Page 71 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

“You guys,” I said, shaking my head with a mixture of exasperation and affection, “are going to learn how to clean before you learn anything else.”

All three nodded with solemn determination, as if I’d just assigned them the most important mission of their interstellar careers. And despite everything—the coffee grounds crunching beneath my feet, the egg congealing on my beautiful new countertops, the faint smell of smoke still lingering in the air—I couldn’t help but smile.

26

VANTOR

The angry beast Tammy called a vacuum had won, but I would not be bested twice in one day!

In the light of day, the raccoon was obviously not a threat.

The Earth creature stared at me with beady eyes that reflected an intelligence I’d missed during our first encounter when it was dark outside. I didn’t expect such alertness from a non-dominant species. Its ringed tail flicked back and forth as it stood on its hind legs beside the waste receptacles, fearless in the face of a trained combat specialist from another world. The food I had been unprepared to provide it last time, had been replaced by Tammy’s buckets of refuse. The creature had already tipped one container over, spilling its contents across the ground.

The audacity.

I squared my shoulders, feeling my skin ripple with patches of burgundy beneath my human disguise in a warning I wasn’t sure the raccoon could understand. After the kitchen disaster and my defeat by the suction device Tammy called a “vacuum,” I refused to be bested by yet another Earth entity, especially one that barely reached my human knee.

“You are trespassing again,” I informed the creature in a firm voice. “This territory belongs to Tammy Tucker and, temporarily, to three superior aquatic beings from the Thalassar system.”

The raccoon tilted its head, black mask-like markings making it appear calculating. It chittered softly, tiny hands working at nothing in the air between us.

“Your reluctance to vacate is noted,” I continued, taking a step forward. “But I should inform you that I hold the victory belt for cross-species combat in the Andromeda Arena three cycles running. I have defeated beings with twice your number of appendages and a hundred times your mass.”

The raccoon blinked slowly, then moved closer rather than retreating. We’d done this same dance before. A tactical error on its part. It approached with a strange sideways gait that I recognized as an attempt at deception. It was trying to appear non-threatening while advancing its position. A classic maneuver I’d employed myself on hostile planets.

“Final warning,” I said, deepening my voice to the register that had made the largest Kelpian sea-beasts flee in terror. “Your stubborn persistence will result in⁠—”

The creature launched itself at my chest with unexpected velocity.

I staggered backward, unprepared for the direct assault. All of my tentacles emerged in automatic defense. The raccoon’s small claws dug into the fabric of the shirt Tammy had provided as it scrambled up toward my face.

“Cease this immediately!” I commanded, my voice pitched higher than intended. It took great effort, but I formed two tentacles back into arms, thinking it might be easier to control the rabid beast with fingers.

The raccoon responded by chittering louder and patting my cheek with a paw that felt unnervingly like a miniature version of my own tentacle tip. I attempted to grasp it by what appeared to be the scruff, the way Tammy handled the uncooperative feline back at the ship, but the creature twisted with unnatural flexibility and nipped at my fingers.

“That’s it,” I growled, feeling my skin flash hot orange patches beneath the human exterior.

What followed was not my finest display of combat expertise.

I spun in circles, the raccoon now somehow on my back. I reached behind me, but it evaded my grasp with infuriating ease. When I finally caught hold of its tail, it made a sound like the warning sirens on our ship and wrapped itself around my arm, tiny teeth bared. I shook the human arm vigorously, which only encouraged the furry monster to climb higher, until it perched on my head like some sort of living hat.

I dropped to the ground and rolled, certain this would dislodge my opponent.

The raccoon simply hopped off, watched me complete my tactical maneuver, then climbed back onto my now-grass-stained body when I finished.

After three more minutes of undignified struggling that I was grateful my G.E.F. commanders couldn’t witness, I admitted defeat. The creature was clearly not hostile—merely insistent on establishing some form of relationship.

“You fight well for a non-aquatic species,” I conceded, my breathing slightly labored. “I propose a truce.”

The raccoon settled onto my shoulder, its warm weight strangely comforting. Its whiskers tickled my neck as it sniffed curiously at my skin, perhaps detecting the faint scent of ocean that all my kind carried regardless of form.

“I shall call you Hoover,” I decided, thinking of the vacuum that had proven such a worthy adversary that morning. “A name befitting a creature of your tenacious nature.”

Hoover chittered in what I chose to interpret as approval, then curled its tail around my neck in what might have been affection or a half-hearted strangling attempt. Either way, I found I didn’t mind.

I thought of the cat—the one Kalith had claimed and dubbed Manji 2—currently treating our crashed vessel like its personal territory. Perhaps Earth’s smaller life forms weren’t threats but potential allies. An intriguing development that warranted further study.

My contemplation was interrupted by a pained shout that made my skin flash cold blue with alarm. Tammy. My human disguise stabilized instantly as my training kicked in. I moved toward the sound at maximum velocity, Hoover flattening himself against my shoulder as if sensing the urgency.