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The door creaked and then clicked, and Chameleon sighed with relief. With Kevanne out of sight, he could regain control. Her presence had caused his body to go haywire.
He’d been attracted to her yesterday, but the way she appeared his morning, attired in a long, light-purple robe, impractical but charming fuzzy shoes, her hair mussed, her expression alternately open and bemused, made him want to pull her into his arms and hug her tight. Kiss her. Their fingers had touched when she handed him the cup, and hot desire had rocked him clear down to his bluing fingertips. He’d begun losing the personification again! He didn’t think she’d noticed, but he had to get himself under control.
After another gulp of the delicious coffee, he set the mug down and inhaled several deep, calming breaths. Blocking distractions, he closed his eyes and focused on what he wanted to become—the man on the billboard. He pictured his new form, willed the change, and when he opened his eyes, his fingers had returned to normal. Well, back to human anyway.
He drained the last sip of coffee. He wondered if preparing another cup for himself was allowed. Better not. He’d caught the gist peering into someone’s window was not permissible. He’d frightened Kevanne so bad, she’d dropped her cup. He considered himself lucky she hadn’t blinded him with the bear spray again.
She’d waved it around, and all he could think of was he didn’t have Psy to help him if she shot him.
He smoothed the flyer she’d posted in the bait shop. The paper had gotten wet while he stood in the rain outside her window, but he could still read it. HELP WANTED HANDYMAN.
He was a man, and he liked to think he was handy, so the employment offering seemed like a good fit, although he wondered what the specifics entailed. After the discussion aboard the Castaway last night, he’d gone into Argent and asked the first man he’d encountered about jobs. The man had directed him to the bait shop across the street from the diner.
The handyman ad was the only employment opportunity. He hadn’t realized Kevanne had posted it at first because it didn’t have a name, just a number. He didn’t have a phone. Busy selling bait to a couple of fishermen, the proprietor couldn’t talk, so Chameleon had taken the ad to the diner.
Millie remembered him right away. “Why didn’t you tell us you were a celebrity?”
“What?”
“I thought you seemed familiar. You’re the guy on the big billboard on the highway.”
Half the patrons in the restaurant had turned to stare.
“I kind of like to keep a low profile,” he said, regretting his choice of personification.
“Hon, with your pretty face plastered fourteen feet high and three times as wide, that ain’t gonna be possible.” She laughed. “You here for breakfast? What can I get ya?”
Aware he didn’t have any legal money, he’d eaten before he’d left the Castaway. “I hope you can give me a little information.” He showed her the paper. “I’d like to apply for this job, but I don’t know where to go.”
“This is Kevanne Girardi’s number. You sat next to her yesterday. She bought the old Richter Lavender Farm, and I imagine it needs a lot of work. As they got up in years, the Richters kinda let the place go.”
“Can you tell me where it is?”
The once-over Millie gave him would have made a Verital proud. “I think I’m a pretty good judge of character, and I hate to be wrong. Don’t make me wrong,” she’d said. “Kevanne wouldn’t like me sayin’ so, but she could use a good man to help her out.”
Following Millie’s directions, he’d ridden the hover scooter to the lavender farm. The cloaking screen had kept the rain off, but after hiding the vehicle in the woods, he’d had a short hike to the house. He’d figured out the button alongside the door would summon the resident, but he’d pressed it and nothing happened. Wondering if he was at the right address, he’d gone around the house to look for another door. Then he spotted Kevanne standing in her kitchen.
He glanced around the room, noting a primitive food preparation appliance, a large cold-storage cabinet, open shelving stacked with flowered dishes, and a large basin rusted in spots. There were sprigs of dried purple flowers in vases, the same flowers repeated in the pattern on the cloth draping the window.
Her home didn’t show any evidence she lived with anyone, but he couldn’t be sure. The main room where he’d entered had an old long cushioned chair-bed covered by a woven blanket. To the front and sides of the chair-bed were some battered wooden tables. Mounted on the wall was a modest-sized viewing screen. By his estimation, there seemed to be a dearth of furniture and personal possessions, but maybe humans weren’t acquisitive. He didn’t know enough about them to judge.
He heard a click and squeak, and then Kevanne reappeared in a pair of faded blue pants, rubbed white in places, and a hooded gray jacket. She’d pulled her hair into a tail. He missed the riotous mass, but having it scraped off her face showed off her cheekbones and emphasized her large brown eyes. Her eyelashes looked thicker and longer and her mouth pinker. Had she applied pigment?
She eyed his cup. “Can I get you another?”
“I was hoping you’d offer!” he said.
“Would you like some banana bread to go with it? Have you eaten? I haven’t had breakfast yet.”
“I would like banana bread, thank you.” Since yesterday’s diner meal, he was eager to try more Earth foods.
She took his cup and prepared more coffee. After handing it back to him, she cut slices off a brown loaf, placed the pieces on some small plates, and then withdrew a dish of berries from the refrigerator. She brought the berries and the banana bread to the table, along with eating utensils, paper napkins, and her own coffee.
Did he use the fork for both the banana bread and the berries or just the berries? He sipped his coffee and waited for her to act first. There were so many subtleties to blending in.
He waited until she picked up a slice of bread and ate a mouthful, before doing the same. It was moist, slightly sweet, and nutty. “Delicious.” He chewed.
“Thank you. So why do you want to work as a handyman?”
