She frowned at Miguel, thinking he said some of the strangest things, then slowly turned around in a circle. What should they do? Think. Dammit, think. One thing kept surfacing, insistently pushing itself, rightly so, to the top of her priorities in this whole big mess. She had to get home. She'd left her father alone for far too long. Also, she had become aware of the worrisome fact that her foot was completely numb now and it was inching up her leg. The bottom half of her calf had no feeling now. She knew the injury was swelling up and that was cutting off circulation. If she didn't get the boot off soon, she'd be putting herself in danger of doing some permanent damage.
She huffed out a deep breath and rubbed at her head again. “I just need some time to think of what we can do but that blast will have registered with the sat net.” An accusatory glare was back in her eyes. “Or, what's left of it after you space jockeys got through with it. Once a report of what happened out here reaches the right desk, there will likely be military all over this place.”
Sounding frustrated and resentful that she was even having to think of any of this, she gestured at Farley's hovertruck. It was built for heavy work and she didn't have much concern that it had survived the heat blast. “Can you operate one of those? It has the winch on the back that we can use to lift him. I have some rope. We can tie him down so he doesn't fall off.” She didn't wait for an answer, formulating her plan as she talked. “Does that weapon of yours have a stun setting? I think we should keep him under until we can get back to the farm.”
Mention of his weapon and being able to use it seemed to put the pilot back in good cheer and he patted the lump tucked against his back, wincing when the metal rubbed his tender skin. The shirt hadn’t been so lucky either, the pressure wave having blown the individual fibers apart. It wasn’t hanging on by much. “Sure does. And I can make anything sing in my hands.” He winked unashamedly and started for the hovercraft. The woman was right, after all. They could figure this out later.
Chapter 6
It took far less time and only one zap from the gun to get the neighbor hog-tied and winched. The craft did indeed come to life in the pilot's hands and he expertly brought it under control to follow Lyrianne back through the woods and to her farm where the candles had burned down and the lamps in the barn shown more brightly through the door's opening.
Denied a little fun and showing-off, Miguel behaved himself and settled for powering down the hovercraft in the woman's front yard, rather than taking the unconscious man for a spin around the field. Boots crunching on dirt, Miguel walked around to the back, hand on pistol grip, just in case Farley had come around during their little adventure.
Lyrianne had dismounted from the mule with a lot more care than she had been using. Her gait, when she walked, was a little odd. With her foot and lower leg numb, she had to concentrate on putting it down and lifting it. To avoid having it noticed by the Fed pilot, she was making an effort not to be too obvious about it as she walked over to check on Farley. The big man was alternating between mumbling and groaning with drool running out of his open mouth. His eyes were moving rapidly under his eyelids from what she could tell through the fat rolls.
She stepped away. “He seems to be coming around. Will he be groggy at first? That would be best since I'm thinking of having him stay in the basement and he'd have to get there under his own power. Our small grav sled isn't rated to carry his weight.” She pursed her lips, running through options in her head. “Go ahead and tie his hands behind his back before he wakes up any more. Then, once he's recovered enough to walk, you can get him down the stairs off the kitchen. There are some chairs that'll hold him near the bathroom down there. While you're taking care of him, I'm going to find a place to hide his hovertruck.”
She was not asking for Miguel's input anymore but wasn't really aware she was doing it. Once she got into this mode, or so she'd been told, she was all about giving orders and expecting them to be followed. It worked just fine with her family and most of her neighbors once they got used to it.
Seemed it would work just fine on the pilot, too, as he didn't object. Releasing the winch, and not slowly either, he waited until the big man flopped over like a dead whale, and then used his boot to the man's ample posterior to turn him over. Using the same rope looped about the man's ankles, the dark haired pilot managed to secure the farmer's hands behind his back, not so easy at all; in fact, greasy gut's hands couldn't even reach behind his back, so Miguel was forced to simply secure the farmer's arms down at his sides.
