Chapter 13 Carla #2
“When we heard you were stranded…” Her narrowed gaze shot to Becken. “He was kind, wasn’t he? Not all grumpy and growly and grinchy?”
“Grinchy?” Becken asked, bracing his palms on the edge of his desk. “What does that mean?”
“It’s from a movie,” I said. “And he…was fine.” Better than fine, but I couldn’t exactly say he was grinchy if he made me come, now could I? My face heated at the memory.
“Our mates call them streaming images,” Gracie said with a wink my way.
“That’s cute.”
“It’s not cute,” Becken roared.
Rosey shielded her mouth from his view. “See? Grinchy. Maybe instead of Santa, he should play the Grinch.”
Becken leaped to his feet. “Who is this Grinch?”
“He’s green,” Gracie said smoothly. “Grumpy. You’re actually a perfect fit. Right, Carla?”
I shrugged, trying not to burst into laughter.
Becken dropped back into his chair and sighed. “Why are you two here?”
“We ran into Aunt Inla,” Rosey said. “And she told us about the sorhoxes marching in the parade as reindeer.” She glanced Becken’s way. “Maybe some of the youngling sorhoxes would be better with this task. They’re smaller. Cuter.”
“Adult sorhoxes are cute,” Becken said.
The two women lifted their eyebrows his way.
“Can we come up with eight?” Gracie asked.
“Nine with Rudolph,” Rosey pointed out.
“You’re right.” Gracie frowned. “Nine’s an awful lot. I think we could get away with two adults if that’s easier. What do you think, Becken?”
“What do you want them to do?” he said with a grumble. “Why should I play Santa? I thought I was better fitted as this grinchy being.”
Rosey rolled her eyes. “Personality wise, yes, but kids will have more fun with Santa. Tag, you’re it.”
“I’m what exactly?” he huffed.
She smiled. “I love that Becken watched out for you in the snowstorm. Was it fun being holed up together in the cabin?”
“They’re not heated,” Gracie pointed out. “You must’ve been cold.”
“Becken made sure I was warm,” I said in his defense. “Fed well too. He even carried me to the bathroom because my ankle was swollen.”
Rosey nearly swooned against the doorframe. “So sweet!”
“It’s one of our orc mates’ most attractive qualities,” Rosey said with a dreamy sigh. “Ostor gets this look in his eyes when he thinks I might be in danger or pain. Like he’d fight the world to protect me.”
“Tark’s the same way.” Gracie met Rosey’s eyes. “Remember when that drunk tourist got handsy at the saloon? I thought Tark was going to throw him through the front window.”
“What did he do?” I asked, on the edge of my seat.
“Lifted the guy off his feet and carried him to his hotel room, where he tossed him on the bed.”
I slapped my hand over my mouth. “Oh, my.”
Gracie grinned. “Beats the floor, which I’m sure was where Tark wanted to throw him. The guy didn’t come down until the next morning, and he was unfailingly polite until he left that afternoon.”
“Ostor once carried me three blocks because I mentioned my feet hurt,” Rosey said. “I was wearing new boots, and he didn’t want me to get blisters.”
“Aww,” I said.
“We’re working,” Becken growled.
Gracie scowled his way. “We’re almost through.”
“The claiming rituals are even more romantic.” Rosey lowered her voice. “You should’ve seen how Ostor was at the swim-up bar in Cancun.”
“You’re never through,” Becken said under his breath.
As I gazed at Rosey, my eyes widened. “What were you doing in Cancun?”
“My sister was getting married, and I needed a fake date. I roped Ostor into doing it and, well…only one bed explains what happened after that.”
“How romantic,” I sighed.
“Tark doesn’t say much, but he once wrote me a poem and recited it from start to finish,” Gracie said. “Twenty-seven verses about how my eyes reminded him of stars.”
I leaned closer. “What about the mating marks? How do those play into this all?”
The women exchanged glances, and I realized I may have revealed more interest than I should.
“Sometimes, they appear at first contact,” Rosey said.
“I was at a bar when my sister called. It’s a long story, but she was marrying a guy I thought I liked, and I was feeling kinda down about it.
I had to go to the wedding; she’s my sister.
But not without a date to save face. Ostor was there, and he stood up for me when some jerk wouldn’t leave me alone.
