11. Gracie
Chapter 11
Gracie
M ain Street spread out ahead of us like an image I might see online, each building painted in earthy tones meant to mimic the Wild West of yesteryear. Tark walked beside me, his towering form radiating a nervous energy that was oddly endearing. Sharga clung to his shoulder, occasionally letting out meows that Tark answered with soft grunts as if they could carry on a conversation.
He gestured toward the large barn at the end of the street, its red-painted planks bright against the late-day blue sky. “That is where we will hold, uh, circle dances,” he said, his voice heavy with pride.
I blinked, trying to process his words before realization struck. “You mean square dances?”
He stopped mid-step, a frown creasing his brow as if he was re-checking his thoughts. “Square? No, I meant—” Then he caught my expression, and something like relief crossed his face when he saw I wasn’t laughing. “Square, yes. That’s the word. Humans call them square dances, though I have no idea why.”
“They do. I don't know why either. But it’s a wonderful idea. People will love it.”
The tips of his pointed ears twitched, and his pace sped up. “Come. There's so much to show you.”
The barn doors creaked as he pushed them open, the sound echoing into the cavernous space within. Sunlight poured through the windows along each side, illuminating sturdy wooden beams and polished floorboards. It smelled of freshly cut lumber and grass, clean and earthy and inviting.
“We built this for events,” Tark said. “There will be dances, yes, but also gatherings and celebrations. We’re even holding a wedding here on opening day. The loft above is for storage.” He waved to the broad stairs on our right and motioned me to follow as he headed in that direction.
At the top, it opened up into an airy, wide space. Though bare now, it had the kind of rugged charm that begged to be filled with laughter and music.
Tark walked to the far end, his heavy boots quiet on the wooden planks.
He unlatched a pair of double doors, swinging them open in one smooth motion. I gasped when I took in the view of the setting sunlight.
The mountains stretched out in the distance, their jagged peaks painted in shades of dusky blue and deep purple as the sun began to drop behind them. The light bathed the fields below in molten gold, the grass rippling like waves on a green sea.
“It’s…” I couldn’t finish. Words felt too small, too clumsy to capture the beauty.
“This is where I come when I need to think,” Tark said, his deep voice smoother now, as if he too felt the beauty of the view. “Up here, with nothing above me but the sky and nothing in front of me but the horizon. It helps me remember how big the world is. And how small my troubles are in comparison.”
I glanced at him, struck not only by his words but by the way he said them, as if he carried a wisdom inside him that hadn’t yet been chipped away by the hurry and bustle of modern human life. His green skin caught the light just right, highlighting the ridges of his chiseled jaw and the quiet yearning in his eyes as he stared out at the mountains.
The city girl in me, the one who had spent years under the harsh glare of studio lights and behind the mask of made-for-TV perfection, wondered if I’d been chasing the wrong kind of joy all my life.
By the time we descended back to the barn’s ground floor, my heart felt lighter, as if that view had scrubbed away the invisible weight I'd also been carrying. Tark opened the barn door again, waiting as I stepped out into the street. We strolled in the direction of the general store, the rhythmic creak of the wooden signs overhead blending with the occasional hum of wind through the empty town.
Inside the general store, a sense of nostalgia wrapped itself around me. The walls were lined with shelves displaying handcrafted goods, from rough-hewn pottery, intricately stitched leather hats, to boots that looked like they could last a lifetime. An entire wall was dedicated to authentic Western attire: dresses with flounced skirts, fringe-lined jackets, and wide-brimmed cowboy hats. It was charmingly authentic, without the manufactured gloss of a themed tourist trap.
A burst of laughter pulled my attention to an orc woman near the back wearing a prairie dress straight out of Little House on the Prairie . She even wore a bonnet, though she'd left it draping down her back. Her graying dark hair was pulled into a loose bun, and her dark eyes sparkled. Arranging items on a high shelf, she paused to brush her hands together. Seeing us, she placed the last item with care and turned, her entire face lighting up at the sight of Tark.
“Tark, my gorgeous nephew, you didn’t tell me you’d be bringing a guest,” she called out, her voice as rich and rolling as a song I could hear all my life. She stepped toward us, her hands outstretched, and I immediately felt like I was being welcomed into something bigger than only a shop.
“This is Gracie,” Tark said. “She’s here to help with our social media presence. Gracie? This is my Aunt Inla.”
“It's nice to meet you,” I said. I could see the resemblance in their eyes and the shape of their heads.
“ Help , is it?” The woman shot him a playful look, her brow lifting like she’d heard something far more interesting. Taking my hand in hers, she gave it a warm squeeze. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, little one.”
I looked around. “This place is incredible.”
