18. Tammy
TAMMY
Once upon a time, I’d thought Derek was the kind of Alpha that any Omega would want. Now, I saw that he was less of a man than three aliens wearing human meat suits.
Late afternoon light spilled across my porch steps as I sat in the old rocker with my boots propped up on the smooth, splinter-free railing.
Kalith had rescued the chair from the belly of the equipment barn, quickly repairing it to a useable state.
I hadn’t even known there was furniture abandoned behind the tractors beneath faded tarps.
A few hours of exploration, and the aliens were discovering things I’d missed despite having been here for much, much longer.
It was mind boggling how quickly they were making progress. Kalith seemed to be able to fix anything. Cyro was making wondrous strides with the horses. And Vantor… well, all he cared about was “strengthening the defensive capabilities” of the property.
I was nursing a lukewarm beer and watching three hot-as-heck aliens renovate my ramshackle ranch.
If someone had told me a week ago that extraterrestrial cephalopods would be my salvation, I’d have laughed myself sick.
Yet there they were—Cyro, Kalith, and Vantor—their forms moving with inhuman efficiency as they transformed my property in ways I’d only dreamed about.
Honestly, I think part of me was expecting to lose the place any day, so putting my heart into repairs felt painful.
At one point, I had tried to help them. Honestly, I’d gotten in their way.
Down in the paddock, Cyro was leading Mystery in gentle circles, the stallion’s ears perked forward with interest instead of pinned back in disdain.
One of Cyro’s tentacles was arched over the Quarter Horse, scratching behind his right ear.
My jaw had nearly hit the porch floorboards the first time I noticed Mystery trailing after him like some besotted puppy.
That horse had spent months treating me like I was invisible at best, contemptible at worst. Now here he was, practically nuzzling an alien’s palm for attention.
“How did you do that?” I’d asked earlier, when I first witnessed the miracle.
Cyro had simply shrugged, his human shoulders moving with that too-fluid grace. “I learned to speak his language correctly. Kalith may have luck, but I have learning.” Then he’d made that ridiculous whinnying sound again, and—impossibly—Mystery had responded with a soft nicker.
I took another swig of beer, wondering if I’d somehow slipped into an alternate dimension where everything made sense in the most nonsensical way possible.
Across the yard, Kalith was half-hidden inside the supply barn as he repaired the extensive damage.
His human disguise was less controlled than the others, revealing all his forest-green tentacles as he worked.
He’d been at it since mid-morning, using some kind of material he’d retrieved from their cloaked ship—a substance that looked like shimmering putty but hardened instantly into something stronger than concrete.
The entire north wall, which had been one stiff breeze away from total collapse, now stood straight and solid.
Soon, he’d have the other four solidly in place, I was sure.
When I’d peeked in earlier, he’d been humming something that sounded like whale song crossed with a dial-up modem, his hands—occasionally splitting into tentacles when he thought I wasn’t looking—moving with practiced precision.
“This compound mimics your wooden structures but has five times the tensile strength,” he’d explained enthusiastically. “It will self-repair minor damage and resist your weather patterns for approximately fifty Earth years.”
“That’s... convenient,” I’d managed to reply, wondering how much a contractor would charge for alien building materials. Forget pine and cedar, this was intergalactic platinum diamond alloy. I mean, it probably wasn’t that at all, but it sounded weird and expensive.
Now, as the sun hovered halfway between afternoon and evening, I found myself relaxing into daydreams.
Visions of Sunflower Hills brought to life.
Foals prancing around the pastures.
Money in the bank, food on the table.
No more Derek telling me I wasn’t good enough.
I smiled, taking another long draw on the bottle neck. The beer slipped easily down my throat, sloshing comfortingly in my stomach. My gaze continued to rove over the property.
There was Vantor in the distance, moving along the western fence line with methodical efficiency.
His human form was too good. Every time I looked at him, I felt tingling in places I shouldn’t.
My body didn’t even care that right now his tentacles were extending, betraying his alienness.
His confidence and commanding presence made him even more attractive.
Earlier, he’d examined the rotting posts and rails with abject horror.
“This is inadequate protection,” he’d declared, sounding personally offended. “A juvenile Kraxnar could breach this barrier.”
