Page 27 of Rough Riding Orc Cowboy

Maybe after menopause when my hormones went haywire.

Which they were kind of doing right now as I followed Ruugar toward the fenced pasture beside the barn. He really was big. Muscular. Gorgeous. Did orcs release pheromones? Because my body was responding to something.

He leaned against the fence, looking pretty casual about all this. Six sorhoxes grazed in the pasture, ignoring us for now.

Cupping his hands around his mouth, Ruugar released a low, guttural sound. “Whoop, whoop, whoop.” His voice echoed across the open land.

At first, nothing happened. Then the enormous green beasts lifted their heads and stared our way, their tails flipping back and forth, swatting at flies.

As if they shared a single thought, they charged toward us.

I took a step back. Then another. My body tensed, and I put my weight on the balls of my feet, ready to bolt into the barn if they barreled through the fence.

Ruugar didn't look ready to run. Shouldn’t we both be fleeing?

Dirt billowed around the thundering group, thick plumes rising behind their stamping, clawed hooves. Since they were the size of a minivan, I figured I was a done deal. They’d stomp all over me and it wouldn’t matter who was looking for me, because there’d be nothing left to find but flattened Beth.

Ben, that is.

Horns curved around their ears before jutting forward in lethal spikes. They’d impale me.

Smoke curled from their nostrils. Real smoke. Like dragons.

I swallowed but the fear lodged in my throat refused to go down.

I’d thought trail rides included horses, but nope. Nothing like that. These were beasts from someone's nightmare.

As the creatures came closer, my hands twitched at my sides. I'd read once that animals could smell fear. If that was true, I was probably radiating pure terror, my scent shouting that I wanted to get the hell out of here.

But Ruugar stayed right where he was, seemingly unbothered by all the ruckus. Unconcerned that they’d flatten the fence. Him. Me. He watched them approach with a pleasant expression on his face.

I exhaled. Right. If he wasn’t running, I didn't want to be the only one taking off across the yard like a spooked rabbit.

Grimacing, I stepped up beside him again and casually—sort of—placed my hands on the top of the rail that had been built to my eyelevel.

The sorhoxes skidded neatly to a stop in front of us, their claws digging into the packed dirt, sending a wave of it our way. It smacked against the front of my nice, new clothing and made me sneeze.

A low rumble rolled through the herd, like an earth-deep hum of excitement.

I stared.

They were massive, huge enough to make even Clydesdale horses look small. Their bright green hidesgleamed in the sunlight, and they appeared sleek and muscular. Eyes the color of deep moss locked onto me with equal curiosity. The one in the front stomped one of their front legs, their nostrils flaring and a thick coil of smoky breath shooting out to drift across the ground.

“Smoke,” I barked. “Fire?”

“Not so far,” Ruugar said in too casual a voice.

I guessed that was good. Maybe they weren’t orc dragons after all.

“You don't ride horses,” I said.

He snorted and looked down at his big body. “Can you see me riding one of them? My feet would touch the ground. The poor thing would collapse. Sorhoxes are better, especially for orcs. I imagine whoever gave you the tour explained that we're combining orc creatures and culture with your Wild West heritage to make something better here. Tourists are going to love it. So Gracie, my brother’s, Tark's mate says. She's a social media influencer and knows all about stuff like that.”

I did vaguely remember them mentioning that. Back then, I was wallowing in sadness and trying to figure a way out of the trap I'd found myself in with Bradley. I kept hoping something would happen, and I wouldn't have to marry him. When it got close, and I couldn’t see a way out, I knew I'd have to run.

Ruugar unhooked the gate and eased it to the side, waving toward one of the sorhoxes, a smaller one, meaning it was the size of a sofa with long legs rather than a box van.

The creature separated from the others with a lazystride, its tail swaying as it moved through the opening and toward the barn. It came to a stop near another sorhox tied to a post in front of the wide, red gambrel structure. Dirt puffed as its claws settled, and it jerked its head back and forth to drive away flies.

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