3. Magnolia
3
MAGNOLIA
“ I f you can see so well, does that mean you were watching me pee?” I squawked the question, my voice climbing higher and higher, spurred on by indignation and just a pinch of humiliation. I knew I screwed up on the whole getting-out-of-the-saddle thing, but Garrek actually thought I needed a babysitter while I did my business? Something I’d successfully been doing on my own since I was two years old?
“No.” Garrek ground it out with a restrained sort of exasperation, as if I’d asked him something patently absurd but he was stoically gathering the energy to answer my dopey question anyway. “I was not watching you. You were not even in my line of sight. I was merely stationed nearby in case I heard anything… go amiss.”
Well. That was hardly any better.
“So you were listening to me pee, then?”
“Zabrians have excellent hearing,” he scoffed. “Is it truly listening if you produce a noise and I just happen to be near enough to hear it?”
“If a girl pees in the woods,” I answered, face hot, “and no one’s around to hear her, does she make a sound?”
Garrek gaped at me like he was very concerned I’d lost my human marbles and that he’d have to start digging around in the dirt to find them for me. His reply was a dry, disbelieving bark. “What?”
“Never mind,” I said hurriedly. “Don’t try to answer that. I don’t even know why I said it.”
I let out a short breath and rubbed at my eyes. All at once, exhaustion from the day’s travels fell down on the top of my head like a weight. A weight that Garrek’s gaze was only adding to.
“Are your eyes bothering you?”
For someone who’d barely seemed to care if I broke my back falling off his shuldu, the question held a surprising note of gruff concern. I lowered my hands and blinked up at him.
“My eyes are alright. Though it definitely gets dry and dusty around here.”
More than once during the journey today I’d found my eyes watering in response to the elements, but other than some minor irritation and dryness, they were fine.
Where most people probably would have said something like, “That’s good,” Garrek merely gave a grunt. Then, stiffly, as if talking about anything besides shuldu or weather or making good time on the road was completely foreign to him, he said, “I imagine those curly little hairs all around your eyes help. Keep the debris out.”
My breath escaped me in a surprised little chuckle.
“You noticed my eyelashes?”
“Of course I did,” he answered, again as if I’d asked him something stupid. “When the sun hits them, they cast shadows all the way down to your cheeks.”
My pulse quickened, though I couldn’t say why. It wasn’t embarrassment now. It was…
I wasn’t sure. Not exactly vulnerability. But a sort of naked shyness. To think that this hulking alien rider, who frankly didn’t seem to like me all that much, had made note of something as unimportant and fleeting as the shadows cast by my eyelashes.
Well. I guessed I could add being observant to the list of his ever-so-charming qualities. So far, the list went a little something like:
Good at cowboy things
Bad at small talk
Impatient
Doesn’t think I can pee on my own
Observant
Nice hands
I shook myself, wondering when the hell “nice hands” had snuck in there.
“Should we go check on Killian?” I asked, already moving away from him.
Garrek and his big, calloused, strong-fingered hands followed me.
“Yes,” he said in agreement. And then, grimly, “Make sure he hasn’t set anything on fire. ”
I paused to peer back at him then, but his eyes were hidden by the brim of his hat as he looked down at his boots to manoeuvre over a particularly gnarly tree root. The warden told me that Garrek was travelling with his herd instead of staying in home pastures because a fire had destroyed the grass. It had happened the night of a recent bad storm. The rain had put out the flames, but not before the damage was already done.
Warden Tenn said it had been caused by lightning.
Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure.
And just as suddenly, my throat tightened against cutting shards of sympathy. For Killian.
And for Garrek.
Both of them had gone through trauma I could barely begin to imagine, living young lives that had led them to killing another person before puberty and then being ripped away from their world. I tried to picture what might have led Killian, that big-eyed, sweet-but-gaunt-faced child, here. Killian, whom I’d already observed being silently, endlessly considerate to both the shuldu and the bracku.
I tried to picture Garrek as a similarly gaunt-faced, big-eyed child.
A child who’d grown into the rough-voiced and even-rougher-mannered male before me now. A male suddenly saddled with a traumatized new convict-ward who may or may not have gone ahead and burned most of his ranch, his home, to ash.
What a mess.
And even as I saw the mess — the mess of two males broken so early in their lives and trying to clumsily stick the jagged pieces back together — even as I wanted to wade hip-deep into it, I knew I couldn’t.
I wasn’t Garrek’s bride. I wasn’t his family. I wasn’t even his friend. And I wasn’t Killian’s mother or guardian or therapist. I’d only be with them for this little slice of in-between time until I started my new married life and left them both behind.
I couldn’t get too involved.
I’d made that mistake once before back on Terratribe II. I’d promised myself I’d never do it again.
But even with this in mind, my eyes were already scanning the area for Killian, and I couldn’t deny the little smile of relief when I spotted him. He had tied his black shuldu Kinnar along with Shanti and a third spare mount to stumpy trees that seemed to make a little natural barrier between the dusty, open plains and this area of forest.
