Читать книгу Too Hard To Handle - Rita Rainville - Страница 11

“More than likely, the RV had a ruptured fuel line,” Skip said. “It happens every now and then. Smoke, flames, a big boom and bingo—you got nothing left.”

“Dowsing is simple,” Ruth Ann commented to Jack with a grin. “Even a cynical cop can do it. You don’t need anything fancy, a forked stick does the trick. Willow works well.”

“Keno loves her job.” Claude ran a hand over the German shepherd’s head, pausing to scratch behind the erect ears. “And she’s damn good at it, too.”

Shane sat in the same camp chair he’d been in earlier, only this time he held a bottle of beer and listened to the fragments of conversation coming from the clusters of people around him.

His guests.

Some were setting the two long tables in the center of the clearing for dinner. They had a rhythm, as if they’d been doing it for weeks rather than just four days. Others lounged in chairs, idly chatting.

They had cleaned the area as promised, he had noted as he’d ridden Milt into the hollow. The debris had been tossed in a heap near the carcass of the burned RV, and the rest of the motor homes encircled the large area obviously pinpointed for community activities.

As before, Tillie sat across from him, her yellow alien shirt complemented by the green suspenders. His lips twitched as she beamed at him, her approval as obvious as the setting sun. She seemed especially taken with his shirt, a duplicate of the denim one he’d worn earlier. Of course, she seemed fascinated by a number of things; she just didn’t make much sense when she talked about them.

Amused, he decided to see if he’d have better luck with another subject. Any subject. “What are you thinking about?”

“Cows.”

Shane blinked. “Cows?” Could’ve fooled him. He was sure she had shirts on her mind.

“Your cows.” She gave him a quick look.

“Cattle,” he said absently, wondering at the sudden shift of emotions playing across her face. Anxiety had replaced approval.

“The ones here,” she clarified.

“By ‘here,’ do you mean on the ranch?”

“No, right here.” Tillie pointed a slim finger at the ground, then waved vaguely, encompassing the area around them. “Walter mentioned…that is, he thought…the cows might not be happy. Of course, you don’t have…at least, not yet.”

Determined not to laugh, Shane settled for clearing his throat and selecting a word from the maze. “Uh…happy?”

“Here,” she repeated.

He gave up. Grinning at her earnest expression, he looked around, wondering if there was an interpreter in the group. Happy? Cows? “Well,” he said slowly, “it’s not real easy to tell how they feel. Actually, I think they’re fine as long as they have good grass and water. That’s why I’ll be moving them down here. It’s also one of the reasons I was fixing the fence.”

“They wouldn’t…like it over there?” She pointed over the hills behind them.

Shane shrugged. “Who knows? But they won’t crowd you,” he promised, hoping to erase the crease between her brows. “I’ll wait until you’re gone before I move them in.” He blinked, narrowing his eyes at her. “Who’s Walter?”

“Perhaps it would be better if…” Her words faded away, then she brightened and leaned forward to pat his hand. “But I wouldn’t worry. Walter says—Oh good, it won’t be long now.”

Shane’s brows rose at the cryptic statement. Worry? About what? And what wouldn’t be long? Until they were gone? His stomach rumbled, reminding him that breakfast had been early and lunch nonexistent.

“Until we eat,” Tillie said matter-of-factly.

Just then, the door of the nearest motor home opened, releasing an aroma that made his mouth water. One thing was certain, he decided: beans weren’t on the menu.

“Dinner’s ready,” Christy called.

Ruth Ann, Jack and Claude trooped over to the door and returned with large, covered dishes. After depositing them on the tables, they went back for more.

Tillie grabbed Shane’s sleeve. “Come on. Walter always says the end of the table is best. Less confusion.”

Shrugging, Shane rose and allowed himself to be tugged along. Tillie sat at his right, nodding when Christy slid in on his left side. Within seconds he was surrounded by UFO hunters silently passing plates of food. His guests, he reminded himself again.

He took a bite of tender Swiss steak, closed his eyes and savored it while his taste buds broke into the Hallelujah Chorus.

Christy’s brows rose at his awed expression. “Did you think we invited you for burned hamburgers?”

