When I descended the stairs, the Red Fang Saloon hummed with activity. Christmas decorations had transformed the already charming Western-themed space into something magical. Pine garland draped along the bar had been woven with red bandanas instead of ribbon. Sparkling lights hung from therafters, and a tall Christmas tree in the corner gleamed with ornaments shaped like tiny lassos, sheriff stars, and horseshoes.
The whole effect was rustic and festive without being overdone, like everything else in Lonesome Creek. Despite being less than a year old, the town felt authentic in a way that corporate-designed tourist traps couldn’t quite manage.
Greel stood behind the bar in full cowboy regalia, including a cowboy hat and a Western shirt with pearl snap buttons. I’d met him when I checked in. He mixed drinks while awkwardly swaying to “Jingle Bell Rock,” his big green form making the movement look both endearing and comical. A group of tourists at the bar watched him with delighted expressions, occasionally snapping photos of the authentic orc cowboy Christmas experience.
I hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, feeling out of place despite my determination to fit in. Then Greel’s mate, Jessi, who I’d also met when I checked in, spotted me from across the room.
Her eyes widened as she wove through the tables with easy grace. “There you are.” She raised her voice over the music. “I was wondering if you’d join us tonight or have room service again.”
I’d ordered dinner to my room the past two nights rather than try to be social. Apparently, nothing went unnoticed in this small town.
“I thought I’d see what all the fuss was about.” I gestured to the busy saloon.
“Let’s seat you somewhere with a good view of everything.” She led me to a small table in the front, near the windows. “Chef Lavon’s running holiday specials tonight. The spicy roast drundeg is amazing.”
I nodded like I had any idea what a drundeg was.
“And don’t worry about the bill,” she added with a warm smile. “Staff eat free.”
“Really?”
“They have since we set this place up. You’re working for us, so you’re staff, which is pretty much family to us.”
“Thank you.”
She gave me a smile and headed toward the entrance where a family waited to be seated.
Me, family? The thought settled strangely in my chest. I’d never belonged anywhere. Growing up with an aunt and uncle who viewed me as an inconvenient responsibility had taught me early that I was adjacent to them.
I shook off the memories and opened the menu, overwhelmed by unfamiliar terms. “Zeckadon. Ashenbird. Chumble stew. No idea what any of those are.” I might as well be reading a foreign language.
“Zeckadon is much like your quiche, made from chumble eggs.”
I looked up to find Becken standing beside my table, and my breath caught in my throat. He’d cleaned up after our day at the rodeo grounds, trading work clothes for dark jeans and a charcoal Western shirt that stretched impressively across his broad shoulders. The tips of his dark hair were still damp from a shower, and he’d even traded his work boots for more polished ones.
With a cowboy hat parked low on his brow, he looked good. Really good.
His eyes dropped to my sweater, and I fought the urge to cross my arms over the blinking red nose.
“Nice…deer,” he said, his expression unreadable.
“It’s a reindeer. Rudolph. He has a red nose.” The nose blinked obligingly, as if to demonstrate.
“I can see that. It’s flashing.”
“Too much?” I asked, feeling my cheeks warm.
“No. It’s festive.”
We stared at each other for a long moment. I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me or being honest.
“First time with orc cuisine?” He nodded toward my open menu.
“That obvious, huh?” I’d picked up a burger from the restaurant last night, eating it in my room.
“You’ve been staring at the same page for three minutes.”
I laughed. “I don’t know what half these things are.”
