Page 16 of Wrangling the Orc Cowboy

My damn face got hot again, though I liked her saying things like that. “Greel and Ruugar must've decided to practice stagecoach robberies with Dungar riding to rescue our passengers. No passengers today, but soon. Once the townopens. Which it will. In a few weeks.” I clamped my hand over my mouth before it continued spouting nonsense. “I’ve read tourists adore this activity,” I mumbled around my fingers. “Though I can’t imagine why they’ll have fun shooting someone else and watching them collapse on the street.”

I’d said the very same thing to my brothers, and we’d all shrugged. I scratched the back of my neck. “The tourist always wins the battle.”

“That’s good PR.” She craned her neck to look out the window at the street. “Will they practice with the stagecoach again? I’d love to make some videos of that.”

“Each day until the town opens to guests. I’ll make sure you have the chance.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Very.”

I waved toward the small kitchen behind the saloon’s bar. “Then please allow me to prepare a meal for you.”

“You cook?”

“That I do, ma’am. That I do.”

My voice sounded bigger than I felt. I didn’t know if she’d like the food, or laugh at it, or smile and leave me in silence afterward. Still, I reached for the skillet like it might turn into armor if I held it right.

When she snickered in a kind way and followed me toward the kitchen, I realized this Wild West terminology might actually help me win my mate.

A far as I was concerned, Gracie was mine.

I just had to convince her of that fact.

Chapter 6

Gracie

Tark guided me into a small kitchen behind the bar. He ducked as he stepped under the doorway, a strangely endearing habit for someone his size, even though the frame was more than tall enough for him to pass through without issue.

Inside the area where I assumed they’d make french fries and maybe pizza, snack food for the saloon guests, he tugged out an orc-sized chair at a small-ish table. “Please sit. I’ll cook for you tonight.” The tips of his pointy ears went florid. “Well, I’ll be cooking all your meals until the restaurant opens, assuming you’re still here by then.”

“That’s in two weeks, right?” He’d told me the details when he outlined what the business needed for social media marketing, but there was no harm in confirming them now.

“Yes. We need lots of help.” He watched me so intently that I was now the one blushing.

“This place is stunning. Tourists are going to love it. Doesn’t the script pretty much write itself?”

His face darkened to match his ears. “It does not.” With that, he spun and strode around the island. He stopped beside a perchand gently placed Sharga there, shaking his finger at the bird. “Remain here. You cannot help.”

Sharga seemed to huff.

Turning, Tark went to the stove. He tugged pans out of a cupboard beside it and placed them on the cooking surface with delicate care. At the fridge, his brow furrowed as he studied the food options with an intensity that made me bite back a smile.

“Would you like a meal prepared for humans?” he asked in his burly, deep voice. “Or an orc meal?”

I leaned back in my chair, the wooden slats creaking beneath me. “Which one are you more comfortable making?”

He hesitated, his gaze flicking between the pans on the stove and me. “I’ve eaten human meals at my brothers’ homes. Now that they're mated. Jessi and Rosey are…” He blinked a moment. “They both said they wish to fatten me up, though I'm not sure why.”

There was that word again,mate, a thread weaving through his world, tangling into mine at the oddest moments. “What does mated mean to you?” I tilted my head, holding his gaze.

His ears twitched, and his cheeks turned a dusty green. He cleared his throat and turned back to the refrigerator, his fingers gripping the handle a little too hard. “It means something.” He leaned into the fridge before I could press him further. “Please pick. Human or orc.”

I wasn’t sure if he was dodging the question or genuinely interested in my choice. “Orc,” I said with a smile. “Surprise me.”

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