An Alien for Her Heart (A New Home #2)

1. Catherine

1

CATHERINE

L ife isn’t meant to be a smooth ride.

No matter who you are, it’s meant to build you up or knock you down. I’ve had a lot of that knocking down. Thought I was used to it. Stronger than it.

Years of patience. Years of growth. Years of learning lesson after lesson.

Thought I was better.

I didn’t think it would ever end up like this.

Sitting here outside my homestead, those words stick as my gaze travels over the view before me. My chair leans till it touches the cottage’s stone walls, my weight sinking into the worn wood. The wind is soft, the air warm. Both caress me as I pull my shawl tighter across my shoulders and release a long breath of my own. Just…breathing with the wind.

Far out in the field before me, the tall grasses sway as strange cow-hippo animals called oogas mill about, grazing without a care in the world. It’s all so peaceful, so very different from the last few years of my life, that I’m caught in a sort of trance, consciously taking it all in.

This is all mine. The cottage. The field. The farm. The animals. This piece of land out here on these alien plains belongs to me now. I blink at it, taking in the view and still blinking as if expecting my vision to clear. As if expecting it all to disappear when I lift my head from my pillow and realize that all I was doing was dreaming all along.

As far as my eyes can see, fields upon fields spread out to touch the horizon. It’s quiet out here. Secluded. Perfect solitude for a weary traveler.

And I am weary. So very tired. The sort of tiredness that isn’t etched in my muscles or my bones, but someplace far deeper.

I grip the shawl tighter, even though the air isn’t remotely cold. The bright star above is warm, but the shawl tightens around me like a comforting caress. Another breath eases its way through my chest, floating to meet the wind. I gaze across the plains, not really seeing them now. Not seeing anything before me except the old memories that begin creeping in. Old dreams. Old pain.

I’m caught in my thoughts, becoming swallowed by them, when there’s a sharp thud that tugs me from the depths of my own mind. I jerk, lurching back into the present and almost falling off the chair in the process. Reality snaps back as I jump to my feet, my gaze turning to the roof above me. There’s a workman—or rather, a working male—up there doing repairs. So caught up in my thoughts, I’d forgotten about him. Forgotten I’d stepped outside the cottage for some fresh air, and perhaps even a chance to talk to him. Learn more about this new world I’ve now settled on.

Lifting a hand to shield my eyes from the sun’s glare, I step back so I can see him better. “Everything alright up there?”

The workman startles—perhaps he’d forgotten about me, too—and a curved roofing tool slips from his grasp. It slides down on the thatched roof straight in my direction. I don’t react fast enough. Luckily, it snags on something, hanging halfway off the roof’s edge. My eyes widen as the roofer steps back, reaching for it. Retreating a further step, I watch his precarious footing. His balance seems wonky, but he keeps his foothold on a floating black tile that hovers suspended in the air just beneath him.

“All is well. Greetings,” he finally replies as he grabs hold of the tool and gives me a nod in the process.

I nod back, not sure what to say now.

He’s a Raki. The species I was advised to hire for all the repairs my new homestead needs. He’s gray-skinned. Has a long trunk, small eyes, and bushy eyebrows. He looks like an elephant, even having the large ears to match, but he’s much smaller than a full-grown one. Probably the size of what would be a baby elephant back on Earth. He barely tops my waist when we’re standing side by side. But I guess that doesn’t count. I’m a tall woman.

He ignores me now as he returns to his work, and I nod again. Maybe to myself this time. But maybe I’m desperate—or something. Desperate to not fall back into the void of my thoughts. It’s the reason I stand here, looking up at the roof, at the alien working there, shoulders turned away from me as he deliberately ignores me, and I still open my mouth and speak.

“How’s it coming on?” I ask, even though I can see his progress with my own eyes. The Raki works slowly. It’s been a month since I signed up for the New Horizons Initiative. A month since their representative brought me out to live on these plains. A month since my new life began. And the roof is only halfway done. He’s slow, but he’s cheap and he’s reliable. Turns up every day. Does his work without a fuss and then leaves again.

“All is progress.” His gaze shifts to me only briefly before he looks away once more. “Greetings.”

“Greetings.” I press a tight smile on my face and pull the shawl so tight across my shoulders that the fibers protest. It’s been like this each time I’ve tried to have a conversation with him. Either the Raki are not used to small talk or this one just doesn’t want to speak to me . Which is okay…I suppose. I’ve hired him to work, not keep me company.

I’m no stranger to being alone. I was alone long before aliens decided to disrupt my existence. I’m used to it.

