6. Donna

6

DONNA

P lease, Lord. Don’t let this be a mistake . I don’t want Catherine calling only to find my farm ransacked and my body lying underneath the hay. I’ve binged on enough CSI to know I might die because of a heart that’s too big.

Being kind doesn’t always make you friends. Sometimes, it just makes you a target.

As I steal glances at the large alien hobbling beside me, I want to believe this isn’t a mistake. At least, I hope it isn’t.

“Watch yourself,” I warn as we reach the barn doors and I open one side. The other side is stuck and I haven’t had a clue how to fix it myself. He doesn’t seem to mind. Hobbles in sideways, although his massive frame barely squeezes through the entrance. Inside, his scent displaces the musty air filled with traces of hay and old wood.

“As I said, it’s not much.” I’m suddenly self-conscious of the humble space as I look around it. I got the Raki workers to fix the roof and some parts of the wall, but it’s a mess in here. Hay scattered everywhere and stalls that I’ve promised Gertrude I’ll muck out this week. “A bit cramped, I suppose. But it’ll keep you dry.”

I look up to find the alien’s gaze sweeping the barn, taking in every detail. “It’s more than sufficient. Thank you, lira’an.”

His voice. It resonates in this enclosed space, sending tingles across my skin. “Leera an?”

My question makes him pause. Visibly so. And I swear his scales darken.

After a beat, he makes a sound in his throat. “Your designation…” He turns to face me. “I do not know it.”

Only then do I realize that after all this time, I haven’t yet introduced myself.

“I am Tovan of the line Kamesh.” He does a dip of his head, bracing on the staff for support.

“Yes. You said,” I murmur, a small smile tugging at my lips as I watch him straighten once more. He’s being awfully polite. And…I like it. A thief and murderer wouldn’t be so polite, would they? I guess it won’t hurt if he knows my name. If he came here to rob me, what would he do, steal my name and ride off in the wind with it, too? So I push my caution aside and perform the best curtsy I can.

“Donna,” I say. “Donna of the line Johnson.” I rise and stretch my hand toward him for a handshake.

Tovan’s gaze shifts to my outstretched hand and before I can react, he’s grasping it in his much larger one. His palm is rough, calloused, making mine feel dainty and soft. But it isn’t his gentle touch that suddenly has my heart flying in my throat.

It’s when he dips, almost bowing before me, his face pressing against the back of my hand that I startle. There’s a deep inhalation, his nose brushing against my skin in a way that sends a bolt of shock right through me. One that culminates right at the center of my thighs.

It’s so sudden—the slight brush of his breath against my skin, the sensation that shoots straight to my core, that I gasp. I can’t help it. My hand trembles in his grasp and my tongue gets stuck in my throat. And he doesn’t let go.

“Sweet,” he rumbles.

I know my eyes are like two big dumplings in my head, but I can’t school my features. It’s very clear handshakes aren’t the same thing to him as they are to me, and I realize I’ve never tried to shake Eleanor or Catherine’s mate’s hands. Even then, something tells me they wouldn’t react in the same way as Tovan is reacting now.

He inhales again, so unashamedly that I can hear the very breath filling his lungs. When he releases my hand, almost reluctantly, I, a woman who has always been quick with her tongue, am speechless.

I turn away, desperate to focus on anything else but the sudden shiver that went through me, rattling even the blood in my veins. With one arm, I gesture to the barn.

“There’s a pipe at the back if you’d like to wash off, though I’m pretty sure you’ll just want to lie down, rest that leg.” I clear my throat, my brows furrowing not at the state of the barn but at the fact that my heart’s beating a little harder. A little faster. Enough for me to notice it.

“Gratitude…Donna of the line Johnson.”

I push past that lump that won’t clear in my throat, forcing myself to focus on what I should do next. “Just Donna is fine.”

“Donna.”

Oh, no. No no. We’re not going to focus on that. I busy myself with nudging hay bales together to make a bed while trying to ignore the way my heart quickens at the sound of my name on this alien’s lips.

Something’s wrong. That simple touch, that unexpected gesture, has left me more flustered than I’ve been in years. A brief touch shouldn’t have me feeling a single thing.

As I push the last hay bale into place, I purposefully ignore the alien in my midst and head to the back of the barn where I have some tools leaning against the wall. I’m equal parts ashamed of myself and horrified I reacted at something so simple and so easily.

I’m better than this. Stronger than this. Hurt enough times that such foolish instinct should be dead in me.

Despite myself, memories I’d rather forget rise in my brain as if summoned just like the incoming storm. Memories of men I’d rather forget. Reasons why a simple touch should have zero effect on me. I push back at these reminders, but they flood my mind anyway.

The first one, a piece of shit called Damian, had laughed when I told him about my dreams of becoming a singer. “ You’re going to be a nurse ,” he’d said. “ Now why would you go chasing after some silly dream when nursing’s a stable job ?” He’d laughed then. “ Now, you see, this is why I say you women should leave the business and planning to us men . That’s our language .”

