by H. E. Trent
“As always. I want two more rows of hanat planted tomorrow, and I need to see if Trigrian wants to grow cherries. Father would have wanted cherries if he’d know about them. Maybe a couple of trees, as a start, to test their hardiness.” She spoke as if she were whispering a to-do list to herself and had forgotten he was there, and he didn’t interrupt, because he was curious about the things in her head. He wondered what things she kept to herself that she thought no one else could possibly care about.
Then she tipped her violet gaze up to him, dark eyebrows arched upward. “I imagine I should just be grateful that I’m afforded the opportunity to wake each day.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t want other things, too. You can be thankful and still aspire for more.”
“After everything that’s happened, that feels selfish.” Nodding as she passed him, she started toward the main house.
He followed her at a respectable distance. For whatever reason, the conversation didn’t seem completely finished.
“More weeding tomorrow,” she said over her shoulder with a sigh.
“You don’t like the chore.”
“No, that’s not the problem at all. Weeding is never-ending, of course, and sometimes I like that it’s mindless, but…Elken gets bored.”
Oh.
Where Sera went, so went Elken.
“I’m sure your sisters would watch her. Or Trigrian. From what I’ve seen, he’s very good at multitasking with the kids.”
“They would, and happily, but I’m…” She gave her head a resolute shake. “I’m not ready. Not for that long.”
“What do you mean?”
“When we were moved around from one station to the next, I would often go days or weeks without seeing her. That was…” She slapped her right hand against the back of her neck and rubbed it vigorously as if there was a target painted on her flesh and she couldn’t get the ink off. “No. I can’t.”
“It’s all right.” Gently, he took her hand from her neck and squeezed. Marco had never been able to call himself a mama’s boy, but he’d been a typical enough kid. When he went away to sleep-away summer camp, he missed his parents a hell of a lot and worried about what was happening at home, but he couldn’t imagine what it must have felt like to fear he’d never see them again. To fear the worst.
All he could say that would be honest was, “I understand now why that would unsettle you. You need to know where she is and how she’s feeling.”
Sera nodded, and her pace slowed.
Marco slowed his, too.
She stopped until he’d caught up to her and then continued her walk.
Oh.
A small victory. A new friend.
“She doesn’t complain, though, does she?” he asked.
“No, she doesn’t complain. If she’s distracted enough, she doesn’t complain, and I try to break up the monotony the best I can. I imagine, though, that she gets lonely.”
“Mmm. No other kids on the farm her age.”
“And she’s used to that. There were many stations where she was the only child, and even when she wasn’t, my sisters and I would still keep her with us as much as possible.”
“Maybe you can find folks in Little Gitano who have kids the same age and have a play date or something.”
“Play date? What is that?”
They’d reached the house. Rather than opening the side door to the kitchen, Sera perched on the bench beside the door and set the eggs in the draping of skirt between her legs.
Marco sat on the far end of the bench, trying to respect her personal space. He was always conscious of his size and that people could perceive him as threatening even when he wasn’t trying to be. “A play date is pre-arranged socialization. You set the time and place and have the other kid or kids meet up with yours so they could play. Sometimes the parents stick around. Sometimes they drop them off and go run errands or whatever.”
“Oh.” Her nose scrunched in a way he’d decided was indicative of deep thinking. She wasn’t a blurter like Precious. She held her words in until she was certain they meant something.
Thoughtful.
What he would have given to get inside her head for a minute so he could figure her out… He was usually so much better at puzzles. People weren’t supposed to be puzzles, though.
“You had…play dates with the McGarrys?” she asked, nudging his inhaler out of his pocket. She studied the canister, reading the label.
“Nah, nothing so formal,” he said. “Our families had the kind of relationship where we’d come and go as we pleased, and our parents couldn’t really stop a bunch of brats like us from interacting, anyway. Like attracts like.” He chuckled, recalling heartwarming memories he hadn’t thought about in ten or fifteen years.