Unhooking the winch cable, he let it drop back and signaled the woman that she could take the vehicle away, and then he moved and pulled his weapon, pointing it right at the big man's head. “Wake up, sunshine,” he said, and tapped his boot against the big man's jolly side. “Wakey wakey, puddin' cup.”
Leaving the hovercraft next to the mule for the time being, Lyrianne returned in time to hear a loud and prolonged explosion from Farley's nether region. She got in front of Miguel and pushed him back, holding her breath until she'd got them to what she figured was a safe distance. “Breathe shallow or you'll be sorry.” She looked at Miguel, her expression halfway between disgust and amusement, but very seriously hoping her warning was in time.
It seemed it was, blessed mother, as Miguel was staring at Lyrianne as if he'd just heard the most remarkable, unexpected, and downright hilarious sound ever. “On my father’s honor, I swear that I have never heard such a sound!”
Lyrianne stared back at him then started laughing. Once she'd started, she couldn't stop, finally leaning against him with tears in her eyes. Every time she thought she had it under control and tried to speak, there'd be another toot, not as forceful as the first, but loud enough, and the laughter would take over again. Finally, holding on to Miguel, she was able to catch her breath and she gazed up at his face. “Sorry, I know it's because I'm tired and stressed, but sometimes, I just have to let it all out.” Her unfortunate phrasing was promptly punctuated by Farley's back end.
Miguel's eyes were watering and not from the fumes, awful and traveling that they were. His grin was wide and his hand was on her back, presumably to help her balance as she'd been laughing especially hard. It was a good sound on her.
“Perhaps, querida, we best get the gassy ox inside and out of the fresh air lest he pollute it most regrettably. Whatever you sow on this land, it would be best not to contaminate it, yes?”
She was staring at his lips as she nodded in acknowledgment of his suggestion. Instead of moving away so they could get Fat Farley inside, she found herself moving closer, going up on tiptoe to touch her lips to his. She observed to herself that she really must be more tired than she'd realized. This wasn't like her at all, but the temptation was too much for her exhausted brain to deal with.
His hand flexed against her back. She was an amorous creature, wasn't she? Never one to deny a lady, Miguel obligingly returned the kiss, his eyes open but heavy lidded as he admired her so close. A kiss, a simple kiss, nothing more. He would give her no reason to regret.
She leaned into it, remembering what he'd done with his tongue earlier. She tentatively tried experimenting with this new idea of what a kiss was as she pressed herself against him. The heat of his bare chest was met by her own heat and it was creating an aching need within her she'd never felt before. She would have remained lost in the wonder of the sensations but Farley had to spoil it.
Still groggy and disoriented, but painfully aware how he was trussed up, the big man began thrashing about, apparently not able to help himself to his feet without the aid of his arms. He yelled in outrage.
Lyrianne pulled away from Miguel, feeling more than a little disoriented herself. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...“ Embarrassed at her boldness, she turned away from the Federation pilot and squatted down next to her massive neighbor.
“It's okay, Farley. You're fine, but we had to tie you up- “
“Oh, no, Lyrie.” Farley sounded downright mournful as he stopped moving and roll
ed over so he could look at Lyrianne, his moist lips quivering. “I... I got drunk again, didn't I? I'm so sorry. What'd I do? I didn't hurt you again, did I, Lyrie? Oh, geeze, did you tie me up so's you could call the Locals? Don't call 'em, please? They told me the next time I was gonna get two months in holding on top of the confiscation of some of my land. I'll do anything, Lyrie. Please don't call 'em.”
Lyrianne stared down at him with her eyes wide with disbelief. She'd been trying to think of something, anything, to explain why he was trussed up, hoping it would be something that wouldn't make things worse for them. But she was not getting any inspiration. She'd never have expected Farley to provide her with a possible solution. Especially if she could improve on it.
“I'm sorry, Farley. If you wouldn't mind waiting quietly for a moment?”
She got back to her feet and returned to Miguel, speaking in a whisper. Though she could still feel the pressure of his lips against hers, she was trying hard to pretend it had never happened.
