Page 15 of Master (The Outlander Book Club… in Space! #3)

I had it better than most. I'd saved enough money from a part-time job during high school to pay a few months’ rent on a small, crappy apartment.

I did a little of everything to survive…

waiting tables, being a cashier at Walmart, the nighttime janitor at an office building, and donating blood.

Sleeping four hours a day and living off Ramen noodles, I still had trouble paying rent.

The dream of going to college and making a better life for myself seemed impossible.

When one of my co-workers told me about his sister's job, mentioning she made six figures, I listened. When he mentioned he thought me prettier and sexier than his sister, I thought he was attempting to hit on me.

He was trying to warn me.

I attended the interview on Thursday afternoon and went to work on Friday night. For a solid week, I threw up after every shift.

After the first month, when I made more than a solid year of working my three part-time jobs combined, I compartmentalized my new gig as a means to an end.

Still, it wasn’t easy to call myself a stripper.

I wasn't like the other girls. I only worked the pole and made my patrons strictly observe the no-touch rule.

Some girls turned lap dances into something more for bigger tips.

Not me… not ever. Stripping meant college and a better life.

Except for the bare living expenses, every dime I earned went toward my education.

I gave none of the patrons a second glance.

Except for Curtis.

He first came to the club celebrating his college roommate's impending nuptials.

Curtis was eleven years older than me and blushed the first time he caught my eye.

I intended to treat him like any other patron, but Curtis returned once a week for six months until I finally agreed to go out with him.

It was how he looked at me—like he saw my soul, not just my gyrating body.

The day I graduated from college, Curtis proposed, and I accepted.

Six months later, we moved from Florida to Athens, Georgia, hoping I would never have to face the embarrassment of my past. Not even the Outlander gals knew my history as a stripper.

In hindsight, my past on the pole certainly helped me deal with being sent to the hedonism ship.

Who’d have thought I’d look back on those years with anything but shame?

“What was your life like on Earth? Do you have a mate?” Tarook’s sudden question sounded awkward, as though he felt the silence too much to bear. He glanced back at me, and I noticed a darker tan coloring his cheeks.

"A mate? We call them husbands on Earth, and yes, I had a husband. His name was Curtis. He died a few years ago."

The tension that resided on Tarook's shoulders dissipated as I spoke. Was he asking for more than just making idle conversation?

“Did he die in battle?”

“In a way,” I sighed, sadness gripping my heart. “He had pancreatic cancer.”

Tarook slowed to walk beside me as the path widened, his face tinged with confusion.

“On Earth, cancer is a horrible disease that causes abnormal cells to form tumors," I explained.

"The worst thing about pancreatic cancer is by the time you show symptoms, it's already too late.

" I never forgot the face of Curtis' oncologist as he gave us the news, trying to appear hopeful, when there was no nope.

"He was sick for years. In the end, the pain and nausea…” I blinked away the hot wash of tears. "He suffered.”

“He sounds like a brave warrior.”

“He was,” I agreed, comforted by Tarook’s comment.

“I am sorry you had to lose someone you cared for to something so abominable." Tarook's gaze met mine, and two things struck me with equal force. First was his sincerity, and the second was the hint of confusion in his expression, as though death from sickness was abnormal to him.

“Don’t you have disease on your planet?” I wondered aloud.

“Very little that is not curable," Tarook said, holding a low-hanging pine bough out of my way. I stepped ahead, noticing the path widening and clearing. "Our medical science is eons ahead of Earth.”

“I gathered," I snorted, gesturing at my regenerated body.

Tarook's deep laughter danced over my skin, leaving little prickles in its wake.

“Did you and your mate have younglings?

"One. A daughter." An uncomfortable tightness settled between my shoulder blades. "I have a granddaughter too. Her name is Mavis."

“You must miss them.”

Tarook's comment wasn't a question, just a comment. I didn't have to go further, but the words wouldn't stop despite the regret that came with them.

“I don't see them much. My daughter and granddaughter live in France. When Curtis got sick, I devoted all my time to him. Victoria—my daughter—felt neglected and never forgave me for it. Sometimes mothers and daughters can have complicated relationships.”

“You did what needed to be done to care for your mate—there is no shame in that,” Tarook said.

I glanced at him, expecting to see recrimination, but found nothing but admiration.

What was it about this man that he had such an uncanny way of making me feel not so shitty?

He walked close, just a step ahead, so close the warmth of his body seeped into mine.

He glanced back, catching the smile of gratitude playing on my lips.

Our eyes met, and, at that moment, just like Curtis all those years ago, I knew Tarook saw my soul.

I also knew I was innately clumsy. Profoundly exhibited when my foot caught on a root, and I pitched forward with a surprised yelp. Tarook was quicker than gravity, snaking an arm around my waist to keep me from face-planting in the vines roping across the path.

We'd come out of the woodlands onto a massive field with row after row of thin vines with heart-shaped lobed leaves. A faint fruity, violet scent tickled my nostrils, triggering my olfactory memory. I grabbed Tarook’s arm to keep him from treading on the delicate green creeper holding purple trumpet-shaped blossoms.

"Holy shit! I think this is a sweet potato field.”