Killian was now dutifully taking the saddles and packs from the animals, his movements quick but careful, as if he didn’t want to poke or prod the shuldu too much after their long day. But apparently that efficient gentleness only applied to the animals and not what they carried. I winced a little, and then heard Garrek sigh, when we observed Killian promptly hurl the saddles, packs, and other items off to the side. Even for his young age, he was about as tall as me and clearly very strong. Everything sailed through the air then landed heavily in a chaotic pile.
Good thing I wrapped anything breakable in clothing , I thought to myself as I approached the pile of stuff and fished out my bag. I thought of my little ship in a bottle and was grateful to past-me for packing it so carefully.
“Thank you, Killian,” I called over to him, lifting my bag up in a gesture to let him know I’d retrieved it. Killian whipped his head to me so fast, and with such astonishment, I would have bet good credits that he’d never had somebody thank him for something before. My chest pinched, and I fought to keep the smile plastered on as his big white eyes searched my face.
I hoisted my bag onto my shoulder and walked over to him.
“I appreciate it, sweet pea,” I said, patting his bony shoulder. Unlike Garrek, who wore that vest, Killian seemed to adhere to the same set of style rules that governed Silar and Fallon. Which meant he was shirtless basically all of the time.
“Sweet…”
Killian didn’t speak much, but every time he did, I was shocked and delighted by his voice. It was the cutest dang kid voice I ever could have conjured. The often-serious expression on his face and the somewhat hunched set of his shoulders made it seem like his voice should have been kind of croaky and grumbly, but it wasn’t. It was sweet and a little tremulous, a little uncertain.
“Sweet pea. It’s a human term of endearment. Is it alright if I call you that?”
He looked genuinely confused by the idea of a pet name like sweet pea, but he eventually mumbled his agreement that it was alright.
“But you just let me know,” I told him quickly, “if any of my weird human quirks bother you. If I do something you don’t like, say it loud and proud, sweet pea. You won’t hurt my feelings.”
Once again, he gave me an odd, confused sort of look. He took off his hat, revealing more of his tangled, dusty white hair and reached up to tug on his round, mouse-like right ear.
“I like all the stuff you do.”
I gave a loud, genuine laugh. From across the beginnings of our camp, where he was bent over doing something fiddly with a rope, I saw Garrek’s head snap up sharply at the sound.
“Well, you haven’t known me very long,” I told Killian, still chuckling and giving him another gentle pat on the shoulder. “Give it some time. I’m very aware of the fact that you and Garrek are doing me a huge favour. I want to help out and make sure I’m not bugging you too much.”
I would have said, “I want to make sure I’m not bugging you guys too much,” but I had a feeling no matter what I did, Garrek was going to be bugged. A lot. The man gave me major stressed-out-dad-who-regrets-bringing-his-kids-camping energy.
Oh, well. He was a grown-ass man and he could go on and be grumpy about my presence if he wanted to. Killian, though? I really wanted him to be comfortable around me. It must have taken a lot to get used to Garrek and this world, and now here I was, yet another brand-spanking-new variable to contend with. Whatever he’d done in the past, I truly believed there was still so much good inside this child. He deserved to have some peace.
Killian didn’t seem to have anything else to say, so I gave him a little nod and strode over to Garrek.
“Anything I can help with?”
“Yes,” he said, straightening. “Set up your tent.”
Uh oh.
“Was I, er, supposed to have one of those?”
I did have quite a few useful supplies tucked away in my bag. Clothing, toiletries, some handy little tools and medical supplies. I even had a fancy thermal blanket that was so efficient and thin it folded up into a pouch no bigger than my thumb.
“You don’t have a tent?”
Garrek asked it with the sort of rhetorical resignation that told me he probably already knew the answer. I gave him my brightest smile and answered anyway.
“No. Sorry.”
“What were they thinking,” he grumbled, “sending you out here without a tent?”
“Well, in fairness,” I said, feeling just a tad bit defensive, “when they outfitted me with supplies for this planet, they assumed I’d be living inside a house.”
Oaken had a house in the mountains. I just needed to get there.
“It’s fine,” I said, nodding firmly to myself and suffusing my voice with optimism. I’d never been the type to dwell on the negatives of any given situation. Romantic hopefulness was my default setting. It was a big part of what had led me to take my chances on this mail-order bride program in the first place. “I’ll just sleep under the stars.”
“Absolutely not.”
Garrek said it so viciously I was legitimately taken aback.
“Why not? Seems kind of rustic. Should be fun!”
“Did you not hear me mention the predators before?”
“If they’re that dangerous, I doubt the flaps of a tent would do much to protect me,” I countered.
Garrek opened and closed his mouth several times, revealing glinting fangs. His long, whip-like tail lashed around in the dirt behind him.
“It could rain,” he finally snapped.
“Then I guess I’ll get wet. I won’t melt. Or I’ll just find a nice little spot under a tree!”
Some of the trees around here reminded me of coniferous trees from Terratribe II and pictures I’d seen of Old-Earth. The big ones looked like they’d have a perfect little Magnolia-sized hideout beneath the skirt-like shelter of their lowest branches.
