Alien Revelation Page 7

  Onalee nodded, but wasn’t convinced. She knew how much it hurt to lose loved ones, and never wanted this family to go through that.

  “Have a little faith in me,” Brogan added with a small smile. “If you remember from our one previous conversation, this is what I do.”

  Brogan’s hand rubbed up and down her arm in a rhythmic touch that soothed her. She wanted to shift closer to him and have his hands keep moving, soothing all of her anxiety, worries, and fears.

  She’d gone so long without touch. Her brother was the only other person Onalee was close to, and he wasn’t very affectionate. A small peck on the cheek, or a hug here and there. Lena also touched her, but it was sort of clinical. It wasn’t warm or soothing.

  Touch was one of the things she missed most from her life.

  “Fine!”

  “Fine.” Two voices yelled from nearby.

  Onalee heard a door close—rather loudly—and steps nearing. Brogan made no move to step away from her, so she waited patiently as Conall neared. He rounded the corner into the entry, and came to a halt when he saw the two of them.

  “Sorry,” he apologized. “I’m assuming you heard that.” He gestured back down the hall, and they both nodded.

  “I think the entire estate heard you,” Brogan answered jokingly.

  Conall groaned, and ran both hands up and down his face. Onalee noticed that he had a hint of red hair on his chin that she hadn’t noticed before. Arathian males didn’t grow hair on their faces (or any parts of their bodies other than atop their head) and she was suddenly very interested in having a closer look… For science, of course.

  Yeah right. Even mad and frustrated, Conall was attractive.

  “I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Conall continued. “He’s been like this all morning, and it’s driving me insane.”

  Onalee’s eyes met Brogan’s. She took his hand that was still on her shoulder, removed it, and gave his palm a slight squeeze before letting go. Then she took her bag from his other hand and walked over to Conall.

  “Let me try,” she offered.

  Conall shook his head seriously. “You don’t want to go in there. He’s not pleasant to be around when he’s like this.”

  Onalee chuckled. “I’ve dealt with someone my whole life who’s exactly the same way. Do you mind?”

  He looked at her like she was crazy.

  “I’m going to take that as a no.” She turned to Brogan. “Why don’t you and Conall go do something masculine to get his mind off of Oliver. I’ll see you both later.”

  Onalee hiked her bag higher on her shoulder, and headed down the hall, a little pep in her step. It felt good to be handling a situation—to be trusted to handle a situation.

  She stopped outside the door to Oliver’s classroom and knocked. She knew that at this time of day his lessons were over, and he was now supposed to be studying.

  “It’s Onalee. May I come in?” she called.

  “Fine.” Oliver’s deep sigh was audible, even through the door.

  She tried to remove the smile from her face as she opened the door and walked in. Oliver was sitting in his high-backed chair, spinning in circles when she entered.

  “Did Da’ send you?” he asked right away.

  “No. I’m here for your lesson.” She walked farther into the room, and sat in her usual chair near his own, placing the bag at her feet. She ignored the spinning. “I heard that you and your father had an argument.”

  “Aye.” Spin, spin, spin.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.” More spinning.

  “Alright.”

  How is he not feeling sick to his stomach? she wondered as she began unpacking her bag in silence. Eventually the spinning stopped.

  “He was being an ass,” Oliver blurted.

  Onalee’s eyebrows rose, and she gave him a look of mild chastisement. She didn’t want to outright correct his language, but she didn’t want him to think that using that kind of language was acceptable.

  “I believe that you are far too intelligent to be using language like that,” she told him. When he opened his mouth to reply, she continued. “That being said, I’m sure that you’re right.”

  That took Oliver completely off-guard. “I am?”

  She nodded. “Yes. There are always many sides to an argument. From your perspective, ‘he was being an ass.’ Your words, not mine,” she quickly added when his eyes went wide. “From his perspective, you were probably being obstinate and stubborn. In a way, both of you are right.”

  “I guess,” Oliver grumbled reluctantly.

