Page 9 of Rough Riding Orc Cowboy

“Over your left shoulder,” she said softly as I hurried to throw the grit into the trash.

I stopped in the middle of the room, not looking back. “What?”

“If you spill salt, you're supposed to toss it over your left shoulder. For good luck.”

“Oh. I didn't know that.” Since I needed all the good luck I could get, I flung the small handful over my shoulder, worrying as I did it that it would then make my floor look even messier. But I'd do anything to please her.

She sputtered, coughed, and sneezed.

I cringed, now not wanting to turn around ever. “Sorry.” If only I could crawl inside my skin. Disappear.

If she was wise, she’d tell me to hide her anywhere else but with me.

Chapter 4

Ruugar

“Hey, no problem.” I swore laughter came through in Beth’s voice, but I didn't dare look to verify the fact. “You’re sharing the good luck with me.”

I liked that much more than the cringey feeling roaring through me.

But I didn't like how messy my home still was. Why hadn't I kept it neat and tidy like Dungar did his own home? You could practically eat on any surface inside his house. No one could compare to my oldest brother who'd joined our group coming to the surface and then took charge of this amazing plan.

Aunt Inla said he had O of the CD, but I had no idea what that meant. She said she’d read about it online, that this was why he had to have everything perfectly lined up, why things had to always be done in a certain way even when other ways would work just as well. It made him an admiral person, though, and I envied himhaving this O of the CD and wondered if it was something I could buy online. Probably not.

Finally, I had to turn to face Beth. I couldn't stand in the middle of my still-messy kitchen with my back to her for the rest of my life. Heat crawled up my neck as I spun, catching bemusement on her face, shadowing her pretty blue eyes.

“You’re safe,” I blurted out, as if I hadn’t told her that already. My voice came out rough. So cringey—a word Grannie Lil, Jessi's grandmother used once, and I’d liked enough to adopt it as my own. Cringey described me most of the time. “I won’t let them take you back. Not your father. Not Bradley. Not even Dungar if he decides to put on his sort of pretend badge and come knocking on my door, saying as the local law he has to collect you.”

Her eyes widened and shot to my back door. “Your brother's a cop?”

Cop… Oh, yes. “He's the sort of pretend sheriff of Lonesome Creek. Not a real cop. He'll be arresting tourists. As pretend. Not real. Though I’m not sure why. My Aunt Inla said they find it fun to be arrested and placed in our jail. For charity. We wouldn't do it for any other reason.”

“He won't come here and insist on taking me back, will he?”

“I won't allow him to do this. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

Her grip on her skirt loosened. “Thank you.”

The words burrowed into my chest, warming parts of my insides I hadn't let myself feel in a long time. Hope?Yeah, that was it. The beginning of completeness, something to be expected when someone was with their fated mate.

And affection with a surge of protectiveness shoring it up.

She sat there, staring at me. I stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at her, wondering what I was supposed to do with her now. It wasn’t late enough to suggest she go to bed.

Bed. I only had one inside my house. Well, it was Beth’s bed now. I’d sleep on the sofa.

Water. She could need water. Food. Something.

I rushed to the refrigerator, yanking it open. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? I have—” I dug through the shelves, grabbing anything that might appeal to a human, though I’d only stocked orc food here so far. Eventually, I'd have to try more human things to see if I liked them. My brothers, Greel and Ostor, who were mated with humans, said human food was amazing. How could it be when they ate warmed dog fingers and thick, white strands of hair they coated with sauce as red as their blood?

Beth shook her head. “I'm not hungry. Or thirsty. But thank you.”

I straightened from where I'd been hunched over the open fridge, still gripping a hunk of smoked sorhox meat in one hand and a jar of pickled cragroot in the other. Slowly, I set them back down on the shelf and shut the door.

She still clutched the folds ofher dress, her fingers twisting the fabric. A second later, she lifted her bag into her lap. “Do you have a place where I could change? This dress—” She swallowed hard. “I’ll feel so much better once I get out of it.”

That made sense. It was the dress she'd been forced to wear, the one meant to bind her to a life she hadn't chosen.

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