“Why, thank you.” She released my hand and placed hers on her hip, her attention swiveling back to Tark. “So, what do you think of my nephew here? Such a solid, stoic orc, isn’t he?”
I glanced at Tark, whose face had shifted into something between embarrassed and hopeful. He locked his gaze firmly on the floorboards.
“He’s…wonderful.”
“He sure is.” Aunt Inla beamed and turned to Tark. “See? You're wonderful! Don’t just stand there like a tree, nephew. Speak. Greel's the one who's silent, not you.”
Tark shifted, his hands gripping the edges of his leather belt. “Gracie is kind. Very kind. And a good teacher.”
I had to suppress a laugh, not because he’d said something wrong, but because his earnestness was so adorable it melted something in my chest.
Inla leaned closer to Tark and waggled her brows in a way that she probably thought was subtle, though it wasn’t. Tark’s confusion deepened, his shoulders stiffening as if bracing for some kind of attack. “Now, don’t forget, dear nephew,” Inla said, her voice dripping with mischief, “kindness should always be met with gratitude. You could, perhaps, offer her a small token of your appreciation. Maybe…show her your carving skills?”
“A carving?” Tark looked at her as if she’d suggested he grab the moon and present it to me.
“Yes, a carving. Nothing says gratitude quite like giving someone something you’ve made with your own hands.”
“I cooked for her. I'm going to do it again.”
“What do you think?” Inla asked me.
“About his cooking? It's amazing.”
“I taught him well, but I'm sure he'd truly like to impress you.”
Something else was going on here, but I suspected only she and Tark knew. Maybe it was an orc thing.
Tark glanced at me, his green skin darkening further around his ears. “I, uh, will think about carvings.”
“I’d love to see something you’ve made.” I truly meant it.
“Very well.” He dipped forward in a bow. Another thing I found charming. Everything about this guy drew me in.
“Well, go along, you two. I have work to finish before I leave.” She glanced out the front window. “Which I want to do soon. Grannie Lil and I are meeting up tonight to finalize our app before our upcoming launch.”
“What kind of app?” I asked.
“A dating one. We're going to offer orcs and humans a chance to match up.” She clapped her hands. “I can't wait to introduce the world to my amazing nephews.”
Hopefully not Tark.
Hold on. Why not Tark? He deserved to find someone to love.
And I shouldn't even be thinking of myself in that position. I was here to do a job, then scurry back to the city. There was no room for a former TV start in a quaint Western orc town.
“We’ve got a catchy way of advertising it already,” his aunt said. Her frown bloomed. “Do you mind if I run it past you? You being an influencer, and all.”
“Go right ahead.”
She cleared her throat and deepened her voice. “Orc brothers seeking brides to spark our lonely hearts.” Her dark gaze met mine. “That’s our logline. Catchy, right?”
“It’s perfect. Women were going to be signing up in droves.”
“Here’s the rest. Howdy, ladies of adventure. Are you tired of the same old life and yearning for something new? Do you have a spirit as wild as the plains and a heart big enough to love a shy, lonely orc?”
“They’re not all lonely,” Tark said. “Dungar’s not.”
“Have you talked with him lately?” She pinned him in place with her gaze.
“Yesterday. The day before too. He didn’t say he was lonely.”
“And why would he?”
“Well, I don’t know.” He scratched the back of his neck.
“He wants to share his home with a loving woman as much as you do.”
Tark’s gaze shot to me, and he swallowed hard. “I do.”
“Darn tootin’ right you do.” Inla nudged his arm before she looked my way again. “We’re still trying to come up with a catchy way to end the pitch. Ideas?”
“How about…” I frowned, thinking, before it came to me. “Well, giddy up on down to Lonesome Creek Ranch, because we have a match for you.”
Aunt Inla clapped her hands. “I love it. It’s wonderful. You don’t mind if I, err, steal that, do you?”
“It’s yours.” I shared a smile with Tark.
He pretty much cringed and stepped toward the door, holding it open for me. “We should…continue the tour.”
“Goodbye,” I called out to Aunt Inla as I scooted after him. “Nice to meet you!”
“You as well, little one. Thanks for your help. Come by if you have a chance to take a look at that app. We'd love your input on our logo.”
“I will.” Then I could see if Tark's picture was front and center on the opening screen.
Outside again, the air felt cooler, as if somehow the small store had been its own bubble of warmth. We walked in silence past the saloon and hotel, its swinging doors swaying in the breeze, and approached the jailhouse beyond.
“This is the place of law,” he said, gesturing to the small wooden building complete with bars on the windows, wooden shutters, and a carefully weathered false front. “Sheriff's Office” was spelled out on the pristine white sign mounted above the door. “Dungar’s the sheriff. He is not here today.”
