Page 10 of Wanted by the Alien Warden (Cowboy Colony Mail-Order Brides #4)

10

TASHA

I watched Warden Tenn while I continued to detangle my hair with my fingers. He’d set himself up on the flat surface of the floor and was currently cutting swaths of white, silky-looking fabric into big, vaguely shirt-shaped pieces. He was quiet and focused, his large hands moving with surprising deftness.

I hadn’t seen this side of him before. This silent, nearly studious diligence. The swaggering arrogance was tamped down, shaped into something careful. Something thoughtful.

Once my hair was smoothed-out, I had nothing else to do with my hands. I pressed them together between my knees, feeling suddenly awkward about watching Warden Tenn while he made my pyjamas.

“I’ll be right back,” I told him, deciding to use this time to get ready for bed. Before she’d retreated to her own bedroom, Darcy had given me some extra toiletries, like soap and a toothbrush. I made use of the outhouse – which was certainly rustic, but serviceable – and then washed up and brushed my teeth in the kitchen sink. The dark kitchen, aside from the apparently impossible-to-eliminate dust, was otherwise clean, Fallon and Silar having tidied it all up admirably.

Gerald and I had lived together before I left him for the job on Elora Station. I couldn’t even remember the last time he’d done a chore without being asked. And when he did complete a chore I’d asked for, it was always half-assed and accompanied by an endless litany of passive aggressive complaints.

Every sign was currently telling me that a pair of alien convict cowboys were better partners than my non-criminal, human ex-boyfriend could ever dream of being.

By the time I returned to the bedroom, Warden Tenn had made startling progress. The trunk of the shirt appeared nearly complete, and long strips were ready beside it, presumably to function as the sleeves.

“Wow,” I said, nodding in appreciation as I returned to my spot on the bed. “You’re fast.”

“I haven’t made clothes in cycles,” he grunted without looking up from his work. “But old skills come back quickly.”

“Just like riding a bike.”

“What?”

“It’s a human phrase. It means that things you were once good at are always sort of in there, ready to be dusted off when you need them.”

Warden Tenn made a thoughtful sound, then said, “I like that.”

My cheeks felt oddly hot at his proclamation. I cleared my throat and decided now was the time to thoroughly examine my nailbeds. Having just washed my hands, they didn’t look too bad, despite the dust.

“So,” Warden Tenn said. “What are you first thoughts?”

“About the pyjamas?”

He glanced up. His orange gaze was so warm.

“About the men. About the program’s chances of continuing.”

“Oh! Of course. Well, I must admit I’m quite happy with Fallon and Silar so far. It really does appear that they’re providing well for their wives. Cherry and Darcy seem happy, and Magnolia does, too, in the brief chat I’ve had with her.”

“I want you to know,” he said, his voice falling lower, serious and deep, “that I would not have agreed to proceed with this program if I thought any of my men were unsuitable. I believe it is the same for Warden Hallum, and the wardens of the other provinces.”

He finished with a seam, and snapped the thread off with his fangs, a surprising and bizarrely erotic action. I watched his mouth, with those flashing long teeth, as he continued speaking.

“I have been doing some research about human laws and criminal proceedings. You should know that none of my men meet the human standard for murder.”

“Cherry said something similar. But, if that’s the case, how were any of them convicted?”

Warden Tenn got to work attaching one sleeve to the body of the shirt. His stitches were even, neat, and incredibly quick, even with the slippery, satiny fabric.

“From my research, humans have legal arguments they can rely on in these sorts of cases, such as self-defence. The Zabrian Empire has no such thing. Causing the death of another, if you are not among one of the protected classes, cannot be defended by any means. If my men had been any older, they would have been sent to the mines for a lifetime of hard labour and imprisonment.”

“Protected classes?”

“The military caste, for example.”

“Does that include you?”

“It does.”

I tensed. He noticed, and used his sewing needle to gesture at his belt. “This is a stunner, meant for incapacitation. It is not a lethal weapon.”

Your whole body is a lethal weapon.

I almost said it as I absorbed the size and shape of him, his heavy, muscled body. The hands that could so easily crush a throat…

But that were currently occupied by making me delicate pyjamas instead.

