Wingman: Alien Castaways (Intergalactic Dating Agency)

by Cara Bristol

  Wingman

  Alien Castaways 2

  Cara Bristol

  Wingman (Alien Castaways 2)

  Copyright © October 2020 by Cara Bristol

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  eISBN: 978-1-947203-20-4

  Editor: Kate Richards

  Copy Editor: Nanette Sipe

  Proofreader: Celeste Jones

  Cover Artist: Croco Designs

  Formatting by Wizards in Publishing

  Published in the United States of America

  Cara Bristol

  http://www.carabristol.com

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  Other Titles by Cara Bristol

  Author’s Note

  Although real places are mentioned in this story, the town of Argent, Idaho is fictitious.

  He has wings, but this alien is no angel…

  Traumatized by the death of his family and the destruction of his planet, Wingman lands on Earth in search of a haven and the solitude to nurse his emotional wounds. When a chance decision foils a kidnapping, he’s drawn into the life of a young widow and her daughter. He’s shocked to discover the human woman is his genmate, the one he’s genetically bonded to.

  To escape a stalker, Delia and her imaginative, impressionable daughter flee to a small town where nobody can find them. She’s concerned, but not overly so, when her daughter says she invited an angel to her birthday party.

  Until the winged alien actually shows up and all heck breaks loose. After a rocky start, Delia begins to see Wingman for who he really is—a wounded hero, one of the most protective, sexiest men she’s ever met.

  As passion deepens their bond, past dangers resurface to threaten Delia and her child. Will Wingman be able to confront his demons to make the sacrifice necessary to protect them?

  Chapter One

  “If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands. If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands…” A dented white van crept down Silver Avenue for the third time, playing a tinny tune over and over.

  “Stop! Stop!” A human girl child raced out of a fenced yard.

  The vehicle rolled along, its driver oblivious.

  “Wait!” She ran down the cracked sidewalk. “Wait!”

  At the end of the block, the driver must have noticed her because the vehicle pulled to the curb and waited. In her haste, the little girl dropped a handful of coins. She snatched them up and took off running again.

  Earth culture fascinated Wingman; everything was so alien. Through observation of humans, he discovered many strange and wondrous things—some not so wonderful things, too, but the good outweighed the bad. Curious about the van and what the child wanted so much, he tucked his wings against his body and moved closer. It had rained all week, but today the sun shone bright and warm, causing him to perspire under the concealing cape.

  This was one of his rare daytime forays. Usually he ventured out at night when he’d be less visible, but this morning he’d awakened from another bad dream. The helplessness engendered by the nightmare had lingered, so he’d sought some exercise to shake off the emotions. He’d decided to visit Argent, a small town tucked between Lake Coeur d’Alene to the south and Lake Pend Oreille to the north. It had taken less than five minutes to stroll the main street running through town, so he’d expanded his exploration to the surrounding neighborhood.

  He and his fellow ’Topians could go out into public now. Yesterday they had received new alien ID cards through the Intergalactic Dating Agency. He’d been assigned an alias and a new planet of origin. It was unlikely the High Council would search Earth for them, but you couldn’t be too careful when the Xeno Consortium wanted you dead.

  With their safety as close to assured as it could be, he and the other castaways figured they could begin assimilating into the native population. No one on Earth had wings, though, and he felt conspicuous.

  The little girl caught up with the truck.

  An odd prescience urged him to duck behind a weathered wooden fence and observe through the cracks.

  A man wearing a ball cap with the brim backward leaned out the window. A straggly long beard and sunglasses hid his face. “Well, hello, honey! I didn’t see you there for a minute! What can I get you?”

  “Do you have orange push-ups?”

  “You bet I do!”

  He ducked inside before emerging with a colorful tubular object. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you.” She placed her coins into his outstretched palm.

  In pulling his arm back inside, he bumped the window, dropping the money onto the street. “Oopsie!”

  “I’ll get it!” The girl knelt and retrieved the coins.

  The man jumped out of the vehicle. “You live around here?”

  “That way.” She pointed with her push-up and handed him the money.

  He slipped the coins into the pocket of his jeans. “How about I give you a ride back to your house?” His ingratiating smile caused Wingman’s feathers to sharpen.

  She shook her head. “I’d get in trouble. I’m not allowed to accept rides from strangers. Mom’s gonna be mad anyway if she finds out I left the house to get ice cream.”

  “Maybe she won’t need to know…if I get you home right away.” He slid a panel open on the van. Hop in. You’ll be home in two seconds.”

  “No...I can’t.” She backed away.

  He grabbed her wrist. “You need to come with me.” The push-up fell to the sidewalk, and he kicked it into the street.

  “Stop it! Let me go!” She hit at him with her tiny fists.

