“Sure, you thought it was just what I’d need to stop moping, did you?” I drawled, because he’d been accusing me of “moping around his bar” all week. Stars, why was everyone so concerned, just because I’d gotten shot? I was fine now; it had healed without issue. Avertom meant well, but he had always been the nosiest of bastards.
“No,” he said, his tone holding none of the gloating I might have expected. “I thought you were whatsheneeded. Please, cousin, if anyone can help that stubborn human, it’s you.” I froze, my fists clenching around the strap of my bag as my mind’s eye flashed with the image of the abysmal harvester she’d had to work with. I was honestly impressed that she’d gotten such a clean, lossless harvest into her bins and ready for processing with the thing. All it was really good for was the damn scrap heap.
“You’ve been really worried about her, haven’t you?” I said, and I turned, heaving my bags onto my shoulders. I’d stuffed a bedroll and some clothing in there too, because I knew I wasn’t leavingagain until the job was done. I had caught the stares everyone gave her as we walked to her farm, but I hadn’t realized their significance. For a community as warm and friendly as this one, having a human thrust into their midst had to be strange. One who seemed to have a hard time asking for—or accepting—help was even stranger. No Aderian would force their help on another if they thought they were unwelcome, but… everyone knew she needed that help.
“Yup,” Avertom said with a pop of his mouth. He straightened and stepped aside to let me pass. “She does not speak of her past, but we all sense that it’s… dark.” We all sense, he said, like it was simple, natural. I didn’t sense any of that, because I was not an empath—but then again, he was right. She was like a skittish animal, bold and brazen, but ready to run when you called her bluff. It didn’t take an empath to realize that she’d been through something, and it wasn’t good. I knew a thing or two about trauma, about witnessing darkness.
“What makes you think Iwantto help her?” I said as I passed my cousin, my arms full of bags and supplies. In the span of an anger-fueled moment, I’d packed up nearly everything inside my temporary home. The Laughing Nia was nearby, as the shack was in Nia’s backyard. Avertom laughed loudly and did not deign to give me an answer.
My shoulder ached—but only a little—by the time I’d made the trek back to Meteor Crater. If anything, the poor farm looked even more derelict in the late afternoon light. It wouldn’t be long now until night fell, and with it would come a bitter cold and the waking of the Lemane flowers that still dotted the hills. I wanted to have the shield generator fixed first, but it was even more broken than the pressing machine and wouldn’t help her processher harvest. As much as I loathed the choice, I’d have to get the pressing machine up and running first.
I brought my things into the barn because I definitely didn’t need Mariska to see the bedroll dangling over my shoulder. I had a feeling she’d be horrified to discover how far I was already willing to go to help her save her farm. The thing was, she reminded me in a strange way of Danitalin, my research partner on the last project I’d worked on—the one on which I’d gotten shot. Danitalin was a fragile female with a spine of steel, one that everyone constantly underestimated, especially when it came to her ability to deal with adversity. Mariska was like that too: tough as nails, brittle as glass. A chip on her shoulder and a ton of pride to smother the shadows of her past.
It was already rapidly heading toward evening when I rounded the barn to let Mariska know I was back. She was hunched on top of the harvester, her face dangerously close to the sharp blades and moving arms. A brush was in her hands, rust flecks were all over her, and another dozen shiny joints on the machine had been revealed since I’d looked at it earlier. That was a tough job, but she’d clearly worked hard while I’d been gone. Sweat coated her spine and made the coppery, bouncy curls stick to the back of her neck. She briefly took my breath away and made my skin ache as I recalled what it was like to touch her delicate wrist.
Avertom thought he’d tricked me into helping the lonely human. He thought he’d sent his best friend in, a male he could trust. He was wrong. I was a selfish bastard with very impure thoughts about my little damsel. Here to help? Help myself to more of her presence. And what use could she possibly have for an old veteran and failed scientist? Just my hands, fixing her machines and pouring her wine. I eyed my scarred knuckles once when Igot to work on the pressing machine, then resolutely refused to look again. No, those were not hands suited to touching the pale, strangely dotted flesh of my little human. Then why did it ache so much to think of her? I barely knew her, and I was already obsessed.
