5. Allie
Allie
I jerked my fists into Hail’s stomach again, but he eased away from me, turning to hold up one large hand.
“I’m fine,” he said, though his voice sounded strained. “Thank you, but I’m not choking.”
The wild look in his dark eyes should have frightened me. Any sane woman would’ve taken a step back when a seven-foot orc stared at her like she’d done something both stunning and wonderful and maybe a touch scary.
Such a strange thought on my part.
But I trusted Hail, which was probably going to be my downfall. I’d always been a decent judge of character, though, and this male was a sweetie all the way through.
“Are you sure?” I searched his face for signs of distress. “You looked like you were having a problem.”
He stuttered something I couldn’t understand, his gaze falling to the floor before lifting to my arms. For a moment, I thought he was going to drop to his knees, though I had no idea why he’d do something like that.
I touched his forearm, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt. “Do you have seizures? Any health problems I should know about?”
“No.” He picked up his coffee cup with hands that I swore trembled. “Nothing like that. I’m alright.”
Since he was acting like nothing odd had happened, I decided to let it go. Pushing people to share things they weren’t ready to talk about never ended well.
He cleared his throat. “Would you…I mean, if you’re interested. Um, would you like to work here at the pottery barn?”
A job offer? That explained the nervousness. I almost smiled at how relieved I felt to have a reasonable explanation for his strange behavior.
“What kind of work?” I asked, though I was pretty sure I already knew the answer.
“Helping wi-wi-with demonstrations. Talking to customers. Managing the business side of things if you-you-you’re comfortable with that.” He gestured around the barn. “You’re good with people, and I…” He gestured vaguely at himself. “I’m not.”
“I think you do a great job. Look how you handled everyone before I arrived.”
He flashed me a shy smile. “You’re being generous.”
I shrugged. “Maybe a little, but if I hadn’t shown up, you would’ve figured it out.”
He kept glancing at my wrists, enough that I held up my arms and examined them myself. They looked perfectly normal to me. Something about the way he looked at them made my skin tingle, like he was seeing what I couldn’t.
“What salary are you offering?” I asked, trying to sound practical even though I was already leaning toward yes. It wasn’t polite to ask what a position paid, but I had eighty-seven dollars left to my name. If I didn’t get this job, I wasn’t sure what I’d do next.
“I don’t know what’s fair. I’ve never hired anyone before. But Aunt Inla said the general store pays one fymsom chunk a week and the woman she recently hired seems happy with that.”
Ah, here we go. This might not work out after all, and my body slumped at the thought. I’d gotten my hopes up that I’d find a way to stay in this cozy place, but I might need to hit the road again soon.
Fymsom must be some sort of orc currency.
“Do banks take fymsom?” I asked.
“They do. We used it to buy this valley and build the town.”
“All of that?”
He shot me a tusky grin. “All of that.”
Alright, so maybe being paid in fymsom wouldn’t be half bad. “How big is one chunk?”
He dug in his pocket and pulled out a thumb-sized piece of a rock that looked a lot like gold, placing it on his other palm, holding it out toward me. “We mine it in the mountains.”
Mine…
I blinked. “You mean it’s gold?”
“We call it fymsom.”
“Whoa.” I swallowed hard. “You’d pay me that much for a week’s work?” I wanted to snatch it from his hand and bite down on it. That’s what people did to test gold in old movies from what I remembered.
His swallow went down hard. “Is two per week better? I don’t want to underpay you for your skills.”
I wanted to cry or twirl around and laugh in the giddy way I hadn’t for a very long time.
One gold nugget could probably fund me for a month or more and not at the cheapest motels.
I could buy good food. Fruit and vegetables, something I rarely purchased outside of bananas and unpeeled carrots because everything costs so much.
The poor didn’t make bad food choices; they couldn’t afford to buy the good stuff most of the time.
Food with nutritional value costs more than those without.
“Two then,” he said, thrusting the first out to me. “Take this one for your help yesterday.”
Now I truly did want to cry. “No, you don’t need to pay me for yesterday. That was just me wanting to help.” I nudged his hand back. “Keep it for now. You can pay me after I’ve worked for a week.”
“You’re sure?”
“Completely.” There was no way I’d take advantage of his offer.
The thought of a steady income, of not having to count every dollar and survive on cheap carbs, made my heart feel lighter.
