Page 85 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

“I do not like it when my appendages rebel,” he admitted sheepishly. “And the shorter one is often harder to control.” He took another swig of beer. As if on cue, the small tentacle popped out again, this time from his sleeve. “Oh, for the love of the deep trenches,” he muttered, stuffing it back out of sight.

My curiosity finally overwhelmed my restraint. I scooted my chair closer to Kalith, whose skin was still shimmering. “Can I...” I hesitated, then reached out slowly. “Can I touch it?”

Kalith’s marvelous eyes widened, their double lenses flicking across with surprise. “You wish to make physical contact with my tentacle?”

“Yes,” I said simply, the beer making me bolder than I might otherwise have been. “If that’s okay?”

After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded once. He did not offer me the shorter tentacle, instead slowly extending his arm. His glow intensified as he allowed the human disguise to fade, revealing what lay beneath—a tentacle that shimmered with iridescent patterns, tapering to a delicate point where a human hand was only seconds before.

Heart pounding, I reached out and ran my fingertip lightly along the surface. It was smoother than I expected, slightly cooler than human skin, with a pleasant silkiness that reminded me of touching satin underwater. I traced my finger down its length, mesmerized by the way the lights beneath the surface brightened and followed my touch like they were chasing my fingertip.

Without warning, the tentacle curled gently around my finger, its tip wrapping in a delicate coil that sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. Not a shiver of disgust or fear, but a different feeling entirely, causing heat to pool low in my belly.

“Oh,” I breathed, watching as the colors beneath Cyro’s skin pulsed in time with my heartbeat.

“You are not repulsed,” he observed, his voice pitched lower than usual, carrying that slight echo quality that emerged when his emotions ran high.

“Not even a little bit,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

The air between us changed, becoming charged with uncertainty and the tension of possibility that now existed, and hadn’t before. Or perhaps it had always been there, and I’d been too afraid to notice. No, not perhaps. I had felt the pull toward these aliens since the beginning, even as I wielded a pitchfork in their directions, demanding they leave Artie alone.

Kalith moved closer, his chair scraping across the wooden porch. His smaller tentacle had emerged again, but this time he made no attempt to hide it. The appendage waved gently in the night air, as if testing its freedom.

“The human female appears receptive to our true forms,” he said to the others, though his eyes remained fixed on me. “This is... unexpected.”

“Highly statistically improbable,” Cyro agreed, yet Kalith’s tentacle remained wrapped around my finger, its grip tightening slightly.

Vantor moved to stand behind my chair, his presence warm and solid at my back. “You do not fear our differences,” he said, his deep voice rumbling through me.

“I think I like your differences,” I admitted, surprising myself with the truth of it. The alcohol had lowered my defenses enough to acknowledge what I’d been fighting since they first crash-landed on my ranch—attraction. Not despite their alien nature, but somehow because of it.

As if responding to my unspoken thoughts, more tentacles began to emerge—from beneath Cyro’s sleeves, from Kalith’s collar, from Vantor’s sides where his shirt had ridden up. They moved with hypnotic grace, reaching out hesitantly, brushing against my bare arms, my shoulders, the nape of my neck.

Each touch sent electric tingles racing across my skin. They were being careful, so careful—the tentacles ghosting over me with feather-light pressure, asking permission with each caress. I closed my eyes, leaning into the sensation. The multiple points of contact were overwhelming in the best possible way, like being surrounded by living silk.

When I opened my eyes again, their human faces were flickering—handsome features giving way to glimpses of their true forms before snapping back into place. Rather than finding it disturbing, I was fascinated by each brief revelation—Cyro’s metallic eyes expanding to take up more of his face, Kalith’s mouth momentarily revealing a structure more complex than human lips, Vantor’s skin shifting through a palette of colors that reflected the firelight.

“You’re all so beautiful,” I murmured, reaching out to touch Kalith’s face as it rippled between forms.

His eyes—deep brown with gold flecks in human form—briefly revealed their true nature, with horizontal pupils that dilated at my touch. The smaller tentacle that had been causing him so much trouble curled around my wrist with surprising gentleness.

“Tammy Tucker finds our natural forms aesthetically pleasing,” Vantor stated from behind me, his voice carrying a hint of wonder. A tendril that must have emerged from his side brushed against my cheek, leaving a cool, tingling trail in its wake.

“More than pleasing,” I corrected, my breath going shallow as I allowed myself to acknowledge the truth. Under the Kansas stars, with the remnants of our celebration scattered around us and the warmth of alcohol in my veins, I made a confession I never could have imagined making when I woke up that morning: “I think I’m attracted to all three of you. Not just your human disguises. The real you.”

The tentacles stilled for a moment, as if processing my words. Then they resumed their exploratory touches with renewed purpose, no longer hesitant but appreciative, intentional. I leaned back, letting my head rest against Vantor’s solid presence behind me, while Cyro and Kalith moved their chairs closer, surrounding me in a circle of alien warmth and attention.

I knew there were complications ahead—the bank, the farm, their eventual departure from Earth. But in that moment, with tentacles gently cradling my face and bioluminescent patterns casting soft light across my skin, I couldn’t bring myself to worry about tomorrow.

32

KALITH

A lifetime spent in water, yet I was only now learning to swim.

My epidermis burned with an unfamiliar dryness, the outer membrane of my usually slick skin beginning to flake and crack like ancient parchment. It was unnerving and unexpected, considering I, along with my mission brothers, had all been fine without the moisture units.

The Earth alcohol—this “beer” that had tasted so pleasantly bitter—was extracting moisture from my system at an alarming rate. I flexed my tentacles experimentally, wincing as tiny fissures formed along the surface, dulling the natural sheen that should have glistened in the firelight. Through the pleasant haze of intoxication, a warning signal pulsed in my brain: dehydration levels approaching critical.