Chapter 26
Carla
The notes of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” faded, but their echo remained in my heart.
I stared at the snow globe, this perfect replica of the childhood treasure I’d lost. The tiny rabbit beneath the decorated tree, the swirling snow, the melody that had been my only real connection to Christmas joy as a child.
Becken had found this for me. Had listened to a story I’d shared in a snowbound cabin and understood exactly what it meant. No one in my life had ever paid such careful attention to my words, my memories, my heart.
Tears welled up, blurring my vision. The lump in my throat made speech impossible. This wasn’t only a gift. It was recognition. Understanding. And it spoke of everything in his heart.
He was offering me not only a job, but a home. A future. A place to belong, permanently, with him. The California position dangled in my mind, full of professional prestige and career advancement. Everything I’d worked toward for a decade.
But it felt hollow compared to what sat with me inside this small-town sheriff’s office on Christmas morning.
I looked down at our hands, now joined across the table, the golden marks on our wrists, the physical manifestation of what had grown between us in such a short time.
“When I came to Lonesome Creek, I had everything figured out,” I said slowly.
“A two-week contract, another credential for my resume, then I’d move on to the next opportunity.
My life was a series of temporary assignments, and I liked it that way.
No attachments. No expectations. No chance of disappointment.
Even my consulting dream would be me, going it alone. No attachments. No strings.”
Becken nodded, understanding in his dark eyes.
“Then I met you.” My voice caught. “Grumpy, serious, competent you, who scowled at my Christmas enthusiasm and rolled your eyes at my professional suggestions.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I wasn’t that bad.”
“You were also genuine.” I smiled back. “Honest. You never pretended to be anything you weren’t, never tried to impress, manipulate, or use me.”
I squeezed his hand. “I spent my childhood feeling like an inconvenience and my adult life proving my worth through professional achievements. Always moving, always striving, always trying to be good enough. Useful enough.”
“You’ll always be enough, just as you are.”
“That’s what you showed me. What this town showed me. That I could be valued for who I am, not only what I can do.”
I looked around at the decorated office, at the remnants of the breakfast he’d arranged, at the snow globe that represented not only my past but a possible future.
“Not long ago, I would’ve signed that contract for the California job without hesitation.”
“And now?”
“There are different kinds of success. Different ways to measure a life well-lived.”
Hope flickered across his handsome face.
“The night we were stranded in the cabin, you told me about the orc kingdom. About community and belonging. I didn’t fully understand then.
” I looked down at the snow globe, watching the last snowflakes land on the forest floor.
“This song asks if I’ll be home for Christmas.
The truth is, I’ve never had a home. Only places where I could rest my head at night.
But here feels like where I’m supposed to be.
With these people. In this town. And with you. ”
I sucked in a breath and released it. “I love you. I think I have since that day you carried me through the snow. Maybe even before that, when you looked at me across the saloon and saw past all my defenses to the lonely woman underneath.”
His hand tightened around mine.
“The California job is everything I thought I wanted, but you and Lonesome Creek are everything I need. What I choose. Where I want to spend the rest of my life.”
“You’ll stay?” The question held so much vulnerability it made my heart ache.
“I want to be with you for always.” I lifted our joined hands and kissed his knuckles, looking up at him. “Whatever that means and whatever comes next, I want to face it with you by my side.”
One moment Becken sat across from me; the next he stood beside my chair, lifting me, gathering me into his arms. His mouth found mine in a kiss that tasted of promise and relief and a joy so pure it stole my breath.
When we broke apart, his eyes shone with happiness. “I love you, Carla Smith. You brought me back to life.” He lowered me to my feet, and his hands cupped my cheeks. “We’ll build something new together.”
This wasn’t about forgetting what came before, but about choosing what came next.
I leaned into his embrace, and it felt right. “So what happens now?”
“Now we celebrate Christmas.” He smiled. “And we tell everyone at the community meal that you’re staying.”
“They’ll be surprised.”
“I doubt it.” He laughed, the sound tickling down my spine. “They’ll assume my considerable charm won you over.”