  He clapped a hand over her mouth, picked up her thrashing body, and swung around to the van.

  “No!” Wingman roared. His cape fell away as his wings unfurled. He leaped into the air, flying across the distance to land between the man and the open door.

  “Who the hell are you?” The dagger and gun tattooed on the man’s neck suggested he considered himself some sort of badass, but he had no idea who he was about to deal with.

  “Let the girl go.” Feathers sharpened to gleaming points. He hated to dismember the man in front of the child, but he couldn’t allow him to take her.

  The man eyed the blades. “Fuck it.” He dropped the child. “She’s not worth it.” He leaped into the vehicle and screeched away in a blaze of burning rubber.

  Tears ran down the little girl’s face, but
she wiped them away and stared up at him.

  “Are you all right?” He retracted the blades and folded his wings.

  “You’re an angel!” Her eyes were wide. “My guardian angel. You saved me!”

  Better she assumed he was an angel—whatever that was—than an Avian from ’Topia, so he didn’t enlighten her. He picked up a bright, shiny penny left behind and handed it to her. “What’s your name?”

  “Izzy Mason.”

  “My name is…Wynn.” The alias coming from his mouth sounded strange. “We’d better get you home.” He motioned with his head, and she fell into step beside him. He shortened his stride to accommodate her. She trusted too easily. She’d almost been abducted, and now she followed another stranger down the street? Why wasn’t she supervised? “How old are you?”

  “Almost six! My birthday is on Saturday.”

  “Where are your parents?”

  She hunched her shoulders, and guilt washed across her cheeks. “Mom is taking a nap.”

  What kind of mother slept the day away, leaving her defenseless child to fend for herself? Not my business. What these humans do has nothing to do with me. But his gut had already tightened into a knot.

  You had to cherish what you had because life was unpredictable. One minute you were ignorantly happy, about to be mated, and in a flash, everyone you loved died, your home was destroyed, and you found yourself hiding on an alien planet. He glanced at the child. Freckles danced across her nose as she innocently skipped beside him. Her mother is sleeping? Sleeping?

  “Mom was at the Whitetail until really late last night.”

  The bar in Argent was called the Whitetail.

  “She told me to stay in the house, but I heard the music. I used to get ice cream all the time in my old neighborhood but not here. Trucks never come by. I didn’t want to wake Mom, so I got some money out of her purse. I waved like you’re supposed to. I thought the truck would stop, but it kept going and going.”

  Almost like it had been leading her away.

  She peered up at him with a hopeful expression. “Do you know my daddy?”

  “No, I’ve never met him.” Why would she think he had? And why didn’t the father keep an eye on her?

  Her face fell. “Oh. I hoped you did. He went to heaven.”

  “I’ve never been to heaven.” He didn’t know where that was. Since landing on Earth, he’d only been to Argent, Coeur d’Alene, and to Seattle once.

  Her brows drew together over bright blue eyes. “But you’re an angel! Where do you come from if not from heaven?”

  “Well, according to my ID card, Dakon,” he replied.

  “Is that in Idaho?”

  “No. Someplace far.”

  “Washington?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Can you play a harp?”

  “No.”

  “Can you float on a cloud?”

  “No.” He stopped and picked up the cape he’d dropped. He pulled his wings in closer and slung the garment over his shoulders.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure you’re an angel?”

  “You’re the one who called me an angel,” he said.

  “Have you met God?”

  The Xenos, who’d created life on many other worlds, considered themselves to be gods. His fellow castaway, Chameleon, was a Xeno. So, technically…“Yes.”

  Her eyes widened. “Is he nice?”

  “He’s all right. We’ve had our differences, but we get along now.” It had been hard to overlook Chameleon’s position on Xeno Consortium High Council, which had ordered the destruction of ’Topia because its people had refused to pay homage. Rare for a Xeno, Chameleon had a conscience and had fought to save the planet. Wingman owed him his life, so he kind of had to trust him, but letting his guard down had been hard.

  “If you make God mad, you could end up in the belly of a whale or turned to a pillar of salt. He’ll make it rain and flood your house or even send you to Hell,” she said. “Then you burn forever and ever.”

  Her god sounded a lot like a Xeno.

  They reached her house, a small bungalow with a sagging porch and peeling paint. But the grass was neatly shorn, a welcoming wreath of colorful flowers hung on the front door, and white lacy curtains flapped in the faint breeze.

  He opened the chain-link gate. “Go inside. Stay there until your mother awakens. No more running after ice cream vans.” The mother would never know how close she’d come to losing her child.

  “All right. Bye, Mr. Angel.” She entered the yard, and he closed the gate, waiting to ensure sure she went in. She skipped to the front porch and then turned around. “Could you come to my birthday party Saturday?”

