Page 80 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

“What the fuck did you say to me?” Derek’s face was going red, making the fake tan look almost orange. But he stepped back. Derek actually gave way to Cyro, even if he was trying to sound tough still.

“I said, you may try to get as close as you wish to her. Try being the operative word.” Cyro stated, his voice carrying that formal, clipped quality that sometimes made him sound like he was reading from a textbook. The slight, wet echo underneath betrayed his anger.

“It’s okay, Cyro,” I told him, curving my hand around the forearm wrapped around my waist. “He’s not worth it.”

“Not worth it,” Derek breathed out. “You thought I was worth it for a long damn time, baby. Even wore my ring for a while.”

“Yes, I did. And I’m really glad I came to my senses before that ring got stuck on my finger.” My voice sounded bitter; I couldn’t help it, despite wanting to sound neutral and like I couldn’t care less.

“That fucking ring cost a mint,” Derek growled.

“You know, that’s your biggest problem, Derek. You think money solves everything. You think it can buy people the way it does livestock.”

“And it can’t? Don’t tell me that if you didn’t have these guys momentarily giving you hope and a backbone, you wouldn’t have already crawled back to me for money.” His words shot out like rapid fire bullets. Hitting me. One. Two. Three. Twenty. Square in the chest.

“Tammy no longer requires financial assistance from you, Derek Morgan,” Cyro said, and I wished I could keep my voice as even as his. Even the gurgling rage quality had lessened. I could barely tell he was irritated. His tone suggested he was dealing with something annoying, like a fly buzzing around a drink outside.

Derek’s eyebrows shot up, amusement replacing his initial surprise. “Tammy Tucker requires?” he mimicked, his drawl exaggerating the stilted phrasing. “And who exactly are you to decide what Tammy requires?”

“He’s a friend,” I cut in before Cyro could answer with anything dangerously close to the truth. “And he’s right. I don’t need your money.”

Derek shifted his weight, eyes darting from Cyro to me and back again. “Friend, huh? Funny, you never mentioned having friends staying at the ranch.” His gaze drifted past us, taking in the approaching figures of Kalith and Vantor. “Or should I say friends, plural?”

Kalith reached us first, his undeniable good looks drawing a dismissive scowl from Derek. He stepped up to my other side, radiating protective energy that felt like a warm blanket wrapping around my shoulders.

“The structural improvements to the equine housing have exceeded expectations,” Kalith announced proudly, gesturing toward the stable with its new windows and reinforced frame. His hands moved as he spoke, an unconscious habit that sometimes led to tentacle slips. I watched his fingers anxiously, relaxing when they remained distinctly human. “The irrigation system modifications have increased efficiency by seventy-eight percent, and the⁠—”

“Wait,” Derek interrupted, his eyes narrowing as he took in the various improvements around the ranch—improvements that would have cost thousands if done by professional contractors. “You’re telling me you fixed up this dump in what, less than a damn week?”

“We work with exceptional efficiency,” Kalith replied, his earth-toned eyes flashing with barely contained pride.

Derek turned his attention back to me. “So that’s your game? Hiring undocumented workers to save money while your horses starve? Probably got the materials off the back of a truck too.”

His tone dripped with acid, and his expression was warped in that textbook Derek way when the charisma gave way to narcissistic venom.

“My horses aren’t starving,” I snapped, fury rising hot in my chest. “And my friends are helping me out.”

“Friends.” Derek dragged the word out skeptically. “Right. So, I’m guessing you’ve got all their paperwork on file? I-9s? Work visas? Couple of bootleg contractor licenses?” He smiled thinly. “Because I’d hate for ICE to take an interest in Sunflower Hills.”

My stomach dropped. Immigration and Customs Enforcement was the absolute last government agency I wanted sniffing around my property. Not with three literal aliens using my barn as their temporary home.

“You know,” Kalith said conversationally, his eyes never leaving Derek’s face, “when we were fixing the damage from the recent fire, we found the strangest thing. Chemical residue. Accelerant. The authorities might find that interesting.”

Derek’s face twitched, a muscle jumping in his jaw as sweat beaded at his temples. The stable fire was only two nights old, and the aliens had pulled traces of accelerant from the ash—Derek’s handiwork, I’d been sure of it since I first smelled the smoke. And there it was, buried in Kalith’s mild little threat: the leash. Derek could whisper “immigration” all he liked, but the moment he did, a sample of his own accelerant would land on the county fire marshal’s desk with his name stapled to it. Mutually assured destruction, ranch-style. I watched it register—the tic at the corner of his jaw, the way his gaze skated off Kalith’s and dropped to the dirt. He understood the terms.

“Sounds like you’ve got quite the imagination,” Derek recovered quickly, his voice steady despite the sheen of sweat now visible on his forehead. “But then, you’d need one to believe that Tammy here can actually turn this failing ranch around.”

“The ranch is improving daily,” Cyro interjected, a ripple of iridescent color flashing briefly at his collar before he controlled it. “The equine reproductive program has been successfully initiated. The offspring will provide substantial financial returns.”

Derek’s eyebrows shot up. “Reproductive program? Finally got those two nags to stop trying to kill each other, did you?” He turned to me, stepping closer until I could smell his cologne again. “That’s sweet, darlin’. Really. But a foal won’t save you from foreclosure next week.”

Vantor chose that moment to insert himself smoothly between us, his imposing frame casting a shadow over Derek’s slightly shorter form. Despite his human disguise, Vantor radiated the same lethal energy that must have made him an effective security specialist in the deep oceans of his home world.

“Your proximity to Tammy Tucker exceeds acceptable parameters,” Vantor rumbled, his voice carrying the hint of a growl. “Step back.”

For a fleeting moment, I saw uncertainty flash in Derek’s eyes. He wasn’t used to being physically intimidated. At six feet tall with an athlete’s build, Derek typically dominated any space he occupied. But Vantor in his human form stood several inches taller, with shoulders broad enough to make my ex look almost slight in comparison.

The uncertainty quickly morphed into outrage. “Who the hell are these people?” Derek demanded, glaring at me from around Vantor’s shoulder. “How long have they been working for you?”