Page 17 of Wrangling the Orc Cowboy

That brought his head up fast enough he banged it on the inside of the fridge. Looking sheepish, he rubbed it and gave me a tusky grin that made my heart flip over and thrust its feet in the air like a pup eager for belly rubs. Relief sparked in his dark eyes, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Orc,” he repeated. “Good.”

I had to wonder what we'd be eating if I'd said human, but I loved trying new dishes, and this was my chance to eat like an orc.

He began pulling items from the fridge. Some kind of meat wrapped in butcher paper and thick stalks of a gnarled root-like vegetable, plus berries so dark they were almost black.

As he smoothly set things on the counter, he whistled, a low, warbling tune that lilted through the room. His hands moved with confidence as he sliced, diced, and stirred things on the stove with a rhythm I could only describe as hypnotic. Where hadthisversion of Tark come from? The slightly clumsy, shy orc who tripped over almost everything had disappeared, replaced by someone who could command the kitchen as though he’d been born here.

Taking the peeled, root-like vegetable he’d grated into a bowl, he added something that looked like flour, only darker, plus milk. Or what I assumed was milk. The carton from the fridge didn't say. As an earthy and slightly sweet scent drifted across the room, tickling my nose, he whisked it all together and set the bowl aside.

Curiosity rushed through me. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

Tark paused, his hand stilling as he reached for the butcher-wrapped package of meat. “An Aunt Inla taught me.” He glanced my way, then quickly dropped his gaze back to his work as if he was caught in a guilty confession. “She said cooking was important. Especially if I ever hoped to win someone’s heart.”

Well, damn.

There was something wonderfully old-fashioned about that. He wasn’t hoping to win my heart, was he?

Before my brain could wander too far into uncharted and slightly dangerous territory, Tark got back to work. The kitchen filled with the sizzle of meat meeting a hot pan, a rich,mouthwatering aroma perking up my senses immediately after. He added liquid from a bottle on the counter, and that sent up a plume of steam, shooting the savory smell throughout the room. My stomach grumbled in approval. Loudly.

A spark of amusement gleamed in his eyes. “You're hungry.”

It wasn’t a question. “Maybe a little.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

He grunted and started crafting palm-sized balls with the grated root, which he delicately dropped into something boiling in another pan. Oil or water; I couldn't tell from here. The balls popped and hissed.

Taking the black berries he'd grabbed earlier, he smashed them in a bowl with big mortar and pestle looking tools until they must've been turned into a dark purple paste. Whatever they were smelled tangy, with a surprising note of sweetness and a hint of citrus.

Sharga watched it all, only once tipping his head back to release a grunting whoop, whoop, whoop sound that made me startle.

“No sorhoxes, Sharga,” Tark chided. “You know they’re not allowed inside the saloon.”

How could the raven know that? I tried to picture those minivan-sized beasts stomping around and the thought made me laugh.

Finally, Tark set two heaping plates on the table, one in front of me and the other in front of the chair he pulled out for himself opposite. The meal looked amazing. He clipped a small dish of food for Sharga to his perch, and the bird tilted his head this way and that, studying the offering before he started pecking.

“I made brimberg.” Sitting, Tark gestured to the meat tips glistening with a light sauce. “We raise brimbergs in the orc kingdom, and I’ve found they taste similar to your steak.” He pointed to the balls he’d crafted from the grated root. “Cragrootfritters with boulderberry dip on the side in the small containers. We plan to offer dishes like this to humans, and we hope they’ll be eager to give them a try.”

“I bet they will. Everything smells and looks wonderful.” I grinned up at him. “You’re quite the cook. Funny that you’re handling social media when you could be running the restaurant instead.”

He gulped and carefully lowered himself into his chair. “I’m…good with social media.” He sounded almost desperate to convince me. “Stupendous, in fact. You’ll see.”

Then why had he hired me?

There was something going on here, and I was determined to figure it out. Until then, I decided to jump into the orc dish—with my fork, that is.

“Let’s eat, shall we?” I said with only a touch of forced cheer. I hated that he seemed uncomfortable, though I wasn’t sure why he was.

Tark nodded, his movements stiff. He watched me, more focused on my reaction than the food in front of him. His fork trembled in his big hand as he speared a cragroot fritter and carefully dipped it in the boulderberry sauce. The green of his knuckles darkened as he clenched the utensil, and he stared at me with an intensity that made my cheeks heat.

I took the smallest bite of the brimberg, letting the meat rest on my tongue. The flavor hit me first, rich like tenderloin but with an earthier undertone, as if it had absorbed hints of whatever wild place it came from.

My eyes widened. “Oh, wow.” I spoke around the bite, covering my mouth with my hand. “This is fantastic. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but seriously, it’s delicious.”

The corner of Tark's lips quirked up, and for a moment, his shoulders dropped like a weight had been lifted.

“You like it,” he said softly, his voice rolling low like the hum of distant thunder. His mouth pulled up further into a shy, tusk-filled smile, and he glanced down at his plate. Was he embarrassed that I was savoring the food he'd prepared?

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