I’d shown him the door that very night. Turns out ‘single and thriving’ is a language I speak fluently.

I roll my eyes, pushing a bucket out the way with my foot as I scan the wall for the thing that looks like a rake.

But back then, and even now, Damian’s words stung. I’d dropped my dreams of singing and worked as a nurse for over two decades, pouring my heart and soul into caring for others. It was rewarding work, but draining. And through it all, I’d struggled to find a connection, a partner who could understand and support me.

After Damian, there was Mark, the charming doctor who turned out to be married—with kids and a pregnant wife. He was a royal piece of shit. Then there was David, who was all about grand gestures and whirlwind romance, showering me with flowers and whisking me away on mini breaks. But the minute I mentioned moving in together, he backpedaled faster than a crawfish in hot water. Apparently, he needed his “space” and he “wasn’t ready for commitment”.

And who could forget Tyler. He was a project, a fixer-upper I thought I could, you know, fix . He was lost, confused, and I thought my love, my support, could somehow magically heal his wounds. But a therapist I am not. And trying to change a man is like trying to herd a bunch of cats—frustrating, exhausting, and ultimately pointless.

There were more, of course. At some point, I’d started to wonder if there was something wrong with me. I’d entered my twenties being hopeful, thinking I’d be married with kids by twenty-five. Then twenty-five came and went and before I knew it I was thirty, a nurse, and the years started going by even more quickly.

Two more decades passed and here I am, on a world far far away from all that I ever knew, and I’m still alone. Indefinitely now, perhaps.

I’ve accepted it. Accepted it a long, long time ago. The love of my life? Not gonna happen. The kids? Not gonna happen. But what did happen, what surely did occur, was that I got wiser.

Which is why my heart shouldn’t be fluttering over an alien’s touch like I’m some lovestruck teenager. I should know better. After all the disappointments, all the times I’d picked myself up and carried on alone, I should be immune to something as simple as a mere touch.

“A pretty face is just a distraction, honey.” Because he is pretty, this Tovan. Well, not pretty per se, far too rugged to be simply called ‘pretty’. He’s handsome. Tall, bulky, and attractive in the exact sort of way that would have me fanning myself and appreciating what God gave him if I let myself. But I won’t let myself. “I’m Donna Johnson, damn it, and I built my own damn castle. I don’t need no knight in shining armor, especially not one with scales.”

“A castle?”

I almost jump out of my skin. The rake I’d just grabbed off the wall goes clattering to the ground as I jerk at the voice right behind me. The shock makes me almost stumble, but a strong arm snakes around my waist with such ease it’s like he’s done this a million times.

For a moment, I’m suspended, my eyes wide as I look up into the stranger’s face.

Just how long had he been standing there? And why didn’t I hear him approach? Was I so much in my head that I didn’t hear this giant of a male hobble across my barn floor to stand right behind me?

“Goodness,” I breathe, my hand coming up to clutch my throat. “Good heavens.”

“I startled you, didn’t I.” A statement, not a question, and I can almost see the regret in those yellow pits.

“You didn’t.” I swallow hard, because everything I was thinking is coming right back and with it is another heavy dose of shame. Because it’s not gone yet. That rattle in some central part of me. I know it isn’t gone, because the sensation of this male’s arm around me is being seared into my very consciousness.

He holds me so effortlessly; I feel…I feel like a woman again. “I mean, you—you did , but it’s fine.” I clear my throat. “You shouldn’t be walking around. We don’t want you to start bleeding again.”

Maybe I’m bleeding. Internally. In my brain.

“I heard you talking. Thought you were speaking to me.” His intense gaze moves over my face so slowly I’m immediately brought back to reality. To the fact I’m still in his arms, my body pressed against his solid form. Regaining my balance forces him to let me go. But now there’s the wall behind me and an alien in front. I’m trapped.

“You heard me talking?” I can already feel my cheeks heating. Just how much did he hear? Living on my own for so long, I suppose I’ve gotten used to speaking my thoughts out loud—to the animals, the flowers in my garden, to even the flies on the wall. But now, this alien just heard my private musings. Without realizing, I’ve shown him a part of me I keep hidden, tucked away behind the Donna I show the world; the one everyone else knows.

“About building castles.” The way he says it, his bass a soft rumble that makes the word almost…intimate, makes a tingle go down my spine.

My gaze snaps up to his, searching for a hint of mockery, of judgment, but all I find is…curiosity. Genuine, unadulterated curiosity. It’s disarming. His unassuming interest catches me off guard.

I don’t know how to answer him. How do I explain without explaining that I was talking about a heart patched up over years of disappointment. That the past has been a great teacher, telling me not to hope too much for the future and that those castles? Those grand, impossible dreams, were more about finding a place to hide than a place to call home?

