Page 32 of Wrangling the Orc Cowboy

Aunt Inla clapped her hands. “I love it. It’s wonderful. You don’t mind if I, err, steal that, do you?”

“It’s yours.” I shared a smile with Tark.

He pretty much cringed and stepped toward the door, holding it open for me. “We should…continue the tour.”

“Goodbye,” I called out to Aunt Inla as I scooted after him. “Nice to meet you!”

“You as well, little one. Thanks for your help. Come by if you have a chance to take a look at that app. We'd love your input on our logo.”

“I will.” Then I could see if Tark's picture was front and center on the opening screen.

Outside again, the air felt cooler, as if somehow the small store had been its own bubble of warmth. We walked in silence past the saloon and hotel, its swinging doors swaying in the breeze, and approached the jailhouse beyond.

“This is the place of law,” he said, gesturing to the small wooden building complete with bars on the windows, wooden shutters, and a carefully weathered false front. “Sheriff's Office” was spelled out on the pristine white sign mounted above the door. “Dungar’s the sheriff. He is not here today.”

The wooden door creaked open as he led me inside, the space small but functional. A single desk sat on the right, its surface immaculately organized, while against the left wall, a cell with iron bars stood in silent testament to the town’s theme.

I strolled toward the front of the cell, unable to resist running my fingers along the cool metal. “You’re going for full authenticity here, huh? Everything looks real, from the bunk with a folded wool blanket to the bucket in the corner where I assume a true inmate might…” Yeah, I wasn't going to think too hard about that.

“We want everything to feel real,” Tark said. “Visitors will be arrested. I know it sounds odd, but I've been told they enjoy that.”

“Oh, they will,” I said with a laugh. “Dungar will do the arresting, I assume?”

“He will.”

“He's cute. The ladies are going to love that.”

A scowl took over his face. “Coot? That's a word that equates with attractive, right?”

Pretty please, could he be jealous?

Wait, no. Leaving town soon. No jealousy or orc suitors allowed.

“Yeah, sort of,” I said, noncommittal.

His head tilted. “Am I coot?”

Beyond cute. Gorgeous, actually. “Yes.”

He jerked out a nod, his scowl remaining. “Good.”

My lips twitched up in a smile. “Yes, very good.”

He waved to the door. “I should escort you back to the hotel. It'll be dark soon.”

I strode toward the entrance. “Any predators about after dark?”

“Sometimes. They won't come near town. If they do, I'll defend you.”

“Thank you, Tark.” I smiled up at him as he held the door open, and I walked outside.

He fell into step beside me as we made our way down Main Street toward the saloon and hotel, the golden hues of the setting sun casting long shadows across the dusty boardwalk and road. His posture seemed a little straighter, his pace more confident now. Every so often, his eyes flicked toward me like he was stealing glances but trying not to get caught. Sharga had flown off somewhere, leaving Tark’s broad shoulders bare, and I felt the absence of his chirping-meowing commentary.

“Tark?” I asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between us.

“Yes, Gracie?”

“Do you ever regret leaving the life you had underground? Your home, your people?”

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