Page 90 of Buck Wild Orc Cowboy
He smiled like I’d handed him the universe. “Good. Because I’m already yours.”
Reaching up, I held his face and kissed him, tasting the truth of his words. “Mine.”
He nodded. “Yours.” He looked down before his solemn gaze met mine. “I love you too.”
I hurtled myself against him, and he lifted me up, giving me a long kiss that melted everything inside me. There was nothing better than loving someone and being loved in return.
He put me back on my feet, and we cleaned up, though it took longer than it should have with all the pausing to touch, to smile, to kiss again.
By the time we’d locked up and called Zist for a ride home, my world felt different. The same, but better.
Just like us.
Chapter 32
Sel
Standing at the bakery’s counter the next day, I put the finishing touches on my picnic basket donation, and stepped back, checking it out. Sturdy wicker, square-shaped, strong. I’d lined it with a cream-colored cloth, the edges stitched with small green leaves. Not my work, but I'd traded three loaves of bread for it from Grannie Lil who insisted the needlework was hers, though I remained skeptical. She could do anything she put her mind to, but I couldn’t picture Jessi’s spry grandmother sitting still long enough to create such an intricate piece of work.
I loved it. Might keep it later. I could wrap it around Holly when she wore nothing else.
I’d wrapped a ribbon around the handle, doing my best to make a bow. It was…not a good bow, but hopefully good enough.
I’d packed it with orc specialties. A clay container of stone-spiced grain roast, the way my mother always made it, rich with garlic and dried plumerest. A side of pickled crabroot, a stack of wild greens flatbread, and a chilled jar of endally spritz I'd brewed myself. For dessert, I’d included three honeyed willadoncakes in a tin. I'd carved the edges of each one with little mountain peaks. Holly would notice.
Assuming she bid on and won my basket. She planned to, right?
A folded note sat tucked beside the cakes. Just her name, written in my hand, and a special message for the woman I adored above all others.
I rubbed the back of my neck and stepped away, eyeing the thing again.
When I’d asked Holly if she planned to bid, she’d only grinned, coy and maddening.
She’d better. I only wanted to share this basket with her.
I checked the time on the clock, and realized I needed to leave. I picked up the basket, careful not to jostle the things inside, and stepped out onto the small back deck, locking the door behind me.
Outside, the early afternoon sun was warm but not hot, and the breeze carried the smell of wildflowers from the plains surrounding Lonesome Creek. Main Street ran straight through town like it had somewhere important to be, though nobody here ever rushed. They were on vacation and wanted to take this time to slow the world down.
I took a right, walking along the alley spanning the backside of the false-front buildings, all painted in colors that looked sun-faded even though they were new, and ducked through an opening, stepping onto the boardwalk spanning the front of our small town, aiming for the big red gambrel barn at the end.
Bunting flags flapped between porch posts, red and white mostly, a little blue here and there. Tourists milled around in prairie gowns and bonnets, cowboy hats and vests, some clinking with fake spurs, some stopping to take pictures beside a stagecoach parked in front of the general store pulled by one of our tamest sorhoxes. A youngling male about ten ran pastwith candy in one hand and a fake wooden rifle in the other, a youngling female giving chase.
I nodded to everyone I passed, and other than a few giving me startled looks, they nodded back. Everybody was in a good mood, but who wouldn’t be when they were on vacation? Some carried baskets of their own, wrapped in gingham or tied with bows, the kind of thing they’d probably bought just for today.
I liked the sound of it all. The footsteps and chatter, the distant sound of a sorhox bellowing and the bursts of laughter. Lonesome Creek felt stretched wide open in a good way.
The bond mark on the underside of my wrist tingled. Still new enough that I barely believed I had it. I’d gone from believing I’d never be with anyone else, mourning the loss of my mate and youngling, to building a sudden family with Holly and Max. I didn’t think my heart could swell with love any further, though I was willing to try.
I shifted the basket in my arms and stepped off the end of the boardwalk, striding toward the barn that rose ahead. Two stories tall and wide, it was freshly painted in a deep, rich red that caught the sunlight like velvet. White trim gleamed. Aunt Inla had hung baskets full of wildflowers on the posts out front, twined with ivy and little strings of battery-run lights that blinked white.
The double doors had been thrown open, and voices spilled out, human and orc alike. Tourists wore Western-styled shirts and stiff cowboy boots and hats. Stopping in the opening, I took in the people settling on benches inside. My brothers milled among them, easy to pick out by their height.
Tark stood up front with Gracie, who had a clipboard in hand and a cheerful look on her face. Hail had found a seat along the left aisle with Max, who had a book open on his lap. Reading like he did during most of his free time. That youngling sure was smart. Greel nodded when I caught his eye. Dungar, in fullsheriff getup, badge and all, stood near the back with a scowl on his face that was mostly for show. Ostor and Ruugar leaned against the left wall, their arms crossed on their chests, keeping watch or pretending to.
We looked alike. Seven feet tall or close to it, medium green skin, dark eyes, pointed-tipped ears, and tusks. Like any other orc, weren’t easy to miss.
The barn looked great. Arched beams framed the ceiling, and long wooden benches stretched along either side of the aisle. Lanterns hung from wrought-iron hooks, flickering with warm electric light. Tall windows filtered in soft daylight that pooled on the plank floor.
