FrankenDom (38 page)
And if the Garathani hadn’t beamed her aboard, she’d be toast too.
Cecine’s voice snapped her back to attention. “Until diplomatic relations have stabilized,
you will all remain aboard as our guests. If the process takes more than a few days,
we will house you on Garathan until we are certain that you will suffer no undue consequences
upon your return as a result of your association with the Garathani.”
“What!” She struggled again. “There is no way I’m going to Garathan. I mean it, Shauss—I
have to go home.”
Shauss didn’t respond, and the minister waited for the candidates’ dismayed reaction
to die down before he went on. “Since mating assignments have not been completed,
it will take time to work out living arrangements, but we will endeavor to make you
all comfortable and address your most pressing needs. There are Terran physicians
aboard to see to your medical care and we can replicate any medications you require.”
Jasmine cringed. What about her nasal spray? There wasn’t enough left for a few days,
much less a scenic cruise to Garathan, and no way could she let them replicate it.
Shauss suddenly released her and the field dissolved. “Your name will be called when
your quarters are assigned,” he said. “Now mind your manners so I don’t have to come
back.”
He walked off while her brain was still wrestling with the nasal spray problem, saving
her the trouble of formulating a withering reply. While it was a relief to have him
away from her, and certainly much easier to think, she felt a ridiculous sense of
abandonment when he disappeared from view. She did
not
belong among all these women.
Then she noticed them all staring at her and blushed.
“Everything’s fine, nothing to look at here,” she said under her breath, picking up
her sweater, which she’d dropped at some point.
She had to get off this ship or die trying.
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
Copyright 2007
Chapter One
Grace Hendrick blushed furiously when the doorbell snapped her out of an all-too-familiar
daydream at ten to noon.
“Oh for God’s sake,” she muttered, setting aside her faithful old laptop. It wasn’t
like whoever was at the door had caught her masturbating. So she was slightly worked
up over her fantasy—few would suspect a woman her age even had such fantasies, much
less did something about them.
Taking off her reading glasses, she stood up and stretched, wincing at the ache between
her shoulder blades. If she didn’t get back into an aquaerobics class soon, she was
going to petrify like so much aging wood. And if she didn’t finish grading those essays,
she was going to be out of a job. Then she wouldn’t be able to afford an aquaerobics
class.
Stepping into her slippers, she tightened the belt of her robe as she headed for the
front door, pausing only to straighten the doily on the entry table as she went by.
Who in the world would be out in a snowstorm?
Opening the door just a bit, she peeked out through the crack. The young lady who
stood on the porch was certainly dressed for the weather—only her pink-tipped nose,
rosy cheeks and pretty blue eyes showed between her sparkly purple cap and scarf.
“Yes, may I help you?”
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Grace,” she said, holding up a pink-frosted cupcake with a
candle on top. “I have a birthday present for you.”
Grace’s eyes widened. Although the wind was gusting and snow fell hard enough to obscure
the house across the street, the candle’s flame never flickered. Just as she opened
her mouth to marvel, it occurred to her that it must be one of those trick candles
that had to be put out in water.
“I’m sorry,” she said, opening the door wider. “Do I know you?”
The young lady laughed. “No, I’m just getting acquainted.”
“Oh, I heard a young couple had bought the Murray place,” Grace said, stepping back
and pulling the door wide. “Won’t you come in for a while?”
“Thank you, but I can’t stay.” She held out the cupcake. “Would you mind trying a
bite before I go? It’s a new recipe and I’d really like to know what you think.”
Grace smiled as she took it. “It’s so sweet of you to come around in weather like
this.” In fact, it was almost unbelievable that any of the neighbors had known or
cared enough to tell the newcomer today was her birthday.
“Don’t forget to make a wish before you blow out the candle.”
Grace laughed. “My dear, I’m sixty, not six.”
The girl’s eyes widened. “Oh but you have to!”
She looked so worried that Grace was immediately contrite. “Well of course, that’s
fine,” she said quickly. “What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t, but it’s Marina.”
“How lovely.”
The girl was still looking at her expectantly, so Grace put her mind to the task at
hand. It wasn’t too hard to come up with a wish—she’d been living one in her mind
when the doorbell rang. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath.
I wish I could have one more night with Jared.
Then she opened them again, puckered up and blew on the flame. Much to her surprise,
it went right out.
Marina clapped her mittened hands enthusiastically. “Oh goody! You’ll get your wish!”
“From your lips,” Grace said, working to keep the dryness out of her tone.
“Now tell me, how does it taste?”
By this time, snow was beginning to accumulate on the rug, but Grace obliged the girl,
peeling back the festive Valentine paper and taking a bite of the white cake. “Mmm,
coconut. My favorite,” she said, licking a bit of frosting off her upper lip. “It’s
wonderful, thank you.”
“My pleasure.” Tugging off a sparkly mitten, Marina pulled a small white card out
of her coat pocket and handed it to Grace. “Sorry to rush off, but I’m late for another
engagement. Enjoy your birthday!” She trotted off down the sidewalk and disappeared
into the snow just a few yards from the house.
