The Montana Sheriff Page 3

  He turned away. At least she wore a helmet, which wasn’t legally required in the state of Montana. She got points for that. “You’ll have to follow me. Stay back, though. It’s been dry and you’ll be eating dust, otherwise.”

  He drove the whole way in second gear, monitoring his rearview mirror to keep her in sight. A few miles from the ranch, he turned down a dirt road. The sign on the left pronounced it Custer County Airport.

  The signage was somewhat ambitious, however. The airfield had three runways, which would allow for general aviation services, but its facilities had been sadly neglected. Nothing but private airplanes owned by locals had been serviced here in more than a decade.

  The dirt road extended another five miles. He hadn’t worried too much about its condition until now. He winced at the thought of how much improvements to it might cost. It was fine for Ryan to say the money was there for him to use, but Dan couldn’t quite wrap his head around an unlimited budget. If they wanted to preserve the intent of the Endeavour’s bequest—that it be used for public service—then they had to be practical. Paving a dirt road because the new base manager rode a Harley wasn’t enough to justify the expense. Besides, the road on the far side of the airfield that led into Grand—the one the local volunteer firefighters used—was already paved and maintained by the county.

  The airfield sat on the edge of the flat, grassy plain before badlands began. One side had been completely fenced off to keep free-range cattle away. The other side had been seeded in alfalfa. A soft carpet of green already blanketed the wakening fields.

  Dan pulled up next to a hangar that had been remodeled into a firefighter base station. Jazz parked beside him. He could find no fault with her driving, but then, how could he? He’d driven so slow even his grandfather would have gotten impatient and passed him.

  She swung one long leg off the bike, her attention sweeping the tarmac that fronted the building. A government plane, complete with pilot, was due to arrive at the end of the month and aerial surveys would begin.

  He got out of his SUV and leaned on the hood. “Let me show you around.”

  The interior of the steel-fabricated hangar was cool compared to the outside warmth of the day. He showed her the office with its computer and desk, the ready room, then the para-cargo bay. Jazz quickly went through the bills of lading for the boxes of equipment that had already arrived and were stored against one wall of the bay.

  “I’ll need to hire a materials handler,” she said, and returned the clipboard to its hook by the office door.

  Dan already had a few candidates in mind. “I can take care of that.”

  Obviously preoccupied with business, she didn’t so much as spare him a look. “Thanks, but I’d prefer to take care of it myself. I need to know I can trust the person I put in charge of our safety gear.” Her attention shifted to the loft and catwalk above them. “The sleeping quarters are up there?”

  He could find no fault with her professionalism. She’d been focused one hundred percent on the base and the safety equipment the smokejumpers required since they’d walked into the hangar. Some of his disquiet eased. So she drove a Harley. So what?

  They climbed the set of stairs at the far end of the bay. Six bunks had been crammed into a room at the top of the stairs. The two smokejumpers assigned to the base for the summer were men she likely already knew, given the size of the smokejumper pool. But then there was the pilot, who’d be on rotation, the new materials handler, and a local volunteer—also on rotation.

  “You sure you’re okay with these sleeping arrangements?” Dan couldn’t keep from asking, even though he was beginning to sound like her mother.

  “It’s usually the guys’ wives and girlfriends who have complaints. But at the end of the day, we all have to trust each other if we’re going to work as a team.” The sparkle returned to Jazz’s cheerleader smile. “Besides, I’m pretty particular about who I let pack my parachute.”

  Had she just made a sexual reference?

  Dan couldn’t be sure. He did, however, hear the echo of another woman’s voice in her words, and it gave him chills. Andy had been liberal when it came to sleeping arrangements, too.

  Not that he could cast stones.

  “Suit yourself,” he said.

  He didn’t bring up the next problem, which was that she’d be all alone out here until the two seasonal smokejumpers arrived, because he’d simply assign a deputy to monitor the airfield at night until then. He wasn’t doing it because the tiny, misnamed town of Grand, Montana, was a hotbed of crime. It was just that one could never be sure who the crazies might be, or where they’d turn up. His stint as sheriff had opened his eyes.