“The way I’ve been eating lately, I would’ve enjoyed even that. But this, it’s…”

“Wonderful? Extraordinary? Phenomenal?”

He nodded. “All of the above.”

“I’d like to take the credit, but this is my week to be scullery maid. Ben’s the magician.” She pointed to the short, muscular man with a gray crew cut. “He only lets me wash and cut veggies.”

“He cooks for everyone?”

She nodded. “Dinner only. We’re on our own for breakfast and lunch.”

“How’d you con him into that?”

Christy turned to look at Ben, her expression thoughtful. “I’m not sure. It was a done deal before I came along, but I think he was bored silly. He’d recently retired as head chef from a really great restaurant and cooking just for himself wasn’t cutting it. As it is, he can produce a meal like this easier than I can make a batch of cookies.”

“You don’t say.” Shane gazed at the muscular wizard, knowing his luck had just changed. A real live chef, a bored chef, was sitting across the table from him, and he was damn well going to do whatever it took to keep him right here. For at least three weeks.

Of course, if he kept the cook, he’d more than likely have to keep the rest of them. They seemed to be a package deal. Glancing around the table at the yellow-shirted bunch, he sighed. The thought of them running tame on his land searching for UFOs was enough to turn his hair gray, but hell, he could control them. What was important was talking Ben Matthews into cooking until Hector returned. Wondering if immediately after dinner was too soon to tell Ben that the Circle M would gladly help ease the strain of his retirement, Shane reached again for the platter of Swiss steak.

He stopped chewing when another thought occurred to him. If they stayed, Christy stayed. And that changed everything. If she wasn’t leaving in two days, he could do something about the fire that flooded his body every time he looked at her. Hell, who was he kidding? Every time he thought of her. Turning to look down at her wispy bangs and glorious mass of hair, he held back a smile. Yeah, his luck had definitely changed.

When her elbow brushed Shane’s arm again, Christy shifted her chair a bit to the left. It was one thing to make nice with the man, entirely another to sit so close she was scorched by the heat radiating from his big body.

She would do a lot for Aunt Tillie, but being agreeable to him wasn’t easy. He was too much like her three exes—high-handed and forceful. Of course a lot of men faced with an exploding RV and a gaggle of UFO hunters on their property would probably react the same way.

Even so, he was dangerous. Of course, it wasn’t his fault that she was wary of men—especially the alpha types. Or that what she craved right now was a peaceful life, a life dedicated to her new job and simple pleasures. A life rid of complications—especially the ones created by demanding men.

She hadn’t been a bit interested when he’d taken off his shirt so she could deal with his back, she assured herself. Yeah, right. The sight of his hard body hadn’t doubled her pulse rate either, and his heat hadn’t sizzled through her fingertips, warming her from head to toe.

She was accustomed to attractive men. All three of her exes had been disciplined, keeping their bodies in first-rate condition. Health, number two had told her, was a big advantage in beating down the competition. And they had muscles. Plenty of them. So there had been no reason for her to gape at Shane like a hormone-crazed teenager. She should be able to take broad shoulders, a wide chest lightly sprinkled with dark hair, and a flat, hard stomach in stride.

So he was spectacular. So what? He was still a royal pain. He was the prototype of all the trouble-some men who had caused her to swear off men, for heaven’s sake.

Grateful they would be leaving in a day or so, she decided she could be polite until then. It couldn’t be that difficult, despite the waves of tension radiating from him. Noting that Tillie was complimenting Ben on the dinner, she turned to Shane.

“How’s your—”

“Who is—”

They both stopped, waiting.

“You first,” Shane said, leaning back when Melinda reached over his shoulder to collect his plate.

“I just wanted to know if your back is bothering you. I have plenty of ointment if you—”

He shook his head. “No thanks. It stings a little, but it’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Her voice was cool. “Now it’s your turn.”

Nodding toward the cluster of seniors, Shane asked, “Which one is Walter?”

A chill shot straight up Christy’s spine. “Walter?” Her voice cracked midword.

Peering around him at her aunt, who was comparing notes with Opal, the palmist, Christy groped for a response. Tillie had no inhibition about quoting Walter—anytime, anywhere, with anyone. It was perfectly reasonable for Shane to want him identified.

It was also a problem because there was no reasonable explanation for Walter—especially to a man who already thought they were a bunch of lunatics.

