by Rebecca York
“You can use it to call the central dispatcher, if you need help,” he told her.
“What kind of help?”
“Like if I got injured or something.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “But that’s not likely to happen.”
“No.” He looked uncomfortable. “I’m careful because we’re pretty much on our own out here.”
“What does that mean?”
“They count on us to be self-sufficient. And we should always make sure we’re in communication with each other when we’re separated.”
“But you were alone here for a long time.”
“There was nothing I could do about it.” He stopped and started again. “I wasn’t going to take in some loser from Port City.”
She nodded, knowing that he had taken her in. Or was he thinking now that he had gotten tangled up with another kind of loser?
She tried to push that out of her mind. She would show him that they hadn’t paired him with the wrong bride.
She had always been a hard worker. She could keep him happy in bed. She could cook food he liked. And she would show him how good life could be together for the two of them and the family they would have.
That last thought sent a dart of uncertainty through her, but she pushed it quickly away.
After making sure she knew how to use the comms unit, he gave her a lesson with one of the beamers he kept in the house and in the barn.
“Usually we’re okay,” he told her, “but sometimes a granling or a borgan gets through the fence.”
“The dangerous animals they told us about?”
“Yes. Borgans are big cats. Granlings are more like things back on old Earth that were called bears. But if one gets in, you’ll hear an alarm.”
“Oh great.”
His matter-of-fact explanation was a sobering reminder of how isolated they really were. And the point was driven home a few days later when an alarm sounded just before dawn.
Gabe was instantly out of bed and checking the sensors on the fences that protected the working part of the farm.
“Something’s taken down the fence at number fifteen,” he told her as he pulled on pants and shoes. She threw on a similar outfit—adding a shirt.
“Stay inside,” he told her.
“I want to help.”
He nodded and pulled a beamer out of a desk drawer and checked the setting. “I’m going to leave yours on stun,” he told her. That’s enough to stop anything out there.”
“You mean in case my aim is off?”
He laughed. “Yeah.”
When they stepped into morning chill of the farmyard, she saw a large brown animal advancing on the henhouse, swaying from side to side. It must be a granling.
It raised a huge paw and swiped at the weathered boards, tearing a gash in the side of the little building. Inside she could hear the hens squawking and flapping.
“Hey,” Gabe shouted.
The granling turned its head, then changed directions, picking up speed as it advanced on them.
Gabe raised his beamer and sent an energy stream toward the animal. Carin heard a sizzling noise as the beast dropped in its tracks.
Gabe advanced slowly and fired again at the huge head.
Carin came up behind him, staring at the massive form.
“How did it get in?”
“A circuit was out. I’ve got to get it back online now.”
“I can fix breakfast and bring an egg sandwich and coffee out to you,” she said.
“Appreciate it.”
Before she left, she reached for him and pulled him close.
“I was scared,” she murmured as he folded her into a tight embrace.
“But you did good.”
“Thanks.”
By the time she came out with his breakfast, he had repaired the circuit. The next time she looked out, the intruder was gone, and Gabe was repairing the siding on the chicken house.
When he came in for lunch, he had a package wrapped in plastic.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Granling steak. I’ve got more in the outdoor freezer. It should supplement our stores for a few months.”
“Do they taste good?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you ever hunt them?”
“Only when they’re stupid enough to get close. Like this morning.”
“How should I fix it?”
“Fry it up in the pan. And add potatoes and onions.”
She followed his suggestion and was pleased with the results.
The incident helped cement their relationship, and over the next few days, she felt that things were starting to settle into a good pattern. The two of them were good in bed together. She was learning how to manage the routine farm jobs. And she was starting to fall in love with this man who had offered to share everything that he’d worked so hard to achieve.
Her only misstep was washing clothes, of all things. Gabe had left her in the house to unpack supplies they’d bought in town while he did the evening chores. While she was in the kitchen, she decided to clean some of their work clothes in the machine near the back door.
But the equipment was nothing like what she’d used on Danalon. Back home they had sonic units. On the farmstead, the machine used water. There were directions on the lid, and she read them quickly before adding the clothes, then adjusting the water for a hot and heavy load. After adding soap, she went back to unpacking the food they’d ordered. But a few minutes later, when she heard the machine making a choking noise, she turned around to see a mountain of bubbles climbing out of it and spilling onto the floor. The whole kitchen was filling up with bubbles when she got Gabe on the comms unit and started shouting that she needed help. He came charging in the door, stopping short when he saw the mound of suds.
“What should I do?” she shouted.
He crossed the room and opened the lid. Immediately the machine stopped but bubbles kept foaming out.
She kept her anxious gaze on him. When he turned, she saw he was laughing.
“You’re not mad?”
“It’s only soap bubbles.” He reached for his beamer, adjusted the setting and sent a weak beam through the mess which immediately began to collapse.
