Challa (6 page)

“I want to see you again,” he finally managed to murmur.

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes. Just tell me when?”

“I don’t know. I’ll find some excuse.”

His eyes took in her appearance. “You’d go into town looking like this?”

Her face broke into a smile, and Challa laughed lightly. The effect was mesmerizing. “No. I change into my human self to go into town.”

I change into my human self to go into town.

Christ, she really
is
an alien?

Compton started to ask her when she pulled away.

“I have to go. I have to be back before he returns.”

Giving him one last look, Challa turned and jumped the fence, disappearing into the tall brush. Leaving him feeling both confused and overwhelmed as the provocative scent of honeysuckle dissipated in the night air.

Chapter 6

Discovery

The hours moved at a snail’s pace. Compton tossed and turned, trying to get some sleep before the next day. Unconsciousness eluded him. Sleeping pills didn’t help, either.

His brain continued to argue with itself.
She’s an alien.

No, she’s a woman in an alien suit.

No, she’s really from outer space.

She can’t be! Aliens don’t exist!

Compton made an angry sound and sat up on the side of the bed. His hands clenched and unclenched by his sides. Despite all the uncertainty, one thing was undeniable. Her skin was softer than anything he had ever felt before in his life. Softer than anything he could think of. Softer than the sheets on his bed. Softer than the most delicate cloth.

And her smell, her scent. He sniffed, and the absence of her perfume disappointed him.

He still couldn’t get over the fact that she had traipsed through the fields, hoping to find him, when she had no idea who he was or where he lived. How did she think she was going to find him? Ask directions from passing motorists? And while wearing her alien get-up that would scare any sane person who met up with her in the dark? It was a miracle they had come across each other.

All the more surprising was the subtle movement of his dick. Taking in huge, deep breaths, Compton stared down at his crotch in fascination. He would have sworn his libido had died years ago. No, correction. He had forced it to be dormant after the constant ridicule and harassment he’d suffered while growing up. His libido didn’t truly die until his transport encountered that RPG, which also ended up taking his right leg as well as his manhood. Or, at least part of his manhood. What little was left was enough to allow him to function as a human. It was the sex part that was no longer an option.

As if it had been an option in the first place.

Now, all of a sudden, the strange young woman with the purplish-blue eyes had brought that part of himself to his attention. His body was reacting every time he thought of her. Every time he saw her in his mind’s eye, his dick began to quiver and lengthen when he recalled those dozen or so seconds when they stood so close together, their bodies nearly touching.

He had almost kissed her. Subconsciously he’d wanted to. He realized now that he’d wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her. Kiss her. Then rip that costume off of her so that he could see what she looked like underne—

Compton started. Challa said she’d be in town tomorrow, but he had no idea what she looked like. How the hell was he supposed to recognize her without the costume and camouflage makeup?

I change into my human self to go into town.

She had been joking with him, and he’d misunderstood her. He’d been too hornswoggled to recognize it as such because his pea brain had been arguing with his common sense over the fact that she could really be an alien.

He snorted.
What an idiot I am
. How could he have been such a geek as to entertain the possibility that she was an alien? An
alien
, for crying out loud! What kind of Star Wars
mentality did he have?
Compton, for that bit of stupidity, you really do deserve to be called a nin-COMP-poop.

All right. It was time he faced the facts. He’d found a woman who finally made his johnson sit up and take notice. A woman from another town. A woman who didn’t know his past or his history, which meant she wasn’t already prejudiced. She was willing to see him again, and that accounted for something, didn’t it? His only problem was…

“Fuck.”

One problem at a time, Comp. Take it one problem at a time, the same way you relearned how to walk with your prosthetic. One step at a time.

“All right, dickwad. Let’s say I see her again. Let’s say we hit it off, and she gets hot for me. What am I going to do? What will I tell her? Show her what’s left of the goods and give her a few minutes to make up her mind?”

As if there would come the time when that would happen. She was with the carnival. Their last show was Sunday night then they would be packing up and heading out for the next town. Compton checked his mental map. Which direction were they heading? North? East? The next decent-sized town after this one was Spurlington. Unless they went south. Then they’d hit New Georgetown. New Georgetown was a sizeable town, and included a junior college where he’d spent one semester before enlisting.

“Tough luck, Comp. You finally find someone who might turn out to be the woman of your dreams, and you get all of two nights to be with her, if that much.”

Two nights.
Hell, didn’t Romeo and Juliet have only two nights together?

Compton threw himself back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling.
Yeah, well, let’s say that they did. What of it? Romeo didn’t have parts of his body blown off by a rocket powered grenade.

He slammed a fist into the mattress. Wouldn’t you know it? He finally found someone he might have a halfway decent chance with, and she would be gone in a less than three days’ time.

That seemed to be his lot in life. Close, but still a miss. Always a miss.

His luck hadn’t changed. Not one fucking iota.

Chapter 7

Human

Lost cause or not, Compton went the extra mile to look his best. Pressed pants and shirt, buffed shoes, and a shave, and he felt like the new Compton Scott all over again.

A quick check of his wallet revealed at least forty dollars. It would be another eight days before his next check came in, but life was reasonable where he lived. Date night was cheaper. A movie at the Star Theater, followed with a bite to eat afterwards at Sammy’s Bar and Grille, was rarely more than a couple of sawbucks.

