Page 127 of Alien Haven

“Then you’ll be staying!” Mitag beamed and barely kept from grabbing Ilid’s arm in delight. “What great news.”

“I’m glad you think so,” the Dramok laughed. He glanced at Mitag, then his gaze slid aside, as if checking for something or someone. He’d done it quite often the night prior, Mitag realized. Hadn’t Detodev called him on it?

He was distracted from the notion as their eyes met. He bubbled, “Hey, as the owner of an event planning business, I could stage the bakery’s grand opening for you. We can make it a huge occasion to introduce you and your work to the community.”

“I can see how it would be an excellent promotional opportunity,” Ilid acknowledged. His tone was warm, but his attention had shifted from Mitag to their surroundings…searching, searching, searching. As if he expected trouble to jump out at him from each doorway they passed.

“What’s his name?” Mitag asked.

Ilid regarded him in surprise for an instant. He glanced again to just over Mitag’s shoulder. “What’s whose name?”

“The Imdiko who’ll punch me and give you an earful after seeing us together. You keep checking for someone, so I have to assume...”

Ilid uttered an embarrassed laugh. “I’m sorry, Mitag. I’m being rude. I think I mentioned I had a bad experience while I was in the fleet. It goes beyond mere claustrophobia, I suppose. I can’t seem to stop checking for trouble.”

“The biggest problem you’ll find on Haven is what you stepped in. You won’t run into strict commanding officers, Tragooms, or Darks.” The Imdiko swept his arms to indicate Haven as a whole. “Here, it’s only fields of innocent produce andsweaty farmers, as far as the eye can see and the nose can smell. Oh, and brides who believe haybales and chicken wire are the height of fashion, but that’s an entirely different story.”

Ilid chuckled. For once, his regard remained on Mitag. It sent warmth through the young man.

* * * *

“Voila! Pies in the oven, right on schedule.” Charity waved a dramatic flourish for Sara’s benefit.

“Excellent. I’ll dash out for some eggs. The biscuits are my last project.” The blonde grinned.

The door flung wide, and the three children swooped in. “Mom, Mom, Mom, James cut himself bad,” Tori exclaimed breathlessly, dragging her younger brother by the collar of his filthy tee.

“Let me see.” Sara rushed to the pale child, who held out his arm. It was swathed in what was apparently Adam’s shirt, since the teen’s torso was bare. Sara unwrapped it and eyed the wound, which went from the crook of James’ elbow to nearly his wrist. Blood welled in a thin line.

“Big scratch. Not deep, thank the prophets. Tree or fence?”

Charity was impressed by Sara’s calm. She thought if she had a kid and he came in bleeding, she’d be screaming for emergency medics to save his life.

“Fence,” James reluctantly admitted.

“Whose?” Sara glared at him, pressing the wadded shirt to control the blood flow.

His head lowered.

“Mr. Jenkins by the school, I’ll bet.” Sara’s clipped tone hinted James had bigger worries than a cut arm.

Adam rolled his eyes at Charity before he suddenly realized he was shirtless in her presence. He turned crimson and rushed from the room. His footsteps thudded up the stairs.

Tori smirked, but her attention remained riveted on her mother and little brother. “I bet Mr. Jenkins put the fence up just to ward off James from his peach trees. Serves you right, brat.”

“Enough. Tori, see to your chores. James, to the bathroom so I can treat this scratch.” Sara straightened and sighed. “Jennifer, could you go to the coop and collect the eggs for me? There’s a basket—”

“By the door.” Charity had paid mind to Sara’s endless to-do list in case she was asked to help. “I’m on it.”

Behind her, Sara called, “Thanks, sweetie. Come on, James. While I disinfect and bandage this, we’ll have a conversation about those peaches and what happens to thieves.”

* * * *

Charity was nearly to the coop, which was located a few yards behind the house, when a movement at the corner of her eye caught her notice.

Her gaze swung to the barn. Its red presence was a cheerful postcard image, set off by a backdrop of verdant fields and nearby forest. Late afternoon sunlight illuminated the first few feet within its wide entrance, then shadows blanketed the rest of the interior. She was certain she’d seen a figure draw deeper in the dark.

She paused. Except for the chickens, Clan Amgar didn’t keep animals. They owned no cattle, ronka, goats, or horses. The barn’s function was to store produce fresh from the fields until it was sent on to market. It also garaged tools and the hovercarts.

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