Page 58 of Rough Riding Orc Cowboy

I hesitated, my fingers itching to take it yet frozen in place. Was this some kind of test or a symbolic offering? Here's a rock. You won't need me to protect you any longer. The silence around us stretched, and my pulse fluttered in my throat like it didn’t know whether to speed up or stop altogether. But the way he held it toward me and the uncertain expression on his face made it impossible to refuse. I took it from his outstretched fingers, his warmth still lingeringon the surface.

Behind us, Carol whispered to Pete. “That’s a nice one. He put thought into it. You can tell.”

Knowing smiles passed among them. I caught the looks they shared out of the corner of my eye, but I couldn’t completely tear my gaze from Ruugar. He remained still, watching me with a mix of hope and anticipation.

I wasn't sure what to do with the rock, but I wanted to dosomethingwith it that would please him.

Joel cleared his throat and lifted his voice. “Go on then, Ben. Give it a try.”

Heat crawled up my neck. “What do you want me to do with it?”

“It's a weapon,” Ruugar said. “A good one. Weighted well for your size.”

“And you want me to throw it?”

Ruugar nodded.

Feeling vaguely ridiculous but also strangely moved, I left the cooking gazebo with everyone else trailing behind and stepped toward the firepit. I set my stance, inhaled, and with a swift motion, tossed the rock toward the fire ring.

A sharp thunk echoed through the clearing as my throw hit true, smacking one of the biggest stones.

Everyone clapped. Alright, so ithadbeen a direct hit.

I turned back, only to find Ruugar closer than expected. Almost too close. He nodded once, and his eyes shone with approval.

My stomach flipped over.

Before I could say anything, he moved past me andbent, plucking the stone from where it had fallen. Returning to me, he carefully placed it back in my hand, as if entrusting me with something that mattered.

“Thank you. It's lovely.” I curled my fingers around it. It was only a rock. A smooth river stone. So why did my throat feel as if it had closed off?

It shouldn’t have mattered or stirred anything inside me beyond mild appreciation. But my pulse tripped over itself, thrown off-balance by the strange tightness in my throat. As we returned to the cooking gazebo, I held the stone against my chest, locking it in place like it might slip away if I let go, and forced myself to breathe.

Lunch was a blur after that. The tourists raved about the food, talking among themselves, but my mind remained stuck on the stone I'd carefully placed with my things inside the tent.

When we finished eating, the others trickled toward the fire, settling back into their chairs and their relaxed conversations. Pete poured himself a sniffer of his favorite whiskey, placing the bottle on the ground near his chair.

I busied myself with the dishes, grateful for something to do, for a way to keep my mind distracted.

But Ruugar wasn’t done with whatever this odd ritual was.

As I hung the dish cloth over the faucet, all done with cleaning up, he cleared his throat behind me. The hairs on my arms lifted before I turned to look his way.

His gaze met mine, searching for I didn't know what, before it dropped away and his ears darkened. He rakedhis tusks across his upper lip before he lifted something with that same reverence as before.

A stick.

Well, not any old stick. Longer and thinner than a twig, about an inch thick, it had a sharp, carefully whittled point. He'd removed all the bark and smoothed any rough spots.

Ruugar held it out. “I made this for you.”

Not any old object, but something shaped by his hands, whittled and formed with deliberate effort. Forme.

“A spear?”

He nodded fast.

I swallowed and took it from him carefully, like I wasn’t sure if I should be holding it. Handmade. By him. For me. A warmth I didn’t understand spread through my chest, cradling a part of me I hadn’t realized was wounded. I ran my fingers along the finely shaved wood, feeling every ridge. “Thank you. It’s really nice.”

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