Chapter 14 Becken
Becken
The upper floor of the function barn smelled like leather and hay and was packed with supplies we’d need for the Christmas parade.
Carla knelt on the floor, surrounded by red fabric and what looked like enough bells to outfit an entire herd of sorhoxes.
She held up two curved pieces of felt, frowning at them like they’d personally offended her.
“These antlers are amazing,” she said, waving the fabric horns. “The sorhoxes will look fantastic wearing them.”
“Sorhoxes have horns,” I grumbled, sorting through the equipment I’d stored up here for tourists. Harnesses, saddles, though I doubted Santa’s reindeer wore anything like that. “Why do they need fake ones?”
“Because sorhox horns curve forward into lethal spikes. Reindeer horns branch upward on top of their head.”
“That makes perfect sense.”
“See? I knew you’d agree.” She fed me a sunny smile, though a hint of shadows lurked in her eyes.
Was she feeling as unsettled as me about working together like this?
We hadn’t discussed where this mate bond might go from here, and I wasn’t sure how to bring it up.
The thought of her leaving felt worse than taking a blade straight through the chest.
But did I truly want her to stay? Whenever I thought of asking her if she’d consider remaining longer to give us time to figure this out, I felt guilty. Yes, Wexla would want me to be happy but knowing that and translating it into actions was a challenge.
“I can’t believe you volunteered us for this,” I said.
“I volunteered us for a lot of things.” She glanced up, and something in her expression made me freeze. “I’m beginning to wonder if that was smart.”
We’d been working together for three days since returning from the cabin, maintaining careful professional distance while planning every detail of Lonesome Creek’s Christmas celebration.
The mating marks remained hidden under long sleeves, but I felt the pull between us constantly.
Each time she leaned close to examine my sketches.
Each accidental brush of our hands. And each shared smile over a human tradition I didn’t understand. They all shot awareness through me.
She’d thrown herself into the Christmas preparations with the same intensity she brought to everything, patiently explaining each custom as we planned.
Watching her find joy in creating the traditions she’d never had was both wonderful and painful.
Sitting with her in my office to make plans for the rodeo was pure torture. She smelled sweet.
She smelled like mine.
“Hand me that red collar.” She pointed to the pile of costume pieces.
I passed it over, our fingers touching as she took it. The contact lasted barely a second, but electricity shot up my arm. Her breath caught, and our eyes met. She dragged her gaze away, focusing on attaching bells to the collar.
“Peeka and Thrakul should work well for this.” I forced my attention back to practical matters. “They’re both calm around crowds.”
“And you’re sure they’ll tolerate wearing these decorations?” She held up the completed antler headpiece, bells jingling.
“They’ll tolerate it for me.” I hoped. “Sorhoxes are remarkably patient when they trust their handler.”
“Like orcs,” she said softly.
The comment caught me off guard. “What do you mean?”
“Patient when they trust someone.” She started on the second antler headpiece. “You’ve been incredibly patient with me. With my questions, my inexperience, my tendency to volunteer us for things you don’t understand or have any interest in.”
“You’re learning. That takes time.”
“I threw you off your routine. Disrupted your work with all this Christmas business.”
“We’ve accomplished a lot for the rodeo. I have a solid plan for the next year. Don’t say you’re a disruption. You’ve improved my work. The program will be better because of your ideas.”
Her hands stilled on the fabric. “Are you just saying that or do you truly mean it?”
“I mean it.”
“Thank you.”
We worked together for a while and the mood felt lighter. We hadn’t solved anything between us, but I could tell she appreciated my honesty.
Maybe it was time I was more honest with her—and myself—about my feelings.
Assuming I could figure out what I was feeling.
The afternoon sun slanted through the small window on one end of the loft, catching the gold in her auburn hair.
She’d abandoned her usual style, letting it hang loose around her shoulders.
A few strands had escaped to frame her face, and I found myself wanting to brush them back, to feel the softness between my fingers.
Focus on the costume, I reminded myself.
“Becken?” Her voice held uncertainty. “What’s going to happen with the program after I leave? You’ve said yourself you might not remain on the surface.”
“I think I will.”
Her eyes widened. “You decided?”
I shrugged, because, honestly, if she left, I wasn’t sure I could remain here after. I’d see her everywhere. Feel her touch, only to turn and find myself alone. I was beginning to realize I’d crave her for a lifetime.
“No matter what happens, my cousins will manage,” I said.
