Chapter 7 #2
“The practical solution is sharing body heat.” I used his own logic against him, ignoring the flutter in my stomach at the thought of sleeping beside him. “Unless you’re uncomfortable with an arrangement like that.”
Jeez, he may not want to lay beside me.
His lips twisted around his tusks. “It’s not about comfort. It’s about—” He paused, searching for words. “Appropriate boundaries.”
“We’re adults, stranded in a blizzard, not teenagers locked in a broom closet.” I shrugged, feigning a casual stance. “I won’t read anything into it if you don’t.”
After a long moment, he nodded. “If the temperature drops further, you’re right. Sharing body heat would be more practical.”
He strode over to the trunk and opened it, revealing stacks of blankets and pillows. “At least we won’t freeze.”
Agreement reached, we fell into an awkward silence. The wind howled outside, rattling the windows. Snow continued to accumulate on the ground and etch pretty patterns across the window panes.
Becken busied himself arranging our supplies. I watched him stride around the confined space, his size making the cabin feel much too tiny. He ducked to avoid the low beams, adjusted his stance to navigate between furniture. The cabin had been built for humans.
“Where does Ruugar sleep when he takes people on trail rides?”
“Some of the sites have more than one cabin, and they plan to build more as need demands, but for now, he sleeps in a tent. Beth with him.” He shrugged. “Well, she did go with him. I’m not sure what they plan to do once their youngling is born.”
Take it with them? That could be both fun and a challenge, especially if they were sleeping in a tent.
While he paced around, I watched him, shifting the bread and meat to various locations along my legs to continue their thaw. Finally, they felt soft enough to serve.
“Hungry?” I lifted the bread and package of meat that looked as if it had been smoked or cooked on a grill. Leftovers from the prior trail ride? Maybe.
Becken grunted and sat in the chair beside the bed.
We ate in silence at first, the awkwardness gradually fading as basic needs took over social discomfort. The food was simple but satisfying. The bread tasted faintly of nuts, and the meat had been smoked with unfamiliar, though tasty, spices. The sharp cheese reminded me of good aged cheddar.
“Is this typical trail ride food?” I asked, breaking the silence.
“The bread’s from Sel and Holly’s bakery. The meat is brimberg, prepared in the traditional orc way.” He took another piece, along with two more slices of bread. “The cheese came from the general store and was wrapped well and placed inside the refrigerator, also inside the shed.”
“Anything else inside that refrigerator?” All in all, we were quite lucky. We had decent shelter and food, including water in the gallon jug he’d collected when he went for the first aid kit.
“Pickles.” He grimaced. “I think that’s what they’re called. I don’t like them. They’re much too tart.”
“Hey, pickles are a natural wonder. They taste amazing.”
He lifted his brows. “There’s more water in the shed, bread in the freezer, too. Sel stocks all the campsites regularly, bringing fresh food each morning of the trail ride but putting some in the freezer in case they need more.”
“Smart.” I reached for more cheese. “Everything tastes fantastic.”
“I’ll collect those pickles when I go for more water,” he said gruffly.
“No need to make extra effort for me. Bread, cheese, and meat is more than satisfying.” I finished the last bite of my sandwich and brushed crumbs off the front of my coat.
We talked for the next hour about the trail ride operations, the conversation flowing easily.
Becken described the different routes Ruugar used, the challenges of accommodating tourists who wanted adventure without actual discomfort.
I found myself laughing at some of his drier observations about human nature.
“How many campsites are there for multi-day tours?” I asked.
“Six, I think, though the number used depends on the length of the tour. Some are used just one night, others up to a week. They usually stay in one location for a night or two before moving on, riding sorhoxes, of course.”
“Not Dester.”
His ears twitched. “He’ll need more work.”
“It was an accident.” It was easier to forgive the beast now that I was safe and secure inside this snug cabin than when I was lying on the trail, wondering what in the world had happened. “I’m sure Dester would behave himself on a regular old trail ride.”
“We’ll make sure he does,” he growled, though from what I’d seen so far, he wasn’t implying a heavy touch in Dester’s training. All the orcs appeared to treat the sorhoxes like babies, using a gentle touch with whatever they did.
“Ruugar leads trail rides for tourists who want an authentic experience,” Becken said.
The slight emphasis on authentic made me smile. “Let me guess. They want authentic but with comfortable beds and good food?”
“Exactly.” A hint of amusement touched his eyes. “We give them enough wilderness to feel adventurous without the actual discomfort of what truly lies out here in the mountains.”
“Tourism in a nutshell.” I nibbled on another slice of cheese. “It delivers the experience for the story they want to tell when they get home.”
Outside, the storm intensified. Wind shrieked around the cabin corners, driving snow against the windows with increasing force. The temperature in the cabin dropped, ice crystals forming in the corners of the windows.
Becken packed up the rest of our food, braving the storm to put them in the refrigerator to keep them cold without freezing again.
He brought the jar of pickles back, and I was sorely tempted to open it and dig in. But then I’d have pickle breath, so I made myself resist.
He paced again, moving from one side of the cabin to the other. When our eyes occasionally met, he looked away.
