Page 25 of Wrangling the Orc Cowboy

Iwoke the next morning to knocking on my door.

“Gracie?” Tark called out. “Are you in there?”

I bolted upright, my heart pounding. Tark’s voice came through muffled but still strong. “Gracie?” Another knock, heavier this time, followed by, “Gracie? Gracie!”

Shoving my hair out of my face, I wriggled my legs free of the tangled sheet and scrambled to my feet, nearly tripping on the rug as I tugged the hem of my nightie down around my thighs. I stumbled toward the door, only for it to burst open before I could reach it.

Maybe I should’ve remembered to lock it last night.

Tark surged into the room, filling the space with his size, his shoulders almost brushing the doorframe. He paused mid-step, his boot catching on the corner of the rug. With a groan, he tripped, nearly sprawling onto my floor. He caught himself, standing awkwardly with his arms splayed out for balance. A paper bag rattled in his right hand.

His green skin darkened as his wild gaze locked onto me. For a second, we just stared at each other. His eyes trailed down my body, slow as a summer’s day, making my skin prickle. I felt exposed and intensely seen.

“Uh, Tark?” I said, hiking up the shoulder strap of my nightie.

Sharga flapped his wings on Tark’s shoulder, smacking his head, and that might’ve woken him up quicker than my question.

“I thought you were hurt.” His voice was gravelly. Stroking the raven’s back to settle him, he glanced at the floor, only to snap his eyes right back to my face. “You didn’t answer when I knocked.”

“I was still asleep,” I said, though the way his gaze lingered made my pulse start skipping. I was wide awake now. “I’m fine.”

Clearing his throat, Tark held out the brown paper bag, his expression so earnest it made my insides turn to mush. “Dartling muffins,” he mumbled, his voice quieter now. “I made them. For you. Because you liked my cooking, and I wanted to impress you. Kiss you again.”

Sharga cocked his head, peering from the bag to me and back again. Probably hoping we’d figure this out while he ate muffins.

Tark blinked fast. “I didn't say kiss you.”

“Yes, you did.” My smile rose. Damn, he was sweet. “Did you say you made me muffins?” I had no idea what a dartling was. The name conjured images of something small and twitchy, but muffins were muffins, and his hopeful expression was too adorable to question.

“Yes,” he said. “I did. For you.”

His bluntness made a laugh bubble inside me, but I bit back. The last thing I wanted to do was embarrass him further.

“Thank you, Tark. That was really thoughtful of you.”

He stood there, a hulking figure with his hand clenching and unclenching on the bag, and I suspected he didn't know what to do with it now.

“Let me get dressed, and I'll join you downstairs?” I waved toward the bathroom.

“Yes, downstairs. I can wait. There. For you.”

“I won't be long.” This was going to be my quickest tooth brushing and shower ever.

He nodded once, but hovered in the open doorway, his gaze dipping to my bare legs before he tore it away. I swore he had to wrestle with himself to keep his focus on my face. “I’ll wait,” he said again, before backing out of the room.

The instant the door closed behind him, I twirled around in a circle before climbing the stairs to flop back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Damn, but I liked this guy a lot.

Bouncing onto the floor, I danced into the bathroom, turning on the shower. As the hot water cascaded over me, I tried to collect my thoughts. Tark was… amazing. Everything about him, from his towering presence to the strange, tender, open way he barreled through life with, left me off-balance in a way I couldn’t explain. I felt as if I stood on the edge of something vast, thrilling, and a little bit terrifying.

I washed and dried myself quickly, then threw on a pair of jeans and a fitted T-shirt. Nothing fancy, but I stared into the mirror longer than usual, obsessing about whether my hair looked too messy or if my lip gloss was overkill. The realization of what I was doing hit me like a splash of cold water.

I was fretting like a damn teenager on her first date. So what if he kissed me last night? That didn’t mean anything. Right?

With a huff, I secured my hair in a ponytail at my nape, yanked on my sneakers and, with my phone in my back pocket, I headed downstairs, my heart doing a stupid little somersault at the thought of seeing him again. When I walked into the kitchen, Tark was sitting at the table, his broad shoulders hunched as if he was worried I wouldn't show up.

Sharga stood on the butcherblock counter, pecking bits of muffin off a plate. He wiggled along the counter, plucking hisway with his claws, then lifted off, taking a jagged flight that nearly impaled him in the back of Tark’s chair before he jerked upward and landed on his shoulder.

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