Catch a Falling Star (11 page)

Leaving the boots and
grimy, sweaty socks tucked inside, Miguel caught and lifted the
borrowed shirt over his head, put his Fed-issued weapon on the
side of the sink and quickly unlaced the pants. It was a good
thing he didn’t go commando because it’d be mighty embarrassing
to be walking around in some other dude’s pants, especially if
that other dude did in fact go commando.

Dropping his boxer
briefs on top of his boots, he reached into the bathtub, one of
those old porcelain ones with the clawed feet (which seemed
surreal, as it was something he’d have seen on his home planet
and wouldn’t have expected on some backwater farming colony),
and started turning the handle faucets until the warm ran hot.
Then he climbed in and gingerly sat himself down.

He didn’t belong
here. He reached for the soap and depressed the plunger, cupping
his hands next in the running water before he sloshed it over
himself and started to scrub at the dirt and sweat dried on his
skin.

“You should not be
here, man,” he told himself grimly, watching the dirty soap
bubbles slide down the drain. Not only was he in enemy
territory, he was in the bathtub of a possible Alliance
sympathizer.

More soap, more
water, and a lot more scrubbing later and the pilot, hair
squeaky clean and dusky skin red and raw, climbed out of the tub
and picked up a towel. He needed to get back to the barn and
destroy his capsule. Then he needed to get back in the woods and
hunker down while he waited for an extraction team.

What he did was pull
on the fresh pants, soft from use and forced into hugging his
junk when his underwear proved just too sweaty to put back on.
He scrubbed at his hair until it no longer dripped, then he
reached for the shirt laid out for him and opened the bathroom
door.

Miguel walked into
the kitchen barefoot, working his arms into the sleeves of the
tunic.

Lyrianne looked up, a
little more animation in her eyes than before as she smiled at
him. The table was set for one and she pulled the chair out and
patted the back of it to indicate he should sit. “I've already
eaten.” She had, or at least tried, but had been unable to choke
down more than a few bites of the tender roast.

She sat in a chair
opposite the one with the table setting and food laid out before
it and rested her chin on her palms. While he'd been in the
bath, she'd done her best to clean up short of climbing in a
bath herself. That would have to wait, but at least her hair was
combed and neatly braided and her face had been scrubbed clean.
The bump and purple bruise above her right eye was more clearly
visible but she hadn't even given it a second thought.

She still had work to
do, so she hadn't changed out of the sweaty, grimy coveralls.
Her feet were now bare save for the makeshift wrap she'd wound
around the sprained ankle. She'd tried putting on another pair
of boots, but they wouldn't go over the bandage. It wasn't like
she hadn't spent a good deal of her life barefoot, however. She
could handle it.

“I took Farley some
bedding and towels and he told me you were an asshole and a very
dangerous maniac.” She had a half smile on her face, not sure if
she was irritated at Miguel for antagonizing the big oaf once
again or not. “Do you want to tell me what happened between you
two? He refused. Said it was 'men's business' and I shouldn't
worry my 'pretty little head' about it.”

Miguel smirked and
speared the slab of roast with a fork. He was ravenous but he
wasn’t sure he could hold anything down.

Yeah he could.

Cutting up the meat,
he carefully did not look at the woman across from him. “While I
would not call him a man really, I must agree. It is nothing you
need worry your pretty head over, yes?”

She didn't say
anything to that, letting a raised eyebrow and the spark of
irritation in her eyes speak for her. After watching him eat for
a while longer, she got up and prepared a dish with a generous
slice of berry pie, topped with fresh whipped cream from their –
her - milk cows. She set the dessert down beside his plate along
with a tall glass of ice cold milk.

That done, she sat,
this time leaning back and propping her bad foot up on the chair
beside her. Her voice was as neutral as her expression while she
watched his face. “Are you going to destroy the capsule in the
barn like you did your ship?” She tapped a finger on the table.
“I figured that's what you were planning so I was going to hide
it from you. Then I decided I owe you for what you did for my
father, so... I didn't.” She did owe him, more than he would
ever know.