“And before you get any ideas,” he said on a growl, but with mirth in his eyes, “the stunner is biometrically assigned to me. You can’t use it on me, or anyone else.”

“I wasn’t planning to!”

“That’s what you want me to think,” he smirked. “But a good warden must always be prepared for anything.”

“Speaking of being prepared,” I said, ignoring the fluttering in my belly at his friendly, nearly flirtatious tone. “What’s the plan for the next few days?”

“I believe it would be best to travel to Warden Hallum’s province first,” he said as he finished up with the sleeve he was currently working on. “Zohro’s property is actually closer to the border than the mountains. For efficiency’s sake, I’ll ask him to meet us there. That way you can meet four of the unmarried hopefuls at once. Afterwards, we can journey to the mountains. Garrek, Magnolia, and their convict-ward Killian are still staying on Oaken’s property. I would not be surprised if they settle in the mountains permanently at this rate.”

“Is that, you know, allowed?” I asked, curious about just how much freedom the men had here. This was technically a penal colony, after all.

“Considering I am the one who would be responsible for allowing it? Yes. I have no problem with this. It may even be beneficial for Killian, as I believe he needs as solid a support system as he can get. Garrek’s old ranch can be repurposed or used to house a future convict if necessary.”

“Killian. That’s the one who threatened to kill me on that call?” I said, my mouth pulling down. It had been just a little too easy to get swept up in the adoration Fallon and Silar had for their wives. But remembering Killian reminded me that, ultimately, these men had all killed people.

“He is immensely protective of Magnolia,” Warden Tenn explained. “He considers her his family. He never had a mother on Zabria.”

“I never had one, either. Doesn’t mean I go around threatening to ‘end people,’” I tutted.

Warden Tenn paused, his needle halfway into the fabric.

“But if you had found such a thing as a broken-hearted child,” he said softly, “after never having had it before, would you not do everything in your power to protect it?”

My throat closed up. My eyes burned.

Suddenly, I was eight years old again, alone in the Terratribe I foster care system. Alone, but for Angela, ten years my senior and more like a sister than a friend.

I remembered the day she turned eighteen. There was no cake, no celebration. No candles to be blown out or wishes to make. Nothing but her bags being packed for her and all but tossed out into the street.

I remembered the way I melted down. The hysterical crying that made me feel like my head would split in two. I remembered using my entire body to try to keep her with me. I’d gripped her sleeve so desperately that I tore the flimsy fabric.

And I remembered the intensely painful shame of that, because clothes without holes were so hard to come by, and she and I had so few of them already.

She wasn’t angry about the sleeve. She told me through her tears that it was alright.

I never saw her again.

Even now, twelve years later, panic filled my body as those memories rushed through me. That harrowing fear of being abandoned, of losing the one person I’d loved.

What would I have done, beyond ripping an old sleeve, had I had the chance?

Would I have actually hurt someone? Killed someone?

Probably not.

But maybe I would have threatened to.

I blinked back tears, trying to control my breathing as best I could. The past and the present crashed together. An old torn sleeve.

And a new one, carefully put together by the warden.

“There,” he said. “Nearly finished.”

Nearly finished with the shirt, at least. Not the pants. He hadn’t even started on those.

My body went suddenly boneless with exhaustion.

“Is it alright if I just wear the shirt part tonight?” I asked. I tried to disguise the weakness in my voice, the way it cracked, but I knew by the sharp look that Warden Tenn sent me that I hadn’t succeeded.

Instantly, he was moving. On his feet, two big steps, then down on one knee before me. The room brightened with a new source of light – his eyes.

“Are you alright?” Crackling urgency made his words quick, almost harsh.

“Just tired,” I said. I sniffed and blinked again, proud that I hadn’t let any tears escape. “I’m sure you are, too,” I added. “It’s been a long day.”

“Sleep. And do not worry about me,” he said, every inch of him exuding authority. He handed me the finished top and then went back to collect all his other stuff from the floor.

“Zabrians,” he said, as he rose and strode for the door, “have excellent stamina.”

He paused in the doorway, then over his shoulder, he rather smugly added, “You can put that in your book. Goodnight.”