Unfortunately, the bride and groom showed no sign of going anywhere, and until they left, neither could Jaclyn. Neither the bride’s mother nor her aunt had shown any interest in overseeing that part of the night. If the happy couple was in a hurry to start their honeymoon, it didn’t show. The groom had shed his suit coat and tie, unbuttoned his top shirt button, and rolled up his sleeves so he could better enjoy the dancing. The bride and all of her bridesmaids had disappeared into the barn, reappearing about half an hour later to also join in the dancing, with all of them having changed into short, flirty dresses. A couple of them—okay, several of them—went past “flirty” straight into “slutty” territory, but at this point it wasn’t Jaclyn’s business if the bridesmaids drummed up some extra money on the side.

The live band was comprised of five middle-aged men, dressed in jeans and T-shirts, who weren’t bad musicians. That wasn’t to say they were good, exactly, but they did okay. They had a surprisingly extensive repertoire, ranging from classic rock to a lot of the more popular country tunes of today, all of which the crowd danced to with more enthusiasm than skill, but no one seemed to care if they could dance or not. Having fun was the point.

A huge tent had been erected, with a roughly built “stage” at one end, and at the other end were long folding tables laden with pretty much the same menu that had graced the reception the night before, and set off to the side were coolers filled with longneck bottles of beer. Folding card tables and plastic lawn chairs had been arranged under the tent’s canopy; Jaclyn had done her best here, covering the card tables with picnic-style tablecloths and arranging different-colored jugs filled with daisies in the center of each table. As the twilight deepened and the colored Christmas lights that outlined the tent were turned on, she had to admit the effect, though rustic, did have a certain free-spirited charm. Battery-operated votive candles flickered on the tables. Though real candles had grace, at least these lights wouldn’t set the tent on fire if a table was knocked over, which, considering the amount of beer being consumed, became more and more likely as the party wore on.

Bishop was not only still there, he’d thrown himself into the party spirit. First he’d enticed the groom’s mother—her name was Evelyn—into indulging in a beer, which had helped her relax enough that she’d actually smiled, for the first time that day. After half of another beer Bishop began teasing her about dancing with him, trying to entice her onto the dance floor, which was nothing more than rough wood planking laid in place on the ground and an equally rough frame nailed in place around the boards to keep them from drifting apart.

“Oh, I couldn’t do that!” she exclaimed, a look of shock on her face.

“Sure you can,” Bishop cajoled. “I’ll teach you how to line dance.”

“What’s line dancing?”

“It isn’t shaking your booty, it’s more like the dancing people did on Pride and Prejudice. People stand side by side and do the steps—”

“But I don’t know any of the steps.” Her cheeks were flushed, and she darted a nervous but vaguely longing glance toward the dance floor.

By now Bishop had her by both hands, urging her to her feet. “It’s easy to learn, I’ll show you. C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

Jaclyn watched, smiling. Bless Bishop, not only for staying, but for paying attention to the poor woman and actually having her laughing now. She might never be happy with her son’s choice of wife, the marriage might not last past next week, but she wouldn’t look back and remember the wedding with total misery.

Bishop positioned them off to the side so they wouldn’t interfere with the other dancers, who were whirling and gyrating, and began walking his partner through the steps. After the third pass-through, she began to get the hang of it, remembering when to clap, sometimes remembering when to kick. She was laughing, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright.

The band wasn’t slow. They saw what was going on, and swung into Brooks and Dunn. “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” began blaring from the speakers. A couple of women squealed, and several of them hurried to align themselves with Bishop and Evelyn, stomping and scootin’ and clapping. Bishop was laughing, his usual sardonic expression completely missing in action, and Evelyn was laughing in return whenever she missed a step.

“Thank you,” the groom said, coming up beside Jaclyn and handing her a cold, frosty bottle of beer.

Surprised, she automatically took the beer. “For what?”

He was a little sweaty from his own efforts on the dance floor, his hair falling forward onto his forehead, his eyes sparkling and his color high. He nodded toward his mother. “For making Mom laugh.”

So he wasn’t completely oblivious to the turmoil he was putting his family through, as she’d thought. If he was going into this marriage with his eyes open, he might actually have a chance to pull it off, though she was fairly certain that would mean separating his bride from her current crowd of friends. On the other hand, he might fit in with that crowd better than she thought, in which case Evelyn probably had some sleepless nights filled with worry in her future. You just never knew with people. And because you didn’t know, because she couldn’t fix things even if she did know, Jaclyn smiled and took a sip of the beer. “Don’t thank me, at any rate. Thank Bishop. I had no idea he even knew what line dancing was.”

“Who is he? Your boyfriend? I thought the cop was.”

He didn’t seem upset at the idea that people he didn’t know were at his wedding, drinking and eating. “No, Bishop is the florist who did your flowers. He usually leaves as soon as he has everything in place, but today he decided to stick around. I’m sorry, I should have asked permission.” The fact that she hadn’t, that the idea hadn’t even occurred to her, was a testament to how off-balance the whole day had been for her.

He waved her apology away. “That’s fine. Doesn’t matter to me. So the cop’s your boyfriend?”

She opened her mouth to deny that, too, then realized that if she did, she had no ready explanation for Eric’s presence. She could either explain the whole complicated series of events, which she didn’t want to do, or she could let everyone think she habitually invited friends to the weddings she oversaw, which was in most ways worse than telling the truth. But if she said he was on duty—he was, wasn’t he?—she ran the risk of half the guests bolting, and ruining the party. Evidently they had all decided he was there only because he was dating her, and for some reason that made him less threatening. “Kind of,” she finally said, lamely.

“Thought so.” The groom clinked his bottle with hers, winked, and wandered away in search of his new wife.

Jaclyn looked at the bottle of beer in her hand. She should set it down; she wasn’t much of a drinker, and she never drank anything alcoholic when she was on a job. The problem with this job was that she was more bystander than organizer, she’d already done everything she could do short of getting the bride and groom in a car—please, God, soon—and, damn it, she was hot and thirsty and the beer was cold and wet. She wasn’t crazy about beer, but what the hell. She tilted the bottle and drank some more.

She had almost finished the beer when an arm suddenly clamped around her waist and she looked up, startled, into Mullet Head’s smiling face. “C’mon, sweet thing, let’s dance!” And he began dragging her toward the dance floor.

Eric had been keeping his distance, more out of respect for the fact that Jaclyn was working than for any other reason, but he’d positioned himself, at the back of the tent close to the tables of food, where he could keep an eye on her. The location had turned out to be doubly advantageous. He’d had beer and barbecue pressed on him; he’d refused the beer and taken the barbecue, along with sides of potato salad and coleslaw. There were a few soft drinks and juices available, for the kids, so he drank a soft drink and ignored how good an icy beer would taste. The barbecue was damn good. The minister said it was because he set an open can of beer inside the barbecue grill and then kept the grill closed while the meat cooked; supposedly the hot beer added moisture to the meat and made it tender. Maybe there was truth to that, because the meat was outstanding.