Chapter 9
Carla
The morning drifted by with surprising ease.
Becken moved around the cabin, checking our supplies and adjusting the blankets while I stayed in bed, resting against pillows, with my ankle elevated.
The awkwardness from sleeping in the same bed faded, replaced by something that felt almost companionable.
“There has to be something to do in here besides eat and sleep,” I said, pulling open the drawer of the bedside table. My fingers found a worn deck of playing cards tucked behind a flashlight. “Perfect.”
Becken looked up. “Cards?”
“You know how to play any games?” I shuffled the deck with a skill I’d perfected playing years of solitaire.
“Orcs play strategy games, mostly, with polished stones or intricately carved pieces. But I’ve seen humans play cards.”
“I’ll teach you gin rummy. It’s easy.” I patted the bed beside me. “Come sit.”
He hesitated for a moment, then settled on the edge of the mattress, careful to maintain distance. His weight made the bed dip, and I had to resist the urge to scoot closer to him. For warmth. Nothing else.
Yeah, sure.
“The goal is to form sets and runs,” I explained, dealing out the cards. “Like this.” I demonstrated with my hand, showing him how three sevens made a set and how five, six, seven of hearts made a run.
Becken picked up the concept quickly, his gaze focused on the cards. When our fingers accidentally brushed as he reached for a card, that same electric awareness from the night before flickered between us.
“Where did you learn to play?” he asked after winning his second hand.
“A friend at school taught me. We went to summer camp together. Aunt Misty would dump me there.” I paused and shook my head.
“Well, to her, it was dumping me, but to me, it was a lot of fun. I could swim, hike, and hang out with people who liked being around me.” I arranged my cards, remembering the fun I’d had until they decided I was too old for camp, that it was too costly, and that I could stay home by myself during the summer months.
“You said your aunt and uncle raised you after your parents died?”
“Aunt Misty and Bart got married before I was born.” I discarded a card and drew another. “They tried their best, I suppose. They weren’t child people.”
Becken’s expression invited me to continue, patient in a way that made words come easy.
“They had this perfectly ordered life. Cocktail parties every Friday. Gallery openings on the weekend. Charity galas. Everything scheduled and coordinated.” I played a run of clubs. “A five-year-old didn’t exactly fit their aesthetic.”
“What were Christmases like?”
The question made me wince. “Expensive. They’d give me beautiful gifts, wrapped in perfect paper with elaborate bows. Designer clothes, educational toys, a tablet when I got older.” I shrugged. “But no tree decorating. No cookie baking. No Christmas morning pajamas or stockings by the fireplace.”
“It sounds lonely.”
“It was realistic,” I said, echoing my aunt’s favorite word.
“They’d arrange everything the night before.
Presents stacked neatly under their minimalist table-top plastic tree.
Christmas morning, I’d open everything while they had their coffee and scrolled through their phones.
Then we’d have brunch at the country club. ”
Becken laid down a set of kings. “No traditions?”
“They thought traditions were messy. Sentimental.” I drew a card, focusing on it instead of the ache in my chest. “The only Christmas tradition I really remember was from before, when my parents were alive. My mother had a snow globe that played “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” when you wound it up.
I loved it so much. Snowflakes would swirl around a little evergreen forest with one decorated tree and a tiny rabbit sitting underneath, looking up. ”
“What happened to it?”
“It got lost when we moved.” The words came out bitter.
“Aunt Misty said it was packed away somewhere safe, and they’d find it after we settled into the new house.
We never did. When I asked about it later, Uncle Bart said they’d buy me a new one, but…
” I huffed out a breath. “They never got around to doing that either.”
Becken’s jaw tightened. “They threw it away.”
“Maybe? I hope not. Although, come to think of it, it didn’t match their decor.” I forced a smile. “Anyway, that’s why I get excited about Christmas now. I’m trying to create what I never had.”
“Is that wrong?”
“Some people think it’s childish. Overcompensating.” I played another card. “They say I should get counseling. My last boyfriend said I was exhausting during the holidays.”
“He was an idiot.”
The flat certainty in Becken’s voice made me look up. His dark eyes held something fierce, protective. Like the idea of someone criticizing my Christmas enthusiasm personally offended him.
“You really think that?”
“Wanting joy isn’t childish. Creating traditions for yourself isn’t overcompensating.” He drew a card and studied his hand. “It’s brave.”
The word settled into my chest, warming me through. “Tell me about orc winter celebrations.”
“We call it the Deep Season.” His voice took on a different quality, softer, more reverent. “When our world grows cold, we celebrate the warmth we create together. Clan gatherings that last for days. Story circles around glowing pools. Contests of skill and strength.”
“It sounds wonderful.”
“Food is important. Everyone contributes something special.” He smiled, the first real one I’d seen from him.
It made him look…gorgeous. I shouldn’t notice, yet I couldn’t hold myself back.
“My mother made threethorn cakes with honey from cave bees. My father brewed koranak from fermented root vegetables.”
“What did you contribute?”
“Carved wooden toys for the younglings. Small sorhox figures, mostly.” His expression grew distant. “Wexla helped design them. She had better artistic sense than I did.”
