Catch a Falling Star (8 page)

She frowned at
Miguel, thinking he said some of the strangest things, then
slowly turned around in a circle. What should they do? Think.
Dammit, think. One thing kept surfacing, insistently pushing
itself, rightly so, to the top of her priorities in this whole
big mess. She had to get home. She'd left her father alone for
far too long. Also, she had become aware of the worrisome fact
that her foot was completely numb now and it was inching up her
leg. The bottom half of her calf had no feeling now. She knew
the injury was swelling up and that was cutting off circulation.
If she didn't get the boot off soon, she'd be putting herself in
danger of doing some permanent damage.

She huffed out a deep
breath and rubbed at her head again. “I just need some time to
think of what we can do but that blast will have registered with
the sat net.” An accusatory glare was back in her eyes. “Or,
what's left of it after you space jockeys got through with it.
Once a report of what happened out here reaches the right desk,
there will likely be military all over this place.”

Sounding frustrated
and resentful that she was even having to think of any of this,
she gestured at Farley's hovertruck. It was built for heavy work
and she didn't have much concern that it had survived the heat
blast. “Can you operate one of those? It has the winch on the
back that we can use to lift him. I have some rope. We can tie
him down so he doesn't fall off.” She didn't wait for an answer,
formulating her plan as she talked. “Does that weapon of yours
have a stun setting? I think we should keep him under until we
can get back to the farm.”

Mention of his weapon
and being able to use it seemed to put the pilot back in good
cheer and he patted the lump tucked against his back, wincing
when the metal rubbed his tender skin. The shirt hadn’t been so
lucky either, the pressure wave having blown the individual
fibers apart. It wasn’t hanging on by much. “Sure does. And I
can make anything sing in my hands.” He winked unashamedly and
started for the hovercraft. The woman was right, after all. They
could figure this out later.

Chapter 6

It took far less time
and only one zap from the gun to get the neighbor hog-tied and
winched. The craft did indeed come to life in the pilot's hands
and he expertly brought it under control to follow Lyrianne back
through the woods and to her farm where the candles had burned
down and the lamps in the barn shown more brightly through the
door's opening.

Denied a little fun
and showing-off, Miguel behaved himself and settled for powering
down the hovercraft in the woman's front yard, rather than
taking the unconscious man for a spin around the field. Boots
crunching on dirt, Miguel walked around to the back, hand on
pistol grip, just in case Farley had come around during their
little adventure.

Lyrianne had
dismounted from the mule with a lot more care than she had been
using. Her gait, when she walked, was a little odd. With her
foot and lower leg numb, she had to concentrate on putting it
down and lifting it. To avoid having it noticed by the Fed
pilot, she was making an effort not to be too obvious about it
as she walked over to check on Farley. The big man was
alternating between mumbling and groaning with drool running out
of his open mouth. His eyes were moving rapidly under his
eyelids from what she could tell through the fat rolls.

She stepped away. “He
seems to be coming around. Will he be groggy at first? That
would be best since I'm thinking of having him stay in the
basement and he'd have to get there under his own power. Our
small grav sled isn't rated to carry his weight.” She pursed her
lips, running through options in her head. “Go ahead and tie his
hands behind his back before he wakes up any more. Then, once
he's recovered enough to walk, you can get him down the stairs
off the kitchen. There are some chairs that'll hold him near the
bathroom down there. While you're taking care of him, I'm going
to find a place to hide his hovertruck.”

She was not asking
for Miguel's input anymore but wasn't really aware she was doing
it. Once she got into this mode, or so she'd been told, she was
all about giving orders and expecting them to be followed. It
worked just fine with her family and most of her neighbors once
they got used to it.

Seemed it would work
just fine on the pilot, too, as he didn't object. Releasing the
winch, and not slowly either, he waited until the big man
flopped over like a dead whale, and then used his boot to the
man's ample posterior to turn him over. Using the same rope
looped about the man's ankles, the dark haired pilot managed to
secure the farmer's hands behind his back, not so easy at all;
in fact, greasy gut's hands couldn't even reach behind his back,
so Miguel was forced to simply secure the farmer's arms down at
his sides.

