Page 29 of Purring for Her Lion
I watch, amazed, as he demolishes three plates: adobo, kare kare, and a whole batch of lumpia. It’s satisfying, feeding him, watching him eat like he’s starving.
“I recognize some of these from the dishes you made. You cook like this often?” he asks.
“When I’m stressed. Or happy. Or breathing. So basically, yes.” I laugh, tucking my hair back. “Baking and cooking are my constants. No matter what’s happening, I can make something good and feel together for a minute.”
He studies me. “Your actual life seems together enough.”
I snort. “Says the man who’s rebuilt my chicken coop twice and is now redesigning my entire property because I clearly have no clue.”
“Having ideas and executing them are different skills.” His voice is soft, almost gentle. “You have the vision. You’ll learn the rest. I have the technical knowledge.”
I blink, unexpectedly touched. “That’s actually really nice.”
His ear twitches. “Just practical.”
After lunch, we get back to work. By late afternoon, the new coop is taking shape. Sturdy, dry, secure. Roarke mentions, offhand, he’s built something similar at his clinic.
“For what?” I ask, hammering.
“Future eggs,” he says, adjusting a beam. “Or other incubation needs.”
The implication lands. “You think there might be more? More dragon eggs?”
He shrugs. “Possible. The first wasn’t a coincidence.”
“What do you mean?” I press.
His tail flicks, a sign he’s uncomfortable. “Dragons choose. Where their eggs go. Who finds them.”
I stare. “You’re saying a dragon mother left her egg for me? Why would any intelligent creature pick me?”
He meets my eyes, steady. “That’s what we need to find out.”
By sunset, the chickens are secure in their new fortress. Chestnut glares at me through the wire, already plotting her next move. More importantly, we’ve set up a climate-controlled room for the dragon egg, complete with monitoring equipment. Roarke double-checks the settings, blue lights casting shadows across the walls.
“It looks like a sci-fi movie in here,” I say, watching the lights. “Very high-tech for my farmhouse.”
“Necessary.” He makes a final adjustment. “Blue mountain dragons are sensitive.”
I step closer, staring at the egg. In the blue glow, the shell shimmers, alive.
“It’s beautiful,” I murmur. “I still can’t believe this is real.”
Roarke stands beside me, massive and reassuring. “Believe it,” he says. “In about six weeks, you’ll be a dragon guardian.”
Six weeks. My life will change again.
“We’ll be dragon guardians,” I correct, putting weight on the “we.” No way I’m doing this alone.
His eyes meet mine, warm and unreadable. “Yes,” he says. “We will.”
CHAPTER 10
ROARKE
That first day,completing her chicken coop brought me a satisfaction I hadn’t felt since, well, since before the war.
The solid structure, precisely built with no wasted materials or effort, stands as a testament to proper planning and execution.
