Page 53 of Mistletoe

“Hmm? Sorry, just thinking,” Emma managed between mouthfuls.

“I am also concerned about the sheriff’s visit.”

Yes, that was part of it. Nina had Hal’s scent and she wouldn’t relent. She’d keep coming back, claiming the neighbor saw an orc, or investigating an animal attack. One day, she’d convince a judge to sign a warrant.

“Worrying about things I can’t control,” she said.

There was plenty in the here and now to keep her busy. She didn’t need to add to it.

A week had passed since she impulsively offered Hal a job. She showed him around the farm and taught him what he needed to know. He had surprising gaps in his knowledge. Not just farm specific information, but basic everydayliving skills. Emma could understand how someone never learned how to milk goats. Fair enough. Or how to identify wolver tracks. Or to steer clear of the ratite. The large birdlike animals looked calm, but they panicked easily, and a massive, panicky herd could trample a person in seconds. He wasn’t from here. He didn’t have a local’s knowledge. Fair enough.

But how could a person never learn how to build a fire? Or how to draw water from the pump? It was odd.

Agatha had agreed that Emma could delay breaking the news to her father.

Unfortunately, the longer she waited, the harder it got. Every day that passed, Agatha’s disapproving frown grew more pronounced. Emma needed to speak to her father before her mother’s patience expired. She hoped that if Oscar had time to get to know Hal, to enjoy discussing books together, then perhaps he’d be more accepting.

Yes, she was aware of the hypocrisy of the rebel poet who preached about questioning authority failing to question if what he knew about beasts was true or influenced by fear and prejudice. It was an imperfect world filled with flawed people.

Herself included.

Her plan to simply never mention Hal’s being an orc to her father was a coward’s plan that exploited his blindness.

No one should be a secret.

Her mother’s words weighed on her.

“A burden shared is a burden halved,” Hal said, pulling her out of her downward-spiraling thoughts.

“I think it’ll snow soon. You can smell it in the air.”

Hal took a deep breath to test her statement. He shook his head, then leaned in and sniffed her hair. “I smell lemon and rosemary.”

Her soap.

His shameless display of flirting had her all topsy-turvy. She didn’t know what to do with it.

To be fair, she knew exactly what actions she wished to take: reciprocation. She liked Hal and certainly felt an attraction, but she held herself back. There were too many unknowns, starting with Hal’s mysterious origins.

“Did you know that the terraforming machine broke before they could reach this far west? Everything of Earth origin was hand-planted, including this tree.” Emma pointed up. The bare branches were a dark slash against an aggressively blue sky.

There. The fastest way to deter any flirting was to drop historical tidbits.

“While that is fascinating, I do not think it is the cause of this,” Hal said. He pressed his index finger to the space between her eyebrows.

There was no point in changing the subject. The orc would not be deterred.

“I don’t like secrets,” she said bluntly, which was the second-fastest way to halt flirting in its tracks. A woman holding strong opinions was social poison and a guaranteed spinster in the making, from her experience.

His posture stiffened. “There are things I have not shared, but I am not being secretive. I’m sure you have not shared everything about yourself.”

“No, not that. I mean, maybe a little.” She rubbed the same spot between her eyebrows. “I feel like I’m keeping you a secret from my pa and from the world, and that’s not fair to anyone. You need proper shoes. You can’t go to the cobbler, and I can’t order a pair for you without raising suspicion. Word will get back to the sheriff, but hiding isn’t right.”

Hal stretched out his feet. “These are adequate. They keep my feet dry.”

“They can’t be warm.” Not to mention that gravel or a particularly industrious thorn would slice the leather soles to pieces.

“I do not feel the cold the way you do.”

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