“I'll use the mule to
get it out and away from the barn so you don't destroy my
property. Then, after you take care of it, I'd like one last
favor from you. I could use your help to take Farley's
hovercraft over to the old saloon. It's abandoned but he likes
to go there to drink sometimes and everybody knows it. I'll show
you the way. People will think he's gone on another of his
two-day benders when they see it there and they won't be looking
for him for at least a few days. I hope that'll give your people
enough time to rescue you.” She looked down at her hands then
back at him. “I'll give you a ride after the saloon to wherever
you want to go. Does that sound alright?”

Miguel had stopped
eating, his fork dangling from a limp wrist. He swallowed but it
hurt going down. It seemed she was eager to have him away and he
couldn’t blame her for it. If he was discovered she would be in
serious, perhaps even fatal trouble. What she'd done was more
than enough and far more risk than he had a right to ask of her.

“Of course,” he said
instead, trying for a charming smile but not feeling it. He
wasn’t going to, but he found himself explaining all the same.
“I cannot leave behind anything that could be confiscated. If I
let it be taken, I might as well be along with it. I do not
expect you to understand, but it is the way of it. I appreciate
very much what you have done for me and I will try to repay you
when I am returned to my ship.”

As good as the pie
looked, he was no longer in the mood to eat and he set the fork
down and wiped his mouth self-consciously with a thumb, not
knowing what else he could say. He would help her as requested
and then they would part ways.

“Do you need help
cleaning up?” He hadn’t stood yet but his hands had moved to his
plate.

She felt sick to her
stomach, the little bit of food she had in her sitting like a
lead weight. What did she expect? That he'd object? That he'd
want to stay with her until his Federation friends came for him?
Why would he do that? She'd done nothing for him but complicate
things. He didn't owe her a thing and she didn't believe that
he'd give her a second's thought once he was back with his
people.

Hurt and hating that
she was, she stood before he could. “No. I'll clean up later.”
She balanced the plates and glass so she could carry them to the
counter. She stared at the half eaten meal and the untouched
pie, contemplating transferring them to storage containers.
Instead she turned around and looked at Miguel.

“I don't understand.
Why can't you wait for your people here? I, I think you'd be
safer waiting here than,” she waved an arm in the general
direction of the forested area where the crash site was located,
“out there somewhere.” She blushed at her boldness. “I'm sorry.
I'm sure you have your reasons. Whenever you're ready. I just
need to get your flightsuit for you and an extra set of clothes
since you'll be safer wearing local clothes until you're off
planet.”

She started for the
stairs then turned to him again once she reached them, gripping
the balustrade nervously. “Can I get you any food to take along?
We've got some food packs and a water sack. There's enough food
to get you through a couple of days, anyway. And a backpack. I
can let you have that. What about a blanket? It does sometimes
get cool at night. A tent? Well, we don't have a tent but
there's some canvas that you can use, in case it rains. Though
it rarely rains this time of year so maybe you won't need
that... “

She stopped,
realizing what a fool she was making of herself. She sat down on
the stairs and put her hands over her dry eyes, concentrating on
getting her composure back. When she looked back up, her voice
was once more flat. “I guess we should go. I still have a lot to
do here before I can... Are you ready?”  

Miguel had followed
her to the stairs and was now looking down at her as if it
pained and confused him. He knew she was deeply hurting over the
loss of her father and it had to be a frightening prospect to
face the world alone now.

“I would be scared
too,” he said. “To be alone.”

Lyrianne stared at
him, totally confused. Why was he bringing up her being alone?
Or scared? She knew she was alone. She didn't need him to be
rubbing it in. And she wasn't scared. Things were as they were
and she would face them as her parents had raised her to do;
with her head held high. However, she was also tired; too tired
to deal with his compassion by trying to characterize it as a
lack of feelings.