I press a brighter smile on my face and turn my attention back to the field, choosing not to focus on the fact that the Raki is ignoring me once more. If his little distraction has done anything, it’s reminded me that I can’t just sit here in the sun, stuck in a loop of memories and dreams. I have work to do. I stare at the field, watching the animals for a moment before I nod to myself. I should get out there. Continue clearing that field. It beats sitting in the house all day, staring at the plains and wondering how life changed so much that I ended up here.

Clearing my throat, I shoot one last glance at the Raki before I head to the barn. It’s warm inside the building, probably because of the large holes in the roof that give me a view of the bright pink sky. Bits of thin clouds float by above like wisps in the atmosphere, their view unimpeded. I eye the holes, knowing the Raki will take another few months before he’ll get to repairing those, too. Until then, there’s not much I can do with the barn, and that slows things down. I can’t move the animals in, can’t start storing hay or any feed, and I certainly can’t fix those holes myself. I’ll just have to wait and make do till the situation improves. Heading to one corner, I stop at the tools I’d found lying about the place and stashed in a big pile there.

Leaning down, I grab something that looks like a large pair of scissors. It’s the only tool out of the lot that can do the job I want and, though somewhat rusty, it’s worked well so far. In the month that I’ve been out here, I’ve managed to clear a tenth of the field of tall grass. The only problem is that it’s already growing back. By the time I finish cutting one side and start on the other, the field will be a full-blown grassy savannah again.

I try not to think about it. Try not to let the sheer enormity of this challenge get me down. I signed up with New Horizons because I wanted a fresh start. This is it. Nobody said it was going to be easy and I didn’t come here expecting it to be. I’ll push through it, and in the meantime, I’ll push those forlorn thoughts away, too. I might be in my sixties but my strength is still there. God knows it is. Otherwise, I’d have given up a long time ago. And I don’t quit.

So I grip the oversized scissors, the weight of it somewhat grounding as I step out of the barn. The Raki on the roof lifts his head, his gaze finding me almost reluctantly. I smile, gesturing to the scissors in my grasp.

“Just going to cut the hay.” I can tell the moment the words leave my mouth that my attempt at conversation has been once again deflected by his shield of disinterest.

“A fine sol to get the job done. Greetings,” he says, before focusing on his work again.

I’m dismissed. My chin lifts and I keep the smile pasted on my face as I walk around the house and head toward the field. There, with my back turned to him, the smile slowly dies, a cloud of despondency threatening to follow in its wake. I roll my shoulders, closing my eyes for a moment as I breathe in the fresh air. When I open my eyes again, the field is right before me. Grass so tall I could get lost in it. And that’s the problem. I need to cut it down so I can start even a small vegetable garden or something. I’m not sure how I’ll do it. I expect the first set of crops will fail. And then the next. And probably the next, too. I’ve never grown anything to eat in my life. I’ll need time to figure this out and get things right.

If all else fails, I’ll figure out how to make money with the animals. I’m good with horses. Good in the stables. Though, my lips press into a thin line as I watch the oogas lazily graze, these animals are nothing like horses. More like cows. But it can’t be that hard, right? I’ll just pinch the funds New Horizons sponsored me until I get a footing in all this.

Stepping into the grass, I use the massive scissors to part the tall strands. I soon end up at the small clearing I’m already making some progress in. An ooga is standing there, its ears perked at the sides of its large head.

“Hey, big guy,” I whisper. “Or girl.” I don’t quite know which. They don’t have visible udders even though the representative mentioned they can produce milk.

The animal ignores me and I shrug. “You too, huh.” Removing my shawl from my shoulders, I tie it over my head instead. “Is there some kind of ‘don’t talk to the human pact’ going on that I don’t know about?”

I ask this out loud even though I’d probably pee my pants if the ooga talked back to me. I grunt a laugh just thinking about it as I use the scissors like a crutch to lower myself to my knees. “My mother used to say, ‘Actions speak louder than words.’” I grunt again, glancing at the ooga who continues to ignore me. “Guess you’re a firm believer in that one, aren’t you?”

I chuckle as I settle fully on the ground. The position isn’t comfortable but it’s the only one I’ve found that gets me any real progress.

The first few snips of the grass are smooth. The scissors are so big they take a large chunk without a problem and I shuffle on my knees, snipping as I go. It’s therapeutic, but soon my knees begin to ache, the short blades of grass like little swords poking into my flesh, and the heat of the sun like it’s being amplified by a magnifying glass. I push on anyway, wiping sweat from my brow even as I worry that now that I’m on my knees, I mightn’t be able to get back up. I can already feel that ache that tells me my joints are locked and I’m not moving from this position anytime soon.