As evening deepened into night, the reality of our situation became inescapable. We were truly isolated, dependent on each other until the storm passed. Well, I was dependent on Becken. I imagined he could survive with just his hands and wits for weeks at a time in this terrain.
For someone who prided herself on self-sufficiency, the forced dependence created a hollow feeling in my chest.
“We should get some rest,” Becken finally said. “Sleep is probably our best option.”
“What about Azool?” I asked, worried about the tiny sorhox who needed a bottle.
“Aunt Inla alternates with me. She’ll take good care of him.”
I nodded, exhaustion dragging on my limbs. The day’s events had drained me completely, and I was sore in all sorts of places.
“Need help getting reading for bed?” he asked, sounding clinical rather than patronizing, thankfully.
“I can manage.” Pride made me attempt to stand unassisted, but pain shot through my ankle when I put weight on it. I gasped, grabbing the bedpost for support.
Becken was beside me in a flash, one arm around my waist. “Lean on me.”
“I hate to bring up bodily functions…”
He frowned down at me before his face cleared and color rose into his chiseled cheeks.
“I imagine you peed into the snow when you were outside.” I wasn’t going to discuss poop until it became an emergency. “I can do the same thing.” If he could get me outside. Turn his back. Let me…do it like the beasts in the forest.
“We have a bathing cabin here.”
“Hallelujah.” Which was very Christmas-y of me, actually.
“I’ll carry you there.”
“I’d protest, but I’m not sure I could make it on my own.” I wasn’t even sure where the bathing cabin was. If I was in luck, it would be adjacent to this cabin, though I hadn’t seen any other structures in this part of the clearing when we arrived, just some on the right.
He grunted and unlatched the door, quickly returning to my side to lift me into his arms.
We forged our way through the snow. Or he did, moving swiftly across the clearing to one of the other buildings.
Inside, he set me down in front of a sink, gesturing to the door with a stall.
It looked like any other public restroom.
There was even a shower, though I wasn’t sure if the water would work with it was this cold.
“Don’t put paper in the toilet and don’t flush,” he said, confirming my suspicions.
Stooping down, he twisted something below the sink.
“We drained the pipes before it got cold, but I’ll go turn the water on in the building from the back.
Be quick. I’ll drain the pipes after we’ve finished.
” He nudged his head toward a small closet built into the right wall.
“Toiletries are there, and you’re welcome to use them. I will once you’re done.”
The few steps to the toilet felt like miles, each movement sending fresh pain through my ankle. When I reached it, I sank down gratefully, embarrassment warring with relief.
Finished, I placed the toilet paper in the small trash can and hobbled back out to the sink.
The pipes rattled and the water sputtered, but it flowed.
While Becken did his thing on the toilet, I found a toothbrush and some soap in the cabinet and washed up quickly, drying with paper towels from the dispenser.
He emerged and did the same, brushing his tusks and teeth with care.
He stripped off his shirt (gasp) and quickly bathed in the sink.
I tried not to drool over his glorious expanse of muscles.
He donned his shirt after blotting dry with paper towels, and honestly, it was a crime that he needed to get dressed again.
“Ready?” he asked, his gaze gliding down my front.
I shouldn’t feel heat from a neutral glance, but I did.
Lifting my chin, I met his eyes. “Yup.”
He swept me up and carried me through the snow, and yes, this time, I did internally call it carrying me over the threshold when he went inside.
The bed, while king-size, was still just one bed, and not one made for an orc.
After he lowered me to the surface, I positioned myself on the right edge, pulling several of the blankets over me.
Despite the cold making my breath visible, the blankets provided plenty of warmth.
They smelled of cedar and whatever detergent they used.
Becken moved around the cabin, checking the lock on the door, as if anyone would bother trying to get in, adjusting our supplies, extinguishing the lamp, preparing for the night. A rustle of his clothing rang out in the dark, reminding me I was still sitting on the bed fully clothed.
What was I supposed to wear to bed? What I had on seemed the best option when sharing with someone who was almost a stranger, but that wouldn’t be comfortable.
I opted to unfasten and drag my bra through the sleeves of my t-shirt, remove my pants, and climb under the rest of the covers in my shirt and panties. Not much different than some PJs, right?
The bed was large enough that we didn’t touch, but I felt his presence acutely. Heat radiated from his body. He was a regular old orc furnace. The blankets shifted as he arranged himself.
“Comfortable?” His voice sounded different in the darkness. Deeper, more intimate.
“Yes. You?”
“I’m alright.”
We lay in silence, me hyper-aware of him lying so close. The wind continued its assault on the cabin, but inside, only our breathing disturbed the quiet. Despite my exhaustion, sleep seemed impossible with him so close yet carefully distant.
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. My body gradually relaxed despite my racing mind, exhaustion overcoming my awareness. Becken’s breathing settled into a steady rhythm.
As consciousness began to slip away, I found myself focusing on the deep, even breaths of the orc beside me. There was something comforting about not being alone in the storm, about having someone solid and reliable nearby.
I had no idea what to think about that. I’d spent my entire adult life avoiding dependence on others. I took pride in my independence.
One night in a blizzard shouldn’t change that.