Zeke: Bayou Springs Alien Mail Order Brides, #1

By Deanna Chase

She's looking to escape…

Opal Zimmerman is the new girl in town. All she wants is a safe haven from an oppressive alien race. What she gets is an out of this world man who pushes all the right buttons.

He's already loved and lost…

Zeke Arnot isn't looking for love. That bell doesn't ring twice. But when he opens his home to a human on the run, he quickly learns she might not be the only one who needs saving.

*Previously published under the pen name Kenzie Cox*

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bayou Moon Press, LLC
• Release date: Oct 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781386919896

Book preview

Chapter One

Opal

Miss Carter? The woman behind the desk peered over her glasses into the waiting room. The coordinator will see you now.

Making my way toward the door that led to freedom, I stared straight ahead, careful to not make eye contact with any of the other clients waiting their turn. The fewer people who recognized me, the better. My body heated, and nervous sweat popped out on the back of my neck as the image of Simon Stanley’s cold eyes flashed in my mind.

Welcome, the pleasant woman said, holding the door open for me.

Thanks. I gave her a tight smile, trying not to throw up on her cute, red patent-leather shoes with the yellow bows. Her hair was dyed purple and turquoise in the popular mermaid style, and oversized glasses hid her face well. I was willing to bet she changed her look on a weekly basis for security reasons.

Relax. Raven is a pro. She’ll find your love match in no time. The woman’s heels clattered against the tile floors while she hummed along with the song playing softly through the sound system. I cocked an ear and listened. Jesus, was that from… Roswell? Yes. I recognized the theme song from the old television show and despite my shaken-state, I let out a chuckle. That was fitting.

Something funny? she asked, knocking once on a stark white door.

No. More like ironic. I fidgeted with the cuff of my silk shirt and suddenly felt overdressed. I probably should’ve changed into jeans or a sundress or something less corporate.

Come in, a faint voice called from behind the door.

The receptionist ushered me into the room before retreating and gently closing the door behind her.

Good afternoon, Miss Carter. Welcome to Intergalactic Dating Agency. I’m Raven, your dating specialist.

Hi, Raven. I glanced around at the barren white walls. There was no literature. No promises of happily-ever-afters. No testimonials. For a place that advertised Out of this World Love Matches, they weren’t exactly selling it. Not that they needed to. The last thing I was looking for was love. My track record in that department was woefully inept.

She tapped a key on her computer, bringing up my picture and a short synopsis. I understand that in addition to looking for a husband, you’re also interested in a change of scenery. Is that correct?

My mouth went dry, and my palms started to sweat. A change of scenery was code for ‘get me the hell out of this town,’ and that was the entire reason I’d shown up on their doorstep an hour ago. Yes. A change of scenery is a must. The sooner the better.

I can help you with that. She tapped some more keys on the computer. Do you have a preference on what part of the country you’d prefer?

Yes. Pacific Northwest, the Maine coastline, somewhere in the Rockies. Anywhere that rarely made it over eighty degrees even in the summer. But any of those places would be on the top of Simon Stanley’s search list after I disappeared. Somewhere south, but not too conservative. Austin? New Orleans? Asheville?

Hmm. Let me check the database.

I sat back in the hard plastic chair, anxiously bouncing my knee. The only sound in the room came from the wall clock. Tick. Tick. Tick. The pounding in my head intensified.

It was one-fifteen. The lunch hour was over, and soon enough, someone would notice I was missing. I wondered how long it would be before Stanley dispatched his goons.

Here we go. I have three top matches for you. The first one is in San Diego. Your potential husband is a cattle rancher and looking for someone who is willing to get her hands dirty.

A cattle ranch. How had I gotten to this point? I glanced down at my perfect manicure and stifled a sigh. No more bi-weekly trips to the nail salon. No more reserved tables at Orbit’s Seafood House. No more unlimited expense account. But most importantly, I’d never work in broadcasting again. My days of running around, frantically chasing stories and producing the evening news had come to an abrupt halt three hours ago when I’d kicked Simon Stanley in the balls then shot him with my Taser.

The memory of him twitching helplessly on the floor was intensely satisfying. I’d never thought of myself as a violent person, but after he attacked me, fed off my energy, and then cleaned out my trust fund, I’d lost it.

But Simon Stanley was as powerful as they came. No one crossed him. No one. If I stayed in this town, I was as good as dead.

I didn’t realize San Diego was ranching land, I said, contemplating the idea. In the hills? Is there a view of the ocean?

Oh, sorry. San Diego, Texas. Her bright red lips turned up in an apologetic smile as I grimaced. Then she leaned in and whispered so quietly I barely heard her, We don’t usually relocate our clients to the larger cities. There are too many cameras on the grid.

Right. Stanley would definitely have access to the grid.

She sat back, her cheerful smile claiming her lips. "But San Diego, Texas isn’t too far from Corpus Christi and the gulf coast. You could get beach