He sometimes let himself forget why the Ciprianis and McGarrys were so inseparable, remembering only that they were. “Sometimes, my folks would go to bed and wake up to find a random McGarry on the sofa downstairs. They got to the point that they didn’t bother saying anything, because complaining was pointless. You could never guess who’d end up at whose breakfast table, and I think our folks stopped trying to predict anything.”
Sera’s smile was soft as she looked out toward the fields. She passed the Albuterol from one hand to the other, her left fingers barely closing around the shaft.
He wanted to squeeze them again. Wanted to see if she’d let him. Never before had he held such nervous tension in his body over someone else being hurt. It didn’t make sense.
“The arrangement sounds nice,” she said in a whisper.
“Chaotic, actually, but if I had to change anything, I wouldn’t. We wouldn’t all be as close as we are now if it hadn’t been for what our parents let us do. I think having a spare family to fall back on is a good thing.”
Her nod was slow, her nose still crinkled. “We had the Beshnis, but that was different. They lived in Buinet and we were here. There was no one local that we knew as well as we knew them. Perhaps we should look to change that.”
“Mmm. At the very least, see who your new neighbors are and find out if they’ve got kids. Stuff like that.”
“I’ve never been very good with making introductions. Ara is much more outgoing. Always was.”
“Take her with you. Maybe you can pack up some goody bags or something to hand out to folks you visit. Nothing major, you know. Just little nice to meet ya tokens. Could even be stuff from the farm. That good trail mix you make, or some seed packets you’ve put together, or whatever.”
“You have good ideas.” Her smile was broad and the corners of her eyes crinkled. Genuine comfort, not contrived so he’d feel good about himself.
He’d done that. For a change, he’d done something right.
He shrugged. “That’s me. A fount of ideas. I usually have too many to do anything with, but maybe that’s typical for engineers. Owen tends to be a little more focused. That’s the only reason we manage to get done as much as we do.”
“I will see what Ara says. Perhaps we can start tomorrow after I’ve done the weeding.”
“Don’t tell her it was my idea, okay? If the scheme goes sideways, I don’t want her giving me that scathing look you Merridons are so good at.”
She knit her brows and pouted. “What look?”
Tamping down the laughter bubbling up in his chest was a trial, but somehow he managed to get the explanation out before he could trigger another asthma flare-up. “You know the look. The look that makes me worry that you ladies could light things on fire with your stares.”
She scoffed. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I don’t!”
“Okay. The next time one of you does it, I’ll get your attention. Maybe you don’t realize you’re doing it. If all of you make the same face, though, you had to have learned it from someone. Maybe your mom? Or maybe Valen, since she’s the oldest of you ladies.”
“I look forward to seeing this look.”
Marco’s qu
iet chuckle devolved into a yawn. “Sorry.”
“Oh, no.” Sera waved him away. “You go sleep.”
“You should do the same.”
“Yes.” She raised her brows playfully and let them drop. “I suppose I should.”
She lifted the eggs from her lap and held them up. “As soon as I put these away.”
“All right, then.” He pushed himself up to his feet and, yawning again, stretched his arms over his head. He waited for that one spot in his back to crack, and bent his spine this way and that trying to stretch out the kink.
Sera stood in front of him, gaze locked on the stretch of exposed flesh between the bottom of his shirt and his waistband.
His back cracked. He lowered his arms, and she looked away.
“You have…hair,” she muttered. After tucking his inhaler into his pocket, she moved quickly to the door.
“I’m Italian,” he said with a shrug. “Some of us are pretty hairy.”
“All…over?” Her cheeks went from red to a dark maroon and eyes went wide with mortification. “I don’t mean to be so curious, but the men rarely took their shirts off when—”
Grimacing, he put up his hands. “Don’t.” He didn’t want her to finish that thought—didn’t want her to rehash what had happened to her. His guesses were toxic enough in his brain. “I don’t have a pelt, if that’s what you’re asking.” He lifted his shirt a few inches so she could look.
