Page 5 of Wrangling the Orc Cowboy

Dear Gracie Weeks,

As you knowfrom the information I sent when I was looking for a proposal, my brothers and I have created a Western-themed orc ranch as a tourist destination. I need some(tons, actually, I thought)assistance marketing this venture(loved that big word)to humans. I believe your skills could be exactly what we need at Lonesome Creek Ranch. We've completed construction, but we’re struggling to connect with people online. If you’re still available, I'd like to hire you for this role. As we discussed, you could start immediately.

Thank you,

Tark Bronish

That was enough,wasn’t it? Respectful. Clear. No hint of the mess I’d made. I even looked words up online before inserting them into my mail-of-the-E.

I hesitated, my fingertip hovering over the screen. But the thought of disappointing my brothers drove me more than anything else. I hit send.

The air seemed to freeze, and I worried I'd created an even bigger mess than before. But there was no taking it back.

Somewhere across the vast, endless surface of this amazing world, Gracie Weeks would see my message.

Chapter 2

Gracie

As I stepped out of the Uber, thanking the driver, a cute building identified asSaloon &Hotelstood ahead, the weathered white paint bold against the wide, empty blue sky. The Uber turned around, heading back toward the real town, and the dust it left behind clung to my shoes, something my mother and old producer would chastise me for. When the breeze kicked up, sending a tumbleweed past me and more dust to coat my skirt and blouse, I sighed. I was here, ready to work, and that was all that mattered.

Since I still held a tissue in my hand—well, part of a tissue since I’d shredded it—I stuffed the bits into my pocket. Shredding them when I was stressed wasn’t necessarily a bad habit. I mean, I could be overeating or drinking too much. Chain smoking. Tissue shredding was a relatively cheap habit, and it didn’t cause anyone harm.

A real stagecoach had been drawn up to a building a few doors down from the hotel, and I grinned. Arealstagecoach, though it must be motorized because two fake sort-of horse creatures were hitched to the front, their reins “tied” to a post. Sort-of horse creatures because they were as green as the orcs I’d seen on TV and the size of minivans. The mechanical beasts hadbig curling horns with sharp points jutting past their jawlines like spears and claws in the place of hooves. Spiked tails that looked like they could impale someone if they weren’t paying attention.

And did I see fangs? Talk about making this an authentic experience. I’d heard about sorhoxes, the orc version of horse-cow, though I hadn’t seen one live yet. I assumed I soon would.

Picking my way across the open, packed dirt street, I aimed for the hotel where Tark, the orc who’d hired me, said he’d be waiting. I took in every detail of this newly built, quaint Wild West town with the kind of focus that thankfully came naturally. My InstaPlug and FaceSpace feeds depended on this skill.

The boardwalks of Main Street looked convincingly weathered, the saloon doors hung slightly askew, and the jail a bit to my left had real bars on the windows. If nothing else, the orcs who'd built this tourist town had the aesthetic feel down.

As the Uber disappeared out onto the main road, I started mentally piecing together hashtags.

#orcwest

#sorhoxadventure

And—

The ground beneath me shook, and a flurry of dust swept around me, blocking visibility and making me cough.

My producer would really be pissed if he saw my clothing now. Wait, no. There was no producer in this. I was a one-woman show, and that was the best and only way to be. What a freeing feeling, one I still hadn't gotten used to—and might not if I couldn’t make a career of this andtheyinsisted I go back. Thank goodness I was no longer under the thumb of my parents and the reality show I'd grown up on.

Something snorted to my right, and a shadow swallowed the sun. I looked up.

And up.

The creature stood monstrous and unmoving nearby, its dark green eyes staring at me as though it was trying to decide if I should be the main course for its lunch. It had lighter green, short-furred skin. Cloven hooves ending in claws the length of my forearm that sank into the dirt. And its teeth—definitelyfangs—jutted up and down from the sorhox’s powerful jawline. Its horns curled around its ears and stabbed toward me.

A real sorhox. Not a mechanical one. Not pretend and hitched to a fake stagecoach. And definitely not wearing reins tied securely to a post. Nope, this one was loose and maybe wild.

It was going to eat me.

I gulped and jerked backward. The full coffee cup in my hands lurched along with me, spilling piping hot coffee onto my white blouse. I gasped as pain seared through me from the burn.

“Don’t move.” The deep voice echoed from somewhere ahead of me, low and gravelly, like the earth before a quake. I didn’t dare look that way, afraid the slightest twitch would provoke the giant thing breathing smoke on my right.

Smoke, like a freakin’ dragon. Hopefully not fire, also like a dragon.

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