I might as well stay down here and continue working then. So I keep going. I cut the grass until my whole body protests. Until lifting the scissors becomes too strenuous. Until I’m too tired to even think about the past or anything else except the fact that I’m tired and should stop soon. And until I hear a snort and a bay up ahead.

The sound wouldn’t have bothered me if the grass didn’t rustle and the ooga’s baying didn’t get louder. I stop snipping to lift my head, a slight frown on my brow as I squint against the sun. But I can’t see far ahead through the tall grass. When there’s another snort, more baying sounds, and the ooga closest to me begins stomping its feet in place, I know something’s not right.

The oogas are usually silent. Hardly making a sound apart from their chewing and occasional release of flatulence. Otherwise, it’s almost like they don’t exist.

Grunting, it’s an effort to rise. I hiss, pulling a breath through my teeth as I force my muscles to work. It feels like my thighs have gone dead from being in the crouched position too long and it takes a few moments of standing and stomping in place before sensation returns. Still squinting underneath the pressure of the sun, I stretch one arm to part the grass before me. Not far ahead, a group of three oogas are gathered. Just seeing them like that makes my frown deepen.

They’re herd animals but still like their own space. It’s a contradiction that reminds me of humans. Usually, they walk slowly, just chewing and minding their own business, often ignoring each other. Now, their heads are lifted and they’re baying in unison with noses pointed skyward.

For a moment, I wonder if I’m the reason for their sudden behavior change. Did I disturb them with my unconventional methods of hay harvesting? It probably scared them to have a pale creature crawling low and cutting down their food. But no. Their attention isn’t on me. Looking over my shoulder back to the cottage, I see the Raki on my roof is looking at the animals too. But then, like they’re not behaving strangely, he returns his attention to his work. That’s just the thing; he minds his own business. Even now, when even I can tell that something’s not right.

I want to holler at him, ask for his input, but he’s ignoring me once more. My lips press into a narrow line. I might not have much—lost everything when I was abducted from Earth—but I still have my pride.

I’ve been figuring things out on my own for a long time. I can figure this out, too.

Resting the scissors on the ground, I decide to venture closer to the animals to take a look. I can hear them stomping and the baying gets louder as I near the area of grass they’ve cleared with their grazing. Perhaps one of them is injured and they’re calling for help. Horses will sometimes do that, their whinnies turning frantic when one of their own is in distress. Even as I think it, I pray that’s not the case. I don’t think I could bear to see one of these magnificent creatures suffering. That’s when I see the reason for the oogas’ upset. The scene before me is not what I expected to find.

A group of small fluffy creatures are running circles around my oogas.

I stop short, not sure what they are or if I should venture any closer. They could be dangerous, but that’s a hard sell. They look like little pom poms bouncing around and it takes me a moment to notice they have feet underneath their little round bodies. They’re…cute.

“Um…” Cute, yes. But the oogas don’t like them. Or rather they don’t like the fact that the little creatures seem to be dancing around them. I turn my gaze back to the house and the Raki working there. He’s looking my way again but turns his head back to his work the moment he senses me looking, as if he doesn’t want to engage.

Guess I’m all alone in this. Maybe if I leave the little fluffy creatures they’ll go away to wherever they came from. In the month I’ve been here, this is the first time I’m seeing these things. That must mean they’re just passing through.

But, again, that’s not the case. I wait for a few moments before realizing the oogas are only becoming more agitated. Taking off my shawl, I wave it like a flag to get the little fur monsters’ attention. Probably a bad idea if they’re dangerous, but they ignore me. As a matter of fact, they move faster, becoming little black blurs. I gasp when I feel movement around my legs. A host of them appear from the long grass to rush past me and join the fray. Where there were only five of them before, now there are at least twenty. They just keep coming out of the long grass like termites from rotten wood. My eyes widen as the oogas go ballistic, baying and dashing through the grass—one nearly mowing me down in the process. I’m momentarily stunned. I didn’t know the oogas could move that quickly. For Pete’s sake, I’d had to ride an ooga out to these plains and it never moved like that.

Fear spikes low in my chest and I have the sense to run. As fast as I can, I shriek as I head toward the house. I make it through the little gate separating the field from the main yard with an ooga on my tail. I shut it behind me hard, the entire fence vibrating with the force as my chest heaves, my lungs burning with the sudden exertion.

The ooga misses me by mere inches. The brush of air as it suddenly turns to stop itself from colliding into the gate makes tendrils of my hair blow backward from my face.

