Page 116 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

That’s what made it so much worse. They hadn’t left because they didn’t care. They’d left because they had to. Because duty and responsibility and the fate of an entire civilization outweighed whatever we’d found together in these precious months.

I tipped my head back and drained the last drops from the bottle, tilting it so dramatically that whiskey dribbled down my chin and neck. When nothing more would come, I ran my tongue desperately around the rim, chasing the burn, seeking oblivion in the last molecules of alcohol clinging to the glass.

“I hate that I love you,” I whispered to the stars, my voice so hoarse it was barely audible even to my own ears. “I hate that I’ll never stop loving you.”

My reflection in the window caught my eye—tangled copper hair sticking out in all directions, mascara streaked down flushed cheeks, eyes swollen and red-rimmed from hours of crying. I looked like a woman undone, unmade by grief. I looked exactly how I felt.

I raised the empty bottle in a mocking toast to the universe, to three aliens who were likely already light years away, to the fucking unfairness of falling in love with beings who belonged among those distant stars rather than here in the Kansas dirt with me.

“To Cyro and his annoying analysis of everything,” I croaked, my voice barely functioning. “To Vantor and his stupid protective instincts. To Kalith and his—” My voice broke completely, the words dissolving into silent tears— “infuriating dismantling of everything I own.”

And that’s when I heard it. At first, I thought it was just the blood rushing in my ears, the sound of too much alcohol sloshing through my veins. But it grew louder—a familiar rumbling that vibrated through my bones and made the porch boards tremble beneath my bare feet.

I froze, bottle still raised in mid-toast, my breath caught in my throat. The rumbling intensified, a mechanical groaning that I recognized with every cell in my body. My head snapped up, eyes searching the star-strewn sky with desperate hope.

Materializing against the backdrop of stars like a mirage, was a dark shape with pulsing lights that I’d only seen once before. The aliens’ spacecraft, its outline shifting and rippling as if struggling to maintain form. But something was wrong. The ship wasn’t moving with the smooth precision I remembered. It listed to one side, engines sputtering and flaring erratically.

“No,” I breathed, sobering instantly as adrenaline flooded my system. “No, no, no...”

The ship plummeted toward the ground, its descent too fast, too uncontrolled. I watched in horror as it fell directly toward the newly repaired supply barn—the same structure it had crashed into the first time. The collision was catastrophic. Wood splintered, metal shrieked, and a cloud of dust erupted into the night air as the spacecraft tore through the roof and buried itself in the heart of the building.

The whiskey bottle slipped from my fingers, shattering on the porch steps. I didn’t even flinch at the explosion of glass around my bare feet. All I could focus on was the settling dust cloud surrounding what remained of my barn.

They came back. They came back.

My legs moved before my brain could catch up, propelling me forward across the yard. Gravel bit into my bare feet, but the pain barely registered. My heart kept ragged time with each pounding step, a desperate rhythm of hope and terror and disbelief.

“Please be alive,” I gasped between heaving breaths as I sprinted toward the wreckage. “Please, please, please be alive.”

Part of me knew my terror was unfounded. They’d survived a much harsher crash already. But for some reason I was scared to death.

Scared I was dreaming this. Scared I was so drunk I was making it all up. Scared the supply barn was undamaged and no UFO rested at its ruined center.

The barn door hung crooked on its hinges, moonlight streaming through the massive hole in the roof. I reached it in seconds that felt like centuries, my hand connecting with the splintered wood and shoving it open with strength born of desperation.

Dust swirled in the air, illuminated by strange lights pulsing from within the crashed ship. And through that hazy curtain, I saw three silhouettes emerge.

I stumbled through the barn door, dust particles dancing in the moonlight that streamed through the gaping hole in the roof. My lungs seized, refusing to draw breath as three silhouettes materialized through the swirling debris cloud. Not human silhouettes—not entirely. Tentacles unfurled from torsos, rippling with colors that pulsed like heartbeats in the semi-darkness. Colors I’d memorized, dreamed about, cried over for days. My aliens. My impossible, beautiful aliens had returned.

My heart stuttered in my chest, unable to process the reality of what I was seeing. Was this a whiskey-induced hallucination? Had grief finally broken my mind completely?

“You came back,” I managed, my voice a strangled whisper. My vocal cords, already raw from hours of drunken crying, could barely form the words. They sounded like an accusation and a prayer simultaneously.

“We came back,” Vantor agreed, his voice steady despite the way his body trembled, his skin pulsing with beautiful hues. I still understood his language, just as I had after losing the translator in the water trough. I’d never put it back on; I hadn’t needed to. Our beautiful, improbable pack bond transcended barriers.

Cyro stepped forward first, then hesitated. His magnificent tentacles flowed out behind him, undulating and mesmerizing. He stared at me through the dusty air, light flowing across his form, his silvery eyes fixed upon me with an intensity that made my knees weaken. So many emotions crossed his face, too complex for human words.

Kalith and Vantor stood just behind Cyro. If only we could read one another’s minds right now. I waited for one of them to speak again, to say anything at all. I needed to hear their voices; to confirm they were truly standing in front of me. Vantor’s three words were not enough.

Then suddenly Cyro was moving again, crossing the distance between us with that fluid and quick grace that no human could ever truly mimic. As he approached, his form rippled and shifted, but he did not fully withdraw into a human disguise. He settled into a hybrid self, with several tentacles extended, undulating with raw emotion.

Those tentacles wrapped around my waist, gentle but insistent as they lifted me effortlessly into the air. My feet left the ground, and suddenly I was spinning, twirling in circles as Cyro held me against his chest. The motion sent dust motes swirling around us like tiny stars in our own private galaxy.

“You’re really here,” I whispered, reaching up to touch his face—the face he’d crafted to walk among humans but that had become so dear to me. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Never seeing you again was a reality that we could not accept,” he replied, his voice soaked in emotion. “So, we corrected our course.”

I smiled widely as a tentacle emerged from beneath his collar, curling to stroke my cheek with exquisite gentleness. The sensation—cool silk against my tear-heated skin—broke everything loose inside me. Fresh tears spilled over, but these weren’t the bitter tears of abandonment.