Page 72 of Wrangling the Orc Cowboy

She blinked down at me, her brows knitting together. I couldn’t tell if it was confusion, irritation, or something else entirely on her face. Probably confusion, considering the racket I’d made.

“Tark?” Her voice wasn’t sharp, but it wasn’t exactly warm either. “What are you doing?” She peered around and I swore a touch of panic crossed her face. “You haven’t seen anyone…taking pictures, have you?”

I frowned and shook my head.

She sagged against the frame. “Good. Maybe they won’t.”

Who?

I shook off the thought, focusing on what I needed to do to impress her.

Words didn’t come right away. My throat made a dry noise, and I looked down at the gee-tar like it might explain all this for me. It didn’t.

“I…” My fingers twitched on the strings. The note that rang out made both of us wince. “What am I doing?” I stiffened my spine. “Gracie, I’m wooing you.”

Her mouth opened, then she shut it again. Was that a good sign? Probably not. I glanced at the toppled pot, then back up at her.

“Like Dungar suggested,” I mumbled, shifting awkwardly. “With songs. And, uh, soft words.”

Gracie tilted her head, and in the moonlight, I thought I saw the corner of her mouth twitch. Was she laughing? No, not quite. But her face wasn’t angry. Just tired. Or curious. Or both.

“Soft words?” she said, leaning forward on the windowsill. Her voice dipped low, teasing. “You mean the thing about slugs and brambles?”

Heat rushed to my ears, making them pound harder than when I’d faced that charging sorhox yesterday. My fingers scraped against the strings. “No. I mean—yes. But not just slugs. Or brambles. There were dasterberries. And… And stars.” That was true, wasn’t it? Stars sounded nice. “You’re like them. Bright. And hard to catch. But worth catching. Never doubt that.”

Her expression lightened. My chest didn’t hurt as much, even though I was still standing in the lot behind the hotel with a stupid instrument that didn’t want to cooperate. I rubbed the back of my neck, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Look,” I said, dropping my gaze to the gravel. It felt safer to talk to the ground than her shining eyes. “I’m not good at this. Words, music, serenades, or whatever humans do up here on the surface. But you mean a lot to me, Gracie. Really mean a lot. And if trying to turn this mess into a song and fumbling like a fool with this gee-tar under your window is the way I can show you I care, then I’ll do it. I’ll do it a hundred times, even if I scare off half the town’s cantaloupes or break this gee-tar in half.”

The silence that followed felt too thick. My stomach churned worse than the time Dungar dared me to drink fermented chumble milk. My fingers flexed along the neck of the gee-tar, and I snuck a glance up at her face.

She was smiling.

Not a big, laughing smile that humans sometimes did, but a small one. Warm and real, and it loosened every angle of her face. Her head tipped to the side, and the moonlight caughtsomething shiny in her eyes. I wasn’t sure if it was tears or just the light, but either way, it made my heart twang in my chest.

“You’re sweet,” she said softly.

That didn’t seem bad. Not the way her voice wrapped around the word like it was something she might keep in her pocket, safe and close. I swallowed the lump in my throat, not entirely sure what to say back. So, I didn’t say anything. I stood there, holding Pete's unforgiving gee-tar away from my body like it might attack me.

Gracie rested her chin on her crossed arms on the windowsill. “You didn't have to do this.”

To win her heart? I sure did. “I don’t want you thinking I don’t care. Or that I'm only interested in giving you more redness.”

“You're not?”

My ears heated again. “Not too much.”

“What if I want more redness?”

“You do?”

“I told you I did, didn't I?”

“I think so. See, I want it—and you—so much that my mind isn't always listening to what's going on. It's cleks away, forming the next lines of the conversation. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, Gracie, but I can figure it out.” My voice lowered, getting croakier now. “I want to figure it out. With you.”

“That's it,” she said, straightening. “I'm coming down.”

To give me the discouraging word? By the fates, I hoped not.

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