“He goes on drinking binges and then is sorry about them after the fact. I think he's just mixed up right now, but if we can get him downstairs, maybe I can come up with a story that'll keep him there of his own free will once he's thinking more clearly.” Which was not as clearly as most people could manage on their worst days, she knew and was suddenly grateful for. “Will you go along with me?”
Miguel looked highly suspicious but as he didn’t have a better plan, he shrugged his shoulders, wincing as the loose shirt dragged across his heat bruised back. “If you say so, but if he starts anything, know I will finish it, yeah?”
Sliding his weapon, the gun that is, out of sight, Miguel waited on Lyrianne to tell him what their next move would be. He was sorely hoping it involved a pain relieving poultice and this woman in a nurse’s uniform.
There was no nurse's uniform nor poultice but she did manage to come up with something. She told Farley she had called the Local Law already but now felt badly about it. She promised the big man she would hide him until she could make an appearance in town to withdraw the charges.
She got him to follow her and Miguel to the basement where she showed him the bathroom and a small table with chairs that wouldn't collapse under him. There was an old bed down there and she set him to work reassembling it for his use while she and Miguel went back upstairs. At his insistence, she left him with a promise she'd get him some dinner as soon as she could.
Once she'd locked the door to the basement, she leaned against it to get her breath back. Pushing away from it, she glanced at the stairs leading to the second floor, pressed her lips together and frowned. There was something she had to do before she could go upstairs, like it or not.
Without speaking to or even looking at Miguel, she walked into the kitchen, dragging a hard-backed chair with her. Once seated, she lifted her foot and tried to pull the boot off. It wouldn't budge. She tried again, unable to stop the whimper of pain that accompanied her tugging and twisting.
Miguel turned away from the door he was watching at the sound and walked over, his eyes on the source of her discomfort. “Let me,” he insisted, and knelt down before her. He’d noticed earlier she was limping and cursed himself roundly for not paying it more attention at the time. It was inexcusable.
With her heel in one palm, he gently gripped the back of her calf with the other and raised his eyes to be sure she was ready. Then he began easing the boot off, as carefully as he could, not sure what he would see beneath the leather.
“When did you hurt yourself?” he asked, hoping to distract her, even if only a little bit.
“Earlier in the day. I turned my ankle in the field. It's just a sprain.” She bit her lip at the sharp pain that shot up her leg. It was weird. There was no sensation of the boot pressed against her foot and leg or of it moving. She only knew it was moving because she could see it but, deep inside the ankle, there was pain that came and went. It was almost unbearable when it became constant as the boot seemed to stop sliding after just a few moments of his pulling on it.
“Stop.” She looked around then pointed at the drawer nearest the sink where the knives were kept. “Cut it off.” She pushed his hands away, curt in her efforts to handle the pain.
He was frowning at her, now really worried but he got up and followed her directions to the proper drawer. He pulled the first viable option out that he could find and carried it back to the table. For a long moment it seemed as if he would say something, but he turned to the boot and knelt down again.
“Do not move,” he ordered her rather gruffly and slid the point of the long carving knife between her stocking and the leather cuff. His other hand again cupped her calf, more firmly this time, and held tight so as to create as little jostling as possible as he began to saw through the tough hide footwear.
“Tell me about your family,” he bid her, not taking his eyes from the task at hand. “Are you close?” The knife wasn’t as sharp as he’d hoped and the going was slow to spare her.
She was worn out from all the lies she'd been telling. She hated it and even though she knew there would be more before they were out of the mess they were in, she wouldn't lie to him anymore. Whether he was ready for it or not, he was going to get the truth.
“My family's very close.” She was holding on to the edge of the seat on either side of her to help her remain still as he'd asked. “There's my parents, my two older brothers and me.” Here was the first of her lies to confess. “My brothers aren't expected home like I told you. They disappeared during an Alliance conscription sweep a couple of years ago.”