The wooden door creaked open as he led me inside, the space small but functional. A single desk sat on the right, its surface immaculately organized, while against the left wall, a cell with iron bars stood in silent testament to the town’s theme.
I strolled toward the front of the cell, unable to resist running my fingers along the cool metal. “You’re going for full authenticity here, huh? Everything looks real, from the bunk with a folded wool blanket to the bucket in the corner where I assume a true inmate might…” Yeah, I wasn't going to think too hard about that.
“We want everything to feel real,” Tark said. “Visitors will be arrested. I know it sounds odd, but I've been told they enjoy that.”
“Oh, they will,” I said with a laugh. “Dungar will do the arresting, I assume?”
“He will.”
“He's cute. The ladies are going to love that.”
A scowl took over his face. “Coot? That's a word that equates with attractive, right?”
Pretty please, could he be jealous?
Wait, no. Leaving town soon. No jealousy or orc suitors allowed.
“Yeah, sort of,” I said, noncommittal.
His head tilted. “Am I coot?”
Beyond cute. Gorgeous, actually. “Yes.”
He jerked out a nod, his scowl remaining. “Good.”
My lips twitched up in a smile. “Yes, very good.”
He waved to the door. “I should escort you back to the hotel. It'll be dark soon.”
I strode toward the entrance. “Any predators about after dark?”
“Sometimes. They won't come near town. If they do, I'll defend you.”
“Thank you, Tark.” I smiled up at him as he held the door open, and I walked outside.
He fell into step beside me as we made our way down Main Street toward the saloon and hotel, the golden hues of the setting sun casting long shadows across the dusty boardwalk and road. His posture seemed a little straighter, his pace more confident now. Every so often, his eyes flicked toward me like he was stealing glances but trying not to get caught. Sharga had flown off somewhere, leaving Tark’s broad shoulders bare, and I felt the absence of his chirping-meowing commentary.
“Tark?” I asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between us.
“Yes, Gracie?”
“Do you ever regret leaving the life you had underground? Your home, your people?”
He hesitated before answering. “Not regret, but there are things I miss. The warmth of the earth when everything else grows cold. The way the light from luminescent moss paints the caverns in blues and greens.” He glanced at me, his dark eyes catching the fading sunlight. “There's sky here, though. And stars. The moon. They're worth the trade.”
I hadn't realized I wanted someone to speak about the stars like that, to name them as proof that something new could be better. And safer. And real.
I cleared my throat and gave him a small smile. “The stars are definitely worth it.”
We reached the hotel’s front door, and he swung the right side inward, one of those simple, quiet gestures that reinforced how kind he was.
Tark headed straight to the kitchen. “I’ll cook for you again,” he said inside the small room. “Please sit. I’ll make something good.”
“Tark, the muffins this morning were incredible.” I tried to keep my tone breezy, but the part of me always on alert, the version they trained on camera sets and red carpets, twitched. It didn’t know what to do with a male who cooked because he wanted to, not because he’d earn something for doing it. “I have no doubt whatever you make now will be amazing too. But you don't need to cook for me all the time. I could order a pizza or a sandwich. That would be easy.”
Turning from the open fridge, he frowned. “Order...?”
“DoorSprint. Hoppin' Pizza. They must deliver here.” We weren't that far from the real town.
“I don't know what those are, but no one comes here. It's not allowed yet, not until we open.”
So no DoorSprint or Hoppin' Pizza. I could live with that. “Then I guess you're the chef tonight. Or...” I sucked in an excited breath. “Tell you what.” I scooted over to him, took his hand, and tugged him over to the table. “Sit. I'm cooking tonight for you.”
He blinked down at me. “Do you know how to cook?”
“Not orc dishes, but I'm not that bad around a stove myself.”
His frown didn't fade. “I guess so. I feel like I should be doing this for you.”
“Relax. You've been doing things for me all day. Let me make you something yummy.”
His expression smoothed, and the corner of his mouth curled up. “I'd like that.”
I grinned. “Then have a seat, partner. One meal coming right up.” The words felt like a script from a forgotten romantic comedy, except no one was rolling. I didn't expect the ache that followed, a hollow flicker inside asking why this felt more real than everything else that had come before.
He hesitated before sitting, tugging something out of his pocket, turning slightly away from me while he did it.
Everyone had their secrets. I wouldn't push for his.
Humming, I opened the fridge and studied the ingredients, settling on something simple.
While I made our meal, and I tripled the serving for him, I kept peeking at him, wondering what he was doing. But he stayed turned away, focused intently on whatever he was doing with his hands.
My skin felt jittery, like my bones were preparing for flight for no reason at all. I kept slicing the same way I’d once sliced up bad reviews, calm on the outside, a storm looming deep inside.
Whatever he was hiding in his hands, I wanted to deserve it.