Page 29 of Alien Mine

Yasmin nodded slowly. “You’ve explained all this before. Why now?”

“Because it’s starting again, the random visits, the threats.” Rachel shook her head, ignoring the thin strands of hair swirling around her face and the brush of her ponytail against the bare nape of her neck. “Please don’t argue me out of it this time. I really need your support here.”

“I love them.”

“I know,” Rachel said softly.

“Like they were mine, Rach. Swear you’ll never…” Yasmin swallowed hard and her hands shifted in Rachel’s, clamping down until her bones hurt under the steady pressure of Yasmin’s grip. “Swear it.”

“I swear. You never have to worry about losing them, Yasmin. I’d never do that to you.”

“Ok.” Yasmin’s breath shuddered out on a long sigh and her grip eased. “All right, then. I heard another wild rumor. Something about dipping our toes in the kiddy pool followed by steaks on the grill.”

Rachel laughed, so relieved by Yasmin’s acceptance she could’ve danced a jig up and down Warwoman Road. “If Fate’s cooking, I reckon so.”

“He is,” Yasmin said firmly, “or will be as soon as I tell him to.”

Rachel held up her pinky finger and wiggled it. “That’s where you’ve got him.”

“Only when I need something out of him. Is four ok?”

“We’ll be here with bells on.”

“A swimsuit will highlight your super powers better.”

Rachel choked on a quickly drawn breath. “Yasmin!”

“Flaunt it if you’ve got it.” Yasmin pivoted on the ball of one slippered foot and sashayed to the door. “I fully intend to flaunt mine.”

“Oh, go on with you. We’ll see you after work.”

“Absolutely.” Yasmin paused at the door, half turned toward Rachel. “Thanks for telling me first.”

“Thanks for hearing me out.”

“What are friends for?”

What indeed?

Rachel leaned a hip against a stainless steel counter and waved a final farewell to the woman who’d been family for nearly as long as she could remember. Her heart was a light thump in her chest, no longer the heavy boulder she’d woken up with. Getting Juan permanently out of the girls’ lives felt like the rightthing to do and it was a sight better than going after Miguel Ramirez. First thing Monday morning, Rachel vowed to set the legal wheels in motion. In the meantime, there was work to be done, then a whole evening spent with the folks she loved best.

And one Earthly man who really was beginning to feel an awful lot like Superman.

The days passed in a languid slide of laughter and fellowship. Once Dyuvad and Fate cleaned evidence of the vandal’s misdeeds off of Rachel’s home, they cut a hole in the wall between Dyuvad’s bedroom and Rachel’s, inside the closets that had once marked the end of the interior hallway. They left the entry unframed, a project Dyuvad could complete on his own between lulls in other work.

That other work gradually grew as Dyuvad quietly absorbed some of Rachel’s workload into his own. Kelly and Tiny happily pitched in weeding long rows of herbs and flowers carefully cultured behind a high, wooden fence separating it and the vegetable garden from the goats. Property maintenance became his sole purview, from repainting the house to repairing leaky sinks. He worked around Kelly’s lessons and her growing fascination with the universe, and slowly incorporated martial arts into her and Tiny’s schedules.

After all, he wouldn’t be on Earth forever. He couldn’t leave knowing they were completely defenseless, as they and Rachel had been before his arrival.

Mostly so, anyway. Having Fate and his surprisingly well-stocked arsenal next door wasn’t good enough. What if those vandals returned and broke into the house before Rachel could summon aid, when Dyuvad wasn’t there to protect her?

He shook the worry away and dipped his paintbrush into bright white paint. This would be his eighth day on Earth, and already, he knew how Rachel would react to being told she needed better security. The woman was too stubborn for her own good. If she were sensible, she’d retrieve the shotgun Fate washolding for her, but no. Not her. A hollow, metal stick was her only defense until, as Rachel had stated, Tiny grew up enough to recognize the dangers of firearms and knew better than to mess with them.

Maybe he’d have an easier time convincing Rachel if he could explain that Tiny only needed a single thought to grasp her mother’s warning.

At least, she would if she really was a telepath, as Dyuvad was beginning to suspect.

He slapped the paint-coated brush against prepared wood and slid it back and forth along the wood’s grain. Gaining Rachel’s trust was a slow process, one he took every opportunity to encourage, for the sake of his mission, yes, but also for the attraction growing between them. Rushing would only break what little trust he’d managed to establish, and so he practiced patience, a trait embedded into every Pruxnæ’s bones.

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