Rita Rainville - Too Hard To Handle

“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?”