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. “I had other things on my mind.”
Yeah, like rescuing her, she thought with a stab of guilt. Giving his sleeve a tug, she said, “Come on, I have some ointment in the motor home. It’ll keep you from blistering.”
In less than two minutes, Shane was sitting on a stool hastily pulled outside with his shirt on his lap to cover his reaction to his nurse, while Christy dabbed a cooling salve on his burns. The touch of her soft hands on his back didn’t help a bit. Seconds later, the seniors milled around him, offering sympathy and suggestions. His foreman, Hank Withers, a quiet man, tall and spare, joined them, dismounting behind the group, quieting his mare and Shane’s gelding.
Tillie, wearing raspberry tennies, pulled up a camp chair and plunked it in front of Shane. When she sat, her long purple gathered skirt, held up by green suspenders, pooled around her feet. Leaning over, she plucked his shirt from his hands, shook out the dust and spread it across her lap, looking with interest at the logo on the pocket. She drew a slim finger across a swirl of stars with the word Galaxy embroidered in red beneath it.
Flexing the shoulder on which Christy was doctoring a raw spot, he said to the older woman, “I’m Shane McBride.”
“Of course you are,” she assured him earnestly. “Our host.” Smiling at Shane, she added, “You can call me Tillie.”
Host?
Christy cleared her throat. “Aunt Tillie, Mr. McBride wants us to leave.”
Tillie tilted her head, studying Shane before switching her gaze to her niece. “You must have misunderstood, dear. It’s the scene of an accident. Nobody leaves. At least, not until the insurance people come.” Her brows drew together in thought. “Or perhaps it’s the rental people—or the police. And, who knows, that could be several days.”
Beaming at Shane, she said, “When you lowered the fence for us, I knew we were meant to pull over for a rest.”
Christy stiffened. “Aunt Tillie, the fence was broken by a man who claims he was being chased by a UFO.”
“Wonderful! I knew we were in the right place.” Her eyes sparkled with delight.
Shane wanted to scowl to show he meant business, but there was something about her expectant look, her bright blue eyes and mop of silver curls that stopped him. It would have been like taking a potshot at Tinkerbell. “No, ma’am, I don’t think wonderful’s quite the word. He was as drunk as a skunk.”
She twinkled at him, clasping his shirt to her chest. “Just think! Actually chased by a UFO. We expect to have the same good luck. Don’t we?” she asked, turning to her friends for confirmation.
They nodded, apparently sharing her enthusiasm. The only exception to the general fervor, Shane noted, was the very curvy lady with the mass of red hair who was still dabbing at his back. She just sighed.
“Lovely shirt.” Tillie handed it back to Shane and waved at the group assembled around her. “These are my friends. They release water, read palms, hunt and catch people, fly, gamble, fix things, open minds and create.”
Still grappling with the idea of being host to a gathering of UFO hunters, especially those with the qualifications just revealed by their fluttering leader, Shane got to his feet and shrugged on his shirt.
Christy dropped the ointment back into the box of medical supplies and slid between Shane and the seniors. They were a formidable group, individually or collectively, she realized, and it made no sense at all, but she still felt as protective about them as she did Tillie. No doubt it had to do with what the family called her nurturing nature—or an addled mental state resulting from too much contact with her aunt.
“Shane,” she said hastily, “I’d like you to meet our resident dowser.”
A diminutive woman
