Page 63 of Rough Riding Orc Cowboy

I watched her shoulders grow stiffer with each miss. “Patience, Breela. Remember.”

She frowned up at me. “Patience,helper?”

“Um, yes.” No. I needed to stop calling her the orcish word for sweetheart. “You're the helper, um,Ben.”

Her lips thinned and that happy look faded from her eyes. “Yeah, helper. That’s all I am.”

She was so much more than that. Did I dare tell her? Before I could decide, she turned back to the water with her spear lifted and tried again. Over and over, without success.

“I have patience,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

Everyone from the firepit was watching now, murmuring among themselves. Joel and Pete cheered whenever she threw her spear, and Mary and Carol keptshouting for her to keep trying. I was sure they could see how hard this could be.

If they didn't, they would soon, because a lesson was in store for them later. It was part of the included activities in each trail ride. Dungar thought our guests would enjoy not only eating the fish speared here but being the ones to spear them.

Beth waved their way, though her face had gone scarlet. “They’re staring.”

“And you can stare at them later when it’s their turn to fish.”

“This, I’ve got to see.”

“You’ll be one of the instructors.”

Her snort rang out. “Please don’t tell me it’ll be a competition, because my team will be sure to lose to yours.”

I smothered a grin. “You’re doing better than most would. I’m sure you’ll spear your first when you reach one-hundred-and-one.”

“Ninety-nine, Ruugar,” she said with a smirk. “Ninety-nine.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. The way her lips curved and the easy way she spoke weren't things meant for me. She enjoyed the moment, but did she see where this could lead? How could she know what these little smiles, these teasing words, did to me? I stood close to her, but I was not truly any nearer than if I was standing in the middle of Lonesome Creek and her here.

She turned back to the water and kept trying. “Do all orcs learn how to spear fish?”

“If they hope to eat.”

She sent me a shocked look.

“I’m teasing. This is something my brothers and I used to do for fun. Many orcs live in the city and like you, the only fish they see come in a wrapper.”

“So no training in fishing, then.”

“Nothing formal, not for this.”

“For what, then?”

“Battle.” I thought back to my first weeks of training with my brothers, my aching muscles and the sharp words of my elder instructors. There had been no soft guidance, no patience. Just expectation. Strength and success were demanded, not encouraged.

“I bet you were good at that too.”

“No,” I said. “I was worse than some of my brothers.”

Beth blinked, startled. “Really?”

“First, they teach us to throw daggers. I missed for weeks before I hit my first target.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “Glad to know even mighty orcs aren’t perfect.”

My grin joined with hers. “No male isperfect, especially me.”

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