  “What were you fighting about?” she asked, after he remained quiet for a moment.

  He sighed, and slumped even further into his chair. “I have an assignment to calculate the mass of Arath’s moons. He was standing over my shoulder correcting everything I was doing. I know how to do it myself! But he wouldn’t go away.”

  “That must have been annoying,” she agreed.

  “Totally. He treats me like I’m a baby, and I’m no’.”

  Onalee had to clear her throat to cover a chuckle. The irony of him stating that while pouting was lost on him.

  “Why do you think he does that?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he quickly answered.

  “I bet you do.”

  Oliver took a moment to think, and honestly, she was surprised when he answered.

  “Probably because it’s only been me and him since mum died. And now we’re living here, which I know makes him nervous.”

  Onalee curbed the impulse to ask what had happened to his mother. Now was not the time for that conversation.

  “I can understand that,” she replied instead. “I’ve never moved to a new planet, but I can assume that it’s scary.”

  “Not to me. I think it’s awesome,” he retorted.

  She smiled, and marveled at his adaptability.

  “Da’s also bored,” Oliver added, but didn’t go into detail.

  “Why do you say that?” she prodded.

  “On Earth, he was always working on the farm, but here he doesn’t have anything to do.”

  “Do you think that’s why he hovers over you?”

  Oliver nodded. “And it’s so annoying.”

  “I bet.” Onalee had never had that problem; her experience had always been the opposite. Even as a child she’d spent hours playing by herself, because her parents had worked hard and were usually indisposed. Once it was just her and Forkan, he’d been so overwhelmed with the estate and business that he hadn’t had time for her. She’d become very adept at keeping herself occupied.

  “Did your parents hover? You know, when you were my age?” Oliver asked bringing her out of her thoughts.

  “I don’t remember them doing that, but I had a brother I grew up with, so the focus wasn’t always on me.”

  “How about now?”

  Onalee swallowed the small lump in her throat that always formed when talking about her mother and fathers. “My parents all died when I was thirteen, so I don’t know how they’d be now.”

  Oliver’s face fell. “Oh. I’m sorry. My mum died too.”

  Onalee sucked in a breath. It was awful to hear a child say those words. “I’m so sorry, Oliver.”

  “Thanks.”

  When the silence stretched on, Onalee took out the 3-D device from her bag, and moved to the center of the room.

  “Want to see what I brought you?” she asked.

  “Hell, yeah!”

  Oliver jumped up from his chair, and she gave him a chiding look.

  “Sorry,” he apologized under his breath.

  CHAPTER 8

  Onalee set the 3-D device on the floor and showed Oliver how it worked. They spent some time practicing with the portable unit, then began using it to explore the lessons he’d been struggling with.

  When their time was up, Onalee was impressed with the progress he’d made. She packed her bag, and left Oliver alone to finish his assignme
nt.

  As she stepped out into the hall, she was surprised to see that it was already early evening, and a heavenly smell drifted through the house. She followed her nose, looking for anyone as she went. Soon she was in the kitchen.

  Unlike the kitchen in her own home, which she rarely ventured into unless she was talking to their cook about meals, the MacLeod’s kitchen was welcoming. It had familiar gleaming appliances, but the countertops were covered with prep areas, canisters of Gods-knew-what, pots, pans, and jars. Opposite the triangle of workspace was a long wooden table, with chairs and vases of flowers. The combined kitchen and eating space was set into the corner of the first floor, so it had plenty of natural light, and doors that opened onto the back terrace.

  The entire area was clearly meant to be an extension of the living space, unlike the kitchen in her home that was solidly in the staff’s domain.

  “Onalee, come on in,” Clare greeted. “Don’t be shy.”

  The matriarch came over, dusting off her hands on an apron, before she wrapped an arm around Onalee’s middle and led her forward. Ashlyn and Reus both waved at her from their place at the counter, where they were using knives to chop vegetables into small pieces.