“Walter is…Aunt Tillie’s husband,” she said, opting for truthful evasion for as long as she could. Even the verb was honest because, unfortunately, there was nothing past tense about the blasted man. Except his body.

“I don’t remember meeting him.”

She shook her head, deliberately ignoring his puzzled expression. “You didn’t. He…couldn’t come on this trip.”

“Then why was he talking about my cattle?”

Choking on a sip of iced tea, Christy asked weakly, “Your cattle? You sure it was Walter?”

“That’s what Tillie said.”

“Exactly what did she say?”

“Something about my cattle not being happy in this hollow.”

“Oh.” A nasty vision of cows keeling over by the dozens ran through her mind, then she looked around and brightened. “You don’t have any cows here.”

“Not yet. But they’ll be here as soon as you leave.”

She angled a quick glance at him before concentrating on her perspiring glass of tea. “Uh…you couldn’t wait a while before moving them?”

“Why? I want to do it before they overgraze the area they’re in.”

“No particular reason.” Except that there was usually some sort of logic—absurd or otherwise—behind Uncle Walter’s suggestions.

“I don’t get it.” Shane turned to face her, his wide shoulders concealing the people behind him. “If he isn’t here, how could he know about my ranch? And why would he care?”

Give the man a cigar. He had some good questions. “Aunt Tillie probably described the place to him,” she said vaguely, checking her options again. So much for honesty. It never lasted long when the subject was Tillie or her talkative mate. Two days, she reminded herself. Just a measly forty-eight hours and they’d be on their way. And being around Tillie had taught her a few things; she could dodge his curiosity and pointed questions for that long.

Shane gave her a last, exasperated look before turning to the man across the table. “Ben, that was a wonderful meal. I wonder if we could talk for a minute.”

Tillie turned to face him, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

Not trusting her aunt’s look of anticipation, Christy felt the chill skitter back down her spine.

Ben leaned back in his chair, arms crossed on his chest, and nodded.

“I need a good cook for about three weeks,” Shane said bluntly. “What can I do to interest you in the job?” Listening in dismay while he explained, Christy looked from one face to the next with a sinking feeling. No one jumped up to violently object. No one even looked upset.

“How many men do you have?” Ben asked.

“Ten.”

“What’s your kitchen like?”

“It was remodeled last year with commercial appliances.”

Ben shrugged. “I’m listening.”

Christy groaned at the avid interest in Ben’s brown eyes as he heard the details. The blasted man couldn’t wait to get back in a hot kitchen with twenty pans going at once.

“I could do it.” Ben’s words were measured as carefully as the ingredients in his sauces. “But we’re all together on this trip. If I stay, we all stay; it has to be a group decision. And I still cook dinner for everyone here.”

Shane gave a brief nod. “I figured that. Do you want me to leave so you can talk it over?”

“No need. We’re not shy.” Turning to the others, Ben said, “What do you think?”

Doomed. Christy slumped in her chair, remembering her cousin’s words as they all gazed at Tillie. But it was only fair they defer to her, she reminded herself. After all, the trip had been Tillie’s idea. She had determined the itinerary, announced it on the Internet and found compatible people. Each of them doted on her, recognized her special ability and would follow her through the gates of hell. It didn’t take a psychic to know what her aunt’s decision would be, Christy thought gloomily.

“How wonderful!” Tillie beamed a smile at each of them. “We’re exactly where we are meant to be.” Sliding a glance at Shane, she added, “Practically at the door of Area 51.”

Christy’s groan was lost in the excited conversation. She wondered how she had lived her entire life—before Aunt Tillie—without hearing of the famed Area 51 and the Nellis Air Force Base Bombing and Gunnery Range. While the Air Force had recently, and reluctantly, acknowledged that it had “operations” at Area 51, it still wouldn’t reveal what was happening there.

Skeptics believed that the government was testing exciting new jets that looked bizarre because they were experimental. UFO buffs believed the government had captured alien spacecraft and had made, and were testing, their own spaceships. There was no doubt which angle these people subscribed to.

The general area had been designated on their itinerary as the first major “hot spot” to be investigated, with a proposed stay of three weeks.

