Page 45 of Buck Wild Orc Cowboy
I stared out the front window, admiring the wavering grasses, the forest beyond the plain, and the tall mountains ringing the valley. There was something magical about Lonesome Creek, and I already knew it would hurt if I had to leave it.
As we left the valley he and his brothers had purchased, civilization picked up outside.
Sel started whistling through his tusks and tapping his fingers on the wheel in a matching rhythm that soon had Max doing the same. Then, while Max continued the percussive beat and whistling, Sel started singing in a low baritone that was surprisingly pleasant even if I didn’t understand any of the orcish words.
It wasn’t long before I was singing along, mumbling through the refrain in harmony. We were something else.
We rolled down the windows and with the breeze scooting through the cab and our voices forming something magical, I was having fun.
I couldn’t remember the last time I truly had.
Eventually, we made it to a big department store, and Sel parked all the way in the back.
“I don’t want anyone to upset my truck,” he said, patting the dashboard as Max opened our door, and we both slid out.
I also took good care of my things. When something had to last longer than it was supposed to, you took care with how you used it.
We walked into the store, and Sel got a cart. A few people cocked their eyes in his direction, but most ignored us. Orcs were more mainstream now than they used to be, but it made sense that some may still not have met one.
Sel guided the cart to the women’s department, stopping it beside a wall with stacks of folded jeans. “Let’s get you some things.”
“I’ll take a look on the clearance rack,” I said, easing around the cart to the rack with the big yellow sign. I pawed through the items, not finding much in my size, and held up a pair of leopard-print, bell-bottom pants. “Think this would look good in the bakery?” It was marked down to a dollar, and I knew why.
“Mom,” Max sighed. He waved to the stack of non-clearance jeans. “These will look better. Actually, anything will look better.”
“If you like them, we’ll get them,” Sel said.
“I don’t like them, but they’re cheap. Clothing’s clothing.”
“She wears this size.” Max pointed to one of the shelves. “And she wears this size shirt.” He gestured to another shelf holding t-shirts.
How had he known that? Most of the time, my son was lost in a fantasy world. Look at him now, telling Sel that I wore a medium top and the right size jeans.
Sel grabbed what had to be eight pairs of pants and placed them in the cart, following it up with an equal number of t-shirts. “What else?” He peered around, then nudged the cart over to a rack of sweaters. “These are nice.” He held a light blue one up.
“Mom would look good in that,” Max, who was not being any help, said. My son had never possessed that kind of easy belief that you could have something because you liked it. I’d trained him out of it without meaning to. Watching it come back now made it hard to hold onto my smile.
“I can’t get all this. I don’t need all this,” I said, my voice lifting. At full price, the items would make a serious dent in my emergency funds. Grabbing the clothing, I started putting it back.
“Iwant to get these for you,” Sel said quietly, looking around to ensure we were alone as if he didn’t want to embarrass me.
It wasn't the helping that got me, it was being seen as a person who needed it. All my life, I'd learned to avoid scrutiny. A tiny part of me wanted to hiss at him that we were fine, even if one of Max’s sneakers had duct tape across the toes.
“I can’t let you do that,” I said weakly, clutching the side of the cart.
Max’s lips trembled. “I hate that we have nothing.”
My heart tightened. I hated that I couldn’t get him anything. I worked incredibly hard, but there never seemed to be enough. But that was the way of the world, right? Pull yourself up by your bootstraps. If only the bootstraps weren’t suspended out of my reach.
I didn’t look at him, didn’t trust myself not to break out an apology, or worse, excuses. We didn’t use words like nothing.We said “we have enough for now,” “we’re okay,” “just waiting until the next payday”. But Max was right. We hadnothing.
“I want to do this for you,” Sel said. “If it helps, you could work in my garden. It needs weeding and…other things.”
Frowning, I tilted my head, trying to remember if I’d seen a garden at his place. I hadn’t. “You don’t have a garden.”
“See, that’s the problem.” Sel scratched the back of his neck. “I want to start one, but I’ve never grown vegetables before. I need lots of help.”
“I lived in a city. The only plants I’ve had were houseplants and they died. It’s hard to kill spider plants, but I found a way.”