“I need money.”
“Aren’t you with a modeling agency? Didn’t you pose for the billboard? Can’t you get more work like that?”
He considered his answer before speaking. “The...opportunity fell into my lap unexpectedly. It was a fluke.”
“So, you’re not a world-famous billboard model?” A smile teased her mouth, and desire blasted through him.
“Not by a long shot.”
“What did Millie tell you about me?” she asked.
“That you needed a good man.”
“What!” She choked, turning red.
“She meant the work,” he fibbed. He’d inferred Millie had meant a whole lot more. “I take it you’re not mated, I mean—married?”
“I’m widowed. My husband had a heart attack and died.” She got up. “Would you like more coffee?”
“No, I’m fine.” His cup was still nearly full. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He suffered the loneliness of not having a mate, but that couldn’t be as bad as having one and losing her. Given his ideologies and participation in the opposition, he hadn’t dared to mate. Despite the bond, a loyal Xeno would have turned him in if she had discovered his leanings. If she didn’t rat him out, and if he’d been apprehended, she would have been punished also. He couldn’t put an innocent woman at risk.
Kevanne’s back was turned as she refilled her cup. “Dayton died a year and a half ago. I’m getting over it, am over it.”
“How long were you married?” he asked quietly.
“Ten years.”
“And now you’re running the lavender farm on your own.”
She shook her head. “No. Well, yes, I am running it on my own, but I bought the farm after Dayton died. I’ve only had it a few months. I’ve always loved lavender.” She glanced at a vase of dried flowers, and he made the connection.
Lavender was a flower! Now he identified the floral fragrance drifting around her.
She waved at the kitchen. “This is why I need a handyman. This place needs work, and I have to get it whipped into shape by the summer tourist season. Have you done any fix-it work before? Plumbing, carpentry, roofing, basic home repairs? Rototilling? Planting?”
His hopes of earning some money sank. He couldn’t do any of those things she mentioned—didn’t know what they were. Plumbing? “This would be my first handyman job,” he admitted. “But I learn fast. Tell me what needs to be done, and I’ll figure out how to do it.”
“What kind of work have you been doing?” Her gaze dropped to his hands.
Was he losing the personification again? Alarm shooting through him, he took a peek. His skin still looked human. “Something wrong with my hands?”
Her cheeks tinted. “You don’t have working-man’s hands. You have the hands of a professional—an office worker.”
“I used to oversee communications for a...uh, consortium.”
“Like public relations?”
Nothing so innocuous. “More like intelligence gathering,” he admitted, and realized he’d erred when her eyes widened.
“Like a corporate spy?”
Loyal to the consortium, he’d held the same attitudes and beliefs as any other Xeno when he’d begun monitoring and analyzing electromagnetic signals from project planets and donor worlds. He’d assessed how each civilization was progressing and reported any significant or suspicious activity to the High Council. But as he listened in on the chatter, doubts and questions arose to chip away at his assumption of supremacy, of entitlement. He began to view the project planets in a new light, developing a fondness for and protectiveness toward his subjects. When situations arose that might have led to euthanizing, he moderated and filtered the data, submitting redacted reports to the council.
He’d made one small slip.
“My, uh, department, kept track of what our potential competitors were doing.”
“What company did you work for?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Why did you leave? Why aren’t you doing that job anymore?”
Because by Xeno standards, he’d been born defective—he’d grown a conscience. He lacked ruthlessness. “I didn’t like the person I was. I hated myself,” he said.
She flinched.
It had disturbed him to play with sentient creatures as if they were toys, a discomfort that over time had become untenable. He’d risked his life voting against the bombardment—and it hadn’t done any good. He’d been outnumbered, and the planet had been destroyed. It had also forced him to reveal his true leanings.
“I couldn’t be that person anymore,” he said. “I had to discover myself, change myself, and find a way to right the wrongs I’d been a party to.”
Kevanne’s knuckles tightened on her coffee cup. “Have you changed? Did you right the wrongs?” she whispered.
“I like to think I’m a different person now. I did as much as I could, but time ran out. I live with the guilt of not doing enough and doing it too late, but I’m not done yet. I’m not presently in a position where I can do anything, but I hope that will change.”
“In the meantime, you need a job.”
“Yes.”
“Most of the important work is outside, but until the rain lets up, we can’t do it. However, I could use help around the house. I bought some replacement faucets, but they have to be installed. The house is drafty; I’m spending a fortune on heating. Windows need to be caulked. Doors need weather stripping. I can’t offer more than a couple of weeks’ work though. I need more help, but I can’t afford to pay for more.”
He held his breath. “Does that mean I have the job?”
“You said you didn’t have any handyman experience, but I’m willing to give you a try. If I can patch a roof when I have no roofing experience, you can figure stuff out, too.”
“Thank you!” He broke into a big smile. It wasn’t just about money anymore. This human intrigued him, and he wanted to learn more about her.
“Why don’t you come back the day after tomorrow? I have a few things to do before I can go into Coeur d’Alene for supplies. The bait shop in Argent doesn’t carry much.”
He’d been hoping he could start today, but at least he’d landed a job, and this would give him time to study home repair. Both Wingman and Tigre said the Internet offered a wealth of information. He needed to research caulking, weather stripping, faucet installation, and the other chores she’d mentioned. He didn’t know how to do them now, but by the day after tomorrow he would.