  The room next to the sleeping quarters had been converted into a small kitchenette with a refrigerator, two hotplates, a sink with a portable dishwasher, and partially-stocked cupboards. After that, the tour of the smokejumper base was pretty much over.

  “Call the number on the fridge and the supermarket in Grand will deliver whatever groceries you need. They’ll bill it to our account,” he said. If she had any concerns about what she’d seen so far, he couldn’t tell.

  “What’s in the other hangars?” she asked.

  “Nothing, yet.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Can I make use of one of them?”

  “I suppose,” he said slowly, wary about the sudden leap of enthusiasm. “What for?”

  “Physical training, which—as you pointed out—is a requirement. Plus, the hours can be long when there aren’t any fires. An obstacle course would help pass the time.”

  It was a reasonable request. He couldn’t see any harm. “Go ahead and make up a list of what you’ll need. I’ll give it to Ryan, one of my partners. He handles our funding.”

  She looked somewhat stunned. “Just like that?”

  “Pretty much,” Dan said. He found it hard to believe too, but it was true. “Let’s go take a look at the hangars and see which one is in the best shape.”

  Once Jazz had picked the one to use for her obstacle course, and Dan helped carry her packs upstairs to the bunkroom, there wasn’t anything more left to say.

  He looked at the empty beds. He thought about the tiny kitchenette with its stock of canned goods. And he thought about this pretty girl, who looked like a cross between a prom queen and an Amazon warrior, out here all by herself, with no source of entertainment her first night.

  Guilt pinched him. If she’d been the man he’d expected, he’d invite her out for a few beers and get to know her.

  “I’ve got to head back to the ranch and wait for a load of concrete to arrive,” he said. According to the clock above the office door, it was already twenty past twelve. “You’re on your own for lunch, I’m afraid. There’s plenty of food in the kitchen. But how about if I pick you up around seven and take you to dinner?”

  She smiled at him with those amazing blue eyes from under that long fringe of blond, jagged bangs. His heartrate, among other things, kicked up a notch, because damn it all, he had a thing for blue-eyed blonds, too.

  Why not get to know her a little?

  “Thanks, but I already have plans,” she said.

  Chapter Three

  “Tell us again how the hot new base manager blew you off,” Dallas said. “That story will never get old.”

  The three friends were having a late dinner in Lou’s Pub, a favorite spot for the locals. Rumor had it that two Irish brothers, the original founders of Grand, used to bootleg their homemade whiskey to the army from the building back in the mid-1800s. The pub was dark, it had game tables set up at the back of the room where old men played chess during the day, as well as a dartboard that was currently in use by a couple of twenty-somethings who had nothing better to do with their evening. It smelled of stale beer, chewing tobacco, and horses, with a hint of pine-scented air freshener thrown in to keep the ladies happy.

  Dan didn’t know why he’d even bothered mentioning Jazz to his friends. It had to be the masochist in him, because it wasn
’t as if they were going to help boost his self-esteem. “I didn’t ask her out. I invited her to dinner so we could discuss base operations and because she’s alone out at the airfield. Besides, what makes you think she’s hot?”

  Dallas smirked and took a chug of his beer. “The invitation to dinner. So, is she?”

  Definitely. And, eventually, they’d find that out for themselves. Dan didn’t need to make it easy for them, though.

  “Hell no. She’s yellow-toothed, tattooed, and built like a linebacker. She has a face like a horse.”

  Ryan carefully selected a french fry off his plate and dredged it through a puddle of ketchup. “You tried to impress her and it backfired on you, huh? Face it, Dan. You’re losing your touch.”

  He had to agree. He couldn’t say for certain what he’d done to put her off, but clearly, he’d done something, because after a seven-hour drive from Missoula to a tiny backwater most people had never heard of, she couldn’t possibly “already have plans.”