“I’m sorry,” she said as she reached for a rag and began to clean the floor.
“You put in too much soap, is all.”
“I didn’t know how much. I thought more was better.”
“You only need a little.” He reached for her and pulled her close.
“I was scared,” she murmured as she burrowed into his arms.
“Of bubbles?”
“Of . . . your reaction.”
“I don’t get mad for no reason.”
“My father did. And that guy I lived with,” she added in a low voice.
“They must have been jerks,” he muttered, then went still. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t call your father a jerk.”
“He was. I’m a lot luckier than my mom.”
They swayed together in the middle of the room. “I think I’m the lucky one,” he whispered.
She closed her eyes, praying that she wasn’t going to prove him wrong.
Chapter Four
“The spaceport was decorated for Christmas,” she said one evening when she’d been at the farmstead for about a month.
“Right. My dad and I did that, too.”
“Do you want to put up decorations here?”
“I haven’t done it since he died.”
“We don’t have to,” she said quickly. “I was just thinking it might be fun.”
He smiled. “I have our ornaments—and the tree stand. We could cut down an evergreen and bring it in.” He pointed to a corner of the lounge. “We always put it over there.”
After morning chores, they took a small hauler out to the wood lot not far from the house and cut down a six-foot evergreen. Gabe set it up and got boxes of decorations out of a storage shed.
When he opened
them, Carin caught her breath as she saw carefully packed delicate glass balls and other fragile ornaments. She reached for a red and silver one and held it up to the light. “This is gorgeous.”
“Dad wanted to bring them from home, and he paid for extra shipping allowance. Sometimes we even put up lights—but they might be worn out now.”
“We don’t need lights.”
“I hadn’t thought about it, but there are other things you might want to use. You can poke around in the sheds over the next few days.”
“I’d like that.”
He was giving her a considering look. “We used to give each other Christmas presents. I should buy you something.”
“You don’t have to buy me anything. There’s probably something in storage that I’d like.”
“It wouldn’t be new.”
“Something from the past is probably better.”
When her gaze turned inward, he asked, “What are you thinking?”
“That I’d like to make you a present.”
They started decorating the tree that evening. And as Carin took out each small ornament, she marveled at their beauty. Many of them were round balls or teardrop shapes. But others were replicas of musical instruments, animals and snowflakes.
On Christmas day, Gabe gave her a set of pretty plates for the table, and she gave him a scarf she knitted with wool she found in one of the storage boxes.
“My mom used to knit these,” he said, as he wrapped the yellow- and blue-striped length around his neck.
“Yes, I used her knitting needles. I guess she died in the plague.”
“Yes, and when we had a chance to emigrate here, Dad jumped at it. He wanted to get away from memories of her.”
She caught his wistful tone. “But he brought a lot of her stuff with him.”
Gabe nodded. “He missed her more than he let on.”
That night Carin fixed stuffed roast chicken for dinner and served it with carrots and mashed potatoes with gravy. And after Gabe made a fire in the fireplace, she pulled him down to the rug in front of the hearth where they made love.
Afterwards, he brought a blanket and pillows from the bedroom, and they stayed in front of the fire watching the flames.
She snuggled against him, knowing for sure that she had fallen in love with this man.
She had another month of happiness with him, tempered by fear that she could never entirely shake.
And then disaster struck.
They had gotten into the habit of stretching out in front of the fire after dinner. And as they lay there one evening, she sensed that he had something to say.
“What?”
He swallowed hard and sat up before murmuring, “Maybe you should go into town and see one of the medics.”
She felt a cold shiver go through her as she pushed herself up beside him. “Why?”
“I did some reading about . . . women things. Aren’t you supposed to be . . . bleeding every month?”
Her breath caught in her throat as he went on.
“I mean, either you’re going to have a baby or there’s something you should get checked out.”
Every protective instinct urged her to speak the carefully prepared lie she had planned to tell him, and yet as she sat there beside him, she couldn’t get the words past her ice-cold lips. Instead she heard herself say, “I was pregnant when I got here.”
He reared back, staring at her. “What did you say?”
“I was pregnant when I got here.”
“Slat.”
Ignoring his curse and wanting to get through the worst as quickly as possible, she went on, “Before I came to Palomar, I didn’t know you. I thought I could tell . . . my new husband that we had made a baby together. After I got here, I kept telling myself I could still do it, and everything would be fine. But then I fell in love with you, and I knew I couldn’t lie.”
He answered with a hollow laugh. “You think I’m going to believe you love me—after what you just said?”
Instead of answering the question, she finished her confession. “I told you that I was in prison and they came around to recruit women for the Palomar brides program. The guy who talked to me said he wasn’t going to approve me unless he knew I was going to make some Palomar guy a good bed partner. He said that I was going to have to prove it with him before he’d let me join up. I wanted to tell him to go to hell. But I wanted to get out of there more. So I let him flip me. And then on the ship coming over, I realized I was pregnant.”
