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  For the crime of trying to rescue his father, Matalin had been sentenced to spend the rest of his life in prison. He must have known what his fate would be, but he had returned to his home planet all the same. Determined to use his trial as a forum, he had spoken out against the system and the ruling house. Janella had only seen him once after his judgment had been passed, just before he had been taken to the ship bound for the prison planet. And his final words to her still rang in her ears.

  "You do not belong here, Janella. No more than I do. You are not like them. You never can be. When you have grown, leave them. Go to Earth, as I should have done long ago. Go there and find happiness. You will. I know you will."

  Well, she had heeded her father's words. She had come here, had made it safely, only to find a woman who seemed far too interested in her business, a noisy creature with far too many sharp teeth, and Thomas. A healer. Of all things, he had become a healer.

  There had been no healers at home, excepting for the few who practiced illegally in darkened, hidden rooms. If caught practicing, they would pay with their lives. The ruling house had determined there was no longer a need for healers. It was impractical to spend time and resources on illness. Simple injuries were healed with no more than an injection. The seriously ill, those born with abnormalities or disease, the old and infirm, were gathered together once a year for the ritual euthanasia. This way only the strong and healthy survived, to bear more strong and healthy offspring.

  It was a system Janella had never accepted, and her explosive temper and impulsive nature had landed her in trouble over it more than once. Her father had been right. She was never meant to live among them. She had long ago decided she was meant to be here. With Thomas.

  Thomas put the cold square back on her head, leaning over her as he pressed the frigid thing gently to her bump. His chest was smooth and rippled with strength. She had never seen its like. The men of her world were dim reflections of him. Soft, flabby. But then, they were of little importance, anyway. No one much cared what they looked like.

  She had thought of Thomas often since he’d rescued her so long ago. She had known he was trustworthy even then. Rare for a male. Even more odd that she should be here depending on one to help her. But even in adulthood, he did not seem like the conquered men of her world.

  She had been right about Thomas. He'd rescued her again, tonight. Somehow, she had known he would be here for her. And her likening of him to one of the legendary heroes had been correct, as well. His skin bore the kiss of the sun, and the body that skin covered was broad and hard.

  She lifted one hand and laid her palm against his chest. Warm, firm. She liked it, and ran her hand over it from side to side and down over his rippled abdomen. He looked down at her, frowning.

  "You are very hard," she observed, letting her hand fall away for the moment.

  "If you only knew," he said, and he was smiling.

  She liked his smile, also. But it vanished all too quickly, to be replaced by the harsh, hardened expression he seemed to favor.

  "Are all men here that way?"

  He shook his head. "It comes from hard work."

  She nodded. So men here still acted as laborers. No doubt their primitive technology left much that still needed physical strength to accomplish.

  She tilted her head. "We have writings...stories of the heroes of old. They are described much like you. Hard and strong." She reached up, ran her hand over his chest again and nodded. "I approve of it."

  The corners of his lips turned upward, as if he would like to smile again, but he resisted the urge. His mouth took on a thin line and his jaw seemed to clamp firmly.

  That creature with the sharp teeth and angry voice bellowed from below, and she gasped. She barely restrained herself from huddling under the covers. Instead, she drowned her fear in righteous indignation, and then anger. If that beast came near her again she would send it flying into the nearest wall!

  Thomas's hand closed around hers, removing it from his chest as if her touch disturbed him. That made her still angrier. "It’s all right, Janella. It’s just my dog."

  "I do not like dog. You will take it away from here.''

  "No, I don't think I will."

  Thomas studied her face, replacing the fallen cold thing on her head. His gaze was hard and she blinked in surprise. Was he defying her?

  "The dog must go," she repeated.

  "Look, honey, in case you haven't noticed yet, this is my house. And that is my dog. He's not going anywhere." He pursed his lips, as if considering something. Then he muttered a few angry words she didn't recognize and went on. "I know you're scared. But Humphrey won't hurt you. He's just afraid of you because he doesn't know you."

  "He is afraid of me?"

  Thomas nodded. "I won't let him near you until you're ready, but believe me, he's a good dog."

  She sat up a little. The thing he had wrapped around her arm was getting hard and heavy, but the soreness had eased a little. She met Thomas's eyes, a bit confused at his refusal to comply with her command. Still, she supposed, she could give him a bit of leeway, since he had rescued her twice in her lifetime and since he was destined to be her mate, as she had known for many years.

  She lifted her chin, though, and made her words very firm and clear. "If he bites me with those teeth, I will pull them all out."

  "He won't bite you."

  She sulked, but settled back on the bed. She was very tired, which surprised her. She should be too curious about this strange place and this man to think of sleep. Perhaps the effort of traveling so far, and the pain of her injuries were draining her energy.

  She blinked, recalling for a moment all those she had left behind. People, family, friends whom she had loved. But they had not wanted her love, anyway. And they allowed themselves to feel none for her in return. She could not have lived there much longer. She felt she would have withered and died in the attempt. It will be better here, she told herself. Then, glancing at the hard, emotionless eyes of the man at her side, she wondered. Would it be better here? Or had she simply exchanged one unbearable life for another?

