Page 19 of Master (The Outlander Book Club… in Space! #3)

“Will you calm down,” Tarook groaned and flopped back on the bed rather dramatically. Raising up on his elbows, he gave me a look so reminiscent of the expression Curtis adopted when he thought me silly that it made my heart squeeze with a mixture of longing and grief, not to mention aggravation.

“It’s hard to protect you if I’m in a different room,” Tarook explained, rubbing absently over his sternum. Perhaps the neita fruit gave him heartburn, too.

“Do you think Elv... Buck and Lula are a threat?” It was going to be hard not calling him Elvis.

“No,” Tarook groaned. He shifted in the bed to lie back.

“Buck and Lula are harmless, but there are others in the settlement that might not be. Tau Ceti may be predominately human, but there are different species here. You’re safer if everyone believes we’re mated… at least until the Bardaga arrives.”

“Then I can pretend to dump your ass?” I teased with a saucy smirk, although the idea of him leaving on the Bardaga, never to be seen again, added an aching quality to the faint burn in my chest.

"You may have fallen under my charm by then." One golden eye drifted shut in a broad wink.

“Don’t hold your breath,” I quipped. Although, truthfully, I liked him. What wasn't to like? He cared for me, protected me, and made me laugh, not to mention the mix of physical features that made him the hottest, sexiest.... Oh, hell no, not going there.

“Again, with the breath holding. Is it something you do that increases your pleasure?” Tarook asked with a straight face.

Erotic asphyxiation came to mind, and I certainly wasn’t getting into that!

Instead, I stretched, feeling my vertebra pop.

"I'm going to take a shower," I told him and, at the waggle of his brows, added, "alone."

“I’ll be waiting,” he promised, punctuating the statement with a wicked grin.

“Pervert.” I rolled my eyes at him before sliding across the hall to the bathroom.

Despite the 1950s décor, the facilities had everything a girl could want after stomping through a forest for hours.

One of those large claw-foot tubs occupied the center of the room, the other furniture being a small dresser, toilet, wooden chair, and table.

There was a massive tub in my quarters on the Hartouk Lenaii, although one built more for play than cleaning.

I turned the water on as hot as I could stand without boiling myself, dropped my clothes, and stepped inside.

The shower curtain hung from an oval rod extending from behind the spigot.

It gave a faint squeal when I closed the fabric, as though no one had used it for a while.

The small table next to the tub held a selection of shampoo, conditioner, soap, and lotion.

I chose the ones imparting the fragrance of honeysuckle, appropriate for the rural area, I thought.

The water thudding against my scalp made it hard for the myriad of thoughts to hold purchase in my brain.

I would have to think about Tarook at some point, but not now.

Now, it could be dangerous, especially since we were sharing a room.

As Scarlett O'Hara said at the end of Gone with the Wind —I'll think about him tomorrow.

I emerged twenty minutes later, floral smelling and squeaky clean, to notice a small pile of clothes on the chair by the door.

A pair of jeans, a T-shirt and a flannel shirt.

Clean, but well-worn and soft as a cotton puff.

The size wasn't far enough to make wearing the garments uncomfortable.

It's nowhere near the gowns I wore on the Hartouk Lenaii.

The duds were even a step down from the jumpsuit I'd escaped in, but these clothes were more me.

Would Tarook find me as appealing and attractive in these simple clothes as he did in more opulent attire?

Where the hell did that come from?

It shouldn’t matter what Tarook thought about my clothing. It shouldn't matter what Tarook felt about anything other than keeping me safe. And it shouldn’t matter that he’d disappeared. Yet, I couldn’t deny the hollowness I felt in my chest when I found him gone from our room.

Our room?

Seriously Clara?

It was just about my safety. That's the only reason I wondered after him. What had Tarook said? He can't protect me if we're separated.

Yeah, I didn’t believe it either.

A breeze wafted through the open windows, curtains fluttering as if to bid me welcome.

Tarook's voice floated in the air, along with Buck's, enough of the conversation discernable to understand that Tarook had gone to help our host with farm chores.

I considered heading downstairs to offer my aid to Lula, but had a feeling she was the type of gal who didn't appreciate other women in her kitchen.

I never did.

Instead, I laid down on the bed, still warm from Tarook's body and holding the faintest hue of his spicy scent. It felt like home. A sense of refuge settled across me as comforting as any blanket, and I drifted off to sleep.

