Page 87 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

What followed was aquatic chaos. Tammy proved surprisingly skilled at water combat, using her smaller size and quickness to launch sneak attacks while dodging our slower, more powerful splashes. Vantor, after initial reluctance, revealed an unexpected competitive streak, using his security training to create tactical water diversions that left all of us sputtering. Cyro employed his vast knowledge of fluid dynamics to generate perfectly aimed waves, while I discovered that my shorter tentacle made an excellent water-flicking appendage.

The livestock tank, which had seemed generously sized when we entered, became a battleground of flying water and tangled limbs. Tammy’s laughter rang out across the moonlit ranch yard, punctuated by our less human sounds of amusement—Cyro’s melodic trill, Vantor’s deep rumbling chuckle, my own bubbling giggles.

“Truce!” Tammy finally gasped, raising her hands in surrender as water streamed from her hair down her flushed face. “I give up!”

We ceased our aquatic assault, all of us breathing heavily from the exertion. The silence that followed was broken only by the gentle lapping of water against the sides of the trough and our collective breathing gradually returning to normal.

“That,” I declared, my shortest tentacle drawing a satisfied figure-eight on the water’s surface, “was an excellent use of H₂O resources.”

Tammy’s answering smile lit a fire inside me that had nothing to do with bioluminescence and everything to do with the strange, wonderful creature who had welcomed three aliens into her life with open arms and a water fight.

“Well,” she said, pushing her soaked hair back from her face, “I’ve always believed in the therapeutic properties of acting like a complete idiot once in a while.”

I gazed at her—this tiny, fierce human female with droplets clinging to her eyelashes like miniature stars—and found myself hoping that our ship would take a very, very long time to repair.

We remained in the water long after our dehydration had been remedied, our alien physiologies now functioning at optimal levels while our minds remained pleasantly clouded by the lingering effects of Earth alcohol. Tammy floated on her back, her red hair spreading around her head like fiery tentacles of a sea anemone, her face tilted toward the star-speckled Kansas sky. The moonlight carved silver paths across her mostly exposed form, highlighting the gentle rise and fall of her chest with each breath. The simple perfection of human respiratory systems—no specialized chambers or filtration mechanisms, just the elegant exchange of gases through those delicate, vulnerable lungs—was an engineering marvel.

“I have an idea,” Tammy announced suddenly, splashing upright with such force that water cascaded over the trough’s edge. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and the determination that I’d come to recognize as her “about to do something impulsive” expression.

“Another recreational water activity?” Cyro inquired, his pastel-hued tentacles lazily creating miniature whirlpools beneath the surface.

“Better.” She turned to me, focusing those remarkable blue eyes on my face with an intensity that sent color sparking erratically across my skin. “Kalith, I need you to lift me over your head.”

I blinked my tertiary eyelids in confusion. “For what purpose?”

“So, I can be Baby at her family’s summer retreat learning how to dance!” She said this as if it explained everything, her excitement building visibly as she splashed toward me. Registering our triple confusion, she laughed. “We have soooo many Earth movies to watch. Dirty Dancing was only my absolute favorite movie in the world growing up. Swayze was a serious heartthrob. Drop dead gorgeous.”

My language processor frantically searched for meaning in this string of seemingly disconnected references. Dirty... dancing? And being a heartthrob sounded like a medical condition, especially if it caused someone to “drop dead”. Earth entertainment often involved the strangest combinations of words.

“Come on,” she pressed, “I want to do the classic water lift. Please?”

“I am unfamiliar with this cultural reference,” I admitted, “but I am capable of lifting you if that is your desire.”

“It’s the most iconic moment in the film,” she explained with a pout, already positioning herself in front of me. “Swayze lifts Baby over his head in a lake… or was it a river?” She scrunched up her face, thinking. “Anyways, it goes badly at first. Baby falls a bunch of times. They try over and over again to make it work. Finally, in the epic finale, the lift is flawless. Everyone knows the scene.”

“Everyone on Earth, perhaps,” Vantor observed dryly from his corner of the trough.

“Well, you’re on Earth now,” Tammy pointed out. “What was it you said the other day? When in Neptune Land, do as the Neptunians? Come on, Kalith. Lift me up!”

“There is no such thing as Neptune Land,” I shook my head, a small grin sprouting across my human face at her absurdity. “I assume you are referencing my mention of Netpox 7 and the Netpoxians.”

“Neptune. Netpox. Tomato, tomato. Besides, Do you know for sure there’s no Neptune Land?” She quirked an eyebrow. “Have you been to Neptune? There could be a theme park.” She shrugged.

“I can assure you that Neptune does not have anything called a Neptune Land,” Cyro answered before I could. “In fact, it is a most unlikeable planet. Low visibility, incredible stench, odious lifeforms. I have been there once. Never again.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Tammy said with a laugh. “Now, lift!” She reached her arms out to me, eyes sparkling.

I assessed the physics of her request. My tentacles were certainly strong enough—on my home world, I regularly manipulated equipment weighing three times Tammy’s mass. The water would provide additional buoyancy, reducing the effective weight I needed to support. My smaller tentacle would be a liability, but my other seven primary appendages could compensate.

“Very well,” I agreed, extending four of my strongest tentacles above the water’s surface. “I will require your cooperation to achieve optimal positioning.”

“Just get a good grip on my waist,” she instructed, placing her hands on my shoulders. The contact of her warm palms against my slightly cooler skin sent pleasant current sparking along every nerve.

I complied, wrapping two tentacles securely around her waist, feeling the fascinating contrast between the firm muscle beneath and the softer layer above. Human bodies were remarkable in their variegation of textures—so different from our uniformly smooth exteriors.

“On the count of three,” she said, her eyes bright with anticipation. “One... two... three!”

I lifted her smoothly, using my tentacles’ natural hydraulic strength to raise her above my head. For a moment, she hung suspended in the moonlight, water droplets cascading from her body like liquid stars, her arms outstretched in what I presumed was the “iconic pose” she had referenced. Her face reflected pure joy, a mixture of triumph and exhilaration that made my central processor stutter briefly.