Those little furry animals… What in the blazes are those things?

The oogas are still going crazy and one runs straight into the perimeter fence. My heart goes into my throat as the entire thing seems to bend with the force of the animal. They are, after all, built like tanks. When another does the same thing, I know I have to stop them. I can’t have my perimeter fence going down. With no barn to hold them, that will only set all my animals free and invite God knows what in. Plus, who knows if I’d be able to herd them all back. My confidence in that respect is but a drop in a large empty bucket.

I stare at the growing chaos in shock. The peacefulness of the morning is gone, almost as if I’d imagined it.

Okay, Catherine. Figure this out. I square my shoulders, huffing a breath through my nose as I march around to the front of the cottage. The Raki sees me immediately.

“The animals are spooked.” I point to the field even though I know he saw everything and is very aware of my sudden plight. “Some little creatures have scared them. Do you know what they are or what I should do?”

His gaze shifts to the field before moving back to me. “Wild umus,” he says. “Best to tame them. Greetings.”

Tame them? What in tarnation…

He goes back to his work and my brows dive. That’s all the help I’ll be getting from him, that’s clear. But did he say I should tame the animals? How in the blazes am I supposed to do that? Brushing back the tendrils that have escaped my bun, I jerk slightly when another ooga collides with the perimeter fence, the sound reaching me as if I was standing right beside the fence itself. The whole structure bends outward, the wood creaking with a sound that echoes against the stone walls of my cottage.

I really have to do something.

I’m moving into the house as fast as my legs can take me, heart in my throat as I head straight to the table. I grab the communication device I have there—a rectangular thing that reminds me of a smartphone. Breath held, I tap the screen and it lights up.

I know I should, but I don’t want to call. The whole reason for coming all the way out into these plains was to be self-sufficient. To live the rest of my days in serenity without the pressure of friends or relationships that ultimately fail. Yet, here I am, hand hovering over the device, considering asking for help.

I chew my lip, glancing out the window. The chaos outside is unsettling, the animals still baying and stomping, the little creatures flitting about like manic fluff balls. I sigh and tap the screen, bringing up the contact list. There are only two names there. The first is Xarion, the New Horizons representative who transported me to this farm.

Xarion had been kind, offering to check in periodically, but I had politely declined. Now, though, I wonder if I was too hasty in my hunger for peace.

I hesitate, finger hovering over his name. Can I really call him for something like this? The thought of his stern, yet understanding bunny-like features makes me hesitate further. No. I can’t contact him. But as another ooga crashes into the fence, I make my decision.

My focus drops to the second name on the list and a tingle of nervous energy rises in my gut. There’s only one other person I could call. A human. One who has been kind. One who has tried to be my friend even though the walls I’ve erected keep her at arm’s length. But I have no choice.

“Computer, ping Eleanor.” My voice trembles as the words come out, probably because my throat is so tight I can hardly breathe. If the perimeter fence falls and the animals get out, I don’t think I’ll ever get them back again. I can’t let that happen.

“ Pinging Eleanor Taylor .”

I grimace but allow the ping to go through. The last thing I want is to burden someone else with my problems. But Eleanor’s farm is up and running. She has a field. She’s even planted crops. Maybe she’s encountered the little fur monsters and can point me in the right direction before I lose my fence and my oogas.

I bite my lip, pacing as I look out the window just to see the complete carnival happening in the field. It seems to have escalated in the few minutes that it took me to come inside for the device.

Releasing a slow breath, I look down at my screen at the exact moment that Eleanor answers the ping.

“Catherine! So nice to hear from you! How are things going?”

I force a smile. There’s light in her eyes. Eleanor’s cheeks look rosy. She looks so happy. So genuinely happy, that I stare at her for a moment too long. Such pure happiness isn’t something often seen on other human faces. Not out here. Not in this new reality where we’ve all left Earth behind.

I want to lie to her, tell her everything’s going great, but that’s not the reason I called. I need her help.

“Hi.” I clear my throat. “Hello, Eleanor. I’m just—” My gaze shifts back to the terrified oogas. “I hope I’m not calling at a bad time. Are you busy?”

“No, no, go ahead!” I can tell she’s walking through her cottage to go stand on her porch. “I was just finishing preparing some seeds we’ll be planting today. Just a little tip, we have to soak them before we put them into the soil or they won’t take.”

In the background, I can see she’s painted her cottage pink and there are flowers hanging on the walls. It looks like summer in the South of France. It looks like a home. So warm and inviting that my stressed smile becomes genuine. Peace. She’s found her peace.

