Page 67 of Wrangling the Orc Cowboy

Finally, he gently settled me back in the chair. He rose to a stand and studied my face. What did he see other than red splotches—damn redness! —and the last of the tears in my eyes?

“I’ll make you dinner?” he said. “Will that help?”

“You don’t need to cook for me.”

“I want to. Will you let me?”

His aunt had said his love language was cooking. Who was I to dissuade him if he wanted to make a meal for me to show me how much he cared?

“I’d love to eat something you make for me,” I said.

“Wait here? I’ll bring it to you.” At my nod, he lumbered toward the kitchen, only tripping once on the floorboards. They leaped up in front of him. Sorta.

I sighed, but it was an exhalation that released the rest of my tension, nothing related to him. Things were going to be okay. We’d eat, talk, and get back on whatever track we’d started on before he worried about making me red between the legs.

Which I wanted him to do again.

Relationships were much too complicated, but what we were forming meant everything. I’d make sure he knew he hadn’t hurt me, that I wanted him, that we were worth fighting for.

He banged around in the kitchen. I kept staring at the tiny Sharga carving and trying not to weep because it was so beautiful. He’d made it for me and that made my heart crater.

Leave it to Mom and Dad to interrupt this wonderful moment with another phone call.

Tark tucked his head out through the kitchen door as my phone went off.

I held it up and pressed for a fake smile. “I need to take this call.” Actually, I needed to rush upstairs and hide. He’d see my face while they spoke to me. Maybe hear what they had to say because I’d have to put it on speaker—their rules. Then he’d ask questions. I wanted to put my old life behind me and start new with him.

No way could I do that if Mom and Dad came along for the ride.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Tark said.

I rose as the phone stopped ringing. No chance they wouldn’t call back. They’d do three rounds before they called the local sheriff—which I supposed was Dungar. Would he tell them in his brawny orc voice to leave me alone?

No, I had to do that myself.

“Do you need help?” Tark asked, starting toward me.

“Nope. My ankle’s good.” I tested it with a few steps toward the stairs, grateful the pain was nearly gone. “You cook. I’ll be back down in a second.”

I felt his heavy gaze as I hurried up the stairs, picking up their second call when I reached the landing. A glance over my shoulder showed Tark entering the kitchen. I wanted to follow him. So much.

But I needed to get this over with first.

“Mom, Dad,” I said with false cheer, striding down the hall and opening my door. “Could you give me a minute? I’m…in the bathroom.”

“Of course, sweetie,” Mom said.

I entered my room, shutting the door behind me and hurried to the small table, where I yanked out a chair. Reaching for a tissue from the box on the table, I paused.

No. Taking control of my life meant controlling this stress-reliever; finding a healthier way to deal with it. I placed the carved Sharga on the table, and it stared up at me.

I did have a friend, and she wasn’t necessarily the carving.

She wasme.

I laid the phone on the table, putting it on speaker.

“I'm back!” I used some of Mom's false cheer. I didn’t bother waiting for them to begin. “You’ve been calling a lot lately.”

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