  Clare led her to a stool nearby, and gestured for her to sit. “I’ll make you some tea,” she decided.

  “You don’t have to go to the trouble,” Onalee told her as she set her bag down.

  Clare waved away her comment. She poured tea into a cup and asked Onalee, “Do you take cream or sugar?”

  Onalee shook her head. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

  Clare smiled broadly. “That’s okay, I’ll add a little of both.”

  “You really don’t need to trouble yourself,” Onalee tried to convince her. She wasn’t used to being taken care of out of the goodness of someone’s heart. Clare waved off her comment.

  “You might as well just accept it with a smile,” Ashlyn told her. “She’s going to do as she wants no matter what you say.”

  Clare snapped a towel at her (which Ashlyn sidestepped to avoid getting smacked), before bringing a cup and saucer to Onalee. She gratefully took the hot beverage, excited to try something new—especially something from Earth. It wasn’t like the planet exported their wares to neighboring star systems.

  “I’ve had enough of your lip today, lassie,” Clare chastised her daughter as she went back to her place at the counter. “You’ve been cranky since breakfast. What’s wrong? Isn’t Reus letting you get enough sleep?”

  Onalee barked out a laugh, and quickly covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Please excuse me,” she told them, embarrassed. She shouldn’t have bothered, no one was listening to her.

  “Mum!” Ashlyn retorted in shock before she turned to her mate. “You promised me that our bedroom is soundproof! How does she know that we were having sex last night?”

  “It is soundproof,” Reus stated matter-of-factly as he continued to chop. “All of the bedrooms are. Your mother only implied that we were awake for intimate reasons; you’re the one who just confirmed it.”

  Ashlyn’s gaze swung from Reus to Clare and back again. “Well, if you two are going to gang up on me, then I’m going to go watch the game with Da’.”

  She wiped her hands on her apron, took it off, and hung it over a hook. She pushed her glasses up her nose, and walked off. Reus just shook his head in mirth as he continued to cut vegetables. Clare took over Ashlyn’s spot at his side.

  “I don’t know why it still bothers that girl,” Clare told her son-in-law. “It’s not like we didn’t share a small ship for two weeks while we traveled to this planet. There was nowhere to escape, and hardly any privacy.”

  Reus shrugged his shoulders. “She’s sensitive and private. It’s never bothered me.”

  Onalee sat completely still, enjoying the familial camaraderie. She’d almost forgotten what large families were like. It made her grateful to be here, and also sad… Sad that Forkan was the only family she had left, and sad that he was so reliant on her that she felt like she couldn’t seek one out on her own.

  She yearned for mates that she could joke with and tease: ones who would keep her up late at night, like Ashlyn, and give her a reason to cook, like Clare… Maybe even adopt a child from another planet and raise it.

  “How’s the tea, dearie?” Clare asked Onalee, snapping her out of her inner thoughts.

  “Oh, my apologies, I haven’t tasted it yet.” She took a tentative sip and immediately loved the flavor. “It’s delicious!”

  Clare’s smile broadened. “I’m glad you like it. You can come in here anytime and I’ll have a cup waiting for you.”

  “I’m tempted to take you up on that,” Onalee told her honestly. It wasn’t just the drink—it was the kitchen, the house, and everyone living inside it.

  “You’re welcome to stay for dinner,” Clare added. “It’ll be ready in about an hour.”

  “Oh no, I couldn’t,” Onalee declined.

  “Do you have other plans?” Clare asked.

  “Well… no.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  Onalee didn’t have an answer for that. There wasn’t a problem, and in all honesty, she wanted to stay.

  Reus dumped the last of the veggies into a pot and turned towards her.

  “Onalee, you’ve been coming here for, what, a week? Haven’t you realized yet that it’s just easier to do as Clare wants the first time she asks?”

  Onalee laughed, and to avoid getting smacked with a towel like his mate, Reus gave Clare a peck on the cheek.

  “I say that with love,” he added.

  She shooed him away good-naturedly. “Go on with you, and get the meat in the oven.”

