by Elsa Jade
Table of Contents
Delta V
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
About the Author
Romancing the Alien
Thank You!
DELTA V
CYBORG COWBOYS OF CARBON COUNTY
INTERGALACTIC DATING AGENCY
Elsa Jade
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It’s autumn in Big Sky Country, and crash-landed aliens are falling in love!
Deltas were always the most expendable among the CWBOIs (Custom War Bionic/Organic Impersons), and Delta V was fifth of nothing. But since the crash that left this transgalactically prohibited private army of cyborg alien warriors marooned on Earth, Delta has found some small pleasures — soft dogs, sweet donuts, seducing the neighboring rancher. Wait, what?
For the first time in her fifty years, Big Sky Country is feeling small and lonely to Montana rancher Lindy Minervudottir. With the five-year anniversary of her wife’s death looming, she’s not sure if the future matters. But then a futuristic fighter flies into her life.
Earth is a small, blue marble in the vastness of space, and two needy hearts are even smaller than quarks at that scale. But with a long-gone enemy closing in, if quantum entanglement and the irresistible force of love can’t bind them together, the world itself hangs in the balance.
On the outskirts of the Big Sky Intergalactic Dating Agency, the Cyborg Cowboys of Carbon County are rounding up earthly pleasures for their forever mates.
Read all the Cyborg Cowboys of Carbon County
MACH ONE
DELTA V
BIG BANG
New to the Big Sky Alien Mail Order Brides? Read ALPHA STAR for free!
And find all the Intergalactic Dating Agency books at RomancingTheAlien.com
Copyright © 2018 by Elsa Jade
Cover design by Croco Designs
ISBN 978-1-941547-29-8
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as factual. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be scanned, reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
Chapter 1
Lindy Minervudottir slung the last hundred-pound haybale to the back of the tractor with only the most ladylike grunt. Sucked getting old and lazy, but bossing around three strapping young ranch hands for the fall semester was kinda fun. Before she got too used to the help, though, she’d given them the weekend off, leaving only her old, lazy self to feed the cows.
Normally this was a task for the light of day, but her three thousand acres of pristine Big Sky Country were even more beautiful under the light of a full moon. The cows would appreciate the early-morning forage—not too much; hay was expensive and last season’s grass was still available under a light layer of snow—and maybe she’d catch a glimpse of the northern lights.
And strangely enough, this time of night, out here under the billions of stars, was one of the times when she felt least alone.
This was her five-year anniversary of being on her own, and maybe she was finally coming to peace with it. Much as she hated to admit it, having three college girls underfoot had helped a lot—not just with chores either, but with the reminder that life and laughter and a pint of hard cider after the day’s work were still out there. No matter how far afield the pieces of her heart and soul were scattered, the world still turned. And maybe as it turned, those tiny shards of happiness spun back to her, and if she wanted to, she could pick them up—like the brilliant specks of rarified carbon that had earned Diamond Valley its name.
She drove the hay out to the herd. They’d settled for the night in some brush, but the weather looked to hold clear and calm for the next few days, which meant they’d be willing to graze the open field if she sweetened the pot with a taste of last summer’s sun. The hay was also treated with herbs and homeopathic remedies that were part of her interns’ projects. Ridiculous, but the dried herbs made the hay smell even better, if that were possible.
After spreading the hay she’d loaded (half of ranching was undoing what you just did, or doing something you knew would be undone later—just to do it again the next day) she paused to catch her breath, pulling off her heavy gloves and opening her Pendleton flannel jacket to cool her overheated innards. She stared up at the moon.
“I miss you, Amber-girl,” she murmured. This was the moment of the workday where cold hands used to reach inside her coat, making her squeal. Where warm lips used to nuzzle her ear. Where sweet and dirty words would erase the weariness and rush her back to the ranch house to wash off the sweat and get sweaty again.
“Five years. You told me it’d get easier. But the bales are still heavy, the night’s still dark. And I still miss you so, so much.”
She held her left hand up to the sky. The stone in the ring was raw, uncut, so it didn’t sparkle so much as glow in the moonlight. They’d still been dating when Amber found it. It wasn’t big, but she’d loved the hint of yellow-gold in the diamond—“Amber in diamond!” she’d said—so she had it set in a gold ring.
And then given it to Lindy when she proposed. “Diamond and gold. It’s like we’re celebrating our tenth and fiftieth anniversaries at the same time.”
She’d been in remission at the time, and Lindy—channeling a touch of Nordic bleakness—had wondered if they were making a promise…or foolishly tempting fate. Not that it mattered. Love was like cows; it went where it wanted, all the wooden fences, barbed wire, and risk of savaging by wolves, cougars, and bears be damned.
Her spread fingers, like a black star against the big moon, blurred with unexpected tears. The support group she’d gone to for awhile had warned there was no timeline for grief, and still it managed to blindside her sometimes like a hooked horn in the gut.
