Chapter 4 #2
“As I said, orcs are built differently than humans,” Dungar said. “We have higher body temperatures and greater tolerance for—”
“I don’t care if you’re built like a furnace. You’re not sleeping on a freezing floor all night.”
His mouth twitched, fighting a smile. “It’s a boiler.”
“Excuse me?”
“A furnace blows hot air, while a boiler heats water and circulates it—”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes, yes, I’m sorry.” His face darkened.
“I’m the one who should be sorry for interrupting. I didn’t know the difference.”
“Most people don’t.”
The thermometer on the wall now read 52°F. By morning, it would likely drop into the 40s. My practical nature kicked in. This wasn’t about propriety or personal space. This was about survival.
“We need to share body heat,” I said matter-of-factly, even as my heart skipped at the suggestion. “It’s the only sensible option.”
Dungar went very still. “Riley, the bunk is barely big enough for you, let alone us both.”
“We’ll make it work.” I patted the space beside me. “Unless you’re afraid of me?”
His dark eyes widened, and he laughed, a deep, rich sound that filled the small cell and warmed parts of me that had nothing to do with temperature.
“Afraid is not the word I would use,” he said softly.
“Then get over here before I freeze to death on my first day as deputy. That would look terrible on your record.”
He hesitated only a moment longer before approaching the bunk with the careful movements I was beginning to associate with him. He always appeared aware of his size, always mindful of the space he occupied in relation to others.
“How should we…?” he gestured vaguely at the narrow space.
I considered our options. The bunk was built into the wall on one side, leaving only one way to arrange ourselves.
“You against the wall,” I decided. “I’ll take the outside. That way if I get too hot, I can roll away.”
“If you get too hot,” he repeated dubiously, looking at my shivering form.
“It could happen. I assume you’re basically a walking…boiler. Unless you prefer I refer to you as someone full of hot air.”
His laugh burst out, a rich, mesmerizing sound. I could not look away.
“I’m a boiler, I suppose,” he said.
With careful maneuvering that involved more accidental touches than I was prepared for, Dungar settled himself against the wall, the bunk creaking under his weight. I stretched the blanket out over both of us as best I could before gingerly lying down beside him.
For a moment, we lay side by side like awkward teenagers at a chaperoned dance, barely touching despite the narrow space. The position was uncomfortable and did little to share warmth.
“This isn’t working,” I said after a few minutes of increasingly painful silence.
“No.” His voice rumbled through the dark.
I took a deep breath. “We need to actually…you know.”
“Snuggle?” A hint of amusement lurked in his voice.
“I was going to say optimize our position for maximum thermal exchange, but sure, snuggle works too.”
His chuckle vibrated through the bunk. “Such a practical deputy I’ve hired.”
“You haven’t seen practical yet.” I turned on my side, facing away from him. “Spoon me.”
For a heartbeat, only silence greeted my words. Then the mattress shifted as his big frame curved around mine. One large arm hesitantly settled over my waist, and heat—glorious, wonderful heat—enveloped me from behind.
The effect was immediate and almost overwhelming. Dungar’s body radiated warmth like a banked fire, seeping through my clothes and into my chilled skin. I couldn’t hold back the small sigh of relief that escaped me.
“Better?” he asked, his breath warm across my cheek.
“Much.” I relaxed into his embrace.
I’d expected to feel trapped with his arm around me, pinned by his body. Instead, I felt protected. Secure in a way I hadn’t experienced in years. His hold remained gentle, leaving me room to move while ensuring I wouldn’t fall off the bunk.
“Your hands are like ice,” he said, taking one into his own and wrapping his much larger fingers around it.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m glad I can help.”
We lay quietly for a while, my body gradually thawing from his warmth. Outside, an owl hooted, and somewhere in the distance, a coyote called to its pack. The sounds of the mountain night filtered through the window, both peaceful and wild.
“Tell me about yourself,” I said.
I felt rather than saw Dungar’s smile. “What would you like to know?”
“How did you end up building a Wild West town for tourists?”
His chest expanded against my back as he took a deep breath and released it. “It’s a long story.”
“We have all night.”
He laughed. “You’re right. Well, it started underground, in the orc kingdom. My family’s ranch has been in Bronish hands for many generations. Our family owns vast caverns where we raised sorhoxes and grew crops under insect light. It’s beautiful but crowded.”
“In what way?”
“Orc families tend to be large. I have ten brothers and six sisters.”
I twisted to look back at him. “Seventeen children? Your poor mother.”
