Page 52 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

God help me.

I led the aliens around the back of the stables to a sectioned-off area where a massive pile of horse manure and soiled bedding steamed gently in the morning air. The smell hit like a physical wall—rich, pungent, and undeniably agricultural. I’d gotten used to it over time, but I still caught myself breathing through my mouth as I gestured grandly to what was essentially a mountain of shit. “And this,” I announced with mock ceremony, “is where all the horse droppings go. The compost pile. Glamorous, isn’t it?”

The three aliens exchanged glances, their human forms momentarily betraying them. A subtle ripple of movement passed beneath Vantor’s skin, while Cyro’s fingers elongated slightly before snapping back to human proportions. Kalith’s eyes blinked with a double set of lids—a quick horizontal flick that would have been easy to miss if I hadn’t been watching.

“You collect their fecal matter?” Cyro asked, his head tilting at an angle that seemed just slightly beyond human neck flexibility. He scanned the property with those eerie metallic eyes. “I do not see fields to be fertilized on your terrain.”

“Is it for fuel?” Kalith asked, leaning down toward the steaming pile.

His torso stretched in a strange, not-quite-human way as his disguise fractured, his spine extending several inches longer than any human’s possibly could. I glanced around nervously, grateful that my nearest neighbors were miles away.

“We experimented with organic fuel sources fifty star cycles ago,” he continued, seemingly oblivious to his anatomical slip-up. “It was sustainable, but we could not eliminate the smell.”

I laughed, more from nerves than actual humor. “Shit-propelled starships. Probably was like a space port-a-john.”

Three pairs of confused eyes turned to me.

“Like the bathroom inside,” I clarified, pointing back toward the house. “Where you go to relieve yourselves. But a port-a-john can be moved to different locations. What do you have on your planet?”

The aliens’ human skin shimmered and shifted, tanned areas giving way to pale, then settling back into a golden-kissed hue. It was like watching a chameleon trying to match a moving background, never quite settling on the right pattern.

“We do not think of such things,” Cyro finally said after what seemed like an uncomfortable silence. “We simply return our byproducts back to the waters.”

“Note to self,” I cringed, taking a step back, “don’t take you guys to a public pool.”

Vantor’s brow furrowed. “Is a public pool similar to our communal breeding waters? Where your species procreates en masse?”

I choked on nothing but air. “No! God, no. It’s where people swim. For recreation. No breeding.” I waved my hands frantically. “Zero breeding. And, again, zero way I’m taking you within a hundred feet of a public pool.”

“Fascinating,” Cyro murmured, clearly filing away this information for future reference. “Your species has designated non-breeding water recreation zones.”

“Let’s just... move on,” I suggested, desperate to change the subject before I learned more about alien toilet habits or breeding waters than I could mentally handle. “There’s more to see.”

I led them past the compost pile to the paddock area, a series of connected enclosures with various types of fencing. “This is where the horses get their exercise when they’re not in the pasture. Back in its heyday, the ranch had dozens of horses. I obviously don’t, so I’ve not seen the need to fix up the fencing here. Someday, maybe, if I win the lottery.”

“Does she mean a lottery like on our world?” Kalith whispered to Cyro, clearly not understanding how well sound carried in the open air. “Do you recall when Vantor entered each time for several star cycles and was finally chosen by that female?”

“I had never seen Vantor look so scared,” Cyro nodded, his face splitting into a grin.

Vantor’s human face darkened, a flush spreading across his cheeks in unnatural patterns that reminded me of an octopus changing colors. “She attempted to consume my reproductive appendage,” he muttered defensively. “We were not compatible.”

I nearly tripped over my own boots. “Okay! Moving right along!” I clapped my hands together and quickened my pace. “This storage shed is full of old gardening tools, but I don’t garden. Over there is an equipment barn with one working tractor, one not working tractor, and a bunch of attachments. No idea what they’re for, but they exist.”

As we walked, I pointed out various features of the ranch, like the riding ring where I’d hoped to show off my breeders if the ranch ever truly got up and running. Prospective buyers always wanted to see that the foals would come from good, strong stock. Lineage papers were great, but there was nothing quite like seeing a magnificent horse in action. I took them over to the small creek that ran along the property line providing natural water if I ever wanted to get the irrigation system back in order, and the overgrown trails that wound through the back acreage. With each stop, the aliens asked questions that veered between surprisingly insightful and completely absurd. I didn’t answer them, but they didn’t seem to care.

“Do all Earth females maintain territory alone? Is this a matriarchal society?” from Cyro.

“Are you able to asexually reproduce if you continue an isolated lifestyle?” Cyro.

When we ended the grand tour at the machinery building, the trio pushed inside without invitation. I entered, finding them hovering around the ancient John Deere.

“That’s the working tractor,” I commented.

“Can I disassemble whatever a tractor is?” Kalith asked, his fingers already twitching toward the machinery.

“No,” I said firmly to the last question, pulling Kalith away. “That stays in one piece.”

He looked disappointed but nodded. “I understand. It is primitive technology, but clearly precious to you.”