  He did as she asked, and Onalee kept sipping her tea. After the meat was cooking, Reus excused himself, leaving just her and Clare in the kitchen.

  “Would you like to help me make a pie for dessert?” Clare asked.

  Onalee had never made a pie before—actually she’d never cooked anything herself in her life—but Clare wasn’t deterred. She was soon ensconced in an apron to protect her hand-made clothes, and was given a wooden tool to roll the dough.

  They worked side by side, Clare teaching and letting her knead and roll out her own dough until it was thin. Her dough tore in a few places while she was lining the tin, but Clare promised that it’d taste just as good. The pie went into the oven right as the meat came out and everyone began trickling into the kitchen to set the table.

  “Roped you into helping, did she?” Conall asked from Onalee’s side. She knew that the smile she gave him was radiant.

  “Yes, and I made pie!” she excitedly told him.

  He chuckled at her exuberance. She didn’t care if he was laughing at her. She’d actually cooked something!

  Brogan’s voice was right behind her. “I’m sure it’s going to taste delicious.”

  Onalee looked over her shoulder and saw him standing at her and Conall’s backs. She turned on the faucet and let the mist wash her hands to give her something to do.

  “Are you staying for dinner too?” she asked Brogan.

  “Sure am. I can’t wait. Been smelling this food for an hour, and I’m starving.”

  “Don’t they feed you at the palace?” she teased. Teasing an attractive male? She hadn’t felt this lighthearted in years.

  Brogan answered, “It’s nothing like what I’ve found in this house.”

  He gave her a wink, and Conall a look, before he walked away and allowed himself to be guided into a chair by Clare.

  When her hands were clean, Onalee took off the apron and gave it to Conall when he held out his hand. Clare grabbed her and led her to a spot at Brogan’s side. Conall sat at her left, and suddenly, she was sandwiched between the two men that she couldn’t get off of her mind. Her lighthearted mood threatened to take a sudden turn towards anxiety-ville, but she refused to allow it to happen.

  Food was laid on the table, but as she began to reach fo
r a bowl, Conall took her hand. She looked at him quizzically, but then noticed that everyone was joining hands around the table.

  She hurriedly grabbed Brogan’s hand with her right and bowed her head, mimicking the rest of the family. She wasn’t sure what Earther custom this was, but she certainly wasn’t going to be rude and not participate.

  “Dear God, we want to thank you for the food you have provided us with…”

  Clare continued on, but Onalee couldn’t focus on her. Conall’s palm felt rough from his years doing hard labor at the farm. She risked a glance at him. His head was bowed, but eyes were open. He saw her glance his way, and his lips quirked into a small smile before he caught himself and jerked his gaze back towards the table. If she wasn’t mistaken, a flush crept over his neck and face.

  On her right, Brogan’s palm held hers strongly, solidly—as if he would catch her and hold tight if anything were to ever happen. He made her feel safe and secure. She glanced his direction, and he winked at her. She smiled back.

  All at once the family said “Amen” in unison, raised their heads, and began plating food. She and Brogan’s eye contact was broken as they followed suit, but it took a little longer for them to drop hands. Onalee let both men go reluctantly, but she could still feel their lingering touch.

  What would it be like to have them touch her everywhere? How would Conall’s rough hands feel on her body? Would Brogan’s touch be solid, like the rest of him, or would he lighten it and skim his fingers over her.

  Would they touch each other?

  Her breath caught at the thought. That was just as titillating as imagining them touching her. The two males were completely dissimilar in their appearances, but the thought of Brogan’s caramel-colored hands on Conall’s pale skin…

  “Onalee?”

  Her name being spoken physically jarred her. She turned towards Brogan, and saw him holding out a plate of meat for her with a strange look in his eyes.

  “Thank you,” she muttered as she took the plate.

  She placed a couple of pieces in front of herself before passing it to her left. She managed to avoid all eye contact and eat the delicious meal without getting herself more revved up than she already had.