Page 14 of Wanted By the Alien Warden

At least the hindquarters had some cushioning…

My pride?

Not so much.

But that cushioning never got its chance to heroically take the impact. Huge hands seized upon my waist, dragging me into an upright position against Warden Tenn’s body. The hard contours of his chest and abdomen pressed against my breasts through the fabric of his uniform. My heart bucked beneath my ribs.

“I told you I was responsible for you,” he muttered, his orange eyes sparking white before returning to their original colour. “I will not let you break your butt.”

“It’s my butt!”

Yeah. That was really what I came up with. Something on par with what a stubborn toddler might dish out.

I think having his hands on my body is frying my fucking brain.

Warden Tenn didn’t even bother dignifying my words with a response. He merely gave a quiet grunt, paused as if to makesure I wasn’t going to fall over anyway just to spite him, then let me go.

“Are we ready for the tour?” Cherry asked from nearby. I jerked at the sound of her voice.

I’d nearly forgotten she and Silar were there. I truly needed to get my head on straight. My priority was keeping a clear mind so that I could adequately judge the conditions of the brides’ lives out here.

I was not going to let Mr. Hot and Haughty Warden over here get in the way of that.

“Yes, please!” I said, moving briskly away from the warden’s side to join Cherry and Silar. I stiffened slightly as I felt more than saw Warden Tenn bringing up the rear, walking in close step behind me.

Cherry led the way to the front door of the house while Silar took the shuldu and the wagon through a gate in the fence. I paused in the doorway, waiting to see if the warden would follow Silar.

He didn’t.

“Aren’t you going to go feed your shuldu or something?” I asked, turning back to glare at him.

“Silar will handle it,” he said.

Apparently, he meant it. Because instead of looking chastened and heading outside to deal with his own mount, he began walking again, forcing me forward into the house. He dragged a wooden chair out from a small table and plopped his big, purple butt into it.

Fine.

I turned away from him, determined to pretend he wasn’t there.

“So, this is the kitchen!” Cherry said, beaming. Something inside me went a little soft and gooey at her obvious pride in her new home here. She chattered away, pointing out the wood-firedoven, the furniture that Silar had apparently made for her from scratch, and her big black cast iron pan that she’d brought all the way from Terratribe I.

“And this way is the bedroom,” she said, leading me from the small but tidy little kitchen down a short hallway. We entered a room with a bed, closet, and set of wooden drawers. There were little signs of a cozy, quiet life scattered all over the place. Like a red scarf folded neatly atop the drawers beside what looked like a Zabrian leather belt, and what appeared to be Cherry’s pyjamas laying in a haphazard pile atop the bed. In the closet hung a couple of sets of trousers that would fit a Zabrian male, and a multitude of pieces that would fit a Cherry-sized human. I couldn’t help but notice with a small grin that Cherry had about 90% of the closet space devoted to her things.

“I see that Silar has made room for you,” I said, pointing out the closet disparity.

“I mean, he basically has about three pairs of pants, one hat, a couple of belts, and boots,” she said with a chuckle. “So he didn’t have to exactly make room. Although he did make most of this clothing for me.”

I could tell. A few pieces I recognized as the ones I’d purchased for her using the program’s funds on Elora Station, and a couple others were what I’d packed to send off in a bag with Darcy and Magnolia to deliver to her. But the rest – and the things that looked like they were worn the most often – had clearly been made by Silar’s big, careful hands.

“It’s hard to picture somebody like Silar making his wife clothing,” I remarked, gently fingering the flawless seam on a small leather jacket hanging in the closet.

“Because he’s Silar?” Cherry questioned from behind me. “Or because he’s a convicted murderer?”

“Both, I suppose.” I let go of the leather jacket’s sleeve, letting it drop against the main portion of the garment with a soft swish.

“He takes care of me,” Cherry said with forceful emotion. Her gaze grew wistful. “The only other person who took care of me with the kind of tenderness he does was my Mama. But she died.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry,” I said. I never got a chance to learn much about Cherry’s story before she went AWOL from the station and took an early supply shuttle flight out here. I gave her hand a quick little squeeze in support of her loss, even as I felt a pang of shameful envy. I never knew my mother. I certainly couldn’t remember anyone ever taking care of me with anything I could remotely call tenderness.

---