Page 125 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

I had unshakable security now.

Not just financial.

But, also, the deeper security of knowing I was valued, protected, and oh-so cherished.

Looking at the three extraordinary beings who had crossed the stars to find me, I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. Sunflower Hills was finally everything I’d dreamed it could be. Not because of luck, or coincidence, or even my own stubborn determination.

But because sometimes, the universe delivered exactly what you needed—even if it arrived in a crashing UFO, manned by tentacled aliens who fell in love with you despite, or perhaps because of, your messy, imperfect humanity.

45

TAMMY

And life continues. On Earth. In the oceans. Among the stars.

The alert blasted through the house at exactly two-seventeen in the morning.

Kalith’s specialized monitoring system, integrated into the pregnancy support harness, had registered Sassy’s first contraction.

The sharp, incessant sound scared both Hoover and Manji 2. The animals—both now used to sleeping in bed with us—darted from the room, scrambling down the stairs to hide somewhere within the house.

I was out of bed in seconds, barely able to suck in a breath. My bare feet hit the cold floorboards as I fumbled for the jeans that I’d left draped over the chair. Around me, the bedroom erupted into coordinated chaos with Vantor already pulling on boots, Cyro yanking on a shirt, and Kalith’s fingers flying across his tablet as he pulled up the real-time vital readings from the stable.

“She’s in stage one labor,” Kalith announced, his voice carrying that slightly mechanical quality it got when he was processing multiple data streams simultaneously. “Contraction intervals less than nine minutes, duration averaging forty-two seconds, intensity⁠—”

“Plain English, Kal!” I interrupted, yanking a sweatshirt over my head. “Is she okay? Are the babies?”

He looked up, hazel eyes briefly flashing with that telltale metallic sheen that appeared when his emotions overrode his human disguise. “Vital signs are within optimal parameters for this stage,” he assured me. “But we should get to the stable immediately.”

We moved as one unit through the darkened house—Vantor in the lead with a flashlight cutting through the pre-dawn darkness, Cyro close behind with the emergency kit cradled carefully in arms that were already beginning to show the subtle rippling that preceded full tentacle emergence, Kalith with his tablet casting blue light across his intent features, and me bringing up the rear, chest tight with a mixture of excitement and terror.

The night wrapped around us as we hurried across the yard—Kansas in late spring, the air carrying the promise of warmth still hours away, stars scattered across the vast black sky in patterns that had become as familiar as old friends. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called, the sound carrying across the silent ranch where, just a year ago, I’d stood alone under these same stars, convinced I’d lost everything.

Now, I ran beside three aliens who had crossed the stars to find me, hurrying to welcome new life into the world we’d built together.

We reached the stable to find Sassafras already lying on her side in the fresh straw Kalith had laid that afternoon, her chestnut coat dark with sweat, sides heaving with each contraction. Mystery stood guard at the far end of the stall, his normally aloof demeanor transformed into protective vigilance, ears pricked forward and eyes fixed on his mate with unmistakable concern.

“She’s progressing faster than the models predicted,” Cyro observed, already kneeling beside the mare, one hand—now more tentacle than human—gently stroking her neck. “Contraction intervals have decreased to five and a half minutes.”

I dropped to my knees beside him, running practiced hands along Sassafras’s swollen belly, feeling the foals shift beneath my palms. “Hey there, beautiful,” I murmured, keeping my voice soft and steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my system. “You’re doing great. We’re all here with you.”

Sassafras nickered softly in response, her dark eyes finding mine with that particular look of trust that never failed to make my chest tighten. Not so very long ago, she’d been so skittish—wary of Mystery, prone to bolting at shadows. Now, she pressed her muzzle against my palm, seeking comfort as another contraction visibly rippled through her massive body.

“We need to set up the monitoring equipment,” Cyro said, already unpacking the emergency kit. What appeared to be normal veterinary supplies to human eyes contained technology far beyond Earth’s capabilities—subtly disguised alien devices that would let us track every aspect of the birth with precision no Earth vet could match.

Vantor moved to the stable door, his massive frame silhouetted against the star-filled sky as he secured the perimeter with the careful attention that his defense training had ingrained. “Temperature’s dropping,” he called over his shoulder. “External reading is fifty-two degrees Fahrenheit. We should increase the stable heating.”

“I’m on it,” Kalith replied, already moving toward the climate control panel he’d installed. As he reached upward, his arm stretched with impossible extension—his human disguise momentarily abandoned as a tentacle extended to its full length, easily reaching the previously inaccessible controls. He adjusted the settings with careful precision, then retracted the limb with a slightly embarrassed glance in my direction.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “More efficient than the ladder.”

I couldn’t help the smile that broke across my face. “No apologies for being yourself,” I said, echoing the words I’d told him a hundred times since discovering his true nature. “Not here. Not ever.”

His answering smile transformed his face—the practiced human expression giving way to something more genuine, more uniquely Kalith. Then another contraction seized Sassafras, her body arching with the force of it, and we all snapped back to attention.

“Contraction duration increasing,” Cyro reported, one tentacle now fully emerged to operate what appeared to be a normal ultrasound machine. “Ninety-two seconds. Intensity registering seven point five of ten.”

I moved to Sassafras’s head, stroking her damp forelock and murmuring reassurances as Vantor returned with buckets of clean water. His normally impeccable human disguise had slipped further—two tentacles now visibly extending from beneath his rolled-up sleeves as he worked, moving with the efficient precision that characterized everything he did.