“Your family sounds close.”
“Orcs value community. Children belong to everyone, not just their birth parents.” He discarded and gestured for me to draw. “A child watching from doorways, hoping for attention, wouldn’t happen among us.”
“Different worlds,” I said.
“Very different.”
We played some more, evenly matched, while the wind provided a steady soundtrack to our thoughts. Around midday, Becken disappeared to the supply shed and returned with another canvas bag.
“Trail mix for the longer rides,” he said, emptying the contents onto the bed. “Zhek nuts, dried makra fruit, and velkun seeds.”
The zhek nuts were deep purple, about the size of walnuts but with a sweeter, almost chocolate-like flavor. The makra fruit tasted like a cross between apricots and berries. They were chewy and intensely flavorful. The velkun seeds provided a satisfying crunch with a hint of salt.
“This is incredible,” I said, sampling each item. “The flavors are so complex.”
“Orc cuisine focuses on nutrient density and flavor variety. We needed food that could sustain us during long underground journeys.” He popped a few zhek nuts into his mouth. “These grow in the deeper caverns where most light can’t reach.”
“And you just happened to have gourmet trail mix in the emergency supplies?”
“Humans find our cuisine unusual, and they’re happy to give it a try, but trail mix translates well.”
We shared the snacks while continuing our card games.
I studied Becken when he wasn’t looking.
The way he carefully rationed the food to make it last. How he unconsciously positioned himself between me and the door, even in our safe cabin.
The gentleness in his large hands as he dealt cards or arranged the pillow beneath my leg.
“Tell me more about how you became a rodeo consultant,” he said during our third game.
“It was an accident, really.” I organized my cards by suit. “I discovered I had a talent for seeing systems, understanding how all the pieces fit together to create an experience.”
“Even without riding horses while you were in Wyoming?”
“Especially without riding. I could observe objectively, see what worked and what didn’t without personal bias.” I drew a card. “I was so busy with the desk work that there really wasn’t time for pleasure rides. I’m good with logistics. Making sure everything runs smoothly behind the scenes.”
“That’s why you’re here. Your reputation.”
“Ten years of building it, yes.” I hesitated before deciding to be honest. “This contract is my chance to prove I can succeed independently. If I can establish a successful orc rodeo program…”
“You’ll be able to expand into other areas of management.”
“Exactly.” I met his eyes. “I want to set up my own consulting business. No more answering to bosses who think they know better than me. No more having my ideas dismissed because I’m female.”
“What happens if it doesn’t work out?”
The question I’d been avoiding since arriving. “I go back to working for other people’s companies. Accept that independent consulting is a dream.”
“And give up on Christmas enthusiasm?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said this is about proving yourself, but I’ve watched you. Your excitement about the town’s decorations, the way you light up talking about holiday traditions.” He played a set of queens. “That’s not professional. That’s personal.”
He was right, and the realization made my throat close off. “I guess…maybe I hoped if I could build something here, I’d finally have a place where Christmas felt real. Where I belonged during the holidays instead of just watching other people’s celebrations.”
“You want to stay.”
“I want to want to stay.” The distinction felt important. “I’ve never stayed anywhere long enough to know if it was a perfect fit.”
“What would it take to convince you of that?”
“I don’t know. Feeling needed, I suppose. Actually needed, not temporarily useful.” I drew another card. “Knowing someone would miss me if I left.”
Becken’s gaze intensified. “Someone would.”
The words hung between us, loaded with danger. My heart slammed up into my throat as I tried to read his expression.
“The sorhoxes?” I asked, only half-joking.
“Among others.”
Evening was settling around the cabin, gray light fading to deeper shadows. We’d moved through an entire day without awkwardness, sharing stories and comfortable silences with equal ease. The storm continued outside, but inside felt warm and safe.
“I’ve never told anyone about the snow globe,” I said, settling back against the pillows, the cards put away for now. “About watching Christmas from doorways.”
“Why not?”
“Because it sounds pathetic. Poor little rich girl complaining about expensive presents and country club brunches.”
“It doesn’t sound that way to me.” Becken’s voice came out with what I read as anger on my behalf. “It sounds like a child who deserved love and got nothing instead.”
The simple validation made me slump against the pillows. For years, I’d minimized my childhood disappointments, told myself I’d been lucky compared to kids who had nothing. But Becken saw what I’d actually lost. Not material comfort, but connection, belonging, and the simple joy of being wanted.
“Thank you for listening. For understanding.” I looked up at him, this grumpy orc who’d somehow become the first person to truly see me. “For making me feel like my feelings matter.”
“They do. You matter.”
The certainty in his voice wrapped around me like the toastiest of blankets.
Outside, the wind howled through the trees, but inside our small cabin, I felt safer than I had in years.
Not just physically safe but emotionally protected.
Like someone finally understood the parts of myself I’d kept hidden.
As darkness settled fully around us and we prepared for another night together, I realized something that should have terrified me: I was falling for this impossibly stubborn orc who saw past my professional competence to the lonely woman underneath.
And for the first time in my life, I thought someone might be falling for me too.