Page 6 of Wrangling the Orc Cowboy

Holding the coffee cup away from my body, I plucked at my white blouse, dragging it away from my skin while tears smarted in my eyes. Damn, that hurt.

Don't show the pain. Keep your face neutral. Pleasant. Resting bitch face is allowed, but not too often. Words from the producers who'd controlled my every action from the time I'd turned six.

But it hurt. It hurt!

The sound of heavy boots moved closer, and I swore I heard the scrape of a rope dragging over dirt. Slowly, carefully, a figure stepped past me, partly obscured in the still-swirling dust.

An orc. Big and green and with dark hair and a billion muscles.

And with what looked like a raven riding on his right shoulder. I blinked, but it was still a raven. The bird cocked its head, studying me. I wasn’t sure what it decided, but it, strangely enough, meowed. I’d heard of cat-dogs, but never cat-ravens, so this was a first.

Dirt clung to the male’s jeans, and his scuffed leather vest didn’t do much to hide the broad expanse of his bare chest. He towered over me, not only tall but immense, his green skin gleaming in the sunlight. A cowboy hat tipped low on his head cast a shadow over his chiseled features. He was solid, like someone had poured a mountain into a mold shaped like a male.

“Don’t worry, little human,” he said in a calm voice that actually did make me feel better. “Sorhoxes are stubborn, but they only charge if they sense fear.”

Sense? Terror was roaring through me like wildfire. If I wasn't worried about the blisters that must be forming on my skin beneath my blouse, I'd be trembling. Collapsing on the ground. Spinning around and running as fast as my requisite four-inch heels could take me.

The sorhox standing between me and the big red barn to my right looked like it could knock over the building if it got bored.

Slowly lifting the rope, the orc eased between me and the hulking creature, his boots crunching with every step.

“Look at you, you cute beastie,” he said in a low voice. “I bet you're hungry. Let me shoo you back to the pasture.”

The raven meowed again.

Looking between the orc and the bird, the sorhox huffed, its massive nostrils flaring and its clawed hooves dragging across the ground like it was going to charge.

The orc didn’t flinch. The raven meowed. And the orc moved closer, weaving his rope in the air like he was performing a snake dance. When it seemed he had full control of the situation, his foot caught on the end of the line. He staggered forward, hishat nearly flying off, stumbling into the sorhox's head. The beast snorted and reeled backward. The male groaned, and for some reason, that tiny break in his confident persona made me choke out a laugh.

It echoed in the silence. The male met my eyes briefly, his expression unreadable. The sorhox continued moving, backing away. It spun and galloped past the red barn and toward a pasture beyond.

“Fence is down,” he said. “Need to fix it.”

“Yes, before more of them wander through town.” While scary, the creaturehadbeen amazing. This place was going to wow whoever came here. I could already see its potential.

If only my chest wasn't screaming at me in pain. It hurt so bad, I could barely breathe.

“I'm Tark.” His voice came out deep and low, like he tasted each word before letting it leave his mouth. “Tark Bronish.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but the words got lost somewhere between my brain and my tongue.

He took a step toward me, and his boot caught on the trailing loop of his rope again. He stumbled forward, one enormous hand shooting out to catch himself. His palm landed square on my chest, pressing into the spot where the steaming coffee had spilled.

Agony flared through me, and I yelped, the sound escaping before I could bite it back. Tark froze, his wide eyes darting from his hand to my face. His pointy-tipped ears darkened, and his eyes widened in what I took for mortification.

“Oh. Oh,” he muttered, yanking his hand away. “I hurt you. I hurt you!” His words tumbled out in a rush, and he tossed aside the rope.

The raven flapped its wings, one smacking against the back of Tark’s head, sending his cowboy hat flying to land on thedusty ground a few feet away. Tark scooped it up and plunked it back on his head, his horrified gaze never leaving mine.

“I’m fine,” I lied, my voice strangled. Every nerve ending in my chest felt like it was on fire. I tried to wave it off, though, because the pained look on his face somehow managed to melt through my wall of agony.

I told my mouth to hold still, but it trembled anyway. Traitorous thing. My thoughts scattered like dry leaves kicked up by the wind. All I could do was stand there, wondering if being touched again would make it worse or somehow erase it. The pain, the memory, the years of learning how to smile when all I wanted to do was show how I was truly feeling.

“Not fine at all.” Tark shook his head. His hand hovered near me as if he was debating whether or not to touch me again before he dropped it to his side. He let out a grunt. “You're hurt because of me. This is bad. Very bad, and I did it.”

Before I could protest, he swept me off my feet, cradling me against his chest, his enormous arms locking around me. The smell of leather, earth, and something distinctly him enveloped me. My mouth opened, but no words came out. I was too stunned by his actions.

The bird stared down at me and meowed again.

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