  “It’s more like she was so wowed by my charm she couldn’t trust herself to behave professionally around me. Luckily for you two, you don’t know what it’s like to have women throw themselves at you. It’s a curse.” He sighed. “Ah, well. Regardless of what she looks like, or how attracted she is to me, I’m going to have to spend money fixing the base up a bit more. She can’t be using the same facilities as the men for the whole season.”

  “Why not?” Dallas asked. He took a bite of his burger, closing his eyes with a blissful expression.

  Dallas was the definite free spirit of the group. He’d earned his way through medical school as a stripper and his dance moves were killer. He believed in live and let live. If something felt right, it should be done. And yet he was practical to the core.

  “Because she’s a woman,” Dan said.

  Dallas swallowed his mouthful of food. “So? She chose her career. It’s not like there’s a ladies’ room set aside for her use when she’s fighting forest fires.”

  “See? That attitude right there is why women don’t throw themselves at you. Just because there’s no ladies’ room in the bushes doesn’t mean she can’t have one at the station. Since we own the airfield, we should at least make sure the facilities are comfortable.”

  “You weren’t too worried about it until a woman showed up.”

  “Dallie’s right,” Ryan agreed, jumping in and nodding sagely. “You were the one who said we should focus on getting the base functional and worry about the little things later.” He selected another fry from his plate. “Maybe someone warned her about your reputation for ‘charm.’”

  Dan’s eye twitched. He conceded he might have a bit of a reputation around Grand, but in all fairness, he made it clear upfront to the women he dated that he wasn’t interested in anything more than fun. Besides, since he and his friends had taken on the Endeavour, dating had become one more chore and he was usually too tired to put in the required effort.

  Before he could come up with a witty response, the front door opened and no further comment was needed.

  “That can’t be the new base manager,” Dallas said to Ryan. “She’s not yellow-toothed, horse-faced, or built like a linebacker, although I’d be happy to take a closer look to check for any tattoos.”

  “Mercy,” Ryan said.

  Dan had his back to the door so he turned to see who had come in.

  The heavy wooden door swung shut behind Jazz. She paused to check out the near-empty pub. She wore her leather jacket and carried her motorcycle helmet under her arm, but she’d switched to jeans and boots. If anything, the tight jeans made her legs look even longer. Her bright blond hair shone beneath the dim backdrop of emergency lighting over the door.

  Mercy, indeed. Dan rubbed his twitchy eye.

  Her gaze swept the room and settled on him. A faint flush crept up her throat. The situation struck Dan as funny. Dining at Lou’s alone must be her “other plans,” because unless she was here to play darts, there was no one else for her to meet up with.

  He really had made quite the impression on her.

  There was only one cure for awkward, and that was to deal with it head-on. He half-rose and raised an arm to flag her over. “Jazz,” he called out, nice and friendly. “Would you care to join us?”

  “Great strategy,” Dallas whispered through the smile on his lips. “Makes it hard for her to give you the brush-off a second time. There are witnesses and now she’s forced to be polite.”

  “Ha-ha,” Dan muttered from the side of his mouth. He was trying to mend a wrong impression, not turn it to rights.

  Jazz made the slow walk to their table, her steps lacking enthusiasm, and he was sorry he’d asked her to join them. He should have let her pick a table, then gone over to say hello and left her alone, because he got the strong sense it was what she would have preferred.

  He tried to think of what he might have done to offend her. There’d been a few off-hand remarks about thinking she’d be a man. Had that been what did it?

  Whatever it was, damage control now posed a challenge.

  And Dan had never met a challenge he could refuse.

  *

  Jazz spotted Dan the moment she walked through the door. Lou’s Pub was mostly empty and he and his handsome companions were hard for a woman to miss.

  She’d chosen Lou’s partly because the clerk at the grocery store swore it had the best food in town for its price range. The other determining factor had been her assumption its price range would be beneath that of a billionaire. She hoped the clerk had been right about the food, at least.

