Psy (Alien Castaways #3) - Cara Bristol Page 0,10
squeal, squeak, grunt—she couldn’t speak. The situation presented an interesting enigma. However, he accepted her, mysteries and all. Telepathy was more intimate than speaking anyway.
It could be too intimate, too tempting. Joining minds was like entering a person’s home. Being invited in didn’t give one the right to rifle through cabinets and drawers. He took care not to venture beyond the first level of her consciousness.
The vehicle settled behind a sprawling bush loaded with purple berries.
The mother lode! she exclaimed.
Load of what?
She giggled. He loved her light, tinkling laugh. Huckleberries! They’re very popular in North Idaho. My mom and I picked several buckets last weekend. The bushes we found weren’t this full.
She slid off the scooter and smoothed her hands down her white capris. I made a good call on the clothing choice. I almost wore a dress.
She would look good in anything. You look beautiful.
Thank you.
He clasped her hand, and they set out along the pine needle-covered path. The fragrance of lavender drifted on the breeze, but when he inhaled, Cassie’s scent stirred his senses. His heart swelled with emotion. He’d never felt so contented in his life.
Thus far, two of the six castaways had bonded with human genmates. Several ’Topians from Mysk’s group also had found genetic partners on Earth. Each union gave them all hope, but the bombardment had taught them life offered no guarantees.
Glancing around, she took a deep breath and exhaled. Her chest moved, drawing his attention to her slim curves. It’s so pretty here. North Idaho is beautiful. I should get out and see more of the area. I haven’t even been to Lake Argent yet!
We can do that together, he suggested. All of Earth is new to me.
Her mouth curved into a happy smile.
His heart and groin reacted with a surge of pleasure. He was conscious of her hand clasped in his, the slenderness of her fingers, her soft skin. Perhaps he responded physically because she was human and not a Verital.
They strolled in companionable silence, and then she said, I had one boyfriend. It’s tough to communicate with me, and men are turned off. People like me, but I don’t fit in their world because I’m different.
I’m different, too. They shared the experience of not belonging. Two united in otherness. On his planet, there’d been a barrier of suspicion between Veritals and other ’Topians.
Verna and my mother are the only two people who accept me as I am, who don’t treat me like I’m “less than.”
They both love you very much. You’re fortunate in that regard. Verna, like Cassie, was a strong emitter. Before he’d blocked her, he’d picked up on her sincere affection, respect, and caring for Cassie. Her genuineness had made him like her very much. Although Rosalie kept her thoughts closed and tight, she revealed her love for her daughter through her attempts to protect her. How could you fault a mother for that?
The wooded trail emptied onto a lavender field. Many flowers had been harvested, others had died, but the late bloomers released their fragrance to the wind. At the far end of the field stood the gazebo. He pointed. That’s where we’re going.
A gray ground squirrel darted across the path and disappeared into the brush. Spotting a still-vibrant bush, Psy snapped off a small branch of flowers and presented the sprig to Cassie.
Thank you. I wanted to pick some but didn’t know if it would be proper. She sniffed the sprig and then tucked it behind her ear.
He hesitated. Can I ask you a question?
Sure.
Did something happen that rendered you unable to speak? An accident? An injury?
She shook her head. I was born this way. When I didn’t learn to speak like other babies, my mother took me to the doctor. Multiple doctors. They all agreed my vocal cords hadn’t developed.
You’ve never spoken at all?
No. She smiled wistfully, and he felt her longing acutely.
I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.
She touched his shoulder. I like that we can be open, that you did ask. People make the rudest comments. They act like I can’t hear. I much prefer honesty, direct questions.
They wove through the fragrant field and emerged at the gazebo. Five steps led into the open-sided cedar hexagon. In the center of the structure, a small round table had been set for two with a pristine white cloth, china, silver flatware, and a vase of roses and lavender. Light-purple pillows cushioned the seats of the white wrought iron garden chairs.
A bottle of pinot grigio chilled in a