Without saying
anything, she stood and moved up the stairs, using her left foot
to take each step to avoid putting too much weight on the bad
ankle. When she got back to the main floor, she had his
flightsuit, another pair of pants and a flannel shirt as well as
several pairs of sturdy socks that were still in their vacu-seal
packs. She handed them to him without a word then proceeded past
him and out the front door. She didn't feel like prolonging his
departure after the humiliation of him totally ignoring her
invitation to wait out his rescue at her home. It had cost her a
lot to offer it and he made it painfully obvious he'd rejected
it.

She slid the heavy
barn door open with enough force to cause it to travel all the
way to the ends of its rail and bang loudly. That seemed to help
calm her a little, but she was still muttering to herself as she
moved the hoverbike inside and began to set up the cables to
attach to the space pod.

He followed because
he had nothing else to do. Clearly he had made her angry somehow
and though he had been raised by a strong female presence, he
still couldn't figure out what he'd said that brought on this
new coldness from the woman.

“Let me do that,” he
finally said, suppressing a sigh as he joined her. “Just sit
down somewhere, I will do it.” He reached to take the hook from
her hand.

She jerked it away
from him and put her back to him. “I'm perfectly capable of
doing it.
You
go sit down and wait.”

Miguel frowned,
annoyed that she was being so difficult, and reached around her,
trying to grab for the hook again. “I said I will do it,
querida
.”

She jabbed him in the
ribs with her elbow then stepped away to give her room to turn
and confront him. Her eyes were snapping with repressed emotions
that were coming out as one of her infamous tempers. “And I said
I will!”

Her knuckles were
white because of the death grip she had on the hook. “What is it
with you? You want to get away from here so bad, right? Then let
me get this done.” The tears she couldn't shed for her father
came now and she had no idea why. Maybe she didn't want to know.

Embarrassed, she
reached into the anger she was feeling and focused it on him,
throwing the cable at him. “Do what you want. Just get off my
farm!” She kicked the side of his capsule, forgetting she was
barefoot and then reacted with a howl of rage. Without looking
at him again she stormed off toward the barn door. “Make sure
you bring the bike back. That's MY property.”

Holding the hook he'd
initially fumbled against his stomach, the pilot watched the
tumult of emotions bombard the woman, and thus him, nervous he
was going to get clobbered; wincing when she kicked his
capsule... she was going to have a matching set of swollen feet
at this rate.

Trying to think of
something to say that wouldn't get him murdered and dropped down
a well, Miguel's chance came and went when the barn door was
slammed shut and he found himself hunching his shoulders as if
the ceiling might collapse. How was he to know? Maybe it would.

Waiting to be sure
she wasn't going to come back for another round, once he was
relatively certain she wasn't, he turned to the capsule and
secured it himself. It was going to be a long night.

Chapter 8

Miguel’s long night
hadn't gotten him out of the barn before the door slid open part
way and his boots came sailing towards him, barely missing his
head though she hadn't deliberately aimed them at him. Lyrianne
stood within the opening, debating whether to go in and try to
apologize for her temper tantrum. What was the point of doing
that, though? He wouldn't care one way or the other.

She turned back to
the house.

She came in to be
greeted by pounding on the basement door and she sighed heavily.
“Get back downstairs, Farley. I'm fixing the rest of your food.
Don't be so impatient.” Pushing herself, she prepared another
big meal and carried it down, leaving the door open behind her.

Setting it down
before him, she sat at the opposite end of the small table,
trying to stay as far away as possible while he ate. She didn't
notice the empty moonshine bottle on the floor beside his foot.
If she had she would have bolted up the stairs without another
thought.

He watched her for a
while without pausing as he stuffed his mouth with the roast
chicken and rice. Picking up the pie plate, he sniffed it,
scooped up a chunk with his fingers and stuffed it in his
mouth.  With a berry-smeared smile he set the plate down
and placed his hands on the table, a sly look in his piggy eyes.