“That’s not what I asked.”
I set down the harness I’d been examining, though I’d already checked it at least ten times. Let’s face it; I was here because she was, because I couldn’t stay away from her. I…cared. Far too much.
“They’ll hire someone permanent, someone with experience managing tourist operations in general, since we need help with more than the rodeo, then staff to manage things with the rodeo itself.”
“You’re talking about a general business manager.”
“Yes, that.”
The door from downstairs burst open, and Aunt Inla swept in, her arms full of red fabric and her face bright with excitement. She wore another of her prairie dresses, this one green with tiny gold tea pots.
“Perfect timing,” she said, her attention mostly on me. “I’ve finished the costume.”
“Exactly what costume?” I straightened, alarm shooting through me.
“Your costume for the parade.” She shook out the fabric, revealing a massive red outfit with white fur trim. “I had to special order the fabric and work day and night to get the sizing right, but Grannie helped. It’s going to look amazing.”
“You expect me to wear a red and white onesie?” I half-bellowed.
I only knew the term onesie from Beth, who showed me the baby clothing she’d ordered online.
I could see the practicality of the outfit for a youngling, but for me?
“Please tell me there aren’t snaps along the inside of the thighs to undo it. ”
Carla snorted and gave up any pretense of making antlers.
Aunt Inla held the outfit up higher, studying the groin area. “Why would there be anything like that?”
“To change the swaddle. Diaper, as humans call the undergarment.”
Now Carla was outright laughing. “I think it’s an amazing idea. Imagine if you had to go to the bathroom fast. A few snaps, and you could drag your dingdong out.”
“Dingdong?” Aunt Inla and I said at the same time.
“Penis, if you want to be technical, but I think the word sounds…clinical, don’t you?”
“Dingdong is not clinical,” I said.
“You’ve got that right.” Rising, Carla walked over to examine the red and white onesie, tugging up the sleeves and spreading the thighs, still snickering about snaps.
“Aunt Inla, that’s incredible,” she said once she’d gained control of herself, more or less.
“The detail work alone must’ve taken days. ”
“Christmas magic requires a special effort, don’t you think?” Inla beamed at her praise. “Becken, you need to try it on immediately. We have to make sure the fit is correct before the parade.”
I stared at the red monstrosity. “Do I have to?”
“Nephew,” she growled, her brown narrowing.
I knew that look. It was the same one she’d worn when she caught me sneaking a treat from my mom’s, her sister’s, kitchen.
She’d shaken her finger and told me that dinner would be ready soon and to get out of the kitchen this instant.
I’d slunk away and hadn’t dared enter a kitchen again until it was my own.
“I don’t even really know who this Santa is,” I said with a snarl.
Both women stared at me. Aunt Inla’s jaw dropped.
“He’s…” Carla gestured helplessly. “He’s the spirit of Christmas. A jolly old man who brings gifts to children.”
“I’m not that old. I’m only thirty-eight.”
Carla frowned, tapping her chin. “Nine years older than me.”
“A nice, mature gap, right?” my aunt said.
Carla’s eyebrows rose. “I’m not sure. Experience can be both an asset and a hindrance.”
Inla grinned and nudged Carla with her elbow. “Depends on where you want to find that experience.”
The two women snickered.
“Once the parade’s over, we’ll return here and greet the children,” Carla said. “I’ll be one of your elves. You’re playing a character. The children know it’s not real, but they enjoy the magic of it.”
“Use the changing area on the first floor,” Aunt Inla said, thrusting the suit at me. “When you come out, join us in the back of the function hall where we have Santa’s Workshop set up.”
“Workshop…”
“Where else do you expect Santa to sit?” my aunt asked with an edge of impatience in her voice. If I kept arguing, who knew where she’d banish me to next. She pointed toward the stairs. “Go.”
Carla bit her lip, clearly fighting a grin. “I can’t wait to see how you look.”
Outnumbered and outmaneuvered by two determined females, I took the costume and retreated downstairs, locking the door to the small room behind me. Brides got ready here before their weddings.
The suit was designed to fit over my regular clothes with room for what I assumed was padding. Once dressed, I looked into the mirror brides used and grimaced. I looked utterly ridiculous.
When I emerged and stomped to the back of the function room where I could hear them talking, Carla’s mouth fell open.
“Ho, ho, ho.” Aunt Inla clapped her hands. “You look exactly like Santa should. Imposing, jolly, and completely magical.”