Jack grinned at Tillie. “Are you suggesting we use the ranch as a base of operations?”

“If it’s agreeable with everyone.” Tillie took another peek at Shane’s face and nodded, satisfied.

“Why not?” Ruth Ann looked at each of them, inviting comments. When there were none, she turned to Ben. “Of course, how much loot you can squeeze out of Shane is strictly your own business.”

Ben got up, looking across the table at his new boss. “Looks like you might have a deal.”

“Good. Before we take a walk and settle things, I have one more suggestion.” His quick glance, resting on Christy’s resigned expression for a moment, included them all. “How about moving closer to the house? I have an empty bunkhouse you can park by. You’ll probably want to stay in your RVs, but you can use the tubs and showers in the cabin.”

Again, all heads swiveled toward Tillie.

She nodded and touched Ben’s arm. “You go right now. The rest of us will stay here for…a while.”

Shane frowned. “It’ll be nicer for you near the house.”

Patting his hand, Tillie said, “Your home is lovely. We’ll be there.” She looked skyward for a moment, then gave a definite nod. “Day after tomorrow, Wednesday morning before the storm gets too bad.”

“What storm?” Shane turned a puzzled frown on Christy. “We’re not expecting rain.”

Avoiding his gaze, she muttered, “Don’t look at me. I’m the last one around here to know anything.”

Five minutes later the two men returned from a short walk, their satisfied expressions clear to the rest of the group.

Shane tucked a cellular phone back in his shirt pocket. “Hank says he’ll meet you at the gate in an hour and lead you in.”

Ben nodded, moving toward his motor home.

Reaching for Christy’s hand, Shane tugged gently, bringing her to her feet. “Let’s go.”

She scowled and tried to sink back into the chair. “Where?”

“Out there.” Shane kept her at his side as he gestured toward the surrounding hills. Any damn where at all, as long as they were far away from the voluble alien hunters still clustered around the tables.

Hesitating, Christy cast a glance at her aunt, who was again chatting with Opal. It wasn’t a smart move to wander away with a man who practically had a large T branded on his forehead. Trouble was something she didn’t need, and caring for a small, elderly aunt was always a good excuse.

“You go on, dear. Enjoy yourself.” Tillie waved absently in her direction. “I’m just fine.”

Shane slid his arm around her waist and nudged her toward an opening in the circle of RVs before she could use the deepening darkness as another excuse.

Stopping by a tall juniper, he looked down at her. “Did you tell Tillie about my house?”

“Nope. I started scrubbing veggies as soon as I got back.”

“Then how does she know what it looks like?”

Christy stopped to look up at him. “Beats me. She just seems to know these things.” So much for trying to deceive him with half-truths, she reflected with resignation. For a couple of days, there might have been a chance. But not for three weeks. And she had a gut feeling that Shane would not be a happy man when he learned that he was not only hosting a troupe of UFO hunters but a genuine, dyed-in-the-wool psychic.

He tightened his arm and kept her moving over the grass while he considered her aunt. “It doesn’t make sense,” he finally said. “And there’s no storm coming. I checked the weather channel before I rode over here for dinner.”

Loosening the large hand at her waist with a sigh, Christy stepped away from him. “Look, if you’re going to be around Aunt Tillie for any length of time, you might as well understand something.” It still wasn’t easy to explain, she reflected. Even after a year of practice. “She’s, uh…”

“She’s what?”

“You won’t believe it,” she hedged. “No one ever does—at least not at first.”

Drawing her closer, he casually draped his arm over her shoulder. “I’ll believe it,” he promised.

“I doubt it.” Get it over with, she told herself. Now. “She’s…psychic.”

His hand tightened on her shoulder and after a moment she looked up at him. His expression was typical, she reflected. Tolerant and a bit patronizing. The look most men gave her before explaining that only the gullible and weak-minded believed in mediums.

“I don’t mean just a little, either,” she added for good measure. “She’s an absolute, out-and-out, mind-boggling psychic.”

“I don’t believe it.” He scowled down at her.

“Isn’t that exactly what I told you?” she muttered in exasperation.

Shane ran a hand through his hair, leaving it rumpled and standing in spikes. This wasn’t the conversation he’d planned to have once he got Christy alone. Their two days had been stretched to three weeks, but it wouldn’t mean a damn thing if she tossed verbal bombs at him every time they got together.

