CHAPTER 17
We’ve been given a guest room.
I helped Becky settle in it with our offspring.
Midwife Jane helped Stella to her own room (with Stella cradling her son, cooing to him softly that his father will rejoin them soon). Evidently they have a contraption called a bassinet, which is like a crib for the bedroom of a mated pair.
Becky and I do not have one in our room, so Becky opts to either cuddle our daughter on her chest or keep her corralled in the middle of the bed.
Thankfully, our daughter isn’t flopping around attempting escape. Yet.
When both are napping deeply, I leave the room to patrol the house, searching for threats. To my relief, I find none.
C’vest returns during one of these patrols. I sense his approach and I meet him before he reaches his door.
“I need to wash up,” is all he says, shouldering past me and entering the house.
The coppery scent of blood permeates his skin and clothing. I shut the door after him and lock it before I return to Becky.
Some time later, I emerge to hunt Becky some food.
She wanted to feed herself but I insisted that I be the one to bring her a meal. She suggested that I search in the kitchen, and thus I begin my quest there.
I find C’vest .
Smelling of soaps and wearing a fresh outfit, he’s making a meal. I assume it’s for his mate until I see that he has four plates set out.
“Thank you,” I say.
He nods, and also lifts a shoulder in an approximation of a dismissive shrug. “Just sandwiches and pickles. Stella is the one who knows how to cook.”
“It is much the same at our house,” I share. “Becky cooks. I bring her killed Oryx to show my love.”
“Very nice,” C’vest comments.
“Thank you,” I acknowledge for the second time, taking his praise to heart. “Did Alvert admit to murdering Baron as you suspected?”
C’vest’s movements falter. It’s only the briefest of reactions. More telling is what’s happening inside him. I watch, silent as C’vest’s brain experiences a cascade of pain. Outwardly, his only other show of emotion is the way his features tighten as he shares, “Yes. He did. With some pressure, he admitted quite a lot.”
His voice has gone hoarse.
Unsure what to offer, I offer nothing at all.
He hands me a plate with a heaping sandwich. He clears his throat. “Alvert hired a cracksman to slip into the house when Baron took Stella to town. All he had to do was swipe iocane extract along the lip of his tumbler. It was common knowledge that Baron enjoyed a good whiskey. When he got home that night, he must have had a drink.”
“Appreciate it,” I murmur, accepting the plate. “What’s iocane extract?”
C’vest looks down at the other plates and smears a white cream-like substance across a slice of bread. “Undetectable poison. It’s from the planet Florin. Even for our senses, it’s odorless, tasteless, and colorless. It perfectly mimics a heart attack. The ingestor experiences instant bradycardia, asystole—and sudden death.” He hands me a second plate.
“That’s how your friend died then?” I ask, hands burdened .
C’vest closes his eyes briefly. His brain ripples in the areas for intense pain. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. I leave with the plates, and experience only a little trouble when I have no hands to turn the doorknob to reach Becky. To my surprise, C’vest guessed at my predicament and reached me before I could decide a course of action, opening the door for me.
“Thank you again,” I tell him. “And good job eliminating a threat to the womenfolk—and their men—of this region.”
“You’re welcome,” he mutters, and takes his leave.
Becky rouses as I slip inside.
“Hello, my dear wife,” I greet.
She thanks me for bringing a meal, and tells me that I did a good job making it.
“C’vest made the food items, but I carried the plates,” I’m forced to admit. Next time I will insist that I be the one to prepare Becky a sandwich. I desire to be the one who earns her approval and admiration.
“Well, I appreciate it,” she tells me.
“I feel a supreme amount of pleasure to receive your praise.” I sit on the chair near the bed and bite into my sandwich.
Becky no more than raises hers to her mouth when our tadpole—now looking more like a froglet, earning herself an upgrade—rouses and begins to fuss.
Becky sets down her meal immediately. She carefully takes up our froglet, and checks the cloth square affixed to her rump. “Wet already?” she murmurs. “The midwife said it could be twelve hours before you did this, hon.” She looks around the room searchingly.
I’ve set my sandwich on my plate and set my plate on the floor near my chair. When I rise to my feet, Becky’s gaze shoots to me.