Unhooking the winch
cable, he let it drop back and signaled the woman that she could
take the vehicle away, and then he moved and pulled his weapon,
pointing it right at the big man's head. “Wake up, sunshine,” he
said, and tapped his boot against the big man's jolly side.
“Wakey wakey, puddin' cup.”

Leaving the
hovercraft next to the mule for the time being, Lyrianne
returned in time to hear a loud and prolonged explosion from
Farley's nether region. She got in front of Miguel and pushed
him back, holding her breath until she'd got them to what she
figured was a safe distance. “Breathe shallow or you'll be
sorry.” She looked at Miguel, her expression halfway between
disgust and amusement, but very seriously hoping her warning was
in time.

It seemed it was,
blessed mother, as Miguel was staring at Lyrianne as if he'd
just heard the most remarkable, unexpected, and downright
hilarious sound ever. “On my father’s honor, I swear that I have
never heard such a sound!”

Lyrianne stared back
at him then started laughing. Once she'd started, she couldn't
stop, finally leaning against him with tears in her eyes. Every
time she thought she had it under control and tried to speak,
there'd be another toot, not as forceful as the first, but loud
enough, and the laughter would take over again. Finally, holding
on to Miguel, she was able to catch her breath and she gazed up
at his face. “Sorry, I know it's because I'm tired and stressed,
but sometimes, I just have to let it all out.” Her unfortunate
phrasing was promptly punctuated by Farley's back end.

Miguel's eyes were
watering and not from the fumes, awful and traveling that they
were. His grin was wide and his hand was on her back, presumably
to help her balance as she'd been laughing especially hard. It
was a good sound on her.

“Perhaps,
querida
,
we best get the gassy ox inside and out of the fresh air lest he
pollute it most regrettably. Whatever you sow on this land, it
would be best not to contaminate it, yes?”

She was staring at
his lips as she nodded in acknowledgment of his suggestion.
Instead of moving away so they could get Fat Farley inside, she
found herself moving closer, going up on tiptoe to touch her
lips to his. She observed to herself that she really must be
more tired than she'd realized. This wasn't like her at all, but
the temptation was too much for her exhausted brain to deal
with.

His hand flexed
against her back. She was an amorous creature, wasn't she? Never
one to deny a lady, Miguel obligingly returned the kiss, his
eyes open but heavy lidded as he admired her so close. A kiss, a
simple kiss, nothing more. He would give her no reason to
regret.

She leaned into it,
remembering what he'd done with his tongue earlier. She
tentatively tried experimenting with this new idea of what a
kiss was as she pressed herself against him. The heat of his
bare chest was met by her own heat and it was creating an aching
need within her she'd never felt before. She would have remained
lost in the wonder of the sensations but Farley had to spoil it.

Still groggy and
disoriented, but painfully aware how he was trussed up, the big
man began thrashing about, apparently not able to help himself
to his feet without the aid of his arms. He yelled in outrage.

Lyrianne pulled away
from Miguel, feeling more than a little disoriented herself.
“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...“ Embarrassed at her boldness,
she turned away from the Federation pilot and squatted down next
to her massive neighbor.

“It's okay, Farley.
You're fine, but we had to tie you up- “

“Oh, no, Lyrie.”
Farley sounded downright mournful as he stopped moving and
rolled over so he could look at Lyrianne, his moist lips
quivering. “I... I got drunk again, didn't I? I'm so sorry.
What'd I do? I didn't hurt you again, did I, Lyrie? Oh, geeze,
did you tie me up so's you could call the Locals? Don't call
'em, please? They told me the next time I was gonna get two
months in holding on top of the confiscation of some of my land.
I'll do anything, Lyrie. Please don't call 'em.”

