Page 17 of Married to the Alien Mountain Man (Cowboy Colony Mail-Order Brides #5)

17

JAYA

I woke up in a bed I’d never slept in before, tucked in with a blanket that I recognized. It was Oaken’s blanket, which led me to believe that this was Oaken’s bed, something confirmed when I opened my eyes and saw the walls of the bedroom in his cabin. I snuggled down, enjoying the feel of his blanket around me. The buttery leather was already comfortingly familiar against my cheek, bringing back memories of last night.

The most important memories from last night should have revolved around the Lavariya. I should have been going over what went wrong so I could do better today. I should have been using every ounce of mental energy planning my journey back to her so I could start my repairs before the sonic recalibrater got delivered.

Well, that wasn’t happening. Instead, all my dumbass brain wanted to focus on was the part where Oaken had whisked me up into his arms and apparently carried me all the way home. And then, my dumbass hormones decided to join the party, and I lay there for far too long feeling positively loopy with the stupidest sort of happiness possible.

Holy fucking Terra.

Did I have a crush on my husband?

My alien mountain man cowboy convict husband?

My fake husband?!

No. Impossible. This didn’t happen. I didn’t get crushes! I hooked up with guys on my travels when I was bored or horny or both, and then I promptly forgot them. I certainly didn’t lie around mooning because some big, buff dude had carried me somewhere when my tootsies were sore!

Speaking of sore tootsies…

I wiggled my toes, pleased to see that I hadn’t slept in my boots. My ridiculous hormones were apparently pleased by that, too, because I experienced a gush of giddiness when I realized that Oaken must have been the one to have helped with that. The rest of my clothes were on, so he clearly hadn’t tried anything inappropriate. Just took my boots off for me, like the very good husband he apparently was.

I should take a look at those blisters…

I tossed off the blanket, the room already hot with the day’s sun pouring in the window. I bent my legs, bringing my feet up towards my butt. But then I stopped, confused.

These were not my socks.

“What the hell?”

I picked at the yarn of the cozy knitted garments, wracking my brain for any memory of changing my socks.

Nothing.

I guess Oaken did that, too…

“Where the heck did he get socks this small?” I wondered aloud. There was no way these socks would have fit him.

“He got him from that drawer,” Lala said, rolling her body out of my pocket and then extending her legs.

I glanced at the set of drawers, imagining Oaken rooting around in there looking for fresh socks for me while I snored away.

Oh, crap. Had I been snoring?

And why did I care?

“I wonder whose socks these are,” I murmured, plucking at the hem of the left one. “Maybe Magnolia’s.” I knew she’d spent quite a bit of time convalescing here after her ardu bite. Maybe she’d left them behind.

Lala skittered down my leg and began poking her spindle sensors into the tiny holes between the knitted stitches.

“This material is not in any of my databases. It is not from Terratribe II.”

Terratribe II was the colony world Magnolia had come from.

I shrugged.

“Maybe she bought them on Elora Station or something.”

“Then she must have bought them at some sort of antique shop,” Lala replied. “Because there are signs that this yarn is old.”

The socks from Oaken’s drawer were old…

And they were way too small for him…

“Are you suggesting that he gave me a pair of his own socks?” I asked. “From when he was a kid?”

“I am not suggesting anything. I am merely presenting my observations.” She stopped poking at the sock and lowered her body down into what counted as a seated position for her.

“But your observations ,” I said slightly peevishly, “seem to be adding up to the fact that I am currently wearing Oaken’s socks. His little tiny baby socks!”

“They are much larger than socks for a baby, even a Zabrian baby…”

“Lala!”

“Yes. I believe it is likely he gave you socks from his childhood. I also believe he would give you much more than this.” She aimed a spindle at my left heel. “He used the knitter on you.”

My stomach swooped with involuntary pleasure at that. I frowned and tried to shove the feeling down. I didn’t need Oaken to use the knitter on me. I’d been using it on myself just fine for the past ten years.

“He needs to stop being so nice,” I announced. “It’s turning me into an idiot.”

“If I were a comedy bot with fewer politeness protocols installed,” Lala said mildly, “I would make a comment about how you don’t actually need any help in that department.”

“Ha, ha,” I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “Hilarious.”

* * *

I didn’t find Oaken in the house, but I saw signs of him and his thoughtfulness everywhere. Food had been set out for me in the kitchen. My socks, now blood-stained but obviously freshly washed, had been laid on the back of the kitchen chair nearest the food so that I wouldn’t miss them. It was as if he was some sort of helpful green fairy flitting about unseen, doing kind things for me while I slept.

I ate, peed, then rinsed my mouth – followed by my underarms – in the kitchen sink.

I knew I’d made the right decision not pushing on to get to the Lavariya last night, but I regretted not having any of my personal effects with me now. No clean panties, no hairbrush, no toothpaste… Nothing.

I’d have to make it to the Lavariya today. During the daylight hours this time. I needed to start the repairs so all the connections would be ready by the time the sonic recalibrater arrived.

And I desperately needed a shower.

Did Zabrians have as good a sense of smell as they did a sense of hearing?

And why the hell did I care? The only one who’d be smelling me was Oaken…

Which was, unfortunately, probably precisely why I cared.

Oaken smelled nice. I’d noticed it last night, when my face had been smooshed up against his giant pecs. It was a sort of warm, clean, masculine scent beneath the dust and the leather. There was a mild, unscented soap in the kitchen, but I hadn’t yet encountered anything that seemed to be cologne or deodorant.

Which meant that, besides having the face of a model and the body of a god, the guy also apparently didn’t have any B.O.

If he wasn’t so sweet, I would be forced to resent him for it.

But he was sweet. So instead, I just grumbled to myself about my human sweat glands, splashed my face with water, used the soap on my bangs so that they hopefully weren’t too greasy against my forehead, and then went outside.

The sun was high in the sky by the time I emerged. I didn’t know how time was measured on this planet, but I figured it had to be almost afternoon by now.

I’d wasted half the day already.

That wasn’t like me. None of this was like me.

“Alright, Lala,” I said, digging her out of my pocket and holding her in my palm. “Let’s get your map open. I know you’ve tracked all the geography we’ve covered between here and where we landed yesterday. Get that ship’s signal displayed! Chop, chop!”

“Where is Oaken?”

“I don’t know. Where’s the Lavariya? I don’t see a map on your screen yet.”

“My core programming is preventing me from displaying the map.”

“What the hell? Why? Your core programming should be excited to help me get back to the Lavariya. Considering that’s our home, and that’s where I’m safest!”

But still, she displayed no map.

Stubborn little bot.

“You didn’t make a peep about me going to find the Lavariya last night, when it was all dark and spooky and there were snakes the size of a shuttle slithering around,” I pointed out, exasperated. “Where was your keep-Jaya-alive programming then?”

“Last night,” Lala replied, “my core programming recognized that you had a protector.”

My cheeks went hot.

“Yes. Well. I don’t need one of those.”

“Every risk scenario model I have run would disagree.”

“Oh! Now that’s just rude!” I gasped, even though a part of me knew she was right. “If you weren’t so cute, I’d remind you that you’re the perfect size and shape to use as a baseball.”

“I am smaller than an Old-Earth baseball. Also, my legs would hinder a player’s pitch, and-”

“It was a joke, Miss Wannabe Comedy Bot,” I muttered, placing her on my shoulder. “Come on, then. Let’s go find Oaken.”