Page 13 of Wrangling the Orc Cowboy

Greel’s eyebrows lifted, but he didn't say a peep.

“Why not?” the other brother asked. He gave me a nod, his warm gaze never leaving my face. “I’m Ruugar.”

“Hi.” I waved to him too.

“And this.” Tark’s voice dropped along with his Adam's apple, “is one of my other brothers, Dungar.” The one standing closest to me grinned, though there was a thoughtful dignityin his gaze. His sheriff’s star caught the sunlight slanting in through the saloon windows, glinting as he shifted his feet on the floor.

“Gracie,” Dungar said, his voice light and smooth. “It’s an honor to have you here with us, little lady. You’ll be helping us bring this darn near perfect place to life.”

Darn near?

“Dungar's practicing the correct terminology,” Tark said. “I'm going to attend his classes. I promise.”

I lifted my eyebrows. “Classes?”

“We've been watching things on our phones.” Dungar held his up. “So many streaming images available. So much to learn.”

I had no idea what he meant, but when it came to social media, it could be almost anything.

“Dungar will run the jail,” Tark said.

“Want to be arrested, ma'am?” Dungar tipped his cowboy hat my way, his eyes sparkling with humor.

“If she needs to be arrested, I’ll do this for her,” Tark said sternly.

Dungar leaned forward to rub his knuckles on Tark's shoulder. “I won't steal her away.Promise. I'm glad you’re coming to my classes, though. About time, my fine fellow. About darn time.”

“Yes, well.” Tark shuffled his boots on the floor. “When I have a chance. Maybe. Sometime.”

“Nope. You said you would. Holding you to it, big boy.” Dungar turned his smile my way. “Would you like?—”

“We’re going to eat,” Tark half-snarled. “You four will leave.”

“I was going home already,” Ostor said with a snort. “My Rosey's waiting.”

“Lucky, corn dog. Darn lucky,” Dungar said.

Greel grunted and strode toward the front door, passing through the saloon's swinging wooden doors and out onto the dusty boardwalk.

“He doesn't talk much.” Ruugar stared after him.

Ostor's mouth curled up on one side. “Henevertalks.”

“Yet he somehow found a way to win Rosey’s heart,” Dungar said. He pinned Tark in place with his gaze. “Come to my lessons, brother. You’re going to need them with this little lady here.” He turned his warm eyes my way.

“Ma’am.” Ruugar tipped his hat my way before sauntering toward the front of the saloon, his spurs jangling on the back of his boots, his staggering sway almost comically clichéd.

Lessons in using the “correct” terminology, huh?

With that, Greel and Dungar also left, disappearing out onto the street.

Tark continued to shuffle his boots, staring down at the floor.

“What are streaming images?” I asked, peering up at him. “And what did Dungar mean about?—”

Loud bangs rang out on the street.

Gunshots. I'd heard them enough times while living in the city to recognize the sound.

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