The realization is all so sudden, so raw, that I can’t say a thing. Instead, I do what I do best: I deflect.

“It’s nothing,” I say, forcing a lightness I don’t feel. “Just…foolish rambling, that’s all.”

“Do you need help with the buildings you have here?” The alien’s gaze snaps to the barn itself, skipping across the beams holding up the roof. “Your lodge, perhaps?”

The sudden change in direction has me blinking to catch up. I release a relieved breath, silently thanking God for his mercies. “I had some Raki workmen come out and fix it all up. I think they did a good job. Don’t you?”

He hums a sound in his throat. One I can’t decide indicates the affirmative or not before he turns slightly, continuing his survey of the building.

“I’m not planning on building anything else. I think I can manage with all the things I have out here for now.”

“If you change your mind,” he says, leaning on the staff with both hands, “I can assist you with that.” His gaze shifts to mine and I go still, every muscle in my body locking into place. Like a startled rabbit, frozen in the sight of a hawk, I don’t dare breathe.

It’s different this time, his eyes. Different from all the other times he’s looked at me. Right now, his gaze is a tangible thing, a silken thread wrapping around me, pulling me taut. It’s the kind of look that strips away pretense, that sees right through you, and for a fleeting, terrifying moment, I forget that he’s an alien and I’m not supposed to find those slitted eyes the least bit appealing.

The air crackles, the silence stretching between us thick and heavy. It’s the kind of silence that hums with unspoken things, with awareness that stretches beyond the boundaries of polite conversation. And I realize I’ve made a grave mistake. I let my guard down, forgot I’m alone in the boonies with a stranger. And right now, those piercing yellow eyes are fixed on me with an intensity that makes me very aware that we are alone.

He’s blocking my escape, too. His massive frame between me and the rest of the barn.

“You’ve got a wounded foot. You’re not helping anyone. What you need to do is help yourself and get some rest.” I smile, but my attempt at humor doesn’t reach my soul. Instead of genuine mirth, the smile feels stiff on my lips.

“I’d endure the pain if it meant I could help you in return.”

I’m about to open my mouth and tell him I’ve got everything I want when he continues.

“Is there anything you need…Donna?”

Oh…good Lord.

The way he says my name sends another shiver down my spine. It’s intimate, almost possessive, and it makes me aware of how close we are. Instead of lightening the mood, my joke only served to increase the warmth of the air, making it feel heavy and electric.

Is there anything I need ? Gosh, that’s a complete other basket of troubles than what I want , isn’t it? What I need…what I need is safety. Stability. Someone who sees beyond the facade, who understands the scars carried beneath my smile. I need trust, built slowly and carefully, not rushed in a moment of passion. And this…whatever’s happening here, is exactly what I don’t need.

I’m not going crazy. I might want to ignore it, but he’s flirting with me, isn’t he? That makes awareness go through me and I straighten myself, standing taller. I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime and the lessons to go with it, too.

“Ok, listen.” My voice is firm and I silently cheer myself on. Better to nip this in the bud right where it is. He’s probably sized me up. Noticed I’m all alone on this ‘ole big farm. Thinks I’m easy pickings, especially since the only other humans on this side of the planet have formed relationships with his kind.

Well, sorry for him, but I’m not that easy.

I meet his gaze. “Mr. Tovan.”

“Just Tovan, Donna.” There it is again. He’s got a voice like whiskey and honey and it takes everything within me to push past that flutter in my chest. Reaching down for the rake, I place one hand akimbo.

“I’m going to scrape that floor for you so you have someplace to hobble without tripping and then you’re going to rest that leg, got it?”

I swear the slits in his eyes narrow. My heart’s in my throat beating so hard I can feel it as he slowly jerks his chin to his chest. He shifts slightly, and I take the moment to slip past him, my throat tightening as my body brushes against his.

I’ve never worked so fast doing any bit of farm work since I was plopped out here by Xarion. In a minute, I’ve scraped the hay into a big pile and I’m heading out the door.

“Just holler if you need anything,” I shout over my shoulder, even though I’m praying to God, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph that he disappears back to wherever he came from before I lose more of the tight control I’ve had over myself all these years.

Pushing out the door, I take a moment to pause and pull in a big swell of fresh air. The sky’s almost completely dark now and a drop of rain hits me in the face.

A shower of blessings. At least, that’s what my old pastor would say. A sign that the Lord is looking out for us.

I start walking towards the house, each step an attempt to put distance between myself and the confusing emotions swirling inside me. Because if this is really one of the Lord’s blessings, Ma wasn’t lying when she used to say he works in mysterious ways .

With every step, I’m aware of the alien’s presence in the barn behind me. Of the possibility that he might call out, might need something.

Part of me, a smart part, wishes he won’t.

But another part of me—the traitorous, lonely part—hopes he will.