Page 71 of Wrangling the Orc Cowboy

I muttered something about being where sorhoxes roam and geese and cantaloupes play. What in all the fates did that mean? I wasn't sure, but those were the words Pete made me practice. Why would geese play with cantaloupes? Although, they could roll them on the ground before they ate them. I'd tried one once, and I'd liked it. Geese must too.

I also wasn't sure how this would show Gracie my true devotion, but it was too late to slink home now.

She didn't come to the window. Should I throw an even bigger rock?

I'd try singing some more first. She'd hear, then come to the window and thrust up the slash—no,sash—and poke her head out. She'd laugh and chide me in a nice way, then come down to see me. I'd finish my song, and then we'd walk under the moonlight. Maybe kiss, Dungar had suggested. He hadn't mentioned anything else, but licking could probably come in there somewhere. Gracie had enjoyed it, and it hadn't made her red. My cock had done that. And my hard thrusts. That she'd asked for. I think.

I hunched over the gee-tar again. “Gracie,” I croaked, trying to find that lilt that eluded me. My fingers slid clumsily over the strings, the gee-tar yelping out notes like a wounded chumble chick. “You, uh…” My voice wavered, but I pressed on. “You light up my days like… like the sun warms the cold caves below the ground. With the dirt. Rocks. And all that…stuff.”

The words tasted awkward in my mouth, but Pete had said human females liked comparisons. I scratched my fingers over the strings again, creating a sound that might’ve scared off a sorhox if it was standing nearby. That was one way to keep them from roaming through town.

My tusks clacked together when I winced.

Still no movement at the window. Not a whisper of the curtains shifting or her shadow passing by. My stomach churned like a restless herd of, well, cantaloupes, assuming they gathered in herds.

I adjusted my grip on the gee-tar, trying to remember Pete’s instructions. “It’s like a cow, Tark,” he’d said. “You don’t milk it all at once. Gentle pulls and a steady rhythm.” But I’d never milked a cow. Sorhoxes, sure, but they weren’t gentle animals.This gee-tar wasn’t either. It felt alive, squirming under my grip like it wanted to escape.

Channeling every bit of imagined grace I didn’t have, I plucked at the strings one by one. The sound was slightly less offensive this time. Encouraged, I cleared my throat and tried again. “Gracie, your smile is sweeter than… the slugs we steal from wop-boars underground.” I hesitated. Was that flattering? “Your laughter’s softer than triladee fur after the spring molt.”

Stop belting out anything about molting, Tark. No one's excited about molting other than a few random birds who might collect the fur for their nests.

But it was soft, almost as soft as Gracie's skin.

Maybe molting wouldn't be a bad thing to mention in my song then.

A light flickered inside her room. My heart leapt so hard I nearly tossed the gee-tar against the hotel's back wall. She must’ve heard me. Of course, she did. Steeling myself, I tried to make up the next verse, but the words tangled in my throat. Instead, I hummed a rough tune, one Dungar had practiced with me earlier.

It sounded much better when he did it.

Thunk.

Something hit the ground near my feet. I froze. Did she drop something? I turned my head to find a potted plant lay toppled on its side, dirt spilling across the gravel. She hadn’t meant to throw that, had she?

“Uh, Gracie?” I called up, my voice much too croaky for seduction.

I stared at the window, waiting, hoping, praying. The curtains didn’t move. Maybe she didn’t mean for the plant to fall. Maybe it blew off the windowsill. I could swear I’d seen it up there a while ago. Except there wasn’t any wind.

I crouched to scoop the pot upright. It was a little clay thing, cracked at the base. The plant inside slumped, half-buried in the spilled dirt. A sad sight, but not as sad as me trying to woo Gracie.

“You’ve had a rough night too,” I told the plant, pressing its roots back into the soil with my thick fingers. My brow knotted. What did humans do when wild plants got hurt? A little water, maybe. But I didn’t have any. Still, I sat the pot upright in case Gracie asked about her poor plant later. Maybe she’d appreciate the effort I’d made.

Her window stayed frustratingly still. No Gracie. No curious face appearing to look down at me with happy tears in her eyes—something Dungar said she’d probably do.

However, I wasn’t about to give up. Not yet.

“Gee-tar or not, she’s worth more than anything,” I whispered even though my ribs ached like I’d been kicked by a sorhox. I adjusted the strap across my shoulder and picked a steady rhythm across the strings, careful not to create something that might scare away living things this time—humans, sorhoxes, or nearby chumble chicks. “And often is heard…a discouraging word, and?—”

Wait. Why would I want her to tell me discouraging words? This song sucked.

Or I sucked at remembering the words to the song.

“Gracie,” I crooned again, softer this time. “You’re like…” I paused, unsure of what to say next. Pete had rattled off something about stars and flowers and other delicate things. He’d frowned gravely when I mentioned sorhoxes.

“You’re like ripe dasterberries. Sweet. And worth all the tangly brambles we must go through to get them.” I winced. By the fates, that probably sounded like I was calling her difficult. “What I mean is, uh, you’re worth it. Worth everything. A life with you, Gracie, would be more than what I dreamed of back inthe orc kingdom caves.” A part of me liked the honesty of that more than anything Pete had suggested.

The curtains rustled and the window rose. I froze mid-strum, the strings humming against my fingers.

A head appeared in the window.Herhead. Her hair was loose, tumbling down in soft waves like the stream we'd laid by while talking about clouds. Where she'd given me her body so sweetly.

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