Page 30 of Wrangling the Orc Cowboy

He gestured toward the large barn at the end of the street, its red-painted planks bright against the late-day blue sky. “That is where we will hold, uh, circle dances,” he said, his voice heavy with pride.

I blinked, trying to process his words before realization struck. “You meansquaredances?”

He stopped mid-step, a frown creasing his brow as if he was re-checking his thoughts. “Square? No, I meant—” Then he caught my expression, and something like relief crossed his face when he saw I wasn’t laughing. “Square, yes. That’s the word. Humans call themsquaredances, though I have no idea why.”

“They do. I don't know why either. But it’s a wonderful idea. People will love it.”

The tips of his pointed ears twitched, and his pace sped up. “Come. There's so much to show you.”

The barn doors creaked as he pushed them open, the sound echoing into the cavernous space within. Sunlight poured through the windows along each side, illuminating sturdy wooden beams and polished floorboards. It smelled of freshly cut lumber and grass, clean and earthy and inviting.

“We built this for events,” Tark said. “There will be dances, yes, but also gatherings and celebrations. We’re even holding a wedding here on opening day. The loft above is for storage.” He waved to the broad stairs on our right and motioned me to follow as he headed in that direction.

At the top, it opened up into an airy, wide space. Though bare now, it had the kind of rugged charm that begged to be filled with laughter and music.

Tark walked to the far end, his heavy boots quiet on the wooden planks.

He unlatched a pair of double doors, swinging them open in one smooth motion. I gasped when I took in the view of the setting sunlight.

The mountains stretched out in the distance, their jagged peaks painted in shades of dusky blue and deep purple as the sun began to drop behind them. The light bathed the fields below in molten gold, the grass rippling like waves on a green sea.

“It’s…” I couldn’t finish. Words felt too small, too clumsy to capture the beauty.

“This is where I come when I need to think,” Tark said, his deep voice smoother now, as if he too felt the beauty of the view. “Up here, with nothing above me but the sky and nothing in front of me but the horizon. It helps me remember how big the world is. And how small my troubles are in comparison.”

I glanced at him, struck not only by his words but by the way he said them, as if he carried a wisdom inside him that hadn’tyet been chipped away by the hurry and bustle of modern human life. His green skin caught the light just right, highlighting the ridges of his chiseled jaw and the quiet yearning in his eyes as he stared out at the mountains.

The city girl in me, the one who had spent years under the harsh glare of studio lights and behind the mask of made-for-TV perfection, wondered if I’d been chasing the wrong kind of joy all my life.

By the time we descended back to the barn’s ground floor, my heart felt lighter, as if that view had scrubbed away the invisible weight I'd also been carrying. Tark opened the barn door again, waiting as I stepped out into the street. We strolled in the direction of the general store, the rhythmic creak of the wooden signs overhead blending with the occasional hum of wind through the empty town.

Inside the general store, a sense of nostalgia wrapped itself around me. The walls were lined with shelves displaying handcrafted goods, from rough-hewn pottery, intricately stitched leather hats, to boots that looked like they could last a lifetime. An entire wall was dedicated to authentic Western attire: dresses with flounced skirts, fringe-lined jackets, and wide-brimmed cowboy hats. It was charmingly authentic, without the manufactured gloss of a themed tourist trap.

A burst of laughter pulled my attention to an orc woman near the back wearing a prairie dress straight out ofLittle House on the Prairie. She even wore a bonnet, though she'd left it draping down her back. Her graying dark hair was pulled into a loose bun, and her dark eyes sparkled. Arranging items on a high shelf, she paused to brush her hands together. Seeing us, she placed the last item with care and turned, her entire face lighting up at the sight of Tark.

“Tark, my gorgeous nephew, you didn’t tell me you’d be bringing a guest,” she called out, her voice as rich and rolling asa song I could hear all my life. She stepped toward us, her hands outstretched, and I immediately felt like I was being welcomed into something bigger than only a shop.

“This is Gracie,” Tark said. “She’s here to help with our social media presence. Gracie? This is my Aunt Inla.”

“It's nice to meet you,” I said. I could see the resemblance in their eyes and the shape of their heads.

“Help, is it?” The woman shot him a playful look, her brow lifting like she’d heard something far more interesting. Taking my hand in hers, she gave it a warm squeeze. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, little one.”

I looked around. “This place is incredible.”

“Why, thank you.” She released my hand and placed hers on her hip, her attention swiveling back to Tark. “So, what do you think of my nephew here? Such a solid, stoic orc, isn’t he?”

I glanced at Tark, whose face had shifted into something between embarrassed and hopeful. He locked his gaze firmly on the floorboards.

“He’s…wonderful.”

“He sure is.” Aunt Inla beamed and turned to Tark. “See? You're wonderful! Don’t just stand there like a tree, nephew. Speak. Greel's the one who's silent, not you.”

Tark shifted, his hands gripping the edges of his leather belt. “Gracie is kind. Very kind. And a good teacher.”

I had to suppress a laugh, not because he’d said something wrong, but because his earnestness was so adorable it melted something in my chest.

Inla leaned closer to Tark and waggled her brows in a way that she probably thought was subtle, though it wasn’t. Tark’s confusion deepened, his shoulders stiffening as if bracing for some kind of attack. “Now, don’t forget, dear nephew,” Inla said, her voice dripping with mischief, “kindness should always bemet with gratitude. You could, perhaps, offer her a small token of your appreciation. Maybe…show her your carving skills?”

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