Page 49 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

I was pretty sure it was Vantor who’d spoken, so I looked at him when I answered.

“Jesus, make some noise when you approach,” I said, pressing a hand to my chest. “And yes, this is part of it. Horses make messes. We clean them up.”

“You are physically laboring for their comfort,” Cyro noted, “yet another reason to believe they are the dominant lifeform.”

“If you go by that logic, then dogs and cats would be dominant too.” I rolled my eyes.

“Do you also handle their excrements and clean their sleeping space?” Cyro lifted an eyebrow, human mouth scrunching.

“Well,” I sighed out, “yes. Cats usually have litter boxes if they’re indoor pets. Dogs have to be taken outside to use the bathroom. In both cases, excrement removal is a human job.”

“I do not understand how humans are the top of Earth’s food chain then,” he said slowly, as if his brain couldn’t compute.

“Cyro, you do not need to analyze everything.” This from Kalith, who curled a hand around Cyro’s newly made shoulder.

“I in fact do need to analyze everything,” Cyro shrugged away from Kalith’s touch. “Are you not intrigued seeing the primitive Earth tool in action?”

Kalith looked sheepish for a moment. “Caught me.”

“Let us cease interrupting her activity.” Vantor told the other two, flicking them both a look that made them fall silent.

“I’m… going to get back to work,” I said slowly, wondering if they’d leave or stay.

They stayed and proceeded to watch with unnerving intensity as I resumed work, their eyes tracking every movement of the pitchfork. After a few minutes, Vantor stepped forward.

“We can assist,” he said.

Before I could respond, something extraordinary happened. Their human arms shifted. The skin rippled like disturbed water, and where two arms had been on each man, multiple tentacles now emerged, still wearing the sleeves of their shirts, which strained to accommodate the change. Look, I’d seen their real bodies. I shouldn’t be surprised by the writhing appendages now on display. Yet, it was still freaky as hell to see a seemingly human man suddenly become part octopus…squid… Eldritch terror.

I stumbled backward, pitchfork clattering to the ground. “What are you⁠—"

But the question died in my throat as I watched them each take one of the three stalls and begin to work. Those tentacles—strong, dexterous, and far more numerous than human limbs—made quick work of the soiled bedding. Kalith’s appendages gripped and scooped with precision. Cyro’s tentacles gathered old hay into a neat pile outside the stall, then snagged fresh hay from the bales I’d stacked in an unused stall. And Vantor, with his massive form, cleared an entire stall in what must have been record time with his bare hands… um… tentacles.

My first instinct was to tell them to hide those alien appendages, to maintain their human appearance completely. But practicality won out over panic. They were doing in minutes what would take me an hour plus.

I leaned against the stable wall, watching in fascination as twelve tentacles worked in perfect harmony. “I wasn’t considering hiring ranch hands,” I said finally, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips, “but maybe that’s because I needed ranch tentacles.”

Kalith’s human face brightened at my joke, his too-perfect teeth gleaming in the stable’s dim light. “That was humorous,” he commented, unnecessarily. I’d have to tell them that body language sometimes made spoken language repetitive.

Their tentacles pushed together, twisting and merging into arms. The scent of their sweat—because apparently squid aliens do sweat—was salty and sweet and a little charred. Caramel, saltwater, and a hint of smoke.

Despite myself, my gaze lingered on the way their forearms glistened where they’d rolled up their sleeves. The tentacles should have repulsed me—they were decidedly not human, after all—but there was something almost hypnotic about their fluid efficiency. And now that they bore human arms again, the vision of tentacles quickly became secondary to rippling muscles. I found myself repeating a mental mantra: They’re octopus E.T.s. Not sexy. Can’t keep them. Must send home.

The mantra weakened with each passing second.

Where could a girl get an intergalactic phone? They could call their home planet for a ride and leave faster. Otherwise…

They wouldn’t even need a trail of peanut butter candy to coax me into a bedroom.

Vantor approached me first, shovel in hand, his tentacles now retracted back into the semblance of human arms. Sweat beaded on his brow, making his impossibly perfect skin glisten heavily. “What else can we assist with?” he asked, voice deep and resonant.

I exhaled slowly, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach. “Everything,” I breathed out despite myself. Then, collecting my wits, I gestured toward the half-demolished barn and the gleaming spacecraft. “But maybe you should hide your ship first? Besides, I’m used to doing things alone.”

“While you are forced to host us, you do not have to do things alone,” Vantor said. His tone was neutral, his offer clearly based solely on repaying my favor of not turning them into the government to be dissected.

“There are a few repairs I can assist with, aside from fixing the building we damaged,” Kalith added.

“That’s the understatement of the century,” I chuckled.