His voice had turned hard as ice. “You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.”
Anger flared in his eyes. “You were probably flipping some guard the whole time you were in prison—for special privileges.”
The hateful accusation made her chest so tight that she could barely speak, but she managed to get out one desperate syllable. “No.”
He ignored the denial. “You were playing me from the beginning. Rushing me into bed so I’d think the brat was mine. Pretending to like it.”
She felt as though he’d slapped her across the face. Still she had to deny the jab. “You know I wasn’t pretending.”
“I don’t know a damn thing where you’re concerned. You would have pretended to like any guy who could,” he flapped his arm, “Who could give you a decent life.”
“Gabe, please. I didn’t pretend anything with you. That’s why I’m not pretending now.”
He stood up and pulled her to her feet. For a trembling moment, she thought he was going to hit her. Instead his hands dropped away from her and he turned toward the Christmas tree that they’d left in the corner of the room. Reaching over, he grabbed it in the center of the trunk and hurled it across the room where it crashed against the wall in a shower of broken glass. Then he stalked out the front door.
Carin stood staring after him, feeling like the world was going to explode around her. She staggered across the room and collapsed into a chair where she fought to catch her breath, cursing herself for a fool.
She should have told her damn lie. But she hadn’t been able to do it—not to Gabe. And by telling the truth, she’d hurt him worse.
She got up and closed the door, wondering what was going to happen now. Probably he’d send her back to Port City. And then what did they do to failed brides?
On legs that felt like wooden stumps, she crossed to the Christmas tree and set it upright again. Mechanically she began taking off the ornaments that weren’t broken and putting them in a bowl on the kitchen table. When she’d removed all the intact ones, she brought a broom, dustpan, and trash bin and started sweeping up the broken glass.
She had gotten half the mess cleaned up when she heard the piercing sound of an alarm.
Chapter Five
It was the alarm that warned of a breach in the safety perimeter.
Fates! Gabe was out there, and he charged through the door without his beamer and his comms unit.
She ran to the desk and grabbed one of the beamers out of the drawer, then flipped on the lights in the farmyard.
“Gabe? Where are you? Are you okay?”
When he didn’t answer, fear threatened to swallow her whole. But she ordered herself to stay calm.
“Gabe?”
From beyond the range of the lights, he made a gurgling noise, and she followed the sound, out through the side gate that led to one of the fields where the cows grazed during the day. When they were in there, it was electrified, but not at night. The light barely reached to the edge of the field, but what she saw made her blood turn to ice in her veins. Gabe was on the ground and one of the huge beasts, a granling was leaning over him.
Raising the beamer, she fired at the animal. It roared and turned toward her, its fangs bared as it reared onto its hind legs, and she realized that the gun was set to stun. As the monster charged straight toward her, she pushed the energy lever and fired again.
The granling was only a few feet from her, its hot breath hissing out toward her,
when it dropped to the ground.
She shot it again, then dashed around the hulking form, not sure what to do. Gabe was hurt, and it could be dangerous to move him. But it was more dangerous to stay out here where he’d been attacked.
When she reached him, she knelt down, laying her hand on his chest. Relief flooded through her when she felt his heart beating.
“Gabe, can you get up?”
He didn’t answer.
She knew she couldn’t lift him, but when she tucked the beamer into the waistband of her pants and reached for his hands to pull him toward the house, she could tell that something was badly wrong with his left arm.
Instead she grabbed his feet and started to drag him back the way she’d come. It was slow going, and she had to keep looking up to make sure no more predators had come into the field.
Panting and straining, she finally got Gabe through the gate that protected the farmyard proper, then checked the electricity at the inner fence. It was at full power, so that no more marauders could get in.
Gabe lay unmoving on the ground. In the glare of the overhead illumination, she saw that one side of his face was badly mauled and blood was seeping through his shirt.
“Gabe?”
He didn’t answer, but when she leaned over him, she felt his breath on her cheek, and his heartbeat was still steady, thank the fates.
Pulling off her blouse, she wadded it against the wound on his front, watching the blood seep through the fabric. She had to get him inside. She had to get him warm, but she also had to keep the pressure on the shirt.
Then she remembered her comms unit and used the emergency number that Gabe had given her.
A man’s image flickered into view.
“This is the central coordinator’s office. How can I help you?”
“This is Carin . . . Cooper,” she said, feeling strange because she had never called herself that. “My husband Gabe Cooper was mauled by a granling. I need help.”
“Hold the comms unit over him so I can see.”
She did as the man asked. When he told her to tear away Gabe’s shirt, she did that too, gasping at the mauled flesh and the way one arm hung at an odd angle.
“Go in and get clean towels,” the man said. “Press them over the wound. Do that now. I will switch you to medical.”
