Tressa tilted her head and gave me a look that clearly said I was being ridiculous for even asking.
I finished up in the barn and headed toward the saloon with Tressa trotting beside me. A few tourists gave her wide-eyed looks, and one leaped off the boardwalk as if he thought my wolf might attack, but the rest either wanted to pat her or ignored her.
The evening air felt cool and smelled sweet, and the sounds of tourists enjoying their dinner drifted from the restaurant and saloon. Lonesome Creek was thriving, like my brothers and I had hoped it would when we bought this valley and started building our dream.
The saloon was busy when I walked in, mostly tourists sitting at tables or at the bar. My brother, Greel, worked behind thecounter, polishing glasses with his usual stoic expression. When he saw me, he nodded toward an empty table in the corner.
I’d just sat down when heavy footsteps announced my cousin’s arrival. Becken pushed through the saloon doors and surveyed the room with a scowl that could have tainted sorhox milk. At over seven-feet-tall with shoulders broad enough to block out the sun, he was an imposing figure even by orc standards. His dark hair was pulled back in a leather tie, and he wore the same jeans-and-vest combination the rest of us favored, though his vest looked brand new. He probably picked it up at the general store recently.
I would not tell him a brand-new vest made him look like a tourist.
“This place is crowded,” he announced, making his way over to where I sat.
“It’s supposed to-to-to be…busy,” I said. “That’s the-the whole point of a tourist town.”
Becken grunted and lowered himself into the chair across from me. “Still don’t understand why all of you wanted to come to the surface. The kingdom was perfectly fine.”
“The kingdom was underground. No natural…light for pottery.”
“No tourists either.”
I couldn’t argue with that logic, though I was starting to think tourists might not be so bad. Especially if they brought people like Allie into my life.
“Then why did you offer to come here and-and-and handle the…rodeo?” I asked, though I knew. His mate had died, and he needed to find something to occupy his mind.
“I’m here. That’s all that matters.”
Greel appeared at our table with two tankards of ale, setting them down in front of us. “Food?” he asked.
“Whatever Jessi’s making,” I said. “Smells…g-g-good.”
Becken nodded, and Greel disappeared back toward the kitchen.
I took a sip of my drink, savoring the unusual flavor. The first time my brothers and I tried this beverage, we drank too much. Before you knew it, we were singing—and none of us had good singing voices. We’d laughed, had a lot of fun, then woke up the next morning with horrifying headaches. While we all drank ale on occasion now, we limited it to one mug.
Becken’s scowl deepened. “I still think this rodeo idea is a strange way to entertain people. In the kingdom, you tame the sorhoxes before you ride them. The last thing you’d ever do is train them to be unruly while you’re on their back.”
“These had to be trained to buck on command,” I said with a touch of pride. I’d worked on the first five we’d use for the event. “You should see h-h-how well one of them leaps around. It’s…fun. You’ll love bull riding yourself.”
“Maybe?” He scratched the back of his neck and tugged on his vest. “No one will expect me to actually ride them, will they? I thought I’d be spending most of my time with the organization and managerial side of things.”
“You’re probably right. I s-s-still think it’s worth jumping up onto one and-and-and seeing what they do.” I’d already shared the commands I’d trained them with. “Just hold on tight.”
Frowning, he nodded slowly. “I’ve been reading about this rodeo business. Apparently there are lots of rules.”
“Dungar looked it all up…online. We don’t want anyone g-g-getting hurt. Gracie helped us put together the waiver everyone w-w-will have to sign b-b-before they get to try a…bucking sorhox.”
A table of women near the bar caught my eye. They kept stealing glances in our direction. Well, in Becken’s direction. They were whispering among themselves and giggling, clearly fascinated by my cousin. Should I tell him?
Probably not. He wouldn’t be interested in them. Interested in anyone, actually. It hadn’t been long since Wexla died.
Becken, oblivious to the attention, continued sharing his plans for the rodeo. “It looks like the paperwork you put together is solid.”
“It’s all in the d-desk.”
We’d built the corral and stands where the rodeo would take place on the outskirts of town, plus a small office building and a few concession stands. We still needed to hire staff to handle the latter.
“I’m not sure I fully understand what insurance is,” he said.
