Page 21 of Alien Mine

“Wode banished them to an underground cave where the twins argue to this day,” Dyuvad said. “And let that be a lesson to you.”

Kelly’s chocolate eyes widened. “Don’t knock holes in the Earth?”

Rachel laughed and smoothed a hand over her eldest’s hair. “Don’t fight with your sister.”

“She ain’t big enough yet.” Kelly looped a lanky arm around her sister’s slender shoulders and hugged her playfully. “‘Sides, she don’t talk right enough to fight with nohow. Why, she was talking some such about flying in a spaceship or something when we woke up this morning. Ain’t that right, Tiny?”

Dyuvad’s expression blanked as Tiny babbled out a long string of made up words. He took her empty paper plate and stacked it together with his, then stood slowly, stretching out to his full height. “Kelly made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for you, Rachel. It’s inside on the kitchen counter.”

Rachel stood and brushed the seat of her shorts off. “I can get it. Girls, you go on now and get ready for a nap. Yasmin’s coming over after work. Fate’ll probably be by, too. I thought we could have a cookout and maybe catch lightning bugs and watch the stars.”

Kelly pumped her fist in the air. “Yes! I knowed Mr. Dyuvad could talk you into letting us stay up late.”

She scrambled up the stairs into the house, taking Tiny with her. Rachel jogged up the steps and caught the screen door before it could slap shut, then held it open for Dyuvad. She entered the house behind him and secured it against the heat of the day.

Dyuvad dumped lunch’s trash in the garbage. “Thank you for letting Kelly stay up tonight.”

“Thanks for teaching her about the stars. She’s always wanted to visit them.”

“Maybe someday she can.”

Rachel laughed. “Are you kidding? The way our spaceprogram is going, we’ll be lucky if we reach the moon again in her lifetime.”

Dyuvad washed his hands, dried them on a paper towel, and threw it away. He leaned against the kitchen counter and settled that speculative look of his on her. “What if I told you there was a way for Kelly to get her wish?”

“I’d say you were privy to something nobody else knows, that or a pure plum fool,” Rachel retorted. “Don’t get her hopes up on something you can’t deliver. She’s had enough of that in her life.”

“I’m not her father.”

The sound of gravel crunching under tires came from the front yard, interrupting Rachel’s train of thought. She swallowed down a bitter reply and walked into the living room, Dyuvad close behind her. One peep through the sheer curtains covering the plate glass window overlooking the driveway and her heart leapt into her throat.

Miguel Ramirez was getting out of the back of a spiffy, new Lincoln Town Car, accompanied by three other men.

“Oh, no,” Rachel breathed. “Get the girls. Keep them in their rooms.”

Dyuvad leaned around her and flicked the curtains aside. “Who is it?”

“That gang leader I was telling you about.” She shoved his arm down and pushed him toward the back of the house. “Go. Please, Dyuvad.”

His eyes drifted toward the window and his mouth hardened. Finally, he nodded, pivoted on the ball of one bare foot, and left.

Rachel pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed Fate as the men approached the house. The phone rang three times, then dumped into voice mail, and Rachel cursed under her breath. Fate was working with his bees. Why hadn’t she remembered that and called nine one one instead?

She shoved her phone back into her shorts pocket, opened the front door, and stared Miguel down through the closed screen door. “Y’all can stop right there. I don’t want you on my porch.”

Miguel backed away from the steps leading to the porch andgrinned, flashing a dimple. The other three men were swarthy skinned and flat nosed, in direct contrast to Miguel’s creamy complexion and thin nose. His features were even, regular, and his nearly black eyes canny under straight, thick brows. All four men wore dress slacks and polos, and looked for all the world like they were on their way to the country club for an afternoon of leisure, except for the prison and gang tats inked into their forearms and necks.

Miguel spread his hands wide. His grin was steady and not quite friendly. “Rachel, chica. Is that any way to treat an old friend?”

“If you were an old friend,” she gritted out, “you wouldn’t have come here when Juan was thrown in jail and tried to force me into hooking for you.”

“Debts must be paid.”

“When I owe you something, I’ll pay you back. Until then, you get off my property.”

Miguel tucked his elegant hands into his slacks and his expression hardened. “Your husband—”

“Ex-husband, thank you very much, and his debts are not mine. He owes you something, you get it from him.” One of the men eased toward the side of the house. Rachel snapped her fingers at him. “Don’t you take another step, mister, unless it’s back to the car.”

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