She came to the barn several hours later, smelling not just of flowers and meadow grass, but also of food, strange and foreign, but enticingly savory all the same. “How is it going?” she asked shyly from the doorway. She had washed up and changed her clothing, and she looked oddly unarmored now that she was wearing a simple dress and sandals. I wondered if she’d tried to make herself look pretty for me, then instantly shot down the notion. No way. Mariska wasn’t ready to let in a town full of friendly, eager-to-help, kind-hearted Aderians. She definitely wasn’t going to trust a scarred old warrior like me. I had touched the strands of silver in my hair before I could think better of it, and I had probably smeared dark grease into the locks. Fool.
“Fine,” I said, sounding gruff and rude, but I didn’t really know how to sound any other way. Danitalin had never asked me to feign politeness in her lab, so any last vestiges of softness had dropped away—especially after those mercenaries took us hostage and killed our guards without mercy.
Forcing my thoughts away from the most recent trauma in my past, I gestured at the pressing machine. Its control panel still hung open with my datapad attached so I could verify readings. The machine had required some updates, too, but I was pretty sure I had it working again. “I was just about to test a batch. This one seems of lesser quality than the rest, so I figured it was a good start.” I pointed at a crate of harvest, probably the stragglers that were barely ripe. While I waited for updates tofinish or diagnostics to run, I’d made myself useful by restacking everything in a much more efficient manner. I had also used my newly stacked barrels to reach the hole in the roof and provide a temporary fix.
At my waving hand, Mariska’s odd, easy-to-track eyes flicked all over the interior of the barn and began to grow wider and wider—alarmingly so. I had stepped forward and cupped her chin in my hand before I could stop the impulse. Peering into her eyes, I heard myself say, “So much sclera. What is the purpose in humans?” The Rummicaron had smaller, mostly black eyes; the Kertinal had eyes much like humans’, but theirs glowed. The eyes of the Elrohirian were like that too, bright and glowing. A human, in comparison, had very dull eyes, but they did not look dull when she opened them that wide.
“Huh, what...eh?” she spluttered, both her hands coming up to grip my wrist. “Sclera? Is that the white part?” When I nodded, she shrugged, her mouth growing pinched and her eyes still alarmingly huge in her pale face. “I think it helps with expressions, and like, uh, hunting? Easier to see where everyone is looking, or something like that? I don’t know! Why do you care?” She lifted her hands away, then brought them rapidly down on my wrist. It didn’t hurt, but it surprised me enough to let go. Instantly contrite, I retreated to behind the pressing machine. Damn it, I hadn’t meant to scare her, what was I thinking?
“Okay, that makes sense,” I agreed. “Ready?” I hurried on, and before she could say yes or no, I loaded the crate with subpar grapes into the machine. It whirred, creaked ominously once, and then purred to life, starting to process the grapes like it had always been meant to. I celebrated internally, but only slightly,because this was just a small victory on the road to getting this farm running again. I wouldn’t rest easy until the shield generator was up and running too.
“It works! Oh, thank you, Jeltom! Are you sure you don’t want me to pay you now?” She shimmied around the machine in a strange sort of dance, her eyes glowing with happiness. I didn’t need to be an empath to know I’d restored some of her hope by fixing this machine. I didn’t have the heart to tell her the machine would break down again—and soon. It was on its last legs. Her eyes were so radiant that suddenly I could see what made them special. Kertinal eyes always glowed, but hers glowed like molten gold when she was happy.
Chapter 5
Mariska
Jeltom refused payment with a shrug and a casual shake of his head. It made his braid flick back and forth over his chest, tempting me with all that sexy muscle barely contained beneath his sleeveless shirt. Looking past him into the rest of the barn wasn’t much better for calming my libido. Not only had he managed to fix the pressing machine already, but he’d also restacked all the barrels from last year’s failed batch. He had somehow also fixed the hole in the roof, and it made all the difference. It didn’t look quite so much like everything was falling apart around me.
“Well, if you don’t want your money yet, would you like to come in for dinner?” I asked. I surprised myself with that request, so hellbent had I been on keeping everyone out, and now I was inviting him in? Into my domain, my sanctuary? Jeltom seemed oblivious to my inner turmoil; he just nodded once, gruffly, and mumbled something about washing up. “Okay,” I said brightly. “Show yourself in.” The door didn’t lock anyway, so that wouldn’t be hard.