I nudged his belly. “You.”
“It’ll always be me for you, love, and you for me.” He curled forward, kissing my brow. Lifting my hand, he kissed my mating mark. “The fates recognized what our hearts already knew, that we belong together.”
“We do.” I wound my arms around him, still amazed that this intimidating male was mine. That I was his. “I think I would’ve chosen you even without the marks.”
“I know I would’ve chosen you. Marks or no marks, you’re the only one I want, for however long we have.”
We stayed wrapped in each other’s arms, savoring the quiet joy of just being together. Christmas Day stretched ahead of us, and I couldn’t wait to share it with Becken.
As he stacked the dishes to take to the saloon, I carefully wrapped the snow globe in tissue paper and placed it back in its box to keep it safe.
For every Christmas from now on, I’d bring it out and wind the key, humming along with the music that reminded me of my mother’s love and what I’d found in Lonesome Creek.
Outside, families strolled along the boardwalk, calling out greetings. Tourists wandered from shop to shop, enjoying the Western orc Christmas experience. The scent of pine and cinnamon and wood smoke filled the air.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed, taking in the postcard-perfect scene.
“It’s home,” Becken said, his arm secure around my waist.
The word no longer felt foreign or unattainable. It was here, in this small town with its orc cowboys and Christmas traditions, its makeshift families and mating magic.
We walked toward the saloon. A few of his cousins called out Christmas greetings, and each time Becken said, “She’s staying on permanently as our operations manager.”
The joy in his voice matched the pride in his eyes, and my heart swelled. This wasn’t only his happiness with my decision, it was genuine pleasure in my professional recognition. He wanted me to succeed, to thrive, and to build something meaningful here.
The Red Fang Saloon glowed with light when we arrived, already crowded with familiar faces.
Ostor and Rosey sat near the fireplace built along one wall, his arm draped around her shoulders.
Hail and Allie shared a table with Sel, Max, and Holly, who waved us over as soon as we entered.
Tark and Gracie huddled near the bar, deep in conversation with Dungar.
And across the room, Ruugar held court at a corner table, Beth beside him with tiny Noma cradled in her arms. The newest member of Lonesome Creek, born on Christmas Eve, was now the center of the community’s attention.
“There they are,” Aunt Inla called when she spotted us.
All eyes turned to us, and I felt Becken tense beside me. He wasn’t used to being under so much scrutiny.
“How are things?” Holly asked, her expression hopeful.
“I’m staying,” I shouted in a happy voice.
A cheer rose from every corner of the room.
“I knew it,” Grannie Lil shouted from her place near the fireplace. “I told you all she was one of us.”
Lavon emerged from the kitchen, a towel slung over his shoulder. “This calls for a special toast. The holiday punch is ready.”
Glasses were filled and passed around, and Becken and I found ourselves in the center of a circle of family, raising drinks in celebration.
“To Carla,” Dungar lifted his glass. “Who came to consult but stayed to belong.”
“To Carla,” the room echoed.
I blinked back tears, overwhelmed by the affection surrounding me. “Thank you all.”
We settled at a table, and the celebration continued, food appearing as if by magic. Lavon’s holiday specialties sat alongside traditional human Christmas dishes. Conversation flowed, punctuated by laughter and occasional singing when someone started a Christmas carol.
Becken remained at my side, his presence a constant reminder of the choice I’d made. His hand found mine under the table, and he squeezed it, leaning over to give me a heady kiss.
“Happy?” he asked as he lifted his head.
I looked around at the gathering, at Beth holding Noma while Ruugar watched with adoration. At Lavon bringing Aunt Inla a plate he’d prepared just for her. At Max showing Holly the sorhox cookie he’d decorated. At all these people who had claimed me as their own.
Then I looked at Becken, this serious, gentle male who’d given me back Christmas and offered me a future I’d never dared imagine.
“I’m happier than I ever knew was possible,” I said.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t watching Christmas through someone else’s window. I wasn’t the outsider, the temporary guest, or the professional passing through.
I was sitting with the people I loved.