Page 2 of When She Wishes (Risdaverse)

Chapter

Two

PAYTON

W hy is it that space is so very huge and yet the guy I'm trying to avoid is the one that showed up on my doorstep?

I try to keep from panicking, because panic makes me want to barf, and there are too many things that make me want to barf already. I have babies sitting on top of my organs, which is why everything feels just a breath away from being expelled from my body at any moment.

I can't stop crying, though. It's impossible once I get started, and it's not even his fault. It's just that I've been fighting against a rising tide for months now, and it feels as if it just closed over my head. So I sob and sob, and all the while, he stares at me with an increasingly panicked expression.

Well, he's right to panic. I've been panicking for months now.

When I got to Risda, I thought all my problems had been solved. Here I'd be safe from slavers, surrounded by other humans, and someone was even giving me a farm to boot. Not that I knew anything about farming, but I figured I'd learn by experience. Once I got the deed to my farm, I went to the cantina in Port to celebrate. I might have had a few too many alien beers and when I woke up, I was naked in a field, curled around an equally drunk cat-alien stranger that I'd been chatting with at the bar. I chalked it up to a celebratory drunken hook-up and didn't think anything of it...

Until I got violently ill in the mornings. Went to the medic here in Port, found out I was pregnant.

Not just pregnant. Pregnant with triplets.

At age thirty-six.

That was months ago. Ever since then, it's been a struggle to stay on top of things on my farm. The chores are endless, and my belly has grown massively in a short period. I'm exhausted all the time. Last week, the doctor didn't like how fatigued I was and suggested I go on bed rest for a while. Bed rest...ha. But I'm worried that I'll hurt the babies if I work too hard, so I've been doing the bare minimum and hoping that one of the Port custodians would find me someone willing to work in exchange for room and board.

I should have specified "no drunken hook-ups apply."

"This is a mistake," I say through my weeping.

"Hush," he says, taking me by the arm and leading me back into the house. "Calm yourself. There is nothing that can be solved with tears and a dozen things that can be solved with good tea."

"Good...tea...?" I let him escort me over to my sofa, and sit down carefully, one hand going under the bulk of my belly. I grimace at the clothing I'd discarded on the floor, because that's now going to be a pain to pick up.

The stranger fluffs a pillow behind me and then tucks another against my side for me to lean against. He puts his hands up, indicating I should remain in place, and then scoops up the laundry and sets it down on the nearest counter. Then he moves to my kitchen, finding my teapot and putting it on the stove.

I watch in silence as he digs through my cabinets, pulling out a small canister of herbal tea and sniffing it. He adds some to the teapot and floral scents immediately fill the air. "We'll get you settled and then I'll go," he says, his voice easy. "I didn't realize you had a mesakkah mate. He doesn't have to know about us and that night."

Mate? I stare at the cat-alien in my kitchen. He's handsome enough for an alien. I remember I thought that the night we met, too. He's got fuzzy orange hair-slash-fur and a long swishy tail. His face looks like a mixture of cat and human, with the bisected mouth and whiskers, and triangular ears jutting out of a thick mane of hair. I probably shouldn't find that sexy, but I do, along with his big body and even bigger hands. "I-I don't have a mate."

The stranger turns to me. "Then who is the father of your children?"

I sputter. How many people does he think I'm fucking? "You are! You're the only one I've slept with since I got here."

It's probably a mistake to point that out. His face lights up as if I've given him a gift. "I am a father ?"

"Not yet, but soon." I rub my belly again.

"This...this is incredible." He stares at my stomach, and then at my face again. The tea kettle whistles and he immediately jumps into action, picking it up by the handle and then pouring me a cup (even as he strains out the tea bits). He adds a touch of honey from the canister I have on the counter, as if he knows my kitchen intimately already, and then brings the mug over to me. He holds it out reverently. "May I get your name, female?"

I grimace, because the awkwardness is just piling on top of itself right now, isn't it? "I never gave you my name?"

I don't point out that I don't know his, either.