“I’d also cover meals when we’re working together,” he added quickly, as if he was trying to sweeten an already amazing deal. “And there’s a lot to learn about pottery if you’re interested in that part too.”
Taking this job wasn’t only about money.
I wanted to stay in Lonesome Creek, and if I was being honest with myself, I wanted to stay because of Hail.
The way he’d looked at me yesterday when I’d helped with the pottery class.
The quiet confidence he had when he worked with clay. The gentle way he treated Tressa.
I couldn’t let my feelings for him factor into this decision, though. Nothing but trouble lay in that direction. He’d be my boss, and there were rules about that. But…
“I accept,” I said. “Working here, I mean.”
Relief flooded his features. “Really?”
The hope in his voice made my heart ache. This meant as much to him as it did to me, maybe more.
“Really.” I crouched down to pat Tressa, who had been sitting beside us wearing a wolfy grin. “Is it okay if I give her some sorhox jerky I bought yesterday? I think she’ll like it.”
“She’d love it. Tressa adores all food.”
I pulled the package from my purse and tugged out a strip.
The meat was darker than beef jerky and had a smoky smell.
Aunt Inla insisted I pay half price for it yesterday, saying something about buying too much and needing to offload some inventory.
I wasn’t sure if I believed her, but I wasn’t too proud to take an offer of discount food.
Tressa snatched it from my hand with surprising care for such a large predator, and trotted back to her bed to enjoy her treat.
Hail lifted his coffee and started swilling it. Pausing, his eyes widened, and his face got dark. He started sputtering and coughing. I decided not to offer the Heimlich maneuver this time, but my arms were ready if he dropped to the floor.
After a lot of chest smacking and him examining the cup like it contained rat poison, he started breathing smoothly again.
“New to coffee?” I said.
His face flushed with color, he nodded.
“The muffin will taste better I bet.” I nudged my chin to where he’d placed it on one of the workbenches. “After we eat, we can get started.”
He nodded and gingerly lifted his coffee cup, taking it and his muffin to a workbench with two stools.
We sat and ate our muffins, me sipping my coffee, him shooting his cup glares but leaving it untouched.
The barn felt peaceful in the early morning light, dust motes dancing around the beams overhead.
Birds chirped outside and in the distance, I caught the sound of tourists starting their day in town.
“We should start the kiln,” Hail said eventually. “The pieces from yesterday need to be fired.”
I followed him to a smaller building attached to the back of the barn. The kiln sat inside like a beehive-shaped monument to heat and fire. It was big, easily large enough to fit dozens of pieces at once.
Watching him work was like watching an artist prepare for a performance. His movements were precise and confident as he checked the temperature controls and adjusted settings I didn’t understand yet but ached to learn.
Everything about this business fascinated me.
“The key is gradual heating,” he said. “Too fast and everything cracks from thermal shock. Too slow and we’ll be here all day waiting for the cycle to complete.”
He showed me how to arrange the clay pieces on the kiln shelves, spacing them carefully so hot air could circulate around each one. His hands moved easily, positioning each tourist creation with the same care he’d give his own work.
“This little girl’s unicorn is my favorite,” I said, placing the lumpy sculpture on a shelf. It looked more like a dinosaur with a horn, but the child had been so proud of it.
“She was determined to make it work.” Hail’s smile was soft. “That’s what I love about pottery. Everyone c-c-can make something beautiful, even if it doesn’t look like what they pla-planned.”
“Is that your philosophy in general, or just for clay?”
He paused with a tourist’s lopsided bowl in his hands. “I… I suppose both? Life doesn’t always turn out how you expect, but that doesn’t mean it ca-can’t be good.”
The quiet wisdom in his words made my throat tighten. Here was a male who found beauty in imperfection, who saw potential where others might see failure.
We loaded the rest of the pieces, including the boy’s blob-dog and several wobbly bowls that would probably never hold water but represented someone’s attempt at creating beauty with their hands. Hail sealed the kiln and started the firing cycle, explaining each step as he went.
“The kiln will take about twelve hours to complete the f-f-full cycle,” he said as the machine hummed to life. “Heating up slow-slowly, holding at temperature, then cooling down even more slowly.”
“What happens if you rush it?”
“Disaster.” He grinned. “I learned that the har-hard way when I first started. Lost an entire kiln load. I was impatient.”
“We all learn the hard way, right?”