I hadn’t asked what a Kraxnar was. Some questions were better left unanswered when dealing with aliens.
Now the entire western boundary gleamed with freshly repaired fencing, each post set perfectly straight, the wire tight enough to play like guitar strings. At the rate they were going, my entire ranch would be transformed by the end of the week.
A dangerous bubble of hope expanded in my chest. For the first time since I’d signed the mortgage papers, I allowed myself to imagine success.
The fantasy of everything turning out right felt so real I could almost taste it—sweet and tangy, like the first bite of a fresh apple. Maybe I wouldn’t fail after all. Maybe this crazy cosmic accident was the universe finally cutting me a break.
The crunch of tires on gravel shattered my reverie.
I bolted upright, dropping the beer bottle.
It tipped over, contents foaming onto the porch.
No one ever came out here. Not since I’d stopped answering calls from friends who were tired of hearing about my ranch problems. Not since I’d scared off the last feed delivery guy by crying when he asked how business was going.
“Someone’s coming!” I yelled, scrambling down the porch steps, my pulse slamming in my throat. The driveway curved through a stand of cottonwoods, blocking my view of the approaching vehicle. “Make sure you look human!”
My head darted left and right, and I watched in horrified fascination as all three aliens visibly shuddered.
Their forms briefly wavered like heat mirages before solidifying fully into their human disguises.
Tentacles vanished, skin tones stabilized, and extra joints disappeared with sickening little pops.
A sleek black pickup truck finally came into view, its glossy paint job reflecting the sun above and casting blinding rays. My stomach dropped to somewhere around my ankles as I recognized the custom grille, the oversized tires, the pretentious chrome detailing.
Derek freaking Morgan.
My ex-fiancé, local ranching golden boy, and the human embodiment of every bad decision I’d ever made. I loathed him. I felt nothing these days but hatred toward him, and disgust toward myself for loving him for so long.
“Shit,” I whispered, feeling my newfound hope crumble like stale bread. What was he doing here? Coming to gloat? To make another lowball offer on my property? To remind me that I was “playing cowgirl” while he ran a “real business”?
I glanced back at the aliens, who had paused in their work and were now watching with unsettling intensity.
Something in their stance had shifted—shoulders broader, spines straighter, jaws set at angles that looked almost predatory.
Even from a distance, they seemed to sense my distress.
They began to approach, moving with synchronized purpose that reminded me they weren’t just odd-looking humans but members of a different species entirely.
“Get out of sight!” I shouted, looking at each of them in turn and shooing them away with quick hand motions. They didn’t immediately comply, so I repeated my command. “Get. Out. Of. Sight!”
My breath caught as I watched them all seem to melt down, flattening against the ground. Sure, that was a totally human thing to do.
I squared my shoulders and forced my leaden feet to carry me down the drive toward Derek’s approaching truck.
Whatever he wanted, I couldn’t let him see my fear.
Couldn’t let him know how close I was to losing everything.
Couldn’t let him discover that my ranch hands were actually extraterrestrials who could probably turn him inside out if they wanted to.
Though that last thought did bring a small, vindictive smile to my face as I walked to meet my past.
Derek Morgan slid from his truck with the practiced ease of a man who’d never doubted his welcome anywhere.
His boots hit the gravel with a deliberate crunch, and that familiar smile—the one that had once made my heart skip but now made my skin crawl—spread across his face like oil on water.
He’d dressed for the occasion in what I called his “gentleman rancher” outfit: pristine jeans with a razor-sharp crease, a Western shirt so crisp it could probably stand up on its own, and a hat that cost more than my monthly mortgage payment.
“Well, well, sugar,” he drawled, his practiced southern accent thicker than molasses in January. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly aware of my dirt-smudged jeans and sweat-stained t-shirt. “What do you want, Derek?”
His eyes, always cold and calculating despite their warm brown color, slid past me to take in the ranch.
For a brief second, surprise flickered across his face as he noticed the in-progress repairs to the barn, the straightened fence line, and Mystery trotting contentedly in the paddock nearer to Sassafras than ever.
I savored that momentary crack in his facade; the tiny tell that he’d expected to find everything falling apart.