Page 38 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

I clenched my fists, digging nails into my palms, to bring me up for air and reclaim sanity.

“Focus, Tammy,” I whispered, but words could do nothing to stop the searing blush creeping up my neck into my face.

“The colors on her skin are so fascinating,” Cyro’s tentacles twitched, two lifting to reach for me. I glared, and he pulled his appendages back.

“Okay, let’s get back on track,” I breathed out, hoping that focusing on something else—anything else—other than how hot these tentacled, alien Alphas made me feel, might help my Omega nature come to her damn senses. “You need my help.”

“Yes. Assistance is imperative if we are to complete our mission.” Cyro looked me up and down, and I could swear—though his expressions were hard to read thanks to the nature of his face—that he thought it dubious that I could help in any real way.

“Great,” I gave a quick, confident jerk of my head. “What do you need? A rubber hose? A hammer? You already have my pitchforks. How about a jump from the truck. I’ve got pretty long cables, just point me in the direction of your ship’s power source terminals. If it’ll get you airborne, I’m at your service.”

"Your readings keep leaping right off my gauges," Kalith soundly said, its skin shifting through shades of amber and forest green.

“I believe that our presence is triggering her reproductive readiness signals,” Cyro added, tone still that of a researcher.

My cheeks burned hotter. "Stop analyzing me," I snapped, wishing I could back farther away from them. "And stop... smelling me."

"Impossible request," Vantor responded, his thoughts carrying a hint of what might have been amusement. "Olfactory input is involuntary for our species, as it appears to be for yours.”

In the dim light filtering through the stable windows, their bodies continued to pulse with flowing hues punctuated by communicative light bursts. They cast an eerie firework show across the wooden walls and hard floor. Their wet skin still glistened but seemed to be drying out further by the second. Still, I felt like I was trapped in a small room with three living, breathing lava lamps.

Lava lamps that made me horny.

“You can at least stop saying shit like that out loud,” I huffed. “There’s such a thing as inside thoughts for a reason.”

“We will attempt to vocalize about you less frequently,” Vantor assured me. “Barring strategic assessments.”

I had no idea what he meant by strategic assessments, but that was an issue for later.

“Just tell me what you need so I can pop down to the store.” Was it too much to ask that the answer to this outer space problem could be found on a shelf at Hank’s Hardware?

Yeah, that would be way too easy, and my life was never a breeze.

“Does this store carry Alloy 626, Alloy 54, and refined Magnetic Mineral 197?” Kalith stepped closer, raising his tentacles as he ticked off items. “I also require collagen hydrolysate and lacteal secretions rich in Docosahexaenoic acid.”

My mouth dropped open, realization flooding through me. Fixing their ship wasn’t going to be a quick trip to the market for scotch tape and glue. Which meant…

Shit, was I stuck with them for the foreseeable future?

I stared at the three aliens, my thoughts spinning while I processed the absurdity of the situation. Was this real life? Was I actually standing in my stables with extraterrestrial beings, talking over supplies to fix their damn spaceship as if it were a roadside flat tire?

Yep.

“First of all,” I said, trying to keep my voice even despite the fluttering in my stomach. “I have no idea what the hell those substances are. You’ll need to explain each one like I’m a complete moron. If you asked me for a great foundation or what color lipstick suits you best, it would be easy-peasy. But—” I stopped talking, rolling my head back, staring up at the ceiling for a heartbeat before finishing— “it sounds like what you need isn’t easy to get. Which means, you’re stuck here. And you can’t be, at least not looking like that.” I lifted my hand, raising and lowering it, indicating every sticky, moist, colorful part of them.

“Then, do you intend to turn us into your authorities?” Vantor bristled, his colors morphing away from tranquil blue greens to stormy gray with traces of crimson. “We do not know much about your planet yet, but we know enough of its barbaric history. Your world does not treat trespassers kindly.”

"I'm not turning you guys into anyone," I said, pressing myself harder against the wall behind me, as if I could somehow phase through the wood. "The last thing I need is government agents crawling all over my property. Hell, it’s already two seconds from foreclosure. The freaking government would just claim eminent domain or some bullshit and take it by force. And I refuse to give Derek the damn satisfaction.”

I swallowed hard, still leaning against the wall, trying to figure out how on Earth—literally—this was happening. Their scents filled the air, making my pulse race, and I couldn’t help but be acutely aware of the fresh heat warming my stomach and the recurrent waves of slick seeping into my pants. I tried not to think about the fact they could smell me, see my pinked face, and probably read my dirty, deviant thoughts.

“Who is Derek?” Cyro asked out of the blue.

“Huh?” I blinked rapidly, focusing on his face. “Oh, um, he’s my ex.”

“Ex?” Cyro tilted his air balloon shaped head.

“You know. My ex. We used to date. No, more than that. We were engaged.”