What am I going to do? I ponder that over and over again as I pilot my sled back to my house. I'm close to town but it's still a good fifteen-minute flight in the sled, just because everyone's so spread out on Risda. At my side, Rektar is utterly silent, and that suits me just fine. It gives me time to worry over my problem and to come up with solutions. I can pay for a bodyguard, maybe, and clean out my savings. Kiss my dreams of having a baby goodbye and pay up for a mercenary to come and protect my place until the threat is gone.
But then I have to hope that the mercenary won't turn around and rob me, either. So that's out.
Rektar suggested a perimeter fence, but those are costly and in my case, kind of pointless. Yeah, a perimeter alarm is great, but then what? I still have to defend against a trespasser. I need a better solution than that.
The more I think about it, the more I realize I need a husband. It's the obvious solution. Now I just need to find an alien man that's decent, hard-working, and that I'm slightly attracted to. That combination is going to be hard to find. It's not that there aren't alien men out here on Risda. It's that…the whole “decent” thing is the tricky part. Most of the guys here are scum hiding out from a prison sentence or pirates looking to make a quick buck on illegal goods. I'm pretty sure most decent guys aren't hanging around on Risda for the farming life…which is why it's so disappointing that Rektar is clearly, clearly not interested in what I bring to the table.
I let out a sigh of disappointment. Maybe Khex will want to marry me if Rektar doesn't. I'm not attracted to him like I am to Rektar, but he's pleasant and I don't think I'd absolutely loathe being in bed with him. I guess I could ask Rektar about that at least. Or if the two of them have a friend that might be into a human wife. Worst comes to worst, I can put out an ad or buy a bounty. I've heard it worked for other women.
I'll broach the subject tonight, I decide. No sense in waiting on anything. Even though my heart is heavy with disappointment at Rektar's clear disinterest, my self-preservation is kicking in. I'll get through this, like everything else.
I pull up to my house, and it looks so sweet and pastoral that I want to cry. I love this little place. I never thought I'd be a farmer, but I love the fresh air and the green fields and I don't even mind raising the Risda-type cattle, called simply meat-stock. With the bots to handle most of the backbreaking chores, I'm left with running things like a manager and spending my heaps of spare time cooking and baking. While I wish I had a little more to occupy my time—or some company—I'm happy here.
And now everything has to change again. That sucks so hard.
Rektar glances over at me. "I will do another perimeter scan, just in case I've missed signs."
"Signs? Signs of what?"
"Other males trespassing on your territory." He blinks at me, as if the answer's obvious.
Oh lord. So now I might have several stalkers instead of just one? The thought makes me want to scream. I take a deep, steadying breath, close my eyes, count to ten, and then open them again, calmed. "How long will that be?"
"Why do you ask?"
I shrug. "So I can make dinner."
Rektar pauses, a look of concern on his broad face. "That is not necessary, Lucy. I have brought protein bars to fulfill my meal requirements. I don't need to take from your supplies—"
I raise a hand, cutting him off. "You're doing me a favor, and you're sleeping in my barn. The least you can do is come in and let me feed you properly." I smile at him to take the sting out of my words. "Not to mention, I'm currently overflowing with vegetables. I hope you're a fan of tahaari root, because I've got them coming out of my ears."
"Tahaari root is my favorite," he admits after a moment, almost shy. "I would enjoy having dinner with you. Thank you, Lucy." He gets out of the air-sled before I can say anything else and heads off toward the barn, firing up his equipment.
I just stare after him hungrily, watching his hard ass flex in his government-issued trou that hug everything. If he likes tahaari root, he's about to get the meal of his dreams.
A half-hour later, I've got a feast spread out on the table in my tiny kitchen. There's stewed tahaari root in a sweet sauce, tahaari root pie, with a crusty, sugar-like topping, buttered tahaari puffs, and tahaari soup. I'm just pulling a fat roast out of the oven when there's a knock at the door. "It's open," I call out, holding the pan with my plas-gloves and setting it down on the center of the table so I can ladle some juices over it. I've outdone myself with this spread, and even if I put on five pounds with the leftovers, I don't care. Ain't nobody to impress but me, and I think I look awesome no matter how much I weigh. "Come on in."