  Her eyelids drooped. Janella yawned and rested her head on the pillows.

  "That's good. You get some sleep. I'll be just down the hall if you need anything." He started to move toward the door. She sat up in bed and slammed it shut.

  Thomas stood very still near the door, just staring at it. Then he turned to stare at her. "How in the hell did you do that?"

  She frowned, uncertain what was confusing him so much. "I will rest better if you stay with me, Thomas." She used a smile to soften the harsh, commanding tone of her words.

  He gave his head a shake, scowling darkly for a second. He looked from her to the door and back again. Then shrugged as his expression softened, just slightly. "Yeah, okay. I can do that. I suppose you're afraid to be alone right now." He came back to her, sat down in the chair beside the bed.

  She shook her head and threw back the covers with her good arm. "Here, with me. I will sleep very well with my head upon your hard chest, I think."

  He seemed surprised. His gaze affixed itself to her breasts and remained there for a very long time. So long she wondered if he saw something wrong with them.

  She looked down, puzzled. "What is it, Thomas? Are they not as beautiful as the breasts of your Earth women?" She glanced up at him again, thoroughly confused.

  His gaze rose to meet hers and he opened his mouth, but only stammered for a moment. Finally he pushed a hand through his lovely brown hair. So soft and long. She liked that, too.

  "Around here, women tend to keep them covered up. Especially in front of men."

  She puckered her brows harder. "That is archaic." She looked at her breasts again. "But they are not lacking in any way?"

  He pursed his lips and looked at her chest for a long moment. "No, they're not lacking."

  She smiled, relieved at that. She could not have the females of this planet thinking her inferior. Then she look
ed at his hair-sprinkled chest, at the smoky quartz stone he still wore, and chewed her lip. "Yours are not covered."

  "Well... that's different."

  "In what way?"

  He closed his eyes and let his chin fall until it touched his chest. "It just is. You'll understand once you've been here awhile." He turned from her, dug through a basket and emerged with a soft shirt. He handed it to her. "Here. If I'm spending what’s left of the night with you, you'd better put this T-shirt on."

  She licked her lips. "I think you will have to put it on for me." She glanced down at her useless arm, weighed down by the heavy cast. He nodded and stepped forward, stretched the shirt over her head and eased her injured arm through. She noticed he took great care not to touch her skin any more than was necessary. Was he afraid she carried some kind of disease?

  When he finished, she lay back on the bed. "I do not usually wear clothing to bed," she complained.

  "Yeah, well, neither do I. Guess we'll both have to make an exception tonight. And I'll stay in the chair."

  He sat back down where he'd been and she scowled at him. He had defied her, and for the second time tonight. He was taking his role as legendary hero a bit too literally. Those men, she had read, had been free thinkers, independent, too strong to be ruled by their women. Could he be more like them than she had imagined?

  She wondered about that as she settled back in the bed, and became quite disgusted with him a second later when, instead of undressing, he pulled a blanket over himself, covering that wonderful chest. She had been very eager to see what he looked like completely uncovered. Rolling over, she punched the pillow. When he chuckled softly, she only got angrier.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It was a clean break. And the head injury wasn't serious. Her physical injuries no longer worried him. It was her lack of shyness that he was concerned about now. Okay, so maybe her society didn't impose the same conventions as his did. So what the hell was his moral obligation? He'd have loved to crawl into bed with her half-naked. But he knew better. Maybe she didn't have moral burdens to carry. Hell, he didn't, either. Not really.

  But he didn't want any entanglements with any women. Physical needs were easily satisfied. A woman who knew just what she was doing and expected nothing in return was pretty much his method, and it worked just fine. But not some strange alien woman with no sense of shyness and a head injury. And certainly not a patient. No way. So he'd just suffer the rest of the night in this chair with a hard-on a cat couldn't scratch down. Served him right, he supposed, for failing to keep himself removed.

  He would just stop thinking about her luscious little body, he decided. But when he did, it was only to focus in on her huge, dark eyes and the fear that showed in them every time he looked at her, even when she was angry. When he gazed into those eyes, he saw the frightened little girl he'd found in the woods so long ago. And that made him feel like the little boy who'd rescued her and who'd wondered for the first time in his life what it would feel like to kiss a girl. But he couldn't let himself dwell on all that, either. That kid had been driving him nuts trying to get back into his head ever since he'd come home again. He didn't need to give the little pest an opening. He had a feeling his professional distance would suffer a horrendous setback if he did.

  That little kid had been the one who'd decided he had to become a doctor. That little kid—the one who'd found some kind of joy beyond measure in mending the broken wings of robins and taking in every injured animal, tame or otherwise, that he came across. He'd had a knack for healing. And he'd fallen in love with the idea that helping people get well, taking care of them, was some kind of magical gift. He'd wanted a medical degree more than he'd ever wanted anything. So badly he'd traded eight years of his life away to the U.S. Army in exchange for his education. He'd seen being a doctor as something sacred, almost a calling. He'd been wrong. It was a job just like any other job. He refused to think of it in any other terms.

