Page 41 of Rescued By the Alien Bull Rider

Jolene nodded, picked up the jamdildos, and left the room.

17

JOLENE

Ileft Zohro to eat so I could try on the PJs in the bedroom. I laid the garments out on the bed and gave a low whistle.

These werenice. I usually just wore a tank top and underwear to bed, if I wore anything at all. These items, with the luxurious shine of their white fabric, almost looked too good to sleep in. They looked more like they should be for wearing while you lounged around on a couch with a martini while some snooty photographer took your portrait.

I was glad to get out of the big jacket I’d been wearing since laundering my clothes. It was pretty bulky, and frankly, it had always kind of smelled like wet horse.

“Check this snazzy shit out, Baby Girl,” I cooed into the darkness, picking up the pants. I sat down on the edge of the bed to pull them on. Damn. There was even a little drawstring to hold them up. Had Zohro really made these?

I was a bit worried about how the top would fit, but I needn’t have been. Zohro had thought of everything. There were pleated sections of fabric at the front, below the bust-line, that expanded silkily over my bump. And it would still look pretty good when I didn’t have a bump, too.

I smoothed my hands down over my stomach and felt Baby Girl wiggle.

“I know. Fancy, right?” These pyjamas, sewn by an alien murderer in this bizarre cowboyland-cum-prison-planet, might have been the nicest things I’d ever owned besides my leather boots. But even my leather boots, which were excellent and had lasted me for years, were mostly utilitarian. These pyjamas were practical but also just… beautiful. And so well-made. I fingered the tight stitches of the fabric, the perfect seams and symmetrical construction, marvelling that he’d done such a thing presumably by hand.

“I mean, he’s definitely not going to shank us in our sleep now, right?” I said aloud, patting my belly. “He’d get blood all over the white fabric he worked so hard on!”

It was mostly a joke. I was feeling significantly better about the conviction thing now that I’d spoken to the other human women. We’d ended up chatting for ages, and they’d all shared their stories of how their husbands had come to be here. They’d all been children when convicted, and all of them had been acting in some sort of self-defence, or the defence of a loved one in Garrek and Oaken’s case.

In every single case, it had seemed incredibly unfair to me that the boys had been found guilty and sent away. I imagined Baby Girl getting in trouble for defending herself as a mere child, imagined her getting ripped away from me, and had decided through a veil of furious tears that the Imperial Justice Committee of Zabria could eat my big, pregnant ass.

After that, the other women shared stories about how their husbands cared for them. How they cooked and cleaned and built furniture for them. How they worried themselves endlessly over things like human body temperature and sunburns and keeping their wives healthy and happy.

I’d thought of Zohro’s reaction to my skin irritation and realized that he would fit right in among all these nice husbands who very obviously hadn’t pushed their human wives off a roof or down a well or into some other dark hidey hole she wouldn’t be able to crawl out of.

I’d obviously need some more time during the trial period to make my final decision, but hope was returning to me. Not in a big, exciting wave like it had when I’d first come to this planet. But slowly, it crawled. Like a frightened animal whose trust needed to be won back.

But frightened or not, that hope was really there. This might actually work after all.

“What a whirlwind, eh, Baby Girl?” I said with a tired laugh. I really needed to get some sleep. Zohro probably did, too.

He was still in the kitchen. I took the other door outside and headed for the clothesline. My clothing was still a bit damp, as was the heavy quilt from the bed. Only the thin bedsheet and pillow case were entirely dry.

Damn. No blankies tonight, Baby Girl.

At least I had my not-dildos.

Not too far away, I saw Warden Tenn setting up a tent.

“Are you guys sure you’re alright out here?” I asked. While I’d personally never had a problem sleeping out under the stars, I wasn’t sure if Tasha was the camping type or not.

“Yes!” Tasha replied with what looked to be a sincere smile. “Tenn and I have spent quite a few nights in this tent when travelling.” Pretty colour suffused her face. “It’s actually how we fell in love.”

“Ooh,” I said, grinning. “So this tent has, like, seen some shit.”

“You could say that,” Tasha said in a conspiratorial voice, raising her brows.

“Jolene!” Warden Tenn boomed, finishing up with the tent. “Your jamspaghettis become you very well!”

“My… what?”

“Ignore him,” Tasha said with a laugh and a roll of her eyes. “That Zabrian couldn’t remember the pronunciation of ‘jammies’ if his life depended on it.”

“I can hear you,” the warden said, his gaze sparking white and his mouth pulling in amusement at his wife. “And I can remember the pronunciation just fine. What sort of warden would I be if I couldn’t even pronounce something as simple as jamiolis?”

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