The alien—a praxiian, I think—gives me a thoughtful glance as I take the mug of hot tea from him. He squats in front of me, watching me intensely until I take a sip of tea. It's good. Very good. It's also not something I normally do for myself, because I don't think to go to tea when I'm feeling puny. I was always a coffee sort back home but nothing they have here compares. But tea? It's nice. I take another sip and it seems to please him that I'm drinking.

"What do you recall about that night?" he asks. "Because you were drinking quite a lot of ooli brew. We both were."

"Oh, I was," I agree. I hold the mug in front of me like a shield, trying to recall exactly what happened. "I was just...celebrating being on Risda. Getting a farm. Freedom. I didn't realize the beer was so strong and by then I didn't care. I remember meeting you and petting your whiskers..."And I vaguely remember petting other things, but I don't bring that up. "The next thing I recall is morning, and we were both naked in a field."

"That's it? That's all you remember?" He's appalled.

Mortified, I nod.

“Ooli brew takes time to build a tolerance to. I thought the way you were drinking it…” His ears go flat. “I was too drunk to realize it was a dangerous situation for both of us.”

Great, so we were both plastered and made bad decisions.

He rubs his mouth again, his whiskers flicking as he does. I'm fascinated by that small movement. It's so alien and yet so human at the same time. Maybe I have a whisker fetish. Maybe that's why I jumped him that night. I'll never know because I don’t remember squat. He clearly remembers some but not enough if he doesn’t remember getting me pregnant.

The alien thinks for a moment longer and then opens his mouth to speak.

And I realize I have a lot that needs saying before we go any further.

"Before you say anything," I blurt out, "I'm not looking for a dad for my children. They're mine and I'm going to take care of them. I just need a hand with the farm while I'm on bed rest."

He looks stung at my words. "I would not presume to take your children from you. But I would be happy to take part in their lives if you will let me."

"We'll see. I need to think about it a while."

"Think all you like." He moves in and adjusts one of my pillows. "But I am here about the job first and foremost. I did not know it was you when I came out here, and that changes nothing. You need an assistant to handle working on the farm and someone to look after you while you're ill. Let me prove to you that I can be what you need."

I want to protest that I don't need anyone looking after me, but just one cup of tea has made me feel so much better. What would it be like if I had real help with everything that threatens to overwhelm me? "I just..."

"You sit there. You look tired. Are you hungry?" When I shake my head, he gets to his feet. "One of your bots was stuck in the fence. I'm going to go fix it and see what needs immediate action. I'll make a list of things and we'll go over it tonight and you can tell me what needs doing first. Sound good?"

The independent part of me wants to protest, but the babies shift in my stomach, pressing on my organs again, and I meekly nod. I'm so tired I could fall over, and the warm tea isn't helping. "I need to lie down for a while, and then I'll finish the laundry."

"Show me where your cleaning system is and I'll do it for you. I'll make dinner, too. You just drink your tea and then go sleep." He holds out his wrist communicator to me. "Do you have one of these? I can give you my identification and you can send me a message if you need anything."

"Somewhere," I say faintly. "I have one somewhere. It came with the house."

He nods and offers me a big, claw-tipped hand. "Do you need help getting up?"

God, do I ever. But I'm not ready to get up just yet so I shake my head. "I'm going to hang out here for a bit. And I can make dinner?—"

"I will," he says firmly. "We will not argue over this."

I frown at his bossiness. "You're a stranger?—"

"No, as of now, I am your hired assistant. I will handle all the work. Your job is to sleep and take care of yourself." He points a clawed finger at me. "And if you are worried, lock your door until you are comfortable with my presence. But I am registered here, and if anything happens to you, the custodians will be looking in my direction."

He's got a point. If I show up with so much as a scratch on my face, he'll be tossed in jail. And I've already known him...carnally. I guess I can trust him for today. "Okay." I rub my face. "I'm too tired to argue."

"You just rest. I am here now." He turns and heads for the door, then pauses and turns back around once more. He heads to my side and holds his hand out, palm up. When I eye him with curiosity, he jiggles his hand until I put mine in his. Then, he bends over our joined hands in a bow. "I did not give you my name. You can call me Bodhrri."

Oh shit. I'd forgotten all about names. It should be the most basic of information and yet we're doing this all backwards. "I'm Payton."

"Payton," he repeats and then nods. "I will remember."