She fisted her hand—but the black streak on the moon remained for a heartbeat.
Then, as suddenly, the bright shine returned, and she squinted. What…?
Wings, silvery under the moonlight, banked away from her, giving her a clearer view. A view of…
Whaaaat the—?
For an instant, her brain couldn’t make sense of the scale. But it wasn’t a little bat out way past his seasonal bedtime—this was much larger, huge. Her pulse rammed like an auger through her veins, emptying all rational thought. Because there was no way what she was seeing had an explanation.
It was a dragon, flying under the moonlight.
Growing up in Montana, she’d known about weird shit. Ghost towns with, ya know, ghosts. A history of UFO sightings. Bar stool ski races.
But a dragon? A giant flying lizard with a snaky neck and longer tail and wide, ribbed wings that blotted out the moon?
Reaching behind the seat of the tractor, she grabbed her rifle and raced across the stubbly field, kicking up snow with every step. If that thing went for her cows it would be as extinct as the dinosaurs.
It banked again, curving toward her this time. Moonlight poured across its shining black scales.
And highlighted the man on its back.
She froze, a cold tidal wave of disbelief washing through her like the October night chill turned up to a thousand. Impossible…
The way the dr
agon turned brought her gaze and the rider’s into alignment. For another petrified moment, she stared, disbelief wavering to a jolt of recognition.
It was one of the Halley boys. Their Fallen V Ranch abutted hers, and their family had been in Carbon County almost, but not quite, as long as hers. They didn’t go into town much—hell, she didn’t either, really; who had the time?—and they were thirty years younger than her so she wouldn’t’ve been socializing much with them anyway.
But even so, seemed like she should’ve noticed the boys had a damned dragon.
She set the rifle to her shoulder and sighted him down the scope. A clear command: Boy, get your dragon-riding ass down here. Now.
The creature wheeled away again, toward the brush where the herd slept, and Lindy’s finger tightened on the trigger.
But then those impossible wings folded, and the airborne couple plummeted.
Toward her.
Better her than the cows. She widened her stance, keeping the rifle at the ready. She’d shot varmints before, but never a man. Though plenty of men were varmints, so she felt this was something she could handle. Even if her hands were sweaty.
The dragon thudded to earth—heavy enough that Lindy felt the tremor through her boots. Or maybe she was shaking in her boots? Nah. Not that.
Despite the knowledge that she needed to keep her quarry in her sights, never wavering, her gaze wandered over the impossible beast. Not…quite like a dragon she would’ve imagined. It had feathers on the edges of its wings and along the crest of its neck all the way down to the tip of its tail. As if it sensed her disbelieving regard, it shook itself, flaring the feathers including a few dozen incredible plumes that spread out from the sleek tail like a peacock’s spectacle.
But it clucked like a chicken.
At the incongruous noise, Lindy let the rifle down a notch. Apparently Halley saw that tiny angle as an invitation; he slid off the creature to face her.
“Now, Miss Minerva—”
“Missus,” she snapped. “And whatever you are about to say next better not be some sugar shit because Mister Remington here does not appreciate any B.S.”
Halley narrowed his eyes. He was a big man, bigger than most, but she was a bigger woman than most, plus the thirty-ought-six added a few inches and pounds. He was outfitted in all black with sleek panels that outlined his musculature, almost like the dragon’s scales, with the hood thrown back to leave his short, bronze hair exposed. Pale circuitry patterns glinted on the upper curves of his suit and—strangely—also across his rugged cheekbones. But she didn’t see a weapon.
Uh, besides the dragon.
She narrowed her eyes back at him. “What. The hell. Is that. Thing.”
He reached back one hand slowly to touch its shoulder, and the creature furled its wings and feathers before bellying down in the snow. “It’s… Well, she’s a yurk. They are very rare. I know she’s probably kind of shocking. If you haven’t seen one before. Which you probably haven’t. Because yurks are…not native. To Montana.”
Lindy lowered the rifle a bit more, to more properly glare at the Halley boy. “Not native to Montana?” she said incredulously. “How about, no, that thing doesn’t belong anywhere on Earth.”
“Except clearly she does. Since this is Earth and she’s right here.”
That was quite the unyielding edge to his voice, considering Lindy had the Remington. But there was also just the faintest note of entreaty, as if he needed her to believe him. As if a dragon in the snow in front of her wasn’t convincing enough.
Lindy had lied to herself about a lot of things over the years—that she desired only men, that she’d ever be able to anticipate the exact escape route of a fractious calf, that statistics of the curative power of chemo and radiation meant anything. But she’d figured out before she was too much older than this boy that the one most confused and hurt by the lies…was her. So she tried not to do that anymore.
Also, it seemed pretty damn clear that the thing in front of her was a dragon.
“Fine,” she drawled. “Why are you and your flying horse invading my airspace and scaring my cows?” Thank God the girls had taken the dogs on their mini-vacation or there’d be a real ruckus right now.