“Look, I’ve already got a bunch of E.T. hunters on my hands, you don’t have to add a fortune-teller.” He took a deep breath and added in a flat voice, “Besides, I don’t believe in psychics.”

“How nice for you.” Maybe it was the fact that Tillie was surrounded by a legion of protectors and didn’t need her added support, Christy thought, but for the first time she could enjoy the absurdity of the situation.

“I didn’t either until a year ago, when I settled in San Diego and my relatives stuck me with Aunt Tillie for a weekend. During that time I learned that she doesn’t need a security system at her place because she always knows who’s approaching her house. I learned that she never uses a telephone book—she just picks up the phone and dials the right numbers.”

Shane groaned.

“I learned that she always knows when family and friends are either hurt or in trouble.”

Sighing, Shane said, “Let me ask again, who exactly is this Walter?”

Her soft laughter filling the air, Christy said, “Her husband.”

“And why isn’t he here taking care of her?”

“Because he’s dead.”

His scowl grew darker. “Dead?”

“Yep.” She grinned. “Of course, Aunt Tillie says he made his transition, but any way you look at it, he’s gone. But not forgotten, no sirree. And believe me, he didn’t go quietly. It seems like the man never stops talking. Fourteen years ago,” she added before he could ask.

“I don’t believe it.”

“You already said that.”

“Do you have any idea how crazy this sounds?”

“Yeah, I do. Which is why I hate to tell anyone about it, but I thought since we’re going to be here a while, you should be warned.”

“And he talked to her about my cattle?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Christy sighed. “He talks to her about almost everything. My mother said his financial advice had tripled her portfolio. Aunt Tillie’s, not my mother’s,” she added with scrupulous honesty.

“So why is this dead man fixated on my cattle?”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea. But, believe me, my family jumps when he issues a warning.”

“It wasn’t a warning,” he snapped. “It was just…a comment.”

“As far as Uncle Walter is concerned, it’s the same thing. I’d pay attention if I were you.” Christy turned back toward the RVs. “So now you’ve had two warnings—one from Walter and one from me.”

Shane caught her arm and gently swung her toward him. “Wait a minute. This isn’t what I wanted to talk about when we came out here.”

Panic swept through her when his voice deepened. “Well of course it isn’t,” she said brightly. “How could you? You didn’t know about it.” The fear that he would say something she absolutely, positively did not want to hear kept her talking. “Uncle Walter isn’t a topic that many would think of. After all, how many dead men—”

He stopped her by lifting her chin and brushing his lips against hers in a slow, tender kiss. Finally, when the tension left her body and she sagged against him, he raised his head. “I want to talk about us.” His dark gaze swept her face before he turned and led her farther away from the lights of the motor homes.

Digging her heels in the soft grass, she pulled away and held up a hand to keep him back. Damned if she hadn’t been right about the brand on his forehead; the man was nothing but trouble. Oddly enough, she had forgotten that the letter could also stand for testosterone. As in way too much of it. And she had a nasty hunch that he was as stubborn and relentless as all three exes combined.

“Whoa, cowboy,” she said breathlessly. “We’ve known each other about six hours. Don’t you think you’re rushing things a bit?”

He gave a slow shake of his head. “From my point of view, we’ve already wasted most of the day.”

Blinking, she took a deep breath to release the tension building inside her. Then, since it hadn’t helped much, she took another one and quickly stepped past him, hurrying distractedly back to the RVs. His blunt approach was all too familiar. And, unfortunately for her, there was something morbidly fascinating about the direct, Me-Tarzan, you-Jane method. Even worse, in the past, it had worked. But that was then, she reminded herself. This was now. And things were different.

She was different. She had changed.

She had a batch of new priorities—an interesting job, potential career advancement and, best of all, no forceful men in her life.

Granted, there were a few dangling threads from her old life that needed attention. They were minor. A quick conversation with Aunt Tillie would clear up the wanderer issue. Ignoring the worrisome thought that conversations with her aunt were neither quick nor reasonable, Christy pressed on.

Another more pointed talk with Shane would probably be necessary, but she could handle that.

After all, she had changed.