Too Hard To Handle

“Not much.” Hank shrugged his lean shoulders. “After the explosion, Milt, here,” he nodded at the gelding, “came flying over the hill and it took me a while to catch him.”

“We’ll head back tomorrow and finish up.”

“What about them?” Hank gestured over his shoulder at the people milling around the motor homes, his hazel eyes questioning.

“We’ll leave that one section of fence open for them.”

“What about the herd?”

“We’ll have to wait to move it in there until they’re gone.” Shane dismounted when they reached the barn. “Who’s cooking tonight?”

“Red.” Hank sighed. “Beans again. You know, we’re gonna have a mutiny on our hands if we don’t get another cook out here. And don’t even suggest Adelaide. Half of us got food poisoning the one time she tried.”

“Yeah. I know.” Remembering, Shane winced. The housekeeper was a jewel, but not in the kitchen. “I’ve called all the temp agencies in Vegas, but the odds of finding someone are slim to none. Anyone who can cook for more than one person at a time has been snatched up for the summer by dude ranches or local camps. And Hector called this morning with more bad news after he pulled into Dallas. Said his dad is worse off than he thought, and he’d probably have to stay two or three weeks.”

Hank groaned. “A couple of days without a cook is bad enough, but two or three weeks? Boss, you gotta do something.” Taking the reins from Shane’s hand, he said, “I’ll take care of the horses, you go make a miracle.”

An hour later, Shane closed the telephone directory with an irritated thump. Nothing. There wasn’t a cook to be found in the whole damn county.

Maybe there was hope for Shane after all.

Christy braked to a stop and hopped off her bicycle at the front gate, looking at the gracious old house surrounded by lush, well-tended grass. It was no Tara, but then she had always thought such magnificence was overrated. This was a home—pale creamy yellow, two stories, with a wraparound porch that was cozily furnished with an oak swing and wicker chairs punctuated with bright floral cushions. Enclosed by a white rail with gently curved spindles, it all but shouted a welcome. It was the kind of home she had dreamed about as a child moving from place to place. It was a deeply feminine house, she reflected, for such a hard man.

But a man who appreciated a home like this couldn’t be all bad, she thought. Not that she was interested on a personal level, of course, but she made a point of giving credit where it was due. And he did appreciate it; it showed in the recent paint job, the tidy shrubbery, the profusion of pink and white flowers tumbling here and there.

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.”

Chapter Two

“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.