Lyrianne stared down
at him with her eyes wide with disbelief. She'd been trying to
think of something, anything, to explain why he was trussed up,
hoping it would be something that wouldn't make things worse for
them. But she was not getting any inspiration. She'd never have
expected Farley to provide her with a possible solution.
Especially if she could improve on it.

“I'm sorry, Farley.
If you wouldn't mind waiting quietly for a moment?”

She got back to her
feet and returned to Miguel, speaking in a whisper.  Though
she could still feel the pressure of his lips against hers, she
was trying hard to pretend it had never happened.

“He goes on drinking
binges and then is sorry about them after the fact. I think he's
just mixed up right now, but if we can get him downstairs, maybe
I can come up with a story that'll keep him there of his own
free will once he's thinking more clearly.” Which was not as
clearly as most people could manage on their worst days, she
knew and was suddenly grateful for. “Will you go along with me?”

Miguel looked highly
suspicious but as he didn’t have a better plan, he shrugged his
shoulders, wincing as the loose shirt dragged across his heat
bruised back. “If you say so, but if he starts anything, know I
will finish it, yeah?”

Sliding his weapon,
the gun that is, out of sight, Miguel waited on Lyrianne to tell
him what their next move would be. He was sorely hoping it
involved a pain relieving poultice and this woman in a nurse’s
uniform.

There was no nurse's
uniform nor poultice but she did manage to come up with
something. She told Farley she had called the Local Law already
but now felt badly about it. She promised the big man she would
hide him until she could make an appearance in town to withdraw
the charges.

She got him to follow
her and Miguel to the basement where she showed him the bathroom
and a small table with chairs that wouldn't collapse under him.
There was an old bed down there and she set him to work
reassembling it for his use while she and Miguel went back
upstairs. At his insistence, she left him with a promise she'd
get him some dinner as soon as she could.

Once she'd locked the
door to the basement, she leaned against it to get her breath
back. Pushing away from it, she glanced at the stairs leading to
the second floor, pressed her lips together and frowned. There
was something she had to do before she could go upstairs, like
it or not.

Without speaking to
or even looking at Miguel, she walked into the kitchen, dragging
a hard-backed chair with her. Once seated, she lifted her foot
and tried to pull the boot off. It wouldn't budge. She tried
again, unable to stop the whimper of pain that accompanied her
tugging and twisting.

Miguel turned away
from the door he was watching at the sound and walked over, his
eyes on the source of her discomfort. “Let me,” he insisted, and
knelt down before her. He’d noticed earlier she was limping and
cursed himself roundly for not paying it more attention at the
time. It was inexcusable.

With her heel in one
palm, he gently gripped the back of her calf with the other and
raised his eyes to be sure she was ready. Then he began easing
the boot off, as carefully as he could, not sure what he would
see beneath the leather.

“When did you hurt
yourself?” he asked, hoping to distract her, even if only a
little bit.

“Earlier in the day.
I turned my ankle in the field. It's just a sprain.” She bit her
lip at the sharp pain that shot up her leg. It was weird. There
was no sensation of the boot pressed against her foot and leg or
of it moving. She only knew it was moving because she could see
it but, deep inside the ankle, there was pain that came and
went. It was almost unbearable when it became constant as the
boot seemed to stop sliding after just a few moments of his
pulling on it.

“Stop.” She looked
around then pointed at the drawer nearest the sink where the
knives were kept. “Cut it off.” She pushed his hands away, curt
in her efforts to handle the pain.

He was frowning at
her, now really worried but he got up and followed her
directions to the proper drawer. He pulled the first viable
option out that he could find and carried it back to the table.
For a long moment it seemed as if he would say something, but he
turned to the boot and knelt down again.

“Do not move,” he
ordered her rather gruffly and slid the point of the long
carving knife between her stocking and the leather cuff. His
other hand again cupped her calf, more firmly this time, and
held tight so as to create as little jostling as possible as he
began to saw through the tough hide footwear.

“Tell me about your
family,” he bid her, not taking his eyes from the task at hand.
“Are you close?” The knife wasn’t as sharp as he’d hoped and the
going was slow to spare her.