“She’s formidable,” he said with obvious affection. “And orcs are built for large families. But with that many siblings, the family ranch could only support so many of us.”
“So you came to the surface?”
He nodded, his chin brushing against my hair. “Seven of us brothers decided to try something new. We’re the youngest ones, with the least claim to the family land. Our king helped fund this venture, a place where orcs and humans could learn about each other’s cultures.”
“And you chose the Wild West theme because…?”
“I…”
A long pause followed.
“You what?” I finally asked.
“I’m… I like Old Western films. I watch a lot of them.”
“How many?”
“Every single one. Um, three thousand and twenty-seven of them, to be exact.”
“Whoa. That’s a lot of yes, ma’am and howdy partner.”
“And giddy up, orc cowboy.”
My snort rang out.
“I proposed the idea, thinking that the freedom of the frontier matched our own journey to the surface. And our poet brother, Tark, thought the romance of orc cowboys would appeal to humans.”
“Your brother’s a poet?” I smiled at the thought of a seven-foot orc penning verses about the prairie.
“An…interesting one,” Dungar said with a low laugh. “He’s very passionate. Each of us brought different skills to the surface. Sel bakes, Hail works with clay, Greel manages the saloon, Tark handles marketing, Ruugar leads trail rides, and Becken oversees the rodeo.”
“And you became sheriff.”
He shrugged. “Someone needed to keep everything organized. My brothers are creative but not as organized as they could be. I prefer…structure.”
The way he said it made me curious. “You like things orderly.”
“I need things orderly. Patterns, systems, everything in its proper place. It helps me make sense of the world.”
I thought of his meticulously organized office, the color-coded files, the perfectly aligned pens. “OCD?”
He was quiet for a moment. “We don’t have that term in the orc kingdom, but yes, that’s what humans call it. My brothers understand it’s how I function best.”
There was something touching about his matter-of-fact admission, about the way he accepted this part of himself without shame or apology. I found myself admiring him for it.
“It must be nice,” I said after a moment. “Having so many brothers, I mean. Always having someone who understands you.”
“It is, though lately…” His arm tightened around my waist. “They’ve all found their mates. All except me. They’re building their lives, starting families. It’s different.”
The loneliness in his voice resonated with the broken side of me. I knew what it was like to stand outside, watching others build connections I couldn’t risk having.
“What about you?” he asked. “Any family waiting for news of your first day as deputy?”
The question hit a tender spot. “No.” I kept my voice even. “I’m an only child. My parents died in a car accident three years ago.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. My parents had died, but it was five years ago, not three, and from cancer and heart failure, not an accident. Small fabrications the agency gave me to maintain my cover story, but they still tasted bitter on my tongue. Would I ever be able to tell the truth?
“I’m sorry,” Dungar said, with genuine compassion in his voice.
“It’s okay. I’m used to being on my own.”
“How long were you with the Denver PD?”
Another fabrication in my background. “Not long enough to put down roots. I rarely stay anywhere very long.”
“Why not?”
I tensed and Dungar immediately loosened his hold, giving me space. The gesture made something twist in my chest.
“I never found the right place to settle, I guess.” I tried to keep my tone light. “But Lonesome Creek seems nice. I could see myself staying for a little while, at least.”
“Only a little while?”
I should’ve left it there, maintained the professional distance that had kept me alive this long. But something about the darkness, about the gentle way he held me, made the truth slip out. “I’m not sure any longer.”
“You have plenty of time to decide something like that.” Dungar stayed quiet for a long while. When he spoke, his voice came out soft but certain. “Sometimes the right place finds you when you least expect it.”
I didn’t know how to respond to the hope he offered that I didn’t dare accept. So I said nothing, letting the silence settle around us like the wool blanket.
Dungar seemed to understand, not pushing for more than I could give. He adjusted the blanket over my shoulder where it had slipped down.
In the darkness of the cell, with only the faint moonlight filtering through the small window, I felt the careful walls I’d built around myself begin to crack. Not crumbling, but small fissures were appearing, letting out something I hadn’t felt in too long.
I didn’t want to trust in anything, but I felt as if I was starting to trust Lonesome Creek.
And Dungar.
That thought startled me enough to make my heart race.
“We should try to sleep,” I said.
“Yes.”
Neither of us moved.
Eventually, exhaustion began to overtake me, the warmth of Dungar’s body and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling me toward sleep.
For the first time in two years, I wasn’t planning my escape route. For the first time in too long, I felt safe enough to just…be.
And that was the most dangerous feeling of all.