  Despite the look in Janella's eyes when he'd told her he was what she called a healer. She'd seemed awed, admiration gleaming from her mysterious dark eyes as she'd stared at him. She had to be the most beautiful female he'd ever come across in his life, bar none.

  Damn, he was thinking about her again. Okay, he'd distract himself by considering the telekinesis.

  She had slammed that door. There had been no draft, no sudden shift in air pressure. She'd slammed it, and she'd done it without lifting a finger. He wondered what else she could do. It was a damned good thing she hadn't exhibited that talent in front of Eugenia.

  He stared at her as she fell asleep. Odd having a woman sleeping under this old roof. Hadn't been one here overnight since Dad had tossed Mother, her belongings and her booze out the door almost thirty-eight years ago. He'd been a baby then, too young to remember any of it. But he'd heard the stories. Sumac was a small town, after all.

  The improbability of a woman sleeping in his bed, in his house, was exceeded only by that of a spaceship crashing in the woods and of an alien woman—who liked his body—sleeping in here. He decided not to think about those things, either. It wasn't an easy task. And he never did fall asleep.

  She stirred just as he entered the bedroom with the tray full of food. She sat up, blinking at him, first in confusion and then in recognition. And then a deep sadness filled her eyes. She'd remembered everything she'd left behind. He knew it without her saying so, and wished he didn't. It wouldn't do to start feeling anything for her, not even sympathy.

  He went into the room, sat on the edge of the bed and refused to look at her eyes.

  "My arm hurts,” she snapped. "Have you nothing to eliminate pain?"

  He faced her then, bolstered by her bitchiness. That he could handle. "We have drugs, Janella, but I have no way of knowing their effects on you. They might make you sick, might even be fatal to you. You understand?"

  She frowned at him. "We are the same species, Thomas. What is good for you is good for me."

  He gave his head a shake. "The same species?"

  She rolled her eyes as if he were stupid. "Do you think two separate species would evolve as similarly as we have? Look at me."

  He did not want to look at her. Especially when she sat up, her breasts jiggling beneath his thin white T-shirt. So why was he looking anyway?

  "We colonized Earth more than twelve thousand years ago, Thomas, when our planet became overpopulated. We all have the same ancestors. Now, give me something for this pain."

  "You know, for a guest in my home, you're one bossy, demanding, rude woman."

  "Give me something!"

  "No."

  She blinked and he knew she was shocked speechless.

  "But-"

  "Janella, even if we started out the same, we may have evolved differently. There are environmental factors, things we've been exposed to that you haven't, a million other things that could lead to differences. Ones that don't show. I'll be damned if I'll give you something that could kill you."

  Her anger faded from her eyes very slowly. She sighed, nodded. "You are very wise... for a male."

  He didn't even ask what the hell that was supposed to mean. "Are you hungry?"

  She lifted her face, a slight smile playing with her lips. "Yes." Then she frowned and added, "But I have heard of the way your people feed, and I will not eat that dog."

  He bit his lip. Damn, it was tough to keep a cold, wide, preferably impassable gulf between them when she kept making him want to laugh out loud. "We don't eat our dogs, Janella."

  "No?"

  "No."

  "Other creatures, though?"

  "Well, yeah, we eat meat."

  "Barbaric." She eyed the tray suspiciously.

  "It's just pancakes with blueberry syrup." He pointed to the steaming stack as he spoke. "This is an orange, and this is coffee. No meat. I promise."

  He set the tray on her lap and she picked up a wedge of the orange. "It is fruit?"

  "Yeah. Try it. But be careful, and pay attention to
the way you feel. If you eat just a little of things, and slowly, we can determine whether you're going to have a reaction to any of them."

  She tilted her head, studying his face. "You are being very careful with my health."

  "Yeah, well, it's part of the job. Try the damned orange, will you? I don't have time to sit here all morning."

  She popped the wedge of fruit into her mouth, frowning and chewing. She nodded and licked the juice from her lips. His gaze riveted itself to her mouth for a long moment before he cleared his throat and averted his eyes.

  She finished the orange and sat back, waiting for a few minutes, apparently paying attention to her body for signs the fruit had not agreed with it. When she ran out of patience, she tried some of the pancakes, again nodding in approval.

  "It is good. Thank you." She sipped the coffee, grimaced and set the cup down. "This I do not like."

  "It's an acquired taste."

  She nodded and studied him for a moment. "The female, the one you call Oogena, she will come back."

  "It's Eugenia, and you're right. She'll be back. She always comes back."

  "Are you her man?"

  The idea surprised him so much he almost laughed again. "Hell, no. Just a friend. She was close to my father, and now she thinks it’s her job to keep tabs on me. She's harmless. A pain in the backside, but harmless."

  Janella sighed in apparent relief. Then frowned. "Harmless. That remains to be seen. What will you tell her about me?"

  "She thinks you were in a car accident. Granted, that's gonna look a little suspicious when no car is found, but I'll think of something. I'll explain that to you later. For now, Janella, we need to talk about your, uh, your powers."

  "I do not understand."