And she looked. A whole minute, even, and he catalogued every expression on her face. Surprise to shyness to curiosity.
He liked curiosity the most. Curiosity meant there was a chance for a next time—for more questions and more exploration.
More time together.
She pulled her lips in between her teeth, and let them out with a pop. “Just on your belly, then?” She spoke quietly as if they were tiptoeing around a taboo subject and not merely talking about his fuzz.
He raised the shirt more. “Chest fur.”
Her eyes widened again briefly. “Oh.”
“Back’s pretty smooth, though, all things considered.” He let his shirt fall to his hips and jammed his hands into his pockets.
“And Luke is the same?”
“Pretty much, yeah, but he grooms. I’m too lazy. Jekhans don’t have much body hair, huh?”
“Perhaps many do, but I wouldn’t know from experience. I haven’t been with… Well.” She opened the door, nodded to him, and then gave him a little wave. “You know.”
He could guess. None of the men she’d been touched by had been Jekhan. They’d all been assholes like him.
People she was afraid of.
“Well, goodnight,” she whispered, and shut the door.
She didn’t have to be afraid of him. He’d chew off his own arm before hurting her.
CHAPTER TEN
“Why are you moving me so quickly?” Ara whined in Jekhani as Sera hustled her past the dishe field and toward The Tin Can.
Elken, in Ara’s arms, was finding the harried pace to be great fun, and frequently shouted, “Whee!” whenever her mother sped them along.
“We need to ask him before he leaves,” Sera said. “He has the truck today. If he goes to town, he’ll be harder to catch up with.”
“But do we have to do this today?”
“Yes.” The few hours of sleep Sera had managed to get had been filled with dreams about a large man with gentle hands and a lightly furred chest. She wondered if it was soft, and had nearly ruined Elken’s eggs pondering ways in which she could find out. After all, she couldn’t very well ask the man if she could touch him. That just wasn’t done.
“How many will we do today?” Ara stumbled over a rock she’d neglected to notice, but quickly found her balance.
“I made three gift packets for the three closest farms.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I think the idea is a sound one, but couldn’t you have let me fix myself up a little?”
“For what?” In front of The Tin Can’s closed door, Sera raised her fist, prepared to knock. “You don’t need to primp to be pretty. You always are.”
Ara crossed her eyes. “I have circles under my eyes.”
“We all do.”
“And my hair needs brushing.”
“Who can tell? You’ve got it pinned up.”
“I’m not even wearing my best dress.”
Sighing, Sera knocked. “No one’s paying attention to your dress. They always stare at your face.”
“You exaggerate.”
“I tell the truth, and you know that.”
The panel to the left of the door beeped, and then something inside the mechanism clicked.
“Camera’s busted,” came Edgar’s frustrated voice through an unseen speaker. “Can’t see ya. Who’s visiting?”
“Oh. It’s Sera and Ara and Elken. Is…” Sera gave her hair a nervous smoothing. “Well, Marco in there?” She figured she ought to asked pointedly and get the words out so there was no awkward smalltalk or opportunities for her to change her mind about being there.
He must have been there, though. The hover-truck was parked nearby, and Trigrian had said Marco had borrowed the vehicle for the day’s errands.
“Well, hey there, ladies. Give me a sec, okay? I’ve got to manually crank the door open. That controls for that are busted, too. Marc’s here.” He shouted “Marc?” before the speaker shut off.
Sera let out a breath of relief.
That wasn’t so hard.
“I don’t know why they don’t junk this thing,” Ara muttered and shifted Elken to her other hip.
“They’ve got to live somewhere, don’t they? And I think they’re fixing it while they live inside. The ship could still be useful.”
“Useful, but an eyesore.” Ara made a face of disgust. “Perhaps we could disguise it somehow.”
“Why waste the effort?”
The door cranked downward, and the ladies took steps back to get out of the way.
