THE OFF WORLD COLLECTION (Short, Steamy Science Fiction Romances) (Off-World Series) by Rebecca York Page A

Listerville hadn’t known that they were part of an experiment. Send men, and see if they survived. And if they could tame the planet, the next step would be to let them enjoy normal man-woman relationships.
    Which was now.
    Well, one ship of brides had landed a couple of weeks earlier, and the previous lottery winners had whisked their gals off to their farmsteads.
    Caleb’s hand unconsciously went to the beamer in the holster fixed to the utility belt at his waist. There had been some unfortunate incidents at the spaceport last time. Still, he was following the law. In town, your weapon was set to stun, not to kill.
    Both Caleb and Jed had won brides on the second shipment coming in. They’d listed their preferences, and the Office of Planetary Management had made the selections. They’d gotten holios and brief descriptions of the women who’d been assigned to them. And either party could terminate the arrangement within the first year if they thought it wasn’t working out.
    Caleb’s gal was named Beka Gunnarsen. And as far as he could tell from the holio, she was blond and pretty, with a delicate nose and mouth and large blue eyes. But why did she want to live on a farmstead in the middle of nowhere on Palomar? And was she even equipped to do it? At least the place had running water now. With the profits from the mine and selling his prized horses to homesteaders around the planet, he’d had the money to drill a well and outfit a septic system. But what was she going to think when she found out that the house was heated with solar panels, supplemented by a wood stove, and that there were only a few battery-powered lights—in addition to the oil lamps.
    That hadn’t been true back on Centorus. They’d lived in a modern city with all the standard amenities. You could go into a grocery depot and buy small packages of various foods any time you wanted. And there were other stores stocked with clothing or entertainment units you didn’t have to order in advance. Kids went to school and came home every day instead of spending months at the central ed complex, then getting the rest of their lessons over the comms units when they were needed at home for planting and harvest.
    Caleb was hoping he didn’t come across like an uneducated outworlder living in an animal pen. When he’d been told he was one of the lucky lottery winners, he’d gone on a shopping rampage, paying speed delivery charges for stuff like rugs, soft sheets, premium-quality toilet tissue, soap that didn’t burn your skin, and other stuff he thought a woman would appreciate.
    He stopped worrying about toilet tissue when an announcement came over the public-address system.
    “Attention, men who are here to meet wives. The shuttle from the mother ship has landed. Proceed immediately to bay three.”
    The two friends glanced at each other.
    Caleb swallowed. “This is it.”
    “Yeah, good luck buddy.”
    “You, too.”
    He and the other twenty-four lucky guys headed for the landing bay. As they walked, Caleb stifled the urge to cup his hand over his nose and mouth and smell his breath.
    The little ship was already inside the bay area when they arrived, but the door was still closed.
    As he and the other men jostled for a good view, Caleb tried to see them from the eyes of a bride just arriving on a strange planet.
    The guys all wore rough clothing, long-sleeved shirts, jackets, baggy pants held up by suspenders. Some had beards. Others, like him, had shaved. But all of them looked pretty scruffy, compared to men he’d seen on vids shot on more civilized planets.
    Betraying their jitters, some of the husbands-to-be were talking and joking. But a hush fell over the crowd as the door of the ship opened.
    The first person out was a man, which earned a round of boos from the waiting Palomarians.
    Then a woman followed him, walking slowly and gripping a carry bag slung over her shoulder.
    She was dressed in standard-issue trousers, a short coat that hid