Another pause while she held her breath then let it out slowly. “My mother died of a lung fever last winter. Not long after, my father got sick.” She kept her eyes on the knife and the boot. “When your Federation and the Alliance brought their squabble to our sector, an embargo went up on most inter-sector trade and travel. Among other things, we've had to rely on what medicine and med technology we already have on planet and it's not enough. It wasn't enough to help my mother. It's not enough for my father. He's dying.”
She paused, worried that it was taking too long to get the boot off though she knew she couldn't leave it on any longer. Still, she prayed her father was still sleeping, which he'd been doing a lot more of lately. She hoped he wasn't awake, waiting for her and wondering where she was.
When she continued, she changed her mind on what she'd been about to say. “You know that story I told Farley about you being my contract spouse? I'm sorry for dragging you into it. It was based on truth, believe it or not, and the best I could come up with at the time.
“When my father was told by the doctor how ill he was, he actually did contact a broker for a husband for me. His name was Remmie Ayer. He'd agreed to sell off his business interests on his home planet then come here to take over the farm.”
She closed her eyes. “Eventually he messaged, claiming the embargo was causing problems for him, but by then my father was bedridden. When the final message came with the news that he wasn't coming at all, I couldn't tell Papa. He'd been fighting so hard, waiting for this Remmie to show, and... I... I kept hoping Papa would rally and beat the disease. I never told him about the agreement falling through.”
Her voice got quieter. “Then, four days ago the doc stopped by. He said it wouldn't be long, now. Papa's organs are failing. That's when I told my worst lie. I told Papa that Remmie was on his way. He asks every time his mind is clear enough if my husband has arrived yet and each time I tell him it will be soon. I know it's bad of me, but I didn't want him to die thinking he's leaving me alone. I wanted him to die peacefully, not worried about me.”
She stopped, realizing she'd been talking too much, telling him more than he probably ever wanted to hear. She was also sure he thought she was a terrible person for all the lies.
Her hand went to the Fed pilot's shoulder to get his attention. “Miguel. Don't worry about being careful, you won't make things worse by going faster. It's just a sprain that I've been
walking on for too long and it's swollen, that's all. Just do what you have to to get the damn boot off. I've left him alone too long.” She ran her fingers through his hair then smiled, feeling unexpectedly better after all her yapping. “If it'll help you, think of it like a bandage; it hurts less if you just rip it off quick.”
Miguel raised his gaze to hers, studying the shades of blue and the kind soul that lived behind them. Easing the knife free of the boot, not breaking eye contact as he set the tool on the floor beside him, he then reached for her, collecting the weight of her hair in his palm before taking her gently but firmly by the back of the neck. Guiding her lips to his, he was just as gentle and just as firm with her soft mouth.
She let him kiss her, too confused by the unexpected gift to return it. She pulled her head back and had to smile. “What was that for?”
“Distraction.” He smiled back at her and tugged hard on the boot.
Her foot was freed with far less fuss than she'd thought it would. She didn't even have time to realize what he was doing. With a quick look of surprise directed at the pilot, she pulled her leg up to peel the stocking off so she could get a good look. It wasn't pretty. It was swollen from the toes to just above the ankle with folds in the puffy skin where the stocking had been pressed into her flesh by the boot's constriction. Her toes and the top of her foot were a dark red but she didn't pay much attention to them, instead marveling at the deep purple bruising that mottled the swollen flesh where her ankle should be.
She set her foot down when she began to feel the tingling return of circulation. Right behind that came the pain of that same returning blood flow and she bit her lip as she put her weight on it to test it. She noticed that the ankle area was still mostly numb, but she knew that wouldn't last. While it did, she had some things to do.
Smiling brightly as if she wasn't experiencing the agony her waking foot was treating her to, she leaned forward, partially out of the chair and kissed Miguel. “Thank you. Now, out of my way. I have to get some Freeze-It on this so I can function.” She rose a little more from the chair, her hands on his shoulders and her eyebrows raised as she waited for him to move.
Catch a Falling Star Page 6