and friends who loved him to the point she might be a little jealous. He had a great job and he’d lucked into money. To top it all off, he was turning out to be every bit as nice as he seemed. Life wasn’t fair.
“For people who got so much enjoyment out of watching you botch an interview, they’ve expended a great deal of effort in selling your best features to me,” she said, making a superhuman effort of her own to ignore how close they sat to each other. She cut off a small piece of meat and popped it into her mouth. The smoky morsel fell apart on her tongue and she savored the taste before swallowing. The caterer really knew what he was doing. “My favorite was your grandfather. He told me not to listen to all the wild stories about you. He says it’s normal for ‘a young fella to try out the local talent,’ as he put it.”
“Granddad’s in his nineties and getting senile,” Dan said. “If you listen to all the wild stories about him when he was young, you’d understand why he thinks that’s normal. He didn’t try to put his hand up your skirt, did he?”
“Of course not,” Jazz lied. His grandfather had lost his filter but was otherwise harmless. She lifted one of the plastic cups and took a careful sip of the beer. It was frothy and cold, and not at all what she expected. She examined the cup. “What am I drinking?”
“There’s a new brew master in Grand. We ordered a few different kegs from her brewery for the weekend. We’re drinking the lobster—the brochure claims it’s a recipe from the east coast of Canada. I probably should have asked if you’re allergic to shellfish.” A hint of concern pinched his eyebrows together. “You aren’t, are you?”
The beer was salty and hoppy, and somewhat tangy, and if Dan hadn’t said anything, she might not have pinpointed the faint taste of crustacean. It really was good. “No.”
“Good to hear. I’d hate to put you in the hospital on our first date.”
She wondered when he was going to get tired of that joke.
It did feel like a date, though.
The evening wore on. The younger children fell asleep on the grass and were carried off to bed. She finished her meal and the beer. The air had lost the sun’s direct heat, but the night remained warm.
“I should get back to the base,” she finally said.
“Afraid that’s not possible just yet.” He locked his fingers together and stretched his arms over his head, slanting a sidelong look at her while pretending to study the sky. “You can’t drive—you’ve been drinking. You’ll have to stick around a while longer.”
Jazz peered into her empty cup. She’d sipped at it for the better part of the evening, so his objection didn’t carry a whole lot of weight.
“You gave me the beer. Isn’t this considered entrapment?” she asked.
“You could always file a complaint with the local sheriff and find out. While you’re waiting for his legal opinion,” he said, hauling her to her feet, “you won’t want to miss the trail ride I have planned. What do you say?”