I smile at her encouragingly. “What can I do to assist in seeing to our offspring’s elimination needs? ”
Becky frowns. Almost immediately following this expression, she shakes her head. “Nothing. Eat.”
Now it’s my turn to frown. As I watch Becky tuck our froglet protectively to her chest—and dart a look at me as if I’m an interloper—I feel… pained.
I recall the strange reaction Becky had when I looked upon C’vest and Stella’s son. When she saw me looking at the way he is blended and not purely human.
Looking so Yonderin.
My eyes alight on our daughter. Who is purely human. And just as lovely an alien as her mother.
“I want to help you care for her,” I announce.
Becky opens her mouth, but says nothing. She shakes her head dismissively.
She won’t let me help with our baby? At all?
“Why not?” I ask, hurt.
Becky looks over at me, perhaps because she hears the stress fracture in my voice. “She’s not yours, William.”
Her words strike me like a blow to the chest.
She continues as if she doesn’t even realize she’s wounded me. “It’s impossible to get a man to take care of his own kids. No one would expect an adoptive father to do it.”
It takes me several attempts to speak. Finally I clear my throat roughly and manage, “That’s flawed thinking. You are my mate. I care for you to the point of love. I want to help you. And our froglet is half of you. I love it too.”
Becky gapes at me. Our froglet begins to fuss louder. Becky’s brain becomes a storm of activity. “She’s not a froglet! And she’s not an it— she’s a she! And… I saw how you looked at Stella’s baby,” she accuses, her voice low and shaky, catching me off guard. She sounds… heartsick. “You were,” Becky says, her eyeballs shiny with unshed emotion, “enraptured, William! You want your own child. ”
“I have one!” I roar.
Our baby curls up with an indignant cry.
Becky, looking stunned as she searches my face, holds her tighter.
Our offspring makes a growling sound of discontent.
Sighing, I run a hand through my hair. “You should attempt to bounce her.”
Becky goes temporarily still. “What?”
I gesture to our daughter. “You aren’t bouncing her. Here. Please. Allow me to try.”
“I think she needs her diaper changed,” Becky says.
“May I please hold her?” I ask. “While we find a replacement elimination square for her rump?”
Becky blinks. Slowly, she looks down at our growling daughter. With a strange look at my face, she carefully holds out our discontented offspring.
With all gentleness, I take her in my arms. And I stare into her perfect tiny countenance.
With eyes that I would vow are focused on me, she gazes back.
I don’t even have to bounce her. She quiets immediately.
“Hello, Miss Mattie Cody,” I say to her.
Becky stares, stunned.
Feeling elated, I beam a smile at our daughter and my wife. “I believe C’vest is waiting to offer us assistance with an elimination square.”
“Wha—” Becky starts, interrupted by a soft knock at the door.
Carefully adjusting our daughter to one of my arms, I open the door to C’vest, who I sensed was waiting outside. He is, as I suspected, holding out a clean rump square.
“Thank you,” I say, and take it.
With a nod to us both, he shuts the door and I turn back to Becky. “How do I change this? ”
Searching my face yet again, Becky motions for the bed, for me to lie our daughter down on its surface. She instructs me how to change a diaper.
We finish the task with my left hand on Mattie’s left side and Becky’s right hand on Mattie’s right side.
“Who gets to hold her now?” I ponder.
“You love me?” Becky says softly. Her gaze is on our daughter.
With my free hand, I gently cup Becky’s chin and raise it until her eyes meet mine. I stare solemnly at my woman, straight into her optic stems. “I love you.”
Becky’s shining eyes flood with tears. “I think I love you too.”
My thumb brushes over her ear. “You’ll have to tell me what challenge I must meet to earn your affection so definitively, you know that you love me—without a doubt.”
With a choked sound, Becky throws her arms around my middle and shoves her head against my chest, crying. “I already do!”
My brow is knitted. “I find your statements confusing…”
Becky hiccups.
Mattie wails.
I pat Becky on her back. “Our offspring requires reassurance. If I sit on the bed and you sit on my lap holding her, I can comfort you and her at the same time.”
Laughing, Becky steps back from me and allows me to position us precisely this way.
To my intense pleasure, as I hold my women in my arms, I’m comforted too.