  Dan waved for her to join him and she could hardly refuse, despite the sting of embarrassment flushing her skin. She should have said she wanted to get settled in at the base when he invited her to dinner, not that she had other plans, but she’d never expected to be called on a tiny white lie by the man who currently served as her boss.

  The three men stood as she arrived at their table.

  “Guys, this is Jazz O’Reilly, our new base manager,” Dan said. He held out a chair for her, then once they were all seated, introduced his companions to her.

  Jazz, a people-watcher by nature, sat quietly while the men talked. She’d been curious about the Endeavour’s new owners, thanks to her deep-rooted suspicions of anyone with money—particularly those who tried to hide it—but Montana news reports had supplied very little information about them. An internet search had led back to a private holding company. A few discreet questions at the grocery store had led her to the conclusion that the locals were going to be tight-lipped about them. What little she’d picked up had come from Will—and that was Dan’s name. If their choice of hangouts was any indication, they preferred anonymity.

  She studied them now.

  Fortune certainly favored the bold and black-haired, hazel-eyed Dallas Tucker was as bold as they came. He’d been put on this earth to have fun. If her mother were here, she’d be hitting on him for sure. He gave off a vibe that said he adored women of all age, shape, or size, and was confident they adored him in return, but his flirting was so incredibly outrageous, no one could ever mistake his attentions as serious. Jazz liked him at once, probably because of his openness. Any woman brave enough to hook up with him would have to be supremely self-confident, however, not to mention rich in her own right, so she could meet him on equal terms.

  Quiet Ryan O’Connell was a tougher man to define. He had medium-brown hair and enigmatic, chocolatey-brown eyes that for some reason, made her think of kicked puppies. He seemed content to let Dan and Dallas do the talking. Yet of the three of them, if she’d met them in Vegas, he was the one she’d have sworn came from money. She couldn’t quite figure him out, but the edge to him made him someone she’d be equally sure to avoid. No good ever came from the mysterious type, no matter how much—or little—money they had. The three dots tattooed on the web between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand were another red flag, as were the silvery scars on his pinkie. The former suggeste
d he’d spent time in prison. The latter said he’d blood-sworn loyalty to some gang, although the scars looked really old, meaning he’d likely been little more than a kid if he had. She’d known men like Ryan while she was growing up, when they’d still been boys. A few had turned their lives around. Others had not.

  And then there was Dan McKillop. He had the whole affable, regular-guy routine down pat. Men like Dan liked to pretend their wealth didn’t matter, but they cared about image. They didn’t simply write checks—they got involved in the charitable activities they supported. They got their hands dirty helping with the construction work on their own mansions too, or wrangling the breed stock on their purebred horse ranches along with the hired hands, always secure in the knowledge they could take that three-week vacation in Tahiti whenever they liked. Even his job as sheriff was little more than a popularity contest disguised as public service. Jazz had no patience for the Dan McKillops of the world, no matter how much they looked like Keith Urban.

  Because money did matter. She doled out enough of it to her family to know that for a fact.

  Dan signaled the server. “Jazz, what can I get you?”

  “Iced tea, thanks.”

  The server was a young brunette with big brown eyes and a long, high ponytail with purple stripes worked throughout. She carried her empty tray tucked under her arm. Her smile was big and bright, and punctuated by dimples that screamed “Let’s be best friends” to the world. That smile could put her through college on tips alone. She beamed it at Dan.

  “Leila, darlin’,” he said. “This is Jazz. You’ll probably be seeing a lot of her. She’s in charge of smoke jumping operations out at the airfield this summer. Leila is Lou’s daughter,” he added, speaking to Jazz.

  “Smoke jumping!” Leila looked far too impressed for Jazz’s level of comfort. “How did you get into something like that?”

  Jazz liked that her first question hadn’t been how a woman managed to qualify. “I’m a firefighter most of the year, so it was a natural progression.”