Tucking the card into her robe pocket with a bemused smile, Grace bumped the door
closed with her hip while she peeled the cupcake. After she’d polished it off and
disposed of the paper and candle, she went in search of her glasses. Finding them
right where she’d left them, she sank back into her well-worn chaise and pulled out
the card. On one side, her name was written in bold, uniform calligraphy. On the other
was a short poem.
You made your wish, and so polite!
Now I will grant you one more night…
Grace blinked.
“One more night…”
How could the girl possibly have known that she’d wished for a
night
?
For just a moment, hope fluttered in her breast, but common sense asserted itself
immediately. What did she think, that Marina might be some sort of fairy godmother?
If anything, she would have to be her fairy goddaughter.
And since when is your name Cinderella?
“More like
Senior
ella,” she muttered under her breath. Grace almost laughed out loud at the visual.
Well, she’d lost nothing by making the wish and she wasn’t going to complain—after
all, it was the only birthday cake she’d had in years and pretty damn good, to boot.
The card might be a bit out there, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Speaking of cards, why hadn’t she grabbed the mail while she was up?
Even knowing there was probably nothing but bills and sales circulars, she scurried
back to the door and stepped out onto the porch. When she reached into the mailbox,
she thought at first that it was empty. But then her fingers found a postcard.
Yes, Seniorella, you guessed it right—
Now love them ‘til the stroke of midnight.
Her knee-jerk English professor response was,
Another trite little rhyme
. Then her eyes widened.
Seniorella
? She whipped her head from left to right but the girl was nowhere to be seen. Shaking
like a leaf, she turned to step back into the house and slipped on the frosty concrete.
The last thing she saw was the card flying out of her hand.
BIG Temptation - Robin L Rotham
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
Copyright 2008
Prologue
Maybe he should call Dad.
Barrett fidgeted with the candy-wrapper bracelet Kristi Farnham had fastened on him
at recess, scooting it around his tanned wrist over and over as he stared at the white-painted
panels of his parents’ bedroom door. The only sound in the sun-speckled hallway was
his own loud breathing. He’d knocked and yelled at her about four thousand times,
but Mom wouldn’t answer.
Riding his bike home from school today, all he’d wanted was to Hoover down the rest
of the Oreos with about a gallon of milk and watch cartoons. Now all he wanted was
for his mom to open this door and tell him everything was okay.
Why wouldn’t she answer him? She never slept through the baby crying. Even when she
was having a really bad day, she never just let him cry.
When Barrett bounded through the front door a while ago, he’d heard his little brother
screaming his head off and found him right here in the hall. Dusty must have finally
made it over the gate because there was a big carpet burn on his forehead. Barrett
had picked him up and hugged him, rocking and talking to him until he calmed down.
Then he’d taken him downstairs and planted him in front of the Looney Tunes with some
Cheerios on a paper towel and a sippy cup of milk.
He’d been up here trying to wake Mom up ever since, but she wouldn’t and his stomach
was starting to hurt. His knuckles were hurting, too, even though he’d switched hands
a couple of times.
He gave the doorknob one last try but it was still locked. “Mom!”
Not knowing what else to do, he headed back downstairs on shaky legs and wiped his
palms on his jeans before picking up the telephone in the kitchen. Gripping the receiver
hard, he ran a finger up the phone list on the wall and dialed the third number from
the top.
“Good afternoon, Mahoney, George and Butcher, how may I help you?”
“May I please speak to Anthony George?” Barrett winced. He’d used his most grown-up
voice but he still sounded like a ten-year-old kid who was about to start bawling.
“May I tell him who’s calling, please?”
“His son, Barrett.”
“Hi, Barrett. Hold for just a moment and I’ll put you through.”
It seemed like he spent forever twirling the kinked-up phone cord around his index
finger before his dad answered.
“Hey, big boy—what’s cookin’?”
Relieved to hear that friendly greeting, Barrett blurted, “Mom’s asleep and she won’t
open the door.”
“Did you knock?”
“About five million times. Dusty got over the gate, ’cause he was on the floor screamin’
in the hall and I got him some milk, but Mom still won’t wake up.”
“Did you open the door and look at Mom?”
Barrett’s stomach squeezed. Dad didn’t sound so friendly now.
“It’s locked.”
“Son, listen to me.” His dad talked really fast now. “Police and firemen are on their
way to you right now, and I want you to let them in, okay? I’ll be there in five minutes.”
He didn’t even say goodbye.
Barrett hung the phone up and trailed into the living room. Dusty was climbing the
stairs, so he picked him up and carried him back over by the TV. There were Cheerios
all over the carpet and the napkin was shredded.
“Hey, don’t eat that,” he groaned, swiping a ball of chewed-up paper towel out of
his brother’s drooly mouth with a finger and wadding it up in the scraps. “Don’t worry—Dad’ll
be here soon and everything will be okay.”
Everything will be okay.
Why didn’t he believe that? He had a bad ache in his stomach, like last Christmas
when he’d puked up his guts and had the Hershey squirts for two whole days. Mom had
been acting really weird for a long time, almost since the baby was born, and he missed
her being happy. He missed her shooting hoops with him and watching him wrestle and
singing that dumb song about the teddy bears having a picnic. All she did now was
cry and yell and hide in her bedroom.