But Garrek didn’t seem to like that idea.
“No.”
“Well, what’s the alternative, then?” I asked with a shrug. “You want to share your tent with me?”
Garrek flinched as if I’d just swung my fist at him. Which was weird, considering I doubted he’d flinch even if I actually did swing my fist at him. It would be like trying to punch a blue stone wall. His eyes burned suddenly brighter. His tail snapped to his body and tightened around the hook on the back of his belt with the frantic force of a recoiling spring.
“We’re not sleeping together.”
My stomach swooped. My blood felt suddenly fizzy, rushing to my head like champagne.
“I didn’t… That’s an odd way to phrase it!” I stammered, even though I knew my reaction to his reply was completely unwarranted. Many phrases didn’t translate well into Zabrian or back, and I highly doubted “sleeping together” had the same connotations for a Zabrian as it did for a human.
“How else should I phrase it?” he grumbled. “We’re not sharing a tent.” He rubbed his knuckles against his jaw, something he seemed to do when he was thinking. Or angry.
Which meant he probably did it often. It was a bit of a wonder he still had skin left on his knuckles at all. Especially considering how sharp the line of that jaw was…
“Killian will sleep in his tent and you will sleep in mine,” Garrek said decisively.
“But what about all that stuff about predators and rain you were just laying on me? Don’t they apply to you, too?”
“I’ve fought off a genka before.” He grimaced, then dryly added, “I’m older now and most likely a little slower. But I’d probably manage to not die.”
“How reassuring.” I tried not to roll my eyes. “Well, I don’t want to take your tent! It doesn’t really seem fair! ”
Garrek made a sound so harsh and mirthless it took me ages to realize it was a laugh. The man was laughing, and laughing bitterly , at the idea of fairness. As if fairness was some lofty fairytale concept that didn’t apply to real life. Or at least a concept that had never applied to his life.
And there was that pain in my throat again. All at once, it seemed imperative that I restored just a little bit of fairness, or at least some balance, to Garrek and Killian’s world. Starting with not stealing the man’s tent.
“I can share with Killian,” I told him firmly. “We’re both smaller than you. I’m sure we’d fit.”
Garrek laughed again. It was quieter this time, but just as prickly and grating a sound as before.
“You wouldn’t get a moment’s rest,” he replied. “That boy thrashes around in his sleep like someone’s tossed him on a bed of coals and he’s trying to punch his way through to a cool spot.”
“Oh, no. Really? Do you think he’s having nightmares?” I asked it on a hush. I didn’t want Killian to hear and feel awkward that I was asking about him.
“Nightmares? Probably,” was Garrek’s maddeningly casual reply. As if everyone should expect to be fighting for their life in their sleep every night. He regarded me with narrow-eyed curiosity. “Don’t humans have them?”
“Sometimes,” I admitted. “Children especially. Or people who’ve gone through trauma might have them more often.”
He gave me a flat, well, there you go sort of look and said, “Killian’s a child. And he ended up here. ”
And he ended up here . So, trauma.
“The sleeping arrangements are not up for debate,” he growled. “I won’t have you exhausted and complaining tomorrow because you got no sleep.”
“I won’t! I-”
“And,” he went on as if I hadn’t spoken, “I won’t have Killian feeling bad about keeping you up. Because I already know that he will.”
Well, that sure shut me up. There were two reasons for that.
One was that Garrek was right and I had no rebuttal. If Killian knew he moved around a lot, he might feel guilty or embarrassed for disturbing my sleep, and I certainly didn’t want that.
And the second reason I was standing there in gobsmacked silence?
I’d just gotten a glimpse into how much this big, surly rider actually cared about Killian. Despite Garrek’s grouchiness, his habit of barking orders, the way he complained about Killian lighting something, everything on fire…
He wanted to protect Killian’s feelings.
“Alright,” I said quietly, sobered by the realization.
The realization that Garrek had a pretty big heart in there. And that big heart was a lot softer and squishier than I ever could have imagined.
If Garrek was hard, maybe it was only because this life had made him hard.
Try as it might, it clearly hadn’t finished the job.
A tender sort of warmth tugged at me, and I found myself lingering in front of him, even though the conversation seemed like it had reached its natural conclusion.
“Still doesn’t feel right that I’m taking your tent,” I said to fill the silence, digging the toe of my left boot into the dirt behind my other heel.
“Doesn’t need to be right,” Garrek said gruffly. “Just needs to work.”
I laughed. Garrek’s gaze went to my mouth and stayed there. I wondered if my blunt teeth looked strange to him.
“Hmm,” I said in a slightly teasing tone. “I’m not quite sure I like that motto. Feels like you could justify getting away with all kinds of things that are wrong so long as they got the job done.”
“Well,” he said with a dry sort of coolness that cut me to the bone, “I did kill someone. Didn’t get away with it, though.”
And with that he turned on his booted heel and walked away, leaving me wide-eyed in his wake.