I slipped from the barn with my belly all messy and confused. I had the hots for the grumpy mechanic, and he was the opposite of all those kind, overtly helpful gestures of the Aderians in town. Hehadn’tasked if I wanted him to restack my barrels of failed wine, he’d just done it. I didn’t know how to feel about that, but I did know that I was beginning to believe I’d be able to keep my cozy little homestead after all.
I had finished the pastries and piled them onto a rack to cool on my modest kitchen table. One of the two chairs I owned was crooked, so I was going to make sure I sat in that one. It was a weirdly nervous dance around the table as I set plates and prepped a salad, making sure I was always near that chair in case he came in. It took a while, and it was making my nerves simmer in my veins, worry snowballing into anxiety. Had I made a mistake inviting him for dinner?
When he came inside, the thundercloud floating above his head was so massive that, conversely, I felt my nerves settle—and the beginnings of a smile. “Why does your front door not lock?” he snarled, as he stomped out of his dusty boots and padded in socks into my kitchen. He flung a hand at the offending door, and then inhaled with fury when he realized the kitchen back door didn’t have one either. I’d left it propped open to let in some of the cool evening air, because the kitchen had gotten a little stuffy from the oven.
I shrugged. “I was told that’s normal on Llykhe, especially in rural small towns. I asked the General Store owner for one, and he… uh… said I didn’t need one?” More accurately, he’d laughed and patted me on the head, telling me I didn’t need to worry about such things out here. He’d tried to smooth my ruffled feathers right after, because he could sense my irritation. I was pretty sure I’d stalked out in a huff, the silly human who did not understand anything and needed handouts. That’s when the offers for help on my farm had started.
“That’s ridiculous,” Jeltom said, and I felt so vindicated that my smile grew—grew so wide my cheeks ached. I must have looked like a lunatic to him, but I couldn’t help it. At least one otherperson thought locks were a perfectly normal thing to have. I was so relieved.
He seemed to lose some of that ready anger, however, and gazed with a little more attention around my kitchen. Then, face turned toward the table, he must have seen my pastries, because his stomach abruptly rumbled loudly. He did not apologize for that but grabbed a chair and sat down. He sat down in the wobbly one, but it didn’t appear to wobble for him. His brow furrowed, but he said nothing at all now, just waited. Oh, right, he was waiting for me like a good guest, and I’d completely forgotten how to play hostess.
I pretended the chair issue wasn’t happening—like he was—and flitted about the kitchen to pour him a cool glass of water and pile pastries and salad onto his plate. “I hope you aren’t allergic to anything? I forgot to ask… I probably don’t cook to your taste, because I only know Earth recipes.” I snapped my mouth shut and abruptly plunked my butt down into the seat across from him. Damn it, why did I talk this much when I was nervous? Or maybe it was just because he was so stoically quiet. I was tempted to fill the silence.
“It’s fine,” he said. Not “This is great, I love your cooking, the food looks amazing”—just “It’s fine.” I tried not to feel deflated on the spot, and then the feeling never progressed anyway. Jeltom had stuck a first bite into his mouth, and I’d never seen an Aderian look pleasantly surprised before, but he definitely did. Then he shoved in a next bite, and another after that. He was holding onto manners by a thread, but I had a feeling he might have forgone cutlery if he’d been alone and shoved the whole pastry in his mouth in one go. Okay, pride restored, he loved my food.
I had barely touched mine, so fascinated had I been, staring at how he wolfed down every scrap and crumb. Reaching out, I shoved one of mine from my plate onto his without a word. That’s when he smiled, not a wide one, not one of those politely friendly ones. A true smile, a hint of his appreciation, and dang it, but that was so sweet, so sexy. I had made my grumpy mechanicsmileby feeding him, and there was something so primally fulfilling about that.
Once we’d both finished our meals, he rose to carry the plates to the counter and rinse them in the sink. The evening was coming to an end, and I discovered I dreaded the moment he left. I was nailed to my seat, watching his broad shoulders as he moved about my kitchen like he owned it, like he belonged there. There was tension in his shoulders, something very straight about the way he held his spine. I almost wondered if he wasn’t dreading the moment he had to leave as much as I was. There was no way I’d ask him to stay, though, and I couldn’t afford to ask him to do more work.
