Too Hard To Handle. Rita Rainville

Tillie,” Christy confirmed grimly. A fey, spry, enchanting, adventurous, hair-raising dynamo of a woman. A woman fascinated by aliens and UFOs and…a psychic. She had daily conversations with Uncle Walter, a man whose exuberant spirit was apparently undaunted by the insignificant fact that he had passed on to another plane years earlier. She was also a matchmaker, who wreaked havoc in the life of any niece or nephew unfortunate enough to become the object of her attention.

      But that had all been family lore, at least as far as Christy was concerned. Born into a military family that moved with regularity, she’d had only intermittent contact with her infamous aunt. So minimal, in fact, that she had always thought the stories were highly exaggerated.

      Until this past year.

      “She’s gathered a herd of senior citizen extraterrestrial believers and organized them into a caravan. The plan is to visit the Nevada and Arizona hot spots of UFO sightings. The seniors, of course, fully expect to find proof of visitations.”

      “Good grief.”

      “My thought exactly. And since my first assignment is to write an article on seniors traveling together, I got stuck with Aunt Tillie and her goofy friends.”

      After a thoughtful pause, her cousin asked cautiously, “How’d your editor know about Aunt Tillie?”

      “She didn’t. But Mom certainly does. Among other things, she said I couldn’t turn Aunt Tillie loose on the rest of the world in an RV.”

      “Aunt Tillie got her driver’s license back?” Horror lifted Brandy’s voice a notch.

      “Last week.”

      “Good grief.”

      “Yeah, that’s what I thought. So, with the family breathing down my neck and designating me as the sacrificial lamb, I cleared the idea with my editor. She thought it might have a nice, light touch. I’m leaving in about ten days.”

      Before her cousin could recover, Christy circled back to the original reason for the call. “Brandy, have you ever heard Aunt Tillie call me her little wanderer?”

      “Sure. Not lately, but all the time when we were kids. I figured it was because you always meandered away and the family had to send search parties out for you.”

      “Yeah, I did too.”

      “Did? Past tense? Not now?”

      “No indeedy. She said something yesterday that put a whole new light on the subject.”

      “Don’t tell me. Aliens again?”

      “What’s with her, Brandy? The woman is obsessed with E.T.s. Now she seems to think I’m one of them.”

      “Oh boy. Did you ask Aunt Tillie about it?”

      “You bet your sweet patootie I did.”

      “And?”

      “She said she knew the moment I was born that I was what UFO buffs call a wanderer. She’s just been waiting for me to bloom. Damn it, Brandy, this isn’t funny. I don’t want to bloom.”

      Her cousin’s snort of laughter was not comforting. “You’re doomed, Christy. There’s not a darned thing any of us can do when she goes into high gear. One consolation, though, she’ll find you a husband—one who’s good with aliens, of course. That’s always a top priority with her. After all, she’s still convinced she married me off to a real, honest-to-God E.T. Just be grateful that Uncle Walter isn’t involved.”

      “I don’t want a husband, especially one who hangs around with aliens. I’ve sworn off men. Three ex-fianceés are more than enough for any woman. And the thought of Uncle Walter sending me messages from the great beyond is the stuff of nightmares,” Christy said with a shudder. “Good grief, the man has been dead for at least fourteen years. Is he ever going to quit talking to her?”

      “Has she mentioned his opinion of your wandering soul or a husband?”

      “Well…”

      Her cousin’s laughter was no longer muffled. “Doomed, Christy. That’s what you are. Doomed!”

      Earlier, other cousins had laughingly warned her that she, too, would one day be drawn into her aunt’s sphere of influence. And her life would never be the same.

      Just as they’d predicted, it had happened. The fateful meeting had taken place one rainy afternoon a year earlier, after her move to San Diego, not far from her aunt’s home in Rancho Santa Fe. Less than an hour into the visit Christy had been hooked. Enchanted by the tiny woman who loved so openly, she became her staunch supporter and as fiercely protective of her as the rest of the family.

      Now, wincing as she remembered Brandy’s prediction, Christy tried to rein in her overactive imagination. Granted, this stop had not been on their itinerary; they had been scheduled to drive another fifty miles similar to the last hundred since leaving Las Vegas. Miles of heat-shimmering road carved through stark landscape covered with chaparral and dotted with stumpy Joshua trees and yucca.

      True, Aunt Tillie had been sitting beside her in the passenger seat humming a bit off-key when she’d spotted the lush oasis ahead—which coincided with the end of the barbed wire fence—and directed her to pull off the road onto the grassy slope.

      But there was no way that Aunt Tillie could have known a man like Shane McBride would be here.

      Absolutely none.

      This stop was definitely just a spur-of-the-moment thing, she reassured herself. It had nothing to do with Shane, nothing to do with aliens. And definitely nothing to do with husbands.

      Nada.

      Relieved, she gazed up at Shane and shivered as she felt an involuntary tug of attraction. He did bear a startling resemblance to her three ex-fianceés. Not in physical looks, although they had all been large, solid men, but in his aura of power and control. Of course, it was that very aura that had been the problem.

      Three times.

      Number one owned a computer company, number two a marketing firm, number three was a real estate broker. All three men were aggressive types whose companies were leaving their competitors in the dust. Unfortunately, they handled their personal lives with the same drive, and she had always been a sucker for the self-assertive types.

      But, that was then and this was now—and there was a limit. She had sworn off powerful men. For good. Especially the strong, silent types who assumed control as if by divine right; they were nothing but trouble. She had once believed she could tap into their gentler side, touch the tenderness she thought was just beneath the surface, but three bad experiences had finally opened her eyes.

      Men like that were drawn to her generous spirit and open affection, just as she had been drawn to their strength, but it was the old water-and-oil combination. It had taken a while, but she had finally learned her lesson. If she ever started looking for a man again, and that was a big if, it would definitely be for a sensitive, caring type.

      So if, through some convoluted mental process, Aunt Tillie had concluded that Shane McBride was connected to aliens or would make a terrific nephew-in-law, she could just think again. In fact, the best plan would be to get Tillie back on the road so the matter could die a natural death.

      Her eyes narrowed in thought, Christy glanced again at Shane just as he turned to check on the older people walking down the hill.

      “Look,” she said in a determined voice, “I’ll do my best to get this crew on the road. In the meantime, if it makes you feel any better, you can be as rude to me as you like, but when you talk to my aunt, I hope you have the courtesy to—” She caught her breath, almost choking. “Good grief, your shirt.”

      He looked over his shoulder at her. “What about it?”

      “It’s burned. And so is your back.” Shock lifted her voice a notch. “Why on earth didn’t you say something?”

      He shrugged.