Page 101 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

I spotted all three aliens gathered near the newly rebuilt supply barn—the structure that Kalith had transformed from a leaning hazard into a solid building that would stand for decades. They stood in a tight cluster, their postures oddly formal, like they were attending some sort of alien business meeting rather than just hanging out on a lazy Kansas afternoon.

Cyro stood slightly ahead of the others, his normally animated face set in lines so solemn they seemed carved from stone. His shoulders formed a perfect horizontal line, rigid in a way I’d never seen before—not even when we’d first met and he’d been trying so hard to appear human. Vantor had his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his formidable bearing more pronounced than usual, like he was bracing against an invisible enemy. Between them, Kalith fidgeted with a small tool, his fingers moving with nervous energy as he repeatedly assembled and disassembled an object that glinted silver in the sunlight.

“Hey guys!” I called out, my voice carrying on the warm breeze. “Wait till you hear the news about Sassafras!”

None of them moved to greet me. No smiles appeared on their faces. The atmosphere around them seemed heavy, like the air before a storm. My steps slowed as I approached, the excitement in my chest beginning to curdle into unease.

“What’s going on?” I asked, coming to a stop several feet away from them. “You all look like someone died.”

Cyro’s silver-lilac eyes met mine, and the skin around them tightened. His face scrunched, then flattened, like he was trying desperately to contain feelings that may explode at any moment.

“Tammy,” he began, his voice carefully controlled. “We must inform you of a significant development.”

My stomach dropped. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good.

“The ship has been fully repaired,” he continued, each word precise and measured. “All systems are operational. We have collected the necessary water samples from Earth’s oceans. We must complete our mission and return to our home world.”

For a moment, the words didn’t make sense. They were just sounds, disconnected from meaning, floating in the golden afternoon light. Then understanding crashed through me like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs and the joy from my heart.

“You’re leaving,” I said flatly. Not a question. A terrible statement of fact.

“Yes,” Vantor confirmed, his voice deeper than usual, as if he had to force it from his chest. “Our mission parameters require immediate departure once operational capability is restored.”

“When?” I asked, the word sticking in my suddenly dry throat.

“Tonight,” Kalith answered, his eyes fixed on the tool in his hands rather than my face. “Optimal atmospheric conditions for cloaked departure will occur at approximately 23:47 local time.”

“Tonight.” I repeated the word, testing its sharp edges against my tongue. “You’re leaving tonight.”

A ripple passed across Cyro’s neck—his true skin showing through the human disguise for just a moment before he regained control. “The ecological crisis on our home world grows more severe with each planetary rotation. The water samples we’ve collected may contain crucial molecular structures needed to reverse the evaporation process.”

“Millions of our species are at risk,” Vantor added, his hazel eyes briefly flashing vermilion at the edges. “Entire communities have already been displaced as ocean levels continue to decline.”

I knew all this. They had explained their mission weeks ago, when I’d first discovered their true nature. But somehow, I’d pushed it to the back of my mind, focusing instead on the here and now—on how it felt to be with them, to be chosen by them. I’d known they would leave eventually. I hadn’t expected it to be so soon.

“But you just found out about the twins,” I said, grasping for reasons, for anything that might delay the inevitable. “Don’t you want to monitor the pregnancy? See how they develop?”

Cyro’s gaze dropped to the ground. “We have transferred all relevant equine reproductive data to your computer system. The files include projected developmental milestones and potential complications to monitor.”

“That’s not the point,” I said, my voice rising. “You helped make this happen. Don’t you want to see it through?”

Kalith’s smaller tentacle escaped from his sleeve, curling into a tight spiral of distress before he hastily tucked it away. “We have... responsibilities,” he said, the words sounding hollow even to my ears. “Our people⁠—”

“I know about your people,” I interrupted, anger flaring hot and bright in my chest. “I know about your mission. I just thought...” I trailed off, unsure what exactly I had thought. That they would stay? That somehow, impossibly, they would choose me over their entire civilization?

An uncomfortable silence stretched between us, broken only by the distant whinny of a horse and the soft clicking of Kalith’s tool as he continued to fidget with it.

“We have prepared several technological improvements for your ranch infrastructure,” Vantor finally said, his voice oddly gentle for someone so naturally commanding. “The stable’s water filtration system has been enhanced with components from our ship. It will remain operational for approximately seven and a half Earth years before requiring maintenance.”

“And the soil enrichment compounds I synthesized have been distributed throughout your pastures,” Cyro added. “They will increase grass yield by forty-two percent and nutritional content by thirty-five.”

“We’ve also modified your tractor engine,” Kalith said quietly. “It will now operate at eighty-nine percent improved efficiency and will not require fuel replacement for approximately four point seven years.”

They were leaving me gifts. Parting gifts. As if alien technology could somehow fill the void they would create by disappearing from my life. As if improved grass yield could replace what we had become to each other.

“Will you come back?” I asked, hating how small my voice sounded, how desperate. “When your mission is complete, will you return?”

The three aliens exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them that I couldn’t interpret. It was Cyro who finally answered, his voice carefully neutral.