Rita Rainville - Too Hard To Handle

Shane walked around the corner and caught her gazing dreamy-eyed at the house. With her hand on the gate of the picket fence, she had the tranquil look of a woman coming home. She looked nice there. She looked…right.

Taking a deep breath, he shook his head. No way was he going down that road. With her green eyes, high cheekbones and full mouth, Christy was one hell of a looker. Her blazing mass of red-gold hair didn’t hurt, either. But she was going to be here two days, tops, and he could manage to keep his hands off her for that long. Maybe. Pushing down the surge of lust that slammed through him, he strode toward her. It would be helpful if his imagination would just simmer down, he thought, muttering a quiet oath. Mighty helpful.

Pulling the gate open, he scowled at her flushed face. “It’s almost a hundred degrees out here and dry as dirt. What the hell are you doing on a bike? Without a hat?” When her narrowed eyes glittered with irritation, he heaved a sigh. “Can I get you something cold to drink, iced tea, beer?”

Christy ran her hands through her hair to control both it and her temper. “First, a bike is convenient,” she snapped. “Second, I don’t need a caretaker, and third, no thank you. My aunt wants to be sure you know how much we all appreciate being able to stay here, and—”

“All?”

Taking a deep breath and releasing it, she nodded. “All.” She gave an exasperated sigh. “All right, I’m not thrilled about it, but you were kind—”

“Kind?” His brows rose.

“And courteous to my aunt and her friends,” she said through clenched teeth, “and I am grateful for that. Can I get on with this?” she asked, stopping him before he could interrupt again.

“So they asked me to tell…I mean we want to invite you to dinner to show our appreciation.”

A corner of his mouth kicked up in a slow smile. “This is killing you, isn’t it?”

“You bet.” Tightening her grip on the handlebars, Christy backed up a cautious step. His grin was a lethal weapon, she decided, and it shouldn’t be aimed at unsuspecting women. Reminding herself that she was immune to his brand of charm, she asked abruptly, “Are you coming or not?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“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.”