Instead of Edgar or Marco appearing in the doorway, however, was Jasper.
Sera took another step backward, her feet moving on their own volition. She didn’t like surprises.
“For the life of us, we can’t figure out what the hell is wrong with this thing,” he said.
“What thing?” Ara asked drolly.
“The hatch locks. Some of the magnets inside might be out of alignment or something. We can’t make heads or tails of what the diagnostics are feeding us, and might end up having to take the whole damned door apart.”
“You live here now?”
“Nah. I’m crashing here because the location is great, and I like being useful. I actually have to go back to work tonight. Marco’s gonna drive me into town.”
“Oh,” Sera said sullenly.
“Oh?” repeated teasingly, and there was a glint of mischief in his dark eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Well, nothing. I wanted to ask him for a favor.”
Jasper drummed his fingertips against the doorway, staring pointedly at her for a few uncomfortable beats, and then pushed away. “Anything I can help you with?”
What could he help me with?
The man was good at butchering chickens, she’d give him that. She’d liked watching his hands move, his motions so precise and instinctive. Strong, capable hands.
Her gaze fell to them down at his sides. His fingers were long and tan.
Calloused? She wanted to know. When she was a child, she’d wanted to know if all men’s hands were as rough as her fathers’.
“No, we need Marco,” Ara said, obviously because her sister was a nitwit.
“No offense, right?”
“That’s up to you.”
He laughed. “Man, you’re a tough one. All right. Hold on a sec.” Jasper moved away from the opening, and then retreated back to it, furrowing his brow. “You all right standing out there? I’d tell you to come in, but this place really isn’t fit for ladies right now.”
“Been inside,” Ara said.
“After evacuation.”
“Yeah, well, The Tin Can was in dire straits then, and trust me—it’s in even worse shape right now. It’s barely habitable, much less spaceworthy.”
“Then why are you still inside?” Sera asked.
He shrugged and put on a lopsided grin that belied his age. Given his tenure on Jekh, he had to have been around Trigrian’s age—closer to forty than to twenty—but when he smiled, she could see hints of what he must have been like as a younger man. Dashing and fun.
Not that Sera could definitively recognize fun anymore. “Fun” hadn’t been easy to come by since she was a young girl and hadn’t yet learned how terrible people could be to each other. She wanted fun, though. Or at least a chance at having some.
“I guess we’re just hot for adventure,” he said. “What’s more adventurous than living in a spaceship that falls apart a little more every day?”
“Living in that spaceship in outer space?”
“Touché. I haven’t been up in space for a while. Been mostly on the ground since arriving in this system.” He moved away then, and the sound of his booted feet echoed down the hall. “I probably couldn’t even tell you what Jekh looks like from space anymore.”
“That makes two of us,” she murmured. Sera hadn’t been paying much attention during the return flight home. She’d been too busy worrying that they’d arrive at the farm and Trigrian wouldn’t know them anymore. The fear had turned out to be a silly one in the end, but at the time, she’d experienced a great deal of anxiety.
Ara yawned widely and set Elken down on the ground. Elken immediately skipped toward the truck, singing as she went. Ara bumped Sera’s hip with hers and tipped her head toward the door. “Is good-looking, no?”
“Who?”
“Jasper?”
Sera cleared her throat and busied herself with picking up some bolts one of the men must have dropped on the ground. Ara could always look at her and tell she was lying. “I wasn’t looking.”
“You should look.”
“Yes, well, sometimes looking is hard. You know that.”
“I do.”
Sera had developed numerous survival strategies during her years as a sex worker, and one of which was not staring overlong at men’s faces. Rarely did she look at anyone long enough to memorize their features or to make any sort of judgment call about them. Marco was a sort of exception. She wanted to look at him because he seemed to be so oblivious to her. There was something quite nice about not being pursued, but at the same time, she thought that he was the one man she wouldn’t have minded being pursued by.