Compton often joked to Max that time had bypassed Cooper around 1979. With few exceptions, it probably had, much to his relief. All he could think about during his recuperation after the explosion was returning to the small town that rolled up its sidewalks at five on the dot, with the exception of Thursdays and Saturdays when select places stayed open until ten. That, and Sammy’s, with its unbeatable french fried onion rings.

Driving into town, Compton quickly scanned the sidewalks. Main Street here was named Webern Avenue as long as he stayed within the city limits. Nearly every business and shop lay along Webern. The town hall, post office, and library sat one block off. No matter which direction one took to come into town, it wasn’t hard to spot newcomers and visitors.

There were a couple of trucks and cars he didn’t recognize offhand, but that didn’t mean much. People here often went into the big cities like Dohlman or Brakesport to buy their new vehicles or to go shopping at the mall. Otherwise Cooper had about everything one could need, which suited Compton just fine. As a born-and-bred country boy, he felt most at ease in what city people referred to as “hick towns”. No matter what the argument, life here was slower, less stressful, and a lot more forgiving.

Traffic through town was heavy, since it was Saturday, as well as the middle of the day. Still, Compton managed to find a parking space in front of New Castle’s Coffee Shop. It was two doors down from the hardware store, and he needed some new hinges and a roll of screen to fix the back door on the porch. If he was going to wait around to see if Challa showed up, he figured he might as well try to fit in an errand or two while he was here.

The purchase didn’t take long. Coming out of the store, he glanced at his watch. It was nearly eleven-thirty, lunch time. Compton frowned.
You know, the least you could have done was say something like, “Hey! How about meeting up around noon?”

Too bad hindsight was twenty/twenty. Challa may not show up until later in the day. Or, for all he knew, she may have been here first thing in the morning, and had already left.

“Shit.”
Now what?

He threw his purchase into the cab and closed the door. As soon as he slammed it shut Compton caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror. Normally, he wouldn’t pay much attention to the view, considering the subject matter. A glance overall to make sure he didn’t look like a total goof, and that was normally the sum of his inspection.

But it wasn’t his own face that made him freeze in place. It was the redhead standing on the sidewalk across the street, behind where he was parked. The redhead who was wearing a smile and a black and white polka-dot sundress, and who was staring directly at him.

Big, crawly things began to squirm inside his stomach. Slowly, Compton turned around to stare back at her.

Oh, dear God in heaven.

He’d always believed he had a weakness for blonds. He was happy to correct that misconception.

Her hair was long. Thick, long, and a dark, shimmering reddish color he could no more attach a similar color to if he had to. Not fire, not scarlet, not vermilion, but a combination of all the shades in the spectrum. She had it pinned back at the temples, but it flowed down her back and arms like a shawl.

Challa checked the street to make sure no cars where coming, then stepped down and crossed over to where he remained standing in open-mouthed awe. The closer she got, the more he couldn’t believe that a woman as radiantly beautiful as her would have given him a third or even fourth glance.

“Hello, Compton.”

It was her. There was that accent again. He’d heard it last night, but never really paid much attention to it. He’d been too preoccupied over her sudden appearance and the sensation of the unexplainable bulge growing in his pants.

“Ch-Challa?” He continued to stare at her face, at the creamy smooth complexion and dark pink lips. And those eyes with their blueish-purple color.

She laughed softly, revealing perfect, pearly teeth, not the needlelike teeth she wore when she was in costume. “Did I surprise you?”

“Boy! I’d say you did.” He grinned back. “Have you been in town long?” He noticed she wasn’t carrying anything. A small black handbag was slung diagonally over her shoulder, leaving her hands free.

“Not quite an hour. I was hoping I hadn’t missed you,” she confessed.

“Same here. I should have suggested a time to meet.” Compton tried to suppress his growing nervousness, but he couldn’t help it. He could count on one hand how many serious relationships he’d had in his life, none of which amounted to anything more than a few kisses and gropes.

The blast from a passing car made him jump. Tom McVicar waved as he headed out of town. Compton waved back at his closest neighbor before turning back to her.

“Look, have you had lunch yet?”

Challa shook her head. A length of fiery hair slid down past one breast, and the tip curled seductively where Compton figured her nipple would be. At the thought of her nipple, he could feel a part of himself begin to awaken as if it had been lying comatose for many long years.

Best get your butt parked in a booth somewhere quick, Compton, before you embarrass yourself.

He threw a thumb over his shoulder. “I haven’t had breakfast, and I’m starved. Would you like to join me for a bite over at the Grille?”

“I was hoping you’d invite me,” Challa admitted.

“Great!” Grinning, Compton pointed in the direction of Sammy’s, and they walked back across the street side-by-side.

Half of the people in Sammy’s knew Compton. They glanced up as he passed them by, guiding Challa in front of them. Compton greeted them in return, knowing he would get the third degree the next time they saw him alone. Seeing Compton with a woman was news. Seeing him with a woman as mysterious and lovely as Challa was probably newsy enough to make the weekly newspaper’s gossip column.

They found a booth in the back. It was near the kitchen, but it was as close as they could get to having any privacy. Besides, the other side of the grill was closer to the bar and restrooms—not a particularly pleasant area to be in no matter what time of day it was. An old Jimmy Dean song was playing. Compton’s ears picked up on it, having grown up hearing the same tune being played on his grandmother’s antique eight-track player. Challa sat with her back to the crowd; Compton took his seat facing her. Almost immediately Patty was there with two glasses of water and two menus.