Page 18 of Alien Mine

“Too much sun causes skin cancer,” she blurted out in a rush. “Your skin’s dark, but it’s not that dark, and I thought maybe you’d like some sunscreen to protect it.”

“Ah.” He set the scraper down on the porch and walked slowly up the stairs, like a normal, non-bouncing human. “You are a considerate landlady.”

“Oh. Hmm.” Her blush deepened and her eyelids fluttered down. “You’re already sweating. Go dry off. And put on some shoes. God a’mercy, Dyuvad, you’re gonna get a nail through your foot or something.”

He shook his head, but he went, the same way Tiny had. Obediently, as Rachel’s tone demanded in the way of women everywhere.

He snorted at his own compliance as he entered his room and snagged a towel out of the bathing chamber, also called a bathroom or restroom, or men’s or ladies’ room, depending on who was talking. His mind continued supplying descriptors for thetiny room as he padded back outside on bare feet, drying his skin. John, toilet, head. So many words expended on naming one room when there were a host of more important things to describe. Different kinds of laughter, microfluctuations in the weather, the innumerable emotions expressed in a woman’s glance.

Yet the Earthlings living in this section of the planet wasted words on a room used to eliminate waste from the human body.

And people thought the Pruxnæ were odd.

When he came out, Rachel was scraping paint off the porch side of the railing. He snagged her wrist, halting her. “What are you doing, woman?”

“Helping. It’s my house.”

“It’s my work.”

She yanked her wrist and scowled when he tightened his grip. “I’m not sitting idly by while you work yourself into the ground.”

“I didn’t expect you to.” He twisted the scraper gently out of her hand and set it on the porch rail. “But where I come from, the woman manages the family’s holdings, directing the man’s activities around their property. That is not sitting idly by. It’s an equal contribution where it does the most good, in the thinking and planning, not the raw labor.”

“I’ve never heard of such.”

“You wouldn’t have.”

She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “So the man does what the woman tells him to.”

“Within reason.”

“But she’s the boss.”

“On those matters, usually with his input. It’s more of shared responsibility than it sounds.”

Her suspicious expression eased into a wry smile. “I’d love to have that kind of setup here. Usually, it’s me doing the managingandthe work, even when there’s a man around.”

Resignation echoed the fatigue in her voice, and for a moment, anger darkened Dyuvad’s heart. Her former husband had been a fool to jeopardize his family’s welfare the way he had, leaving Rachel alone to rear their children, run a business, andmaintain her property. Though he couldn’t speak for other cultures, and wouldn’t, there was a reason marriages were undertaken among the Pruxnæ. One person wasn’t meant to handle the responsibility of caring for a family alone, and shouldn’t have to.

Dyuvad gripped her chin and tilted her face toward his. “As long as I’m here, I’ll perform the labor of your husband.”

“I’m not married.”

“If you were, then. Consider me a substitute, without the intimate benefits marriage brings.”

“Intimate…” Her eyes went wide and her cheeks flamed red. “Oh, sweet merciful Heaven, Dyuvad. You’re determined to walk with the devil, aren’t you?”

He laughed and let her chin go. “Tell me about this sunscreen. What do I do with it?”

She slapped the tube into his palm. “You slather it on every inch of exposed skin. I should make you do it yourself as payback for your tomfoolery.”

He flipped the tube’s cap open, squirted a thick, white goo onto his palm, and sniffed. “You put this on the girls at the lake.”

“They’re only half Hispanic. Don’t want their skin to burn.”

He grunted. “I didn’t see you do it.”

“You don’t know everything, Mr. Smarty Pants. Here.” She snagged the tube and moved behind him. “You do your front while I do your back.”

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