  He shook his head. “It wouldn’t be appropriate—”

  “Please? We just moved to Argent, and I don’t know anybody other than Mrs. Beckman, and she’s old. It would be nice to have a real angel at my party.”

  “I’m old, too,” he said.

  “Not as old as Mrs. Beckman!” Blue eyes beseeched.

  Pity the male population when this one grew up. She was laying it on, but her plaintive expression tugged at his chest. “No, I can’t—”

  “It’s at twelve o’clock in the afternoon, after Mom gets done sleeping.”

  This was Thursday, and she already knew her mother would be napping in the middle of the day on Saturday? Maybe the mother should spend a little less time sleeping and more time taking care of her child. Maybe he ought to inform her what had almost happened while she’d slept.

  “Twelve o’clock? Saturday? I’ll be here,” he said.

  “Yay! I’ll tell my mom.” She entered the house and closed the door.

  Chapter Two

  Of all the nights! Although the Whitetail closed at 2 a.m., a couple of regular customers had nursed their last drinks until 2:45 when Marty nudged them out the door. Delia hadn’t gotten to bed until well after 3 a.m.

  Blinking sleep out of her eyes, she forced a cheerful face. Nothing could be allowed to ruin this day. “Happy Birthday, sweetie!” She kissed the top of her daughter’s head as she sat at the kitchen table. “What would you like for breakfast? Pancakes? Waffles? Bacon and eggs?” She didn’t even suggest cereal, which Izzy ate most days. This morning was special.

  “Waffles with strawberries. And whipped cream.”

  “Good choice.” An easy choice, thank goodness. After pouring herself a cup of coffee, she dropped two frozen waffles into the toaster. She got her daughter a glass of milk and then sliced some strawberries.

  “You excited about your party?” Guilt gnawed at her. The party would be attended by two people: Izzy and herself.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Having fled Pittsburgh the day after school ended for the summer, they’d only been in Argent three weeks, so Izzy hadn’t had a chance to meet other kids. Delia intended to compensate. She’d asked for extra hours at the Whitetail where she worked as a cocktail waitress so she could buy some nice presents, including a big surprise, which the sitter, who lived a couple of houses over, had picked up this morning and was keeping for her.

  Izzy had asked for a tea party like they had in England, so Delia had ordered scones and petit fours online. She would serve sandwiches cut into little triangles. The living room would be decorated with streamers and balloons.

  The waffles popped up. She placed them on a plate, topped them with sliced strawberries and a generous squirt of canned whipped cream.

  “Syrup, too, please.”

  She set a bottle of Log Cabin on the table and stifled a grimace as her daughter doused her breakfast. She’d had way too little sleep to stomach food this early. “Tell me again who you invited to your party?” She needed to know how many chairs to set around the play table.

  “You, Bubbles, Jessica, Emma and Emily, and the angel.”

  Bubbles was Izzy’s teddy bear, Jessica her favorite doll, and Emma and Emily were imaginary identical twins her daughter had “met” after leaving her friends behin
d in Pittsburgh. The angel was a new one.

  “Oh, we have a last-minute guest?” She reminded herself many kids had pretend friends, but she would be glad when school started in the fall and Izzy could meet some real children.

  “Uh-huh. His name is Wynn. But I call him Angel.”

  “He? A boy angel?”

  “Angels can be boys.”

  “Of course they can.” Until now, all the imaginary friends had been girls.

  “I asked him if he knew Daddy, but he said he’s never met him.”

  Josh had been killed in a traffic accident when Izzy was five months old. Delia had done her best to keep her high school sweetheart and husband alive in memory and in heart, placing photos around the house and sharing stories about him.

  “Well, Heaven’s a big place,” she said.

  Josh had adored his baby daughter, and he would have been thrilled to see what a bright, beautiful, imaginative child she’d become. He’d been robbed. She and Izzy had been robbed.

  The world had lost a good man.

  “Oh, he’s not from Heaven. He’s from Dakon. I think that’s in Washington,” she said, her whipped cream-smeared face perfectly serious.

  The stuff her daughter came up with! Although her imagination sometimes concerned her, Delia was proud of Izzy’s cleverness. Dakon, Washington? What detail!

  Very specific detail. She frowned. New to this part of the States, she’d never heard of Dakon. Her heart stopped beating. What if this angel named Wynn wasn’t make-believe? Izzy spent her time at home or at Mrs. Beckman’s, so she shouldn’t have been able to meet anybody Delia didn’t know about, but after what had happened with Colson… “Sweetie, your angel is like Emily and Emma, right?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is he pretend, or is he a real person?”

  “Oh, he’s real!”

  Her pulse skyrocketed. “How old is he? Is he a grown-up?” Please let him be another kid.