We touched. He dropped to his knees and—”
“Licking commenced. Same for me.” Gracie grinned. “I’d just arrived in town and held out my hand to introduce myself. Tark fell to his knees and then he carried me inside the saloon. It was history after that.”
Becken and I had touched, but it wasn’t until he… Well, until I came, that our marks appeared.
“Other times, it takes more intimacy.” Rosey’s probing gaze shot to my wrist that was thankfully still covered. “Golden circles. They’re beautiful.”
“It’s incredibly romantic,” Rosey said. “I love the idea that the universe chooses your perfect match and marks you both so you’ll know.”
“What if someone isn’t ready?” I asked, hyper-aware of Becken listening raptly. “What if the timing is wrong?”
“The marks don’t lie,” she said gently. “If they appear, it means you’re meant to be together. The timing might feel wrong, but the connection is real.”
“Besides,” Gracie said, “when has love ever showed up at the perfect time? Sometimes you have to take a leap and leave it to the fates.”
“We should go,” Rosey said. “We still have to ask Hail and Allie if they can make all those ornaments by themselves or if they need help. We’re talking hundreds. We can enlist Max if needed. He’s off for school vacation now.”
“Great idea.”
With that, the two women left.
I tugged up my sleeve and stared at the mating mark.
“Are you all right?” Becken’s voice startled me.
“Oh, um, yes. I was thinking about the Christmas events.” I tugged my sleeve back down. “We’ll need to figure out which sorhoxes should pull Santa’s sleigh. Ones who’ll tolerate wearing reindeer horns.”
“They already have horns.”
I shrugged. “We need to make them look like reindeer.” I scrolled into my phone for an image and showed him.
“None of them are going to let us paint their snouts red.”
“Will they be willing to wear collars with bells and maybe a red ribbon on their tails?”
“Probably.” His probing gaze tried to snag mine. “We have time. The events aren’t for days.”
“Preparation is key to success.”
“Is that all you’re thinking about?”
“What else could there be?”
He was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know. You seemed interested in what the other women were saying about matings.”
I squirmed in my chair, wishing he’d take his probing gaze away. “Understanding your culture helps me do my job better.”
“Mating culture in particular?”
“We should make a list,” I said, desperate to redirect the conversation. “Priorities for preparing the sorhoxes. Training schedules. Costume needs.”
“Carla.”
The way he said my name made my belly flutter. When I looked up, his expression was softer than it had been all morning.
“Are you sure you’re all right? This has been intense. If you need more time to process—”
“I’m perfectly fine,” I said quickly. “The last few days allowed me time to think. We were in a survival situation inside the cabin. We did what we had to do to stay warm and safe. It doesn’t have to mean anything more than that.”
The words felt like lies even as I spoke them.
Becken’s expression shuttered, and he nodded curtly. “You’re right. We should focus on the Christmas activities.”
For the rest of the day, we threw ourselves into planning. Lists were made, schedules created, logistics discussed. We worked well together, our ideas building on each other’s suggestions in ways that felt natural and productive.
If we leaned a little closer than necessary when reviewing documents, or if our hands brushed more often than coincidence could explain, well, that was just the demands of collaboration.
By the end of the day, we had not only outlined the next six months of training needed for the rodeo to open at eight months, but we also had a comprehensive plan for integrating the rodeo program into Lonesome Creek’s Christmas celebrations.
The sorhoxes would need crowd desensitization training, the routines would require practice, and we’d need to coordinate with the others some more.
“This is ambitious,” Becken said, reviewing our final timeline.
“Ambitious gets results.” I capped my pen. “We should probably come back here after dinner.” I tucked my tablet into my bag. “Do more to get ahead.”
“I have other plans.”
“With whom?” I barked, jealousy slamming through me.
“Dester.” He grunted. “I’ve been working him harder, taking him around town to get used to the noises. I don’t want him hurting anyone else again.”
Oh. “I could help.”
His face closed off again.
“Or not,” I added lamely.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yes, yes, tomorrow.” I leaped to my feet and without a goodbye, fled all the way to my hotel room, where I splashed water on my face at the sink and stared into the mirror.
“You, Carla,” I whispered. “Need to get your shit together.”