Page 67 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

I wasn’t fooled by their excuses, but I was touched by them. These impossible beings from another world were trying, in their alien way, to comfort me. Without thinking about the implications, I leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to Kalith’s cheek, then I tilted in the opposite direction, placing a quick peck on Vantor’s face too. To get to Cyro, I had to hop down from the fence and move to him. Lifting on tiptoes so I could wrap my arms around his neck, I tugged him gently closer to me. My lips tingled after pressing them to his cheek. Their skin was cool, with a slight texture like fine silk against my lips. I licked across my mouth, finding a salty sweetness there.

“Thank you,” I said simply, stepping a few feet away to face them, and finding all three frozen in identical expressions of shock, their scents suddenly intensifying in the cool night air. Their ocean-deep musk called to my own Omega perfume. It plumed strongly, combining with their alien cologne in a way that made my head swim and stomach clench.

Beneath their human disguises, colors shifted in waves to interrupt expanses of sun-kissed tans. Kalith’s earthy greens, Vantor’s deep purples, and Cyro’s iridescent blues pulsed in impossible patterns, making them look otherworldly despite the carefully crafted faces and bodies.

None spoke, but their eyes remained fixed on me with an intensity that sent more warmth cascading through my body.

I perched back atop the fence. We sat in silence after that, four beings from different worlds watching the stars, each lost in private thoughts yet somehow connected by more than just proximity. Whatever was developing between us—this strange, impossible bond—it felt both terrifying and inevitable, like standing at the edge of a cliff with the certainty that jumping wouldn’t be falling but flying.

I hoped that when they eventually left for those stars, they wouldn’t take too much of my heart with them.

24

TAMMY

Momma said you gotta crack a lot of eggs to make an omelette… But this was ridiculous!

Iwoke to the unfamiliar sound of clattering from my kitchen. Living alone for so long, I expected quiet and stillness in the mornings. I’d hated it at first but grown used to the solitude after a while. Now, the sounds of life downstairs warmed my chest. I stretched, blinking slowly, letting wakefulness wash over me.

The sunlight streaming through my bedroom window was persistent, trying to coax me further awake. It wasn’t bright enough to be late in the day. Early still. I blinked slowly, glancing over at the clock, finding that it was after eight. My alarm hadn’t gone off.

Last night’s stargazing with the aliens had kept me up later than I’d intended, but there was something about sharing the vast Kansas sky with beings who had actually traveled through it that made sleep seem like a waste of precious time. Now, though, I rubbed my eyes and wondered what unholy ruckus had interrupted my well-earned rest.

The sound of something shattering—followed by a very un-alien-like curse that had to have come from Kalith—had me throwing back my covers and shuffling toward the door in my mismatched pajamas. I’d given up on matching sets years ago; life was too short for coordinated sleepwear when nobody was around to see it.

“If they’ve broken any of my favorite coffee mugs, there’s going to be an interplanetary incident,” I muttered, padding barefoot down the hallway.

I rounded the corner and froze, my hand flying to my mouth. For a moment, I wondered if I was still dreaming or if I’d accidentally stepped through some sort of alien portal during the night.

This wasn’t my kitchen.

My kitchen had peeling laminate countertops, cabinets from the Nixon era, and a linoleum floor that had seen better days sometime during the Great Depression. This kitchen—this impossible, gleaming space—had polished stone countertops that caught the morning light and threw it back in prismatic sparkles. The cabinets were new, their wood grain rich and warm, with handles that looked like actual metal instead of the plastic-pretending-to-be-metal I’d grown accustomed to. The floor beneath my bare feet was smooth tile that felt cool and perfectly level—no more of that weird dip by the refrigerator that always made me feel like I was walking slightly uphill after a few too many glasses of wine.

Most startling of all were the windows—no longer the small, cloudy panes that had been there yesterday, but expansive glass that opened up the entire eastern wall, framing the Kansas morning like it was a painting worthy of being admired.

“What the...” I whispered, turning in a slow circle, taking in the transformation.

That’s when I noticed them.

Kalith was hunched over the kitchen island, his brow furrowed in concentration as his hands—and what appeared to be three partially emerged tentacles—worked over the scattered remains of my coffee maker. Parts I didn’t even know existed lay in precise arrangements around him like some deranged mechanical autopsy. His left tentacle twitched with its usual dysfunction as he muttered calculations under his breath.

He’d taken… apart… my coffee pot.

That was way worse than a UFO crashing into my supply barn.

“The grounds-to-water ratio is fundamentally flawed,” he was saying, holding up what looked like the heating element. “Earth technology operates at suboptimal brewing temperatures. No wonder the resulting liquid causes digestive distress.”

I opened my mouth to say, “It’s supposed to be hot,” but my attention was yanked away by movement near the stove before I could expel a single word.

Cyro stood surrounded by what could only be described as an egg massacre. Broken shells littered the counter, sad puddles of egg white dripped off the counter’s edge onto the floor, and several bowls contained what looked like failed attempts at scrambled eggs in various states of congealment. He held the last unbroken egg up to the light, turning it slowly as if calculating the exact spot it needed to crack for success, his silver eyes narrowed in concentration.

“The structural integrity of this calcium carbonate container is impressive considering its thinness,” he observed to nobody in particular. “Yet its breaking point remains inconsistent across specimens. Fascinating.”

He didn’t move to break the egg.

He kept staring at it, like it was a puzzle that held the solution to saving the damn world.

Lord, help me. They had made such a damn mess.