Page 51 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

“Let’s avoid that,” I commented, returning to my original task of grabbing the feed and filling the buckets.

I demonstrated how to measure the grain mixture, explaining protein content and nutritional requirements for horses of different ages and activity levels. The aliens absorbed the information with surprising intensity. Cyro’s skin actually rippled with excitement patterns—like goosebumps but somehow more fluid—when we fed the horses. His fingers elongated slightly as he poured the grain into Mystery’s feed bucket.

“This reminds me of a safari I had on Trillidex 8 many star cycles ago,” he said wistfully. “Very few scientists have the honor of hand feeding the Abrax Hexapodas. They are somewhat similar to your Earth horses actually, but they have six legs and two heads.”

“Two heads,” I repeated flatly, unable to compute. I think my mind finally reached the point where it would believe anything—cephalopod aliens, UFOs, two-headed horses. “Sure. Why not?”

Mystery maintained his distance, regarding us haughtily from the back of his stall. Sassafras, on the other hand, pressed her nose against the gate, nickering softly for attention.

“I think she likes us even without the scent modulation,” Kalith said, his hands flexing in that odd way that seemed to betray his tentacular nature.

“She likes food,” I corrected, handing him a flake of hay. “Here, put this in her stall. But watch your fingers—she gets excited.”

As Kalith successfully navigated the hay delivery, I turned to find Vantor studying Mystery with uncomfortable intensity. His eyes narrowed as he examined the horse’s muscular hindquarters.

“No, Vantor, we don’t eat the horses,” I sighed, recognizing that analytical look. “That’s not why we’re feeding them.”

Vantor looked genuinely confused. “We only keep animals caged when we are preparing them for sustenance,” he said, shaking his head. “Caging them for other motives seems oppressive.”

I snorted. “More oppressive than fattening them up for dinner?”

“There is honesty in the arrangement,” he replied with a shrug that seemed too fluid for human shoulders.

Something twisted in my chest. I’d never thought about it that way. My ex used to joke that I was too soft-hearted for ranch life, that I treated the horses more like pets than livestock. Maybe I did. But then again, I wasn’t interested in living by anyone else’s rulebook anymore—terrestrial or extraterrestrial.

“Well, we ride them. We race them. We breed them,” I explained. “Mystery here is—was—going to be my foundation stallion.” I glanced over at Sassafras’s stall. “If I could just get those two to stop hating each other.”

While I was distracted, Cyro had sidled up to Mystery’s stall, mimicking my sugar cube offering technique from yesterday. The stallion snorted dismissively, backing away from the stall door. Not to be deterred, Cyro persisted, his fingers elongating slightly as he extended the sugar cube.

“You must speak their language,” he explained seriously to me, as if I hadn’t spent the last two years of my life with horses. Then, to my absolute horror and amusement, he made a series of whinnying sounds that sounded nothing like a horse—more like a dying accordion crossed with a squeaky door.

Mystery pinned his ears back in annoyance, stomping one hoof against the stall floor.

“I don’t think that’s working,” I said, pressing my lips together to keep from laughing.

“I am merely establishing trust,” Cyro insisted, making another attempt at horse communication that sounded even more ridiculous than the first. “On Trillidex 8, vocal mimicry is the first step to interspecies bonding.”

“Horses are more about body language,” I offered, but he wasn’t listening, continuing his determined efforts. To my surprise, after several minutes of this bizarre serenade, Mystery cautiously stretched his neck forward, accepting the sugar cube with reluctant dignity.

“See?” Cyro turned to me triumphantly. “Success!”

His victory was short-lived, however. When Kalith casually walked over and began to stroke Mystery’s head without any issue, the stallion leaning into his touch like they were old friends, Cyro’s face fell into a scowl. Even I was taken aback. That horsey traitor hadn’t warmed up to me, and we’d been together for eons (or, at least, that’s what it felt like).

“Some people just have a way with animals,” I said, patting Cyro’s shoulder to comfort him. His skin felt oddly warm beneath my palm, almost vibrating with some internal energy.

“I have studied a dozen different planetary ecosystems,” Cyro muttered, watching Kalith and Mystery with narrowed eyes. “I have documented over three thousand species.”

“And I’m sure you’re very good at it,” I reassured him, wondering if alien scientists had egos as fragile as human ones. Based on the way he was pouting, I guessed the answer was yes.

“I just executed a perfect Hexapoda greeting call,” he insisted.

“Which might explain why Mystery didn’t like it,” I pointed out gently. “Wrong species.”

That got a small smile out of him, his metallic eyes catching the light as he turned to me. For a brief moment, I caught a glimpse of something beneath the human disguise—an intelligence both alien and familiar, curious and ancient.

My phone alarm chirped in my pocket. “Time to move on,” I announced, pulling away from Cyro’s gaze. “Next up on Alien Farm Tour 101: the exciting world of horse manure management.”

They all perked up at this, exchanging glances that suggested horse waste might be more interesting to them than I could possibly imagine.