**********

Sunday dinner at my grandmother’s house.

Scents of pork, apples, potatoes, and something sweet that I couldn't name but knew would be delicious.

My eyes fluttered open, the deliciousness of the dream following me into the real world.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes to fully awaken. The scent I'd assumed belonged to the land of nod grew stronger, and my stomach gave an appreciative gurgle.

Outside the window, long shadows hinted at the loss of daylight. It had been hours since that stale Snickers meal bar and the idea of proper food... real yummy food that smelled and hopefully tasted like home? I hopped off the bed and padded down the stairs without pausing to don my boots.

“Did you have a good rest?” Lula glanced over her shoulder as I entered the kitchen. She stood over an old-fashioned gas stove, a long wooden spoon stirring something that steamed and bubbled.

I nodded in answer, afraid opening my mouth would have me salivating like a starving dog.

"I've already called the boys. They'll be here in a minute." Lula bent to open the stove, and the delicious scent weakened my knees.

“Can I help you with anything?” It was only polite to offer, especially when she prepared the most delicious meal I’d smelled in decades.

I wasn't a terrible cook—if you overlooked that time I gave Curtis food poisoning with some bad shrimp. In all fairness, that was the butcher's fault. I made a decent lasagna and Coq au Vin, but the scents emanating from Lulu’s kitchen were otherworldly.

"You can finish setting the table, please?"

The dining table was a large pine table that sat mid-way between the kitchen and living room.

Plates that reminded me of my mother's Fiesta ware, silverware, napkins, and glasses sat at the end of the table.

I had a place setting for four done within minutes.

Just in time to see Tarook and Buck coming in through the kitchen door.

Buck stopped to nuzzle Lula’s neck, giving her a playful swat on the rear.

I readied myself as Tarook walked closer, wondering what he would do within the pretense of our being a couple.

He came close, and just as I expected him to take advantage and try to kiss me or swat my butt, Tarook did something unexpected.

He smiled—a bright, charming smile like he hadn't seen me in years and trailed the tip of his forefinger along my nose.

Perspiration clung to his muscles, accenting the flex and dips.

Whatever labor Buck set him to had mussed his hair, pulling a few chestnut strands from the bun he wore at the back of his head.

His scent, spicier and headier than normal, drowned out the smell of dinner, making my head swim.

A hot wash of desire pooled deep in my belly, and I gasped at the feeling, causing Tarook's golden gaze to narrow as he watched me.

“You’re all dirty,” I teased. It wasn't a lie. It just didn't seem to matter.

“I’ll go get cleaned up,” Tarook’s voice held a throaty softness, only making that flame in my belly grow hotter.

“You and Buck go wash up at the sink,” Lula ordered, carrying a huge tray of what looked like pork chops to the table. “I’ll not have dinner getting cold waiting on you.”

Tarook hesitated, looking at the dirt caked on his fingers, but Buck called him over, and the two took turns washing their faces and hands at the kitchen sink.

Dinner consisted of pork chops, just as I guessed, cooked with the alien version of apples and roast vegetables.

For dessert, Lula made a berry cobbler—the berry in question being a bright pink color and tasting like a combination of cherry and mango.

The pile of neita fruit Tarook and I collected perched in a wooden bowl in the center of the table for a lesser sweet option.

We shared abduction stories and snippets from our lives on Earth.

Lula had heard of Outlander, although there were only three books published at the time of her abduction.

She'd been walking home from her job as a waitress after the night shift when the Trogvyk grabbed her.

Thankfully, the Vaktaire rescued her from being sold.

Buck, of course, remembered nothing. He believed the lack of memories was due to an accident during his abduction.

I knew better.

So did Tarook, and from his expression, it was plain he felt shitty about Elvis/Buck’s stolen memories.

Buck handled his lack of memories best. His happiest times included Lula, and he recalled every single minute of those.

No matter who these two were back on Earth, they'd moved on, come together, found love, and built a happy life for themselves. I envied that.

After dinner, Tarook and Buck went to check the livestock and load the truck for tomorrow’s trip into the village while I helped Clara with the dishes.

Between washing and drying, I related the story of the seventh Outlander Book, An Echo in the Bone. Especially the fascinating plot concerning Arch and Murdina Bug and French gold.