Rita Rainville - Too Hard To Handle

“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.

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