“Technically, flight paths are considered public right-of-ways. And your cows are asleep so they weren’t scared.” Catching an edge of the silvery moonlight, his eyes glinted at her. “Unless you mean you were scared.”
She stiffened. Although she knew a dick-waving challenge when she heard one, sometimes she still bit the bait. After all, women had testosterone too. And she’d enjoyed relationships with men before Amber.
“Look here, Halley—”
“Delta,” he interrupted. “I’m Delta Halley. I know sometimes people have trouble telling us apart.” There was a wry tilt to his lips that wasn’t quite a smile.
He was typical Montana rancher stock. Male, white, sturdy, clean-cut and stolid, basically everything she’d chosen her interns not to be. Still, it seemed rude to suggest that he really did look very much like his brother, his father before him, and his grandfather before that, all of whom she’d known well enough to lift a waving finger toward as they passed each other on the two-lane roads that connected their remote ranches to the rest of the Diamond Valley community.
She huffed out a breath. “Well, now that I’ve seen you dressed like a superhero and riding a dragon, probably I won’t have that trouble mistaking you for anyone else anymore.”
“Superhero,” he mused. “Nope. Not really. And she’s not a dragon. More like…eh, a flying horse.” When she scoffed again, he gave her a sharper look. “But here’s the thing, Missus Minervudottir, nobody’s supposed to know we’re out here.” He touched the creature behind him again in the same way she patted her critters. And for some reason that affectionate gesture—him reaching up under the large joint of the wing, where even that snaky neck would have trouble grooming, and giving a good scratch—softened the worst of her suspicions.
Eyeing his tactical black, she shook her head. “You’re military, aren’t you? And that thing too.” That explained why the family kept mostly to itself, if he was a soldier and they’d been breeding war-dragons on their back forty.
Delta stared at her. “If I told you—”
“Don’t got to tell me anything. I got eyes.” She finally let the rifle drop to her side. She couldn’t very well shoot a man doing his duty to his country. Well, unless he messed with her water or grazing rights or something. “I don’t tell tales, Delta. Besides, I got enough people who look at me sideways. I don’t need to add ranting about dragons to the whispers.”
He let out a rusty little sound that she realized was a chuckle. “Yeah, who would ever believe us.”
Of course he had some very large, very scary proof.
He tilted his head, the slant of moonlight picking out more of the circuitry pattern across his face; some sort of telemetry, maybe? “But I’m sorry I scared you.”
“Startled,” she interjected.
His lips twitched. “Startled. I didn’t mean to trespass. Her wings carried us farther than I estimated.”
Lindy gazed at the beast that was snuffling at the ground between her front claws, puffing up rooster tails of snow as she delicately snarfled strands of hay. “I’ve always heard that Montana has more than its fair share of UFO reports and weird lights in the sky, but this is…something else.”
He smiled wider this time. “She’s a terrible weather balloon.”
No one would mistake him for a child’s toy either. Before she’d met Amber, she’d had a couple long-term lovers, both male, and one could’ve-been husband. Physically and even emotionally, they’d been a good match for her, but none of them had been right for the ranch. And more than any person, the ranch was her first love, the place she’d been born and would die, the land where her soul lived. Amber, with her artsy hands and philosophical tongue, had understood that in a way none of the men had.
“You’re just
used to being the queen,” Amber had told her. “Since your great-grandmother founded this ranch, before Montana was even a state, you’re the closest thing to royalty that Diamond Valley really has.”
“Great-grandmother Minerva wasn’t so much a queen as a Viking marauder,” Lindy had informed her. “We never did find out what happened to great-grandfather.”
Amber had loved the matriarchal stories of Lindy’s past. “I guess you can start to make amends for your colonizer history by giving the land back to me,” she’d said with a cheeky smile.
Lindy had brushed back her sleek, coal-black braids, the polar opposite of her own white-blond plaits. “It’s yours,” she said without hesitation. “Like everything else I have.”
Except, in the end, even the marrow of her bones hadn’t been enough.
Delta Halley was barely older than the boy she’d lost her virginity to a million years ago. Much better looking though, with his square jaw and gray eyes. The physique highlighted by his high-tech black suit with its silver markings was more intense than anyone she’d ever brought to her bed. She’d never been one for manly men or mysteries, for danger or dragons, but suddenly, under the light of this full moon, a part of her she thought had died with Amber roused restlessly.
Not that she was going to do anything about it. That part of her could just go back to sleep, frozen like hard winter ground that would never feel the touch of the sun again.
And still Delta stared at her with that focused intent that she normally ascribed to a male on the hunt. She wasn’t going to delude herself about the existence of any desire on his part—any more than she’d lie to herself about the nonexistence of dragons, now that she’d seen one—but he didn’t seem in any hurry to go away.
Maybe he didn’t believe her when she said she wouldn’t tell anyone about his midnight flight. Which was going to be a problem, considering that she couldn’t prove a negative.