“I’m just calling for some advice,” I start. Now that she’s on the line, I feel like a fool for calling. Surely, I could have figured this out on my own. I have a supercomputer in my hands. But since she’s on the line, I press ahead anyway. “There are some animals. Something called umus—”

Eleanor gasps. She goes completely still, her eyes widening as she stares at me. “Oh no. Has one attacked you?!”

Her reaction makes me focus on her fully, the knot of thoughts that have been tangling my mind going to the background for a few moments. “Well, no. Are they dangerous? I seem to have…” My gaze slides back to the field. “I seem to have an infestation of sorts. They spooked the oogas and I have no idea how to calm them down. I tried shooing the little furries away and almost got trampled by the oogas themselves. I was just wondering if you have any ideas in case you encountered them before.”

“Goodness gracious,” Eleanor says, and her gaze shifts off to something I can’t see. “Don’t go near them. I nearly died because of one.”

My eyes widen. “Nearly died ? What?”

“Zynar!”

I stiffen as she calls her mate. I don’t want to take him away from his work too.

“Zynar!” But Eleanor’s eyes are still wide with panic as she hustles across what looks to be her yard and to her freshly cleared field. I start to pace, her panic bleeding through the call. What sort of trouble have I found myself in? My animals are going crazy and, as I catch glimpses of the overturned red dirt of her field, I’m reminded of just how far behind I am in my own crop preparations.

“Zynar, it’s Catherine! She’s in trouble.” Eleanor huffs, the look on her face still panicked.

“Just what am I dealing with here, Eleanor?” I look back from the chaos outside my window just as the video screen suddenly shifts.

Zynar appears. He’s so tall I can’t see his face, only the purple iridescent scales on his shirtless chest, which means Eleanor is holding the comm up for him.

“Umus are terrorizing Catherine’s farm. I’m worried the same thing that happened to me might happen to her.” I can hear the stress in her voice, and for me, a woman she only knows because our lives were both torn apart. It makes something deep inside me wring and twist. Something a part of me pushes back against. “You have to go help her.”

“Oh! No!” I startle, surprised, shocked back from my thoughts to the words she just said. “I couldn’t possibly take Zynar away from his duties. I know you’re both busy. If he could just tell me what I should do. I—” I talk quickly but I don’t think Eleanor’s listening. She’s rattling something about me getting hurt and how they have to prevent that.

Zynar bends and his face suddenly appears on screen. “It would be no trouble, human.” He gets an elbow in his side and I see the faint shadow of a smile, giving me a glimpse of sharp fangs. “It would be no trouble…Catherine.”

It’s clear his mate has been teaching him to call us humans by name, but pushing that from my mind, I shake my head. “It’s quite a distance between our farms and it’s rather urgent. My field. The oogas. I—”

But he’s already shifting the device back to Eleanor. “I cannot make it out to your homestead, Catherine,” he says, loud enough that I can hear. “Not with the seeds soaked and ready for sowing. They will go bad if not sowed in the next hor and Eleanor cannot do such a job.”

“I can do it.” Eleanor frowns. Zynar growls.

“Much too strenuous work for you, my kahl ,” he rumbles. His kahl? God, it feels like I’m snooping in on a private moment with the way his voice deepened on that word. “Varek will go to her aid.”

I blink. Varek? That’s his brother. I met him once. On the same day I met them all. That first day when I had no idea what I was doing or where I was going. Only knew that there was a gaping hole inside me that nothing can fill.

Grimacing slightly, I wish I never called. The last thing I want is to make a big deal out of something I could have probably fixed myself.

“I’ll Google a solution.” Well, the alien version of Google. “I can’t possibly—”

“It’s no trouble.” Eleanor faces me now. “He drives fast. He’ll be there in less than an hor. You know,” she nods at me “an hour.”

I want to tell her this feels like something that’s being blown out of proportion, but an ooga takes that moment to charge straight at the perimeter fence. It makes such a heartbreaking sound as half its body gets stuck in the wires—front half outside my property’s bounds and his backside in. Oh, crapsuckles. I really need help. “Okay.” My voice lowers, reality sinking in. “I’ll see you then.”

“Not me.” Eleanor grins. “ Varek .” I open my mouth and she smiles some more. “He’ll sort it out. Don’t worry.”

“I—”

“Talk to you soon. I’ll ping him now.” Eleanor gives me a reassuring smile and the ping closes.

I release a breath, pulling on the bravery I’